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Contributing editor Tad Simons is an award-winning journalist whose writing on the local arts scene has appeared in the Twin Cities Reader, City Pages, St. Paul Pioneer Press, American Theatre magazine, BackStage, Variety and the Washington Post. Over his 25 year career, Tad has covered theater, books, music, visual arts, dance, film, and performance art (including politics). Tad’s articles and essays on these and other subjects have won more than 30 local and national awards for editorial excellence.
The simple premise of Ethnic Dance Theatre’s Nutcracker! is that all the various characters and nationalities in the story are represented by authentic folk dances.
We’ll get to the Hip Hop Live review in a second, but first, let’s pour a forty for our homey, Norman Mailer.
From the look of things, the Minnesota Center for Photography is attracting not only photography enthusiasts, but those with dollars to indulge their affinity.
Reviewing theater on The Morning After is ruining my life.
Altered Aesthetics has picked an irresistible premise for one of two shows currently up at the gallery. Who hasn't had dreams that the universe may be more malevolent than you thought?
Since Jerry Garcia died in 1995 and the Grateful Dead disbanded, the living members of the Dead have splintered off to pursue other projects and form groups of their own.
Taken on its own terms, Ordway Center’s production of Cabaret is dazzling.
Ragamala’s Minneapolis concert marking the company’s fifteenth season opens with “Ardhanareeshwara Stotram,” a dance of the dual creation divinity, Shakti/Shiva.
The last time I saw August Wilson alive was in the bathroom of the old Guthrie, minutes before the premiere of Fences, which until last night was the first and only production of Wilson’s work the Guthrie had ever done.
“Is your line moving yet?” It was after 7 p.m. and my buddy Mark was texting me from further back in the line—he was on Kellogg and Wabasha.
Trust me, white people wrote about black people before we wrote about Barack Obama.
Wow. I haven’t danced that long in years. If the first thing that comes to mind when you think of George Michael is Wham!, then please stop reading this. You’re not in the club.
As Barack Obama delivered a rock star moment last night in Denver, a Minnesota-made documentary screened at the Walker that I suspect was also simulcast from Obama Command Central. David Axelrod, are you responsible for this?
Personally, I’ve never been a big fan of the traditional circus. Sad clowns, stupid human tricks, animals in tutus—it’s the sort of entertainment I imagine would be effective at Guantanamo Bay.
As the TV on the Radio show let out last night, and the First Avenue crowd spilled onto the corner of Seventh and First, a short fat dude with a beard held up a sticker of the Grateful Dead’s “Steal Your Face” skull, the red white and blue one with the electric bolt.
Rock ’n’ roll has a humor problem. There have been funny videos, and funny rock-star presenters at award shows, and even funny reality television shows starring rock stars. But when it comes to rock stars actually making funny music, historically, there's been a deficit.
A Joe Satriani concert is a freak show of sorts. One can almost picture him as a guitar-playing geek being pitched by a circus barker: “Come one, come all—come see the amazing Satriani, a musician whose superhuman speed defies the laws of nature."
In the pantheon of living guitar legends, Larry Coryell ranks right up there with the best of them, even though his name has less marquee value than many of the musicians he has spent his career playing with.
If you think Wall Street is awash in blood, you should've seen First Avenue last night. At 7 p.m, a healthy hour and a half before Oasis was set to go on, my buddy scalped a pair of tickets in the fourth row--$68 face value--for thirty bucks apiece.
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