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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.
After TU Dance’s spring concert is over and the dancers have gone, the Southern Theater stage seems bereft, empty, orphaned—but the dance goes on in the viewer’s eyes, afterimages of motion flickering over the ordinary world outside.
When I lived in San Francisco, I would sometimes visit a certain bookstore in “Japantown,” a neighborhood of Japanese shops and restaurants in the middle of the city.
This weekend's lineup of Twin Cities Jazz Festival events got off to a rollicking start last night when, over the dinner hour, Chicago bluesman extraordinaire Big George Jackson and his band slung their gutbucket blues at a jovial crowd on Peavey Plaza.
Who hasn’t wanted to occasionally drown their fears? In Hunger, a new play by Sheri Wilner and produced by Emigrant Theater, the lead character does it not with alcohol, but with the Atlantic Ocean.
Girl Friday Productions' Our Town is as unadorned and lovely as its characters.
Openings are the best kind of parties—free food and wine (even if it is served in plastic cups), interesting people, and good atmosphere.
A couple of nights ago I was at the local premiere of Dirty Country, a hilarious documentary about Larry Pierce, a singer-songwriter who performs raunchy country music only the ill-informed would call misogynistic—his songs are so juvenile that you gotta believe Pierce is the only one being oppressed.
There’s a moment in the beginning of the Children Theater Company’s Average Family when you think, Hmm, maybe this isn’t going to be another one of those preachy, warm-hearted, message-driven plays about the joys and rewards of rediscovering one’s lost Native American heritage.
Changing Hands fills four rooms—about half of the Weisman’s gallery space.
Jimmy Pardo is an animal—a small, five-foot-three-inch male who grew up in Chicago and migrated to Los Angeles.
Waiting in lines ranks high on my list of un-fun activities. But if you're going to wait, you could do worse than standing feet away from ancient Roman marble sculptures and mosaics.
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.
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