My Dear friends

This site not work anymore .I have a new site and you can go there visit me. I dont go put more post here anymore ... If you like this blog go there .. I will be there for you ... Olá meus queridos amigos ... agora tenho um novo blog Este site nao funcionará mais , tive alguns problemas. Agora tenho um novo endereco de blog. Nao irei mais colocar post neste blog .. Todas as atualizacoes e novidades estarao no outro endereco .. Acessem... estarei lá pra vcssss Se vcs gostaram desse blog irao amar o outro .. mais atualizado e lindo ... Vamos láaaa .... visitem-me lá .. Beijinhos Lili

Tank for everything !!!

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sexta-feira, 29 de janeiro de 2010

Roll Over, Elvis. Meet Indie Memphis.


Brad Benson with Lauren Krack at the Mollie Fontaine in Memphis.


By MELENA RYZIK
Published: January 31, 2010

IT’S hard to shake Elvis in Memphis. His pompadoured, crooning visage peers out from all corners, from jukeboxes to diner counters. But the King was nowhere to be found at Electrocity, a semi-legal warehouse party that was recently held in an unheated garage in the city’s energetic Midtown neighborhood.

A rusted Mustang and a couple of motorcycles sat in a corner. Christmas lights crisscrossed the ceiling. A motley crew of the city’s scenesters — from Burning Man types who brought their own Hula-Hoops to nu-Goths in their Edwardian frippery — danced until they were sweaty, even in the cold.

With vintage cartoons projected overhead, the three D.J.’s who have been giving these parties for about a year were bent over record players and laptops, spinning MGMT remixes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. There were a few glow sticks and kegs of beer, which emptied quickly, but no bother, just bring your own. “Feeling good, feeling great,” a guy said, as he made his grinning way through the crowd.

This is indie Memphis, a long way from the tourist crush of Beale Street and Graceland, in spirit if not in actual distance. Midtown, just a short drive from a downtown famous for its blues, jazz and barbecue hounds, is its hipster epicenter, a diverse area that is now home to posh cocktail bars as well as divey rock clubs and longstanding juke joints. It parties late, very late, and stays friendly through the night.

“We’re the real deal,” Archie Turner said as he packed up his keyboard at 4 a.m. at Wild Bill’s, a dive bar, barbecue spot and soul joint that is one of the area’s most belovedly ragged destinations. Mr. Turner, 64, is the stepson of the late Willie Mitchell, a record producer who put out seminal albums by the likes of Al Green at Hi Records, his studio around the corner from the better-known Stax. Memphis rewards localism and loyalty — Hi Records is still open today — but there is also room for renewal.

New spots like Minglewood Hall, a 1,500-person concert space, and Nocturnal, where the Electrocity crew sometimes holds parties, are giving Midtown a revamped cultural bite. If you don’t mind staying up, you can get a feel for it in one weekend. And Memphis is small enough, and welcoming enough, that you may meet someone in a bar one night and encounter that person at a party the next. Its hospitality is infectious.

You might start out, as I did, with a drink at the Cove, a bar that appears unassuming from the outside but serves inventive cocktails like the Vampire, a take on the Bloody Mary, with tequila, tomato juice, red chili salt and balsamic vinegar. It’s got a New Orleans style and a nautical theme, with a mast extending over the bar, peeling paint (there’s a lot of peeling paint in Memphis), ragged booths (ditto) and kitschy murals of sailors. The menu includes oysters and Café du Monde coffee; movies along the lines of “Brazil” play in lieu of sports.

The Cove is on the eastern edge of Midtown, a recently blighted area where artists have taken root. Not far away is the Odessa Gallery, which explores visual art, music and technology with a D.I.Y. bent. Old warehouses have been carved into studios by enterprising artists, and the Historic Broad Business Association sponsors an annual gallery tour. “The commercial galleries are real conservative, but what Memphis really excels in is a lot of alternative spaces,” said Dwayne Butcher, an artist who has been documenting the community in a blog, artbutcher.blogspot.com, for several years.

Visual art has its place in Memphis — Mr. Butcher said the scene was “always on the verge” — but music is ever present. Nearly every bar features a band a night or two a week. And whenever there is a buzz-worthy show at the Young Avenue Deli or the Hi-Tone Cafe, two clubs that anchor the indie scene in Midtown, it seems as if everyone turns out.

“I’ve seen the local music scene actually grow in the last three years,” said Dan Garber, a musician who works at Hi-Tone. “We used to have only two, three bands a week. Now we have something every night,” from touring of-the-moment indie acts like Yeasayer to death metal to Billy Bob Thornton.

With its pool table, restaurant and craft beer, the Young Avenue Deli has mass appeal; it can be filled with chanting football fans and still have a bluegrass band on the stage. The Hi-Tone has a small gallery room but is dedicated to music first and foremost.

“We’re really excited, because we don’t know all of you,” one member of a young Christian rock band said to the crowd the night I was there. Later another handed me their CD, gratis.

Local musicians are supported not only by dozens of guitar and other instrument shops, but also by an institution that is fading elsewhere: the record store. To flip through the bins of seven-inches at Shangri-La or Goner Records is to feel the weight of Southern, which is to say American, musical history, gospel to blues to soul. If you want to delve further, or uncover the latest local bands, record store clerks — friendlier here than Nick Hornby ever envisioned — are happy to help. Where do they go to have a good time?

“The Buccaneer Bar,” said Sam Burnett, a clerk at Goner, which achieved national attention as the label of the late garage rocker Jay Reatard. “They don’t have a schedule. You walk in there and tell them you want to play, and you can play.”

At the opposite end of the slickster spectrum is the newish bar and restaurant Mollie Fontaine, in a two-story Victorian house, with chandeliers, low-slung couches and oversize fashion photos decorating the walls. A jazz singer performs on weekends, not dolled up but with a voice that’s smoother than late-night radio, and the regulars sit around her piano, making requests.

It’s a cosmopolitan alternative to Beale Street, the legendary strip in Downtown Memphis jammed with blues and R & B clubs. As much as locals may disparage it as tourist bait — “If you want to hear a bunch of hack musicians sing ‘Mustang Sally,’ that’s where you go,” said Mr. Garber from Hi-Tone — it is home to a few places that make the cool cut.

The Hollywood Disco, formerly known as Raiford’s, is one. An after-hours club a few blocks from Beale Street, it is furnished with tan leather sofas and, for reasons better observed than discussed, swivelly wheeled office chairs. The ceiling is low, the walls covered with patrons’ handprints outlined in marker — “The girls love it,” said Anthony Bologna, the assistant manager — and the dance floor lights up. The D.J. plays Lady Gaga and Michael Jackson, the bar serves 40-ounce beers, and there’s a free limo that will pick you up and drive you anywhere in town. “We’re old school, for locals,” Mr. Bologna said. “We stay open till 4 even when it’s dead.”

Nearby is another late-night spot, Ernestine & Hazel’s. Once a dry goods store, for decades it operated openly as a brothel on the second floor; the namesake owners were first cousins whose husbands were cozy with the muckety-mucks at Stax and the local law enforcement, according to legend. Converted to a legitimate establishment in the 1990s after the cousins died, it has not changed much. Downstairs is a beer-only bar, a slamming jukebox and a kitchen that serves sloppy Soul Burgers. The pool table bore a sign that was almost a shrug: “Out of Order.”

But insiders know to go upstairs, past a dim hallway, where they are greeted by a spray-painted sign that reads: “No Dope Smoken No Cursin No Free Loden.” The second floor is a warren of small rooms with gritty couches. Best to bypass these too, though it’s easy to imagine what ghosts may linger there. What you’re looking for, what I found, is a small, hand-printed sign that says, simply, “Nate’s,” with an arrow pointing to where you want to go.

It is a tiny corner room, windows covered in plastic, more peeling paint. It may be the warmest place in Memphis, and not because of the space heaters. Behind the awkward L-shaped bar is Nathaniel Moore, 66 and dapper in a fedora with a feather, a vest and shirtsleeves. He has been a Memphian since 1947 and a weekend bartender here pretty much since it’s been legal, though he’s not averse to talking about when it wasn’t.

“This was the place to be in the ’70s and ’80s,” Mr. Moore said, as he poured shots of whisky from a stash he kept under the bar. “You could get anything you wanted.”

You still can. This is vintage Memphis: people of all ages and races sitting around the bar, cracking jokes and talking, inevitably, about civil rights and love and history far into the night. It’s clear why he has no plans to retire.

Indie Memphis has its own community icons, chief among them Shirley Williams, who has been serving drinks at the Lamplighter bar for nearly 40 years. The Lamp, as locals call it, is another Midtown dive. Opened since 1932, it is the city’s oldest continuously operating bar and has lately found its grungy slice of fame as the site of music videos for the likes of Cat Power.

Miss Shirley, as she is known, is suffering from ill health and hasn’t been around as much recently. To raise money for her medical care, the denizens of Midtown have created a charity pin, available for $1 at Goner and other shops. “For the love of Shirley,” it says, over a smiling drawing of a rosy-cheeked, gray-haired woman, an unlikely beacon beyond Elvis.

IF YOU GO

HOW TO GET THERE

Delta and Continental fly nonstop to Memphis from the New York City area. A recent Web search found flights starting at about $300 for travel in February. A rental car is needed to get around.

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