Patrick Dowd opened the doors to his Downtown office last night, but perhaps more importantly, he's seems to be closing the door on some fears people might have had about his campaign style.

For one thing, he's gotten a little less wonky. At his official campaign kick-off, Dowd had a tendency to wander into discursions about policy minutiae that seemed to test the patience of even die-hard supporters. He did that much less last night -- and when a supporter asked about Dowd's crusade against bond swaps at the Pittsburgh Water and Sewer Authority, Dowd kept things simple, charging that the process was a risky approach to financing, without delving into the intricacies of the bond market.

And in case you were concerned that Dowd wouldn't be willing to go after Mayor Luke Ravenstahl, give a listen to this clip, which charges the mayor with "celebrity chasing" and "pay for play" politics. (In fact, some material deemed too graphic by media executives was deleted from this track.)  

In response to an audience question, Dowd also addressed his role in the closing of Schenley High School. Dowd, a former school board member, has been plagued by that move about as much as he has by his decision to remove former Superintendent John Thompson. While Dowd wasn't on the school board at the time the controversial decision was made, he supported the move. The closing was portrayed as a veritable conspiracy in some quarters: Even though some have since forgiven him -- and even though there's been at least a bit of evidence supporting some of Dowd's other controversial moves -- Schenley continues to dog Dowd. 

But Dowd fielded the question without discomfort, and the youthful crowd of about 60 was receptive. Dowd also has some events to look forward to: On April 8, he'll be feted at an event hosted by Braddock Mayor John Fetterman, who's a beacon to the young-at-heart in Pittsburgh political circles.  The host committee also includes Shadow Lounge proprietor Justin Strong, Planned Parenthood of Western Pennsylvania public-affairs director Jodi Hirsh, and state Rep. Chelsa Wagner.

If you can drop by a reading series almost at random and hear something really good, chances are that series is doing something right.

I'd heard that this monthly series, at Garfield's ModernFormations Gallery, hosted good stuff: It's three writers (mostly poetry and fiction), plus a short musical performance, plus a potluck option that waives the $5 entry fee if you bring something tasty.

But while the biggest name at the March 18 installment was Baltimore-based novelist Michael Kimball, I thought the highlight was a short story by Kelly Ramsey. I didn't catch the title, but it was one of those stories, not realistic but set in a universe slightly to the left of our own, whose matter is communicated not just by its narrative, but by its very premise.

The story described a woman having a phone conversation with her ex while occupying the roof of their building, where she had (somehow) relocated all of their furniture. The tension was in the counterpoint between the plain, almost mundane dialogue and the rising action, which involved various furnishing hurtling -- silently, and apparently of their own accord -- over the roof's edge.

Somewhat in the Donald Barthelme vein, I thought -- a nice combination of surrealism and deadpan humor, with a poetic emotional undercurrent. Ramsey, an MFA student at Pitt, is a former co-editor of Hot Metal Bridge literary mag.

New Yinzer Presents is one of many events, regularly scheduled and otherwise, hosted by this online magazine (www.newyinzer.com) that for seven years has been a valuable part of the local literary scene. March was "Small Press Month," with wares for sale in the back from local literary entrepreneurs.

Contributors and organizers on-hand included Jessica Fenlon, Kristofer Collins and Scott Silsbe. Kimball read from his new novel Dear Everybody (Alma Books), structured as a series of undelivered letters written from childhood on by a depressive weatherman who committed suicide. The music was by Colin Baxter and his combo. (Full disclosure: two CP types were also implicated, including staffer Andy Mulkerin, who read his poetry, and art reviewer Savannah Guz, who MC'd.)

The seating includes couches, and there's art on the walls. It's a fair bet for the fourth Wednesday night of the month.

For many of us from Pittsburgh, including punk band Kim Phuc and poster artist Mike Budai, this year's South By Southwest festival started off on a brutal note: A 5:30 a.m. boarding at the Pittsburgh International Airport. Most, like Kim Phuc bassist Corey Lyons, hadn't slept at all -- a rough start to nearly a week of rock 'n' roll, parties, beer, and walking the length and breadth of Austin, Tex. several times a day. It did feel like a worthy start to an adventure, though, and the blinding sunlight and balmy temperatures that greeted us in Austin made it feel already worthwhile.

After retrieving my credentials at the convention center and meeting up with the friends who are hosting me here in Austin, it was time to hit the first day party. The day parties in Austin are typically unofficial events -- not part of SXSW proper -- sponsored by various corporations and music-related businesses. The one I started with was A Breath of Fresh Air, an outdoor, wind-powered showcase of indie bands at the Threadgills venue, sponsored by PR companies Organic Entertainment and September Gurl.

As the boy-girl duo KaiserCartel began their set, with drums, acoustic guitar, glockenspiel and folky vocal harmonies, I spotted famed Austin singer-songwriter Alejandro Escovedo, leaving the club and making his way out to an enormous pickup truck. KaiserCartel's set was just about perfect for the outdoor, garden-like venue and a couple of frosty late-afternoon Lonestar brews. Kaisercartel played Brillobox in February, and should be returning to Pittsburgh in the next couple of months, according to their publicist (no date is posted online yet). But by the time The Damnwells started their set, it felt like time to move a long -- there are priorities, after all.

Later last night, my friend Csaba Toth (another Pittsburgher, who's shooting some photos at SXSW) and I decided that, if all else fails, we must see the Scottish band Glasvegas. A showcase they were playing, with Peter, Bjorn and John and The Von Bondies seemed about perfect, so we got in early (and got to meet Bjorn Yttling, who was friendly and cool). Unfortunately, PB&J's set was plagued with technical problems, and never quite got rolling. At least, that's what I can remember of it: I'd underestimated the cumulative effects of no sleep, travel, walking and sun exposure, and was falling asleep on the shoulders of people next to me in the club. Ah well, sometimes you have to cut your losses and try tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, I'll be posting updates from SXSW daily, so keep checking back -- especially as I'll be heading to a number of showcases for the Pittsburgh-based musicians playing this year.

One of our missions at City Paper is to provide a comprehensive guide to goings-on about town. Some of those events are wholesome family fare for kids and parents to enjoy. (Be sure to check out Love City at Garfield Artworks on March 24, for example!) Others, though, are downright perverse. 

But we pass no judgments here at CP. So for the hardcore fetishists out there, let me recommend this descent into debauchery: a "Tea Party" tax protest to be held in Pittsburgh and other cities on April 15. Details are scant, but I got a feeling this is gonna be like a Fellini film -- complete with Bible-thumpers, circus freaks, leather-clad dwarves, and maybe even some Libertarians. 

After all, it's boosted by the American Family Association, which kindly sent us an e-mail about the protest and directed us to this site.  

The AFA is perhaps better known for its jihads against gay people, but in these tough economic times, you've got to diversify. So suddenly, the group has decided that the moral cause of the day is not AIDS in Africa or even Janet Jackson's nipple, but ... taxation. 

"We want to send a message to Washington," Donald Wildmon, the longtime wingnut who heads the AFA, tells us via e-mail. "We cannot spend our way out of debt, and we find it immoral to pile debt on our great-grandchildren."

Well, it's nice to see Don keeping busy. I mean, at least he's found a genuine cause ... as opposed to his previous campaigns against TV shows like Three's Company and Laverne & Shirley. (By the way, Don, how IS that campaign to clean up television going? Just about got that worked out?)

But ... "immoral"? Really? One wonders how these guardians of public decency managed to hold their peace during the Bush years. After all, the National Tea Party Day Web site rails against such commmon Bush-era practices as "run[ning] up trillions of dollars of debt and then sell[ing] that debt to countries such as China." Not to mention "leaving a debt our great-grandchildren will be paying." (Notice how it's only the GREAT-grandchildren Wildmon's crew is upset about? I get the feeling somebody's grandkids should call more often.)

This is, of course, exactly what gets up my left nostril about these latter-day Pharisees. If this were just a political attack on Obama, the hypocrisy wouldn't bother me: Politicians do this sort of thing all the time. I only really get irritated when people lay claim to the mantle of "morality" while engaging in transparently partisan stunts. Deficit spending was moral when we needed to bomb Iraq back in the Bush years, I guess. But if it's for something like providing healthcare to all Americans, why, that's the Devil's handiwork.  

The funny thing is that Wildmon has something in common with the Wall Street sharpsters whose bailout he decries. Neither the hedge funds or the fundamentalists have realized the rules have changed. When voters went to the polls in November, they voted against the toxic combination of conservative politics -- against the big-money guys who screwed up our economy, yes, but also against the Don Wildmons of the world, who spent years trumping up "values issues" like Terri Schiavo and stem-cell research while Wall Street looted the economy. 

Had Wildmon and Wall Street been less self-righteous, they would have learned some humility from those election results. AIG and Merrill Lynch might have realized that it's a bad idea to give out performance bonuses while seeking bailouts with the other hand. And Wildmon's lunatic fringe would realize that almost everyone is embarrassed by their shenanigans. 

But hey -- don't let that get in the way of having a good time on April 15. Turn out in Downtown Pittsburgh wearing the kinkiest get-up you can find. I guarantee you won't be alone. 

I mentioned in this space last week the dire financial situation of local sound artist Rick Gribenas's family as he was undergoing treatment for Hodgkin's lymphoma; yesterday morning, Rick passed away. I knew Rick as a friend, not as close as some, but close enough to have spent a good bit of time with him over the past five or so years since we first met. I offer this as a personal memory of Rick as a friend and an artist -- by no means comprehensive, and intentionally so, it's simply a recollection of the man and the impact he had on me and those around me.

I first encountered Rick when he was playing collaborative shows with a band, He Taught Me Lies, which a few friends of mine were in. HTML was a scrappy three-piece punk band that lasted from the early '00s until a year or two ago when one member moved out of town; their music, heartfelt and loud, was far from high art. Rick dealt with concepts of space and ideas of social interaction in his sound art. It wasn't a match most folks would have dreamt, a bleeping-blooping laptop artist with a cacophonous '90s-style emo core band. But it's precisely the type of work that characterized Rick: something outside the norm, performance in which his conceptual art perhaps interfered with the environment around it (a punk show) but the environment also pushed back against his art.

Setting up in dusty DIY performance spaces with a few sweaty guys playing fast songs about hating capitalism and the death penalty might have been risky for someone whose work gained notice in Artforum and at the Museum of Modern Art, but that wasn't of concern to Rick; these were his friends, and this was the kind of art he was making. If he was cognizant of the strange juxtaposition, he never let on. Hardcore was no less art -- or at least no less important -- to him than John Cage.

That -- more than his oeuvre, more than the scholarly work he leaves behind -- is the legacy that Rick Gribenas left for me. He, seemingly effortlessly, was what I've often hoped, and often have failed, to be: someone who can live up to his greatest artistic and intellectual potential yet not once come off as dismissive of work or interests less sophisticated. Rick had standards, as an artist, musician, and recording engineer, to be sure. I remember him arriving once at the house where I used to live, back in Pittsburgh for a visit while he lived in Chicago, and before he even set down his bags he was pointing out to us that the record player was out of calibration. He said it in such a bemused manner, like it was completely obvious, but to the rest of us, it was a problem that was barely audible. His ear was plenty well-trained, but I can't remember him ever having unkind words for another musician.

Rick's sounds were abstract and ranged from ambient to truly harsh (such as the noise he produced with Antennacle, his band with Bastard Noise's Eric Wood and Creation Is Crucifixion's Nathan Martin). He thrived on surprising his audience and, when given the chance, would place speakers in unexpected spots within the performance space so as to catch listeners off guard and garner in them a greater awareness of the space they were in. While some harsh noise artists take an interest in offending the audience and playing up their misery as part of their art, Rick never did -- his trip was contemplation, and the pleasant surprise.

At times his music betrayed frustration and disappointment with the world as it was. When Rick's father, a photographer with the armed forces, was about to leave for Afghanistan, Rick performed at a rock show, unleashing a piece that was cacophonous, hellish, a collage of some of the most evocative and terrifying sounds one can imagine. I told him at the time that it reminded me of the war montage in Godard's 2004 film Notre Musique -- perhaps showing my complete lack of tact in the face of someone who was about to see his father off to a war zone. But I stand by the assessment; the piece was chilling, understandably. Around the time his father returned last year, I saw Rick perform again, and after assuring us all that he would be playing something "kind of chill," he set loose a variation on the same piece, slightly subdued, but still piecing together all the horrors that surely inhabited his mind as he dealt with a parent facing the stresses and risks of wartime service.

Last fall, I remember attending a gallery opening for an exhibit at Pittsburgh Filmmakers that Rick and his collaborator from Chicago, Todd Mattei, had put together. Rick's installation involved sound, a video loop projected on one wall, and a small string of LED lights on the floor. It was, like much of Rick's art (visual or sound), slightly befuddling, but also whimsical -- complicated and conceptual, but aesthetically welcoming to the untrained mind (like my own). I recall telling Rick that I liked the LED lights, that they were "cute." I immediately remembered that I was talking to a critically acclaimed artist, and that "cute" was likely not his goal, really, so I began to fumble, noting that this is precisely why I don't write about art. Rick stroked his chin and said, quite genuinely, "Cute, eh? I'll accept cute."

It was a familiar sentiment he expressed to me -- the same one that came across when he gave a boyish chuckle as he noticed I wore a dress shirt with Dickies work pants to his wedding. What might seem gauche to some was to Rick, despite his innate aesthetic sensibilites and sense of style, cute, and funny. The recurring idea was simple: it's good to think a lot and to try hard at what interests you, but don’t forget to take it easy and enjoy yourself.

Rick leaves behind his wife, Charissa, and her adorable son, Jaden. They still could use financial support from whatever source they might find, as the costs of treatment have now been compounded by the costs of a funeral. As of right now, there's a benefit show planned to help them out at ModernFormations Gallery on April 11. If any changes arise, I'll post them here. It's still possible to donate to the family via Paypal here.

He also leaves behind a city full of young artists and musicians who he's touched with his art and his affable personality, and I hope that his combination of intellectual curiosity and personal warmth is a legacy that will take root in all of us who knew him. So long, friend.

Carmen Robinson first announced her campaign a few months back, but she only had her first formal press conference today. And she began by hitting that classic theme of the mayoral challenger: a grievance about how the city spent too much money on "big businesses and large real estate developers" -- and not enough on small businesses out in the neighborhoods. 

Robinson pounded these populist themes (hear a minute-long excerpt by clicking here), while standing in front of Liberty Avenue's "Welcome to Bloomfield" sign. She contended that even when development dollars are spent in neighborhoods, the projects are often priced out of the reach of those who lived nearby. She noted developments happening around East Liberty's Penn Circle as an example: "I believe they're trying to change [East Liberty] into East Shadyside," she said. "I'd like to grow our neighborhoods, but for all of us, not just for rich people." 

She was short on specifics during her prepared remarks: She said her goal was "to stimulate small-business growth, create a healthy environment, as we have here in Bloomfield, and help reduce the violence that characterizes too many of our neighborhoods." But when asked by reporters what policies she would adopt to support this goal, she said "First, I need to look at the numbers" in city budgets. 

After the conference ended, though, she told me she felt that too often "mayors try to solve problems [attracting and retaining business] by throwing money at it." A better approach, she said, would involve the city helping businesses develop business plans and do market research -- so they would have a better grip on what residents actually needed. 

Robinson isn't totally opposed to using tax incentives: She noted a KFC that closed down was a "neighborhood staple" for Homewood. But she said chains who sought government aid "would have to produce not just an economic plan but a social plan [explaining] what they planned to give back." Other than fast food, obviously. 

The gathering was attended by about a dozen enthusiastic supporters -- including long-time anti-real-estate-speculation activist David Tessitor. When Robinson had been in the area the day before, she had a brush with a shoplifter in the Shur-Save parking lot across the street. I'm happy to report here were no similar incidents today: Your CP correspondent was the most disreputable person in attendance. 

A year ago, Good Night, States released their debut album, Short Films On Self Control, and I wrote a feature on them, calling it "a notch above most everything similar that's being released locally at this point." I stand by that assessment, and the regular internet releases GN,S has been producing since then have lived up to the billing. They've been playing locally and throughout the northeast on a regular basis and getting some buzz -- I wouldn't be surprised if one of the freshest local indie pop bands ended up with some label support before the year is out. In the meantime, check out one of their internet singles, "Sometimes I See You On the Lawn," our MP3 Monday download:

Good Night, States: Sometimes I See You On the Lawn

Elsewhere in the country, the problem is an overstock of music blogs -- everyone and her brother is posting MP3's and chattering about the alleged contents of the possibly-legit leaked track list of the forthcoming Wolfdeer EP or whatever. Here in Pittsburgh -- seemingly not so much. I can think of one or two music blogs beyond this and the other fulltime publication in town. On the flip side, there are a hundred thousand blogs on local politics (though those have been falling with regularity of late, so I shouldn't speak too soon).

So what's the problem? Is it just that I live under a blogrock? Or do we in Pittsburgh have no time for such pithy stuff? Is it that we're satisfied with the handful of music-scene-based forums that exist, and don't feel a need to create blogs in addition?

Obviously, I don't know the answer, or else my post title wouldn't have a question mark in it. I'd be interested in knowing what you, gentle (well, okay, probably slightly aggressive) reader, think. Do you have a local music blog that I just don't know about? Do you have a good reason not to? Should music blogs transcend geographic limitations, thus rendering this question moot?

Do feel free to post in the comments and tell me what's up.

Padgett is a fine, venerable and very funny poet from New York City who read at the Carnegie Lecture Hall. But it was impossible to attend this March 11 event without recalling the Forum's own impending demise -- which seemed almost emphasized by the fact that neither Padgett nor Forum founder Sam Hazo made any formal mention of it.

They didn't have to. Everyone present knew that Hazo, citing the harsh funding climate, had said in February that this 43^rd season of hosting world-class poets would be the Forum's last. That makes it the city's first major, established arts group to fall victim to the Recessepression. But other arts news this week, here and elsewhere, was similarly grim.

On Monday, the Pittsburgh Symphony laid off nine administrative staffers. The week also brought big layoffs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art -- which cut 74 positions, with more likely to come -- and the demise of groups including the 58-year-old Baltimore Opera and the 40-year-old Madison Repertory Theatre (that sizable Wisconsin's town's only pro theater troupe).

Adding to the pall over Padgett's reading: A friend I ran into was mourning the death of a loved one. Hazo then announced the death of Albert Labriola, an old colleague at Duquesne University. And Padgett described one new poem he read as an "elegy" for a friend who'd died in January.

The audience of about 100 for a relatively big name like Padgett seemed small compared to other Forum readings I'd attended, and you had to wonder whether some people in the community believed that Hazo had actually cancelled the season; I guess we'll see on April 14, when both season and series truly conclude, with a reading by Polish poet Adam Zagajewski.

Given all that, it was a testament to Padgett that his soft-spoken delivery of his wry, sometimes surreal verse drew as many laughs as it did.

Padgett, thin, balding and wire-rimmed, performs his poetry entertainingly. "Good thing bedrooms can't talk," goes one line, which he follows by dropping into a portentously gruff Ghost Voice: "Many years ago, in this very room ..."

He described one long poem as "99 pieces of advice," adding, "I couldn't think of a hundred!" Samples: "Make eye contact with a tree ... When you are old, be kind to children. Do not shake your cane at them when they call you grandpa. They are your grandchildren!"

A riff on similes went, in part: "At any moment, the similes can line up to form the log cabin Lincoln was said to have built with his own similes."

The occasional word of French aside, Padgett is quite accessible, even his strangest flights grounded in the everyday. At the same time, he's hardly lightweight. A meditation on human meanness includes lines like "The pointlessness of matter turns us into cornered animals that are otherwise placid and indifferent" and "Compassion is an exit from the prison each moment is."

Another favorite line is cunningly metaphysical: "Every moment is another line you're next in."

Musing in another poem about New York tourists, Padgett read: "People go to see the missing Twin Towers, and seem to enjoy experiencing the lack of something." But I doubt we'll feel the same about the International Poetry Forum when it's gone.

Well, it was only a matter of time: Now CNN has done its own story on hardscrabble Braddock and its mayor, John Fetterman.

So for those keeping track at home, Fetterman and Braddock have recently been featured by CBS, The New York Times, the Colbert Report, CNBC and I think Fox News as well. All within the past couple months. 

We first profiled Fetterman two-and-a-half-years ago, which just proves that if you want to avoid coverage in the major media for 30 months or so, a City Paper cover story is a nice place to hide out. I expect a call from Bernie Madoff momentarily.

But I have to say, I'm astounded by this display of the national media's herd instinct. Braddock's been going down the shitter for a couple decades now. No one cared. But suddenly everyone needs to have the story ... because everyone else already has the story.

And what about all those other hardscrabble towns of the Mon Valley? Is there no love for Rankin, nor Charleroi, nor long-suffering Duquesne? (I'd add McKeesport to the mix, but at least they have this guy in their corner.) If I ran a tattoo parlor, I'd be offering a special on ZIP codes for municipal officials, just like the one Fetterman has emblazoned on his arm. 

None of this is to blame Fetterman himself. For one thing, he could kick my ass. For another, he'd be crazy not to take advantage of this momentary interest in the plight of his constituents. But something about all the sudden media interest seems kind of sad.

For the past 20 years, the national media has been fixated on the ever-mounting Dow, celebrating dotcommers and all the rest while places like Braddock were collapsing from within. Now, suddenly, we're teetering on the precipice of economic catastrophe ... thanks to the same financial wizards we spent so much time celebrating.

You can almost hear the panic in New York and Atlanta. Quick! We need a metaphor for the lamentable plight of our industrial heartland ... but also for the indominitable character of the American people! This Fetterman fellow makes good copy! Get a camera crew out there! 

Back when I was growing up, the industrial wasteland du jour was Homestead, just across the river. A lot of cameras turned out to watch the Homestead Works shut down, and TV folks put on their best anguished faces as they recounted the sad tale of the once-proud American worker. Prince Charles even dropped by at one point. If memory serves, he suggested planting a lot of flowers. 

The phrase I heard used to describe many of those folks was "poverty pimps." The town's misfortune was just something for them to exploit until the next commercial break. And you can see how much their attention did for Homestead, which -- except for the Waterfront mall -- looks as bad or worse than it did 10 and 15 and 20 years ago. 

I hope Fetterman has better luck.