No new aKitschionado posts until tomorrow as I have to leave early this morning to go to Milly Del Rubio’s funeral where, as I did for both of her sisters, Elena and Eadie, I’ll be delivering the eulogy. Normally this would be a very upsetting task, but as all three of the Del Rubio Triplets were fond of saying, they were “three people with one head” and never could live with the thought of the group not being together. I’m at peace that they’re finally reunited, as Eadie passed in 1996 and Eleana joined her in 2001.

I thought about dropping ‘Allee Willis’ Kitsch O’ The Day’ from the title of my post today but if ever I were to worship at the throne of Kitsch it would be at the base of three magnificent thrones with gold nameplates that say “Del Rubio”.

I should also mention that Holy Cross Cemetery, where the triplets are buried next to each other by the time you read this, is right across the street from the Fox Hills Mall, where I got this:

I constantly get complements on how gorgeous this microphone pendant is. No doubt the complement flingers think it’s real diamonds but all that bling only cost $39.99. Not that I need a funeral as an excuse to go to the Fox Hills Mall, but if anyone would appreciate fantastic music-themed jewelry like this it would be the Del Rubio Triplets.

Milly, I know how long you’ve wanted to go and be with your sisters so I’m not sad to lose you now.

I trust that the three of you are already assembled in front of glowing diamond microphones, singing the out-of-this-world harmonies you sang even here on earth, and standing in the order you were born in, stood on stage in and did everything in life in; Eadie on the left, Elena in the middle and Milly now joining on the right.

Peace out.

So as I was saying yesterday, this last weekend at Willis Wonderland we aKitschionados from The Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch saw the light of Fluff!

For a quick recap if you were too lazy to click on that link, many of us are converging on Somerville, MA. September 24th to attend the fifth annual Fluff Festival to celebrate the marshmallow food topping in the city it was invented in. aKitschionado Rusty suggested that we first convene at Willis Wonderland in LA, the physical arm of AWMOK.com, and spend a day cooking with Fluff. Bear in mind that many of the aKitschionados in attendance had never met before and only knew each other by commenting on the kitsch they’d submitted to AWMOK. So everything served had to be a real icebreaker. As such, the first course was Fluff inspired sandwiches…:

… accompanied by Goldfish in sea foam dip vegetables:

All of which was washed down with Flufftinis…:

…an original recipe by aKitschionado iamfluff, a.k.a. Susan Olsen, a.k.a. Cindy Brady of the Bunch:

Extra points were earned for color-coordinated food, dishware and clothing:

Even more points racked up for color-coordinated lamps and other sugary Fluff alternatives:

aKitschionado Mark Blackwell scored even more bonus points for coordinating his jellybean tribute to The Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch with the aforementioned lamp and M&Ms.

I hope anyone reading this appreciates the importance of color-coordinated meals and accoutrements. If there’s any question at all about the importance of food and furnishings color-coordination, please refer here.

The main course was delicious and nutritious Fluffernutter cake. I know this photo’s blurry but so was my vision after the day’s 21-gun sugar salute.

If you think that cake is gooey, let me tell you that as the party hostess who had to clean up – actually I didn’t clean up at all as the aKitschionados are a very conscious and esthetically tidy breed – there were vestiges of Fluff everywhere. Like on Mark’s pants:

Slightly less lava-flowish-of-Fluff were the fried S’Mores made by akitschionado Snappy P.

Technically, there’s no Fluff in this recipe but as its fraternal twin, marshmallows, are a key ingredient the Willis Wonderland stove did not discriminate.

Many aKitschionados came bearing gifts. Doug Wood, for example, brought me a lovely kitsch-filled basket:.

One of the gifts was a practical Hostess Twinkie holder:

Many aKitschionados were jealous of my acquisition:

Just as important as protecting your Twinkies is protecting your Pringles. Thank you, aKitschionado Windupkitty, for the lovely Pringles protective case.

By the way, a practical party hint: name tags are essential. Even if your guests know each other for a hundred years it gives them an opportunity to express what they’re feeling in name, which acts as much of an icebreaker at a party as food no one has eaten since they were 11 years old.

It also saves the host or hostess time in making introductions.

As I said, the bulk of the day’s festivities centered around cooking and eating. But aKitschionados were free to wander around Willis Wonderland to enjoy the artifacts they’ve been seeing in my posts since I first launched AWMOK.com in 2009. Many of them also enjoyed the fine reading materials scattered around.

and

That book deserves a close up:

In fact, my whole Soul kitsch collection deserves a close-up. Here’s but a few of the shelves of it:

I think Fluff is a soulful food. It recalls one’s childhood and brings feelings of peace to the mind if not the blood vessels, as aKitschionado John Zenone experiences here:

Off in my recording studio, I was showing some of the aKitschionados some more of my Soul kitsch collection:

You might want to see the front of that picture frame:

As much as I covet my James Brown autograph, I covet this bit of Soul kitsch almost as much, Sammy Davis Jr’s last stash of marijuana:

Slightly easier to see than the cannabis in that last photo are the edges of the round circle rugs that cover the floor in my recording studio. They’re there to protect the plastic that’s actually the floor surface that scratches as soon as you breathe on it. Here’s what the floor looks like in real life:

Despite signs posted all over begging aKitschionados to carefully step on the rugs, several of them found it necessary to defy their leader’s command. Bad girl, kookykitsch!

And Meshuggah Mel!

And Rusty!

And Ken!

Although it was close to 100° and muggy, we also spent time outside.  That’s where my over 200 pieces of bamboo dinnerware are.

And for anyone who missed the sugar inside, there was plenty of cotton candy floating in the pool.

Food that floats is something every party chef should consider when throwing summer parties.

So all in all, a good and Fluffy time was had by all!  Come back again soon, aKitschionados. See you all in Somerville in “September” one way or the other.

 

Photos: Allee Willis, Prudence Fenton, Mark Blackwell, Rusty Blasenhoff, Ken Dashner.

Alex Steinweiss passed away last Sunday. Even if you don’t know his name there’s no way you don’t know his work. Steinweiss literally invented the album cover. Before the 1930’s, records came in brown paper sleeves. At 23, he was hired by Columbia Records and suggested that the music be accompanied by poster art. Thus began the singlemost prolific and influential record jacket design career the world has ever known. Not only did Steinweiss give life to the record industry but he made the burgeoning Atomic Age visible to the public, creating the first wave of freeform design that designers still ride today.

Everything Steinweiss did burst with color. You could hear the music without listening to it just by looking at one of his covers. He was as great at what he did as it gets. His style is still imitated, though I’ve never seen anyone nail it like Steinweiss, who makes even the most successful designer of modern graphics look like a copycat.

And those aren’t even his most famous covers. But it gives you an idea of the rhythmic and lyrical style that still influences modern design today. This was the first time this stuff was being done. Just look at the Google image search page for an overview crash course.

I was lucky enough to have a piece of art in an album cover show at the Robert Berman Gallery in LA a few years ago that featured hundreds of Steinweiss’ LPs. It was a tribute show to him with a wide variety of artists designing their own album covers.
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One of my favorite Steinweiss covers was Porgy and Bess. When I was (co)writing The Color purple musical, I listened to that soundtrack a lot. MP3s of course but that record cover was still in my head as I saw it so much as a kid. I hadn’t been a musical theater aficionado before I got the Color Purple gig. To bone up, I started listening to every theater soundtrack I could get my hands on, especially studying Black musicals. Hearing Porgy and Bess again was what put the genre over the top for me and made me excited about writing a musical myself.
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Here’s Steinweiss’ cover:
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And here’s my Color Purple-tinged take on Steinweiss for the gallery show:
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My piece not only interpreted my musical but commented on the fact that both Porgy and Purple were two of the very, very few all Black musicals on Broadway ever, and that one of those was (co)written by me. That’s a lot to stuff into a piece which was at times torturous to design. I could feel the incredible artistic journey I took making it once I stood back and saw it hanging on the wall. Especially with hundreds of actual Steinweisses, not to mention the man himself, only feet away.
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I got to meet Steinweiss too, which was a THRILL. I know we took photos together but I can’t find them for the life of me. So I’ll settle for being thankful for the life of Alex Steinweiss. His artistic influence on me was MASSIVE. Without him, all there was was the record. With Steinweiss, came story and concept and full expression of the artist and art form, without which I would die. R.I. P. Mr. Steinweiss.
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I spent most of Wednesday afternoon being photographed and interviewed for “Born in Detroit,” a book by Jenny Risher “celebrating Detroit as a unique place that’s cultivated an extraordinary number of singularly influential people.”

To say that I’m elated about being included with the likes of Berry Gordy, Lily Tomlin, Iggy Pop, Eminem, Elmore Leonard, Jerry Bruckheimer, Al Kaline, Smokey Robinson, Holland-Dozier-Holland, Michael Moore and more is an understatement. But it was SO hot yesterday in LA – and my house, at least the room we were shooting in, is largely glass, not the space of choice for a 100+ day – it rendered the photo subject a perpetual waterfall.

The sweat isn’t so visible in that photo but the tuckeredoutness is. It was all I could do to suck on my Vernor’s, Detroit’s finest beverage, to stay cool.

After having almost every relic of my childhood, including photographs and Hi-8 footage, thrown out long ago by my father in a fit of bowing to my stepmother’s wishes to get rid of all the “junk”, in my later years I’ve been fanatic about taking photos. Especially since digital cameras have replaced the torture of buying endless rolls of film that can spoil in the sun, waiting weeks for the drugstore to deliver the oftentimes-blurry-yet-previously-undetectably-so shots, and then misplacing photos after they overtake drawers. This still doesn’t stop me from collecting vintage cameras though:

Nowhere near as elegant as the lipstick camera, my little Kellogg’s honey was a giveaway with a few cereal boxtops. Even cheaper if you had the discount card.

The microcamera is a diminutive 3″ x 1.5″ x 1″.

It’s still in the original box.

It takes 110 film….

….though none is inserted in my Kellogg’s.

I actually have some 110 film in my freezer as we speak because another one of my cameras uses it.

You ought to see that one from the front. It goes nicely with the Kellogg’s cam.

But in truth, neither the Velveeta nor the Kellogg’s take good photos. Which is just as well because as soon as the shoot was done I set my can of Vernors down and it tipped over on the Velveeta cam.

Which is better than if it spilled on the photographer’s autographed computer signed by most of the Detroiters she’d shot for the book.

“Born in Detroit” should be out sometime around Christmas.  Until then I can only hope for cooler weather in LA, more Vernors in the frig, and a safe sleep for my Made-in-Taiwan-by-way-of-Kalamazoo Kellogg’s microcam, another Michigan native.

 

I was going to feature my Richard Simmons towel as my kitsch offering of the day:

But I decided to feature the real thing instead because of how far we go back.

I met Richard Simmons in 1981 when he first decided he wanted to cut a record. Bruce Roberts and myself wrote and co-produced  the entire Reach album. We worked on it with Richard for almost a year. With Richard singing lead and calling out exercise commands, it was filled with real pop songs and the hottest studio musicians and background singers around.

I just found this on youtube.  I don’t know who posted it and it sounds like it was transferred inside a muffler, but it’s the first 2 and 1/2 songs on Side 1. Bear in mind that this was done in the midst of the very first wave of aerobic/Jazzercise/Jane Fonda exercise-mania.

I’m even on the album cover:

Let’s take a closer look at that:

That was probably the last time I ever went to an exercise class, other then when I met Richard at his studio, Slimmons, this last Saturday. I can’t say I was in sweats or that I even sweat at all. In fact, I went to meet him for lunch. But I answered a lot of e-mail and got a little writing done on my iPad as literally hundreds of folks who came to his Saturday morning workout class huffed and puffed and did the sweating around me.

In actuality, I did use my towel to wipe some sweat from my brow because it was hot in LA this weekend and there was no air-conditioning in class. I know that’s the way people do it if they’re serious about exercising or yoga or anything else where it’s good that your natural goodness pours out of you. But I, on the other hand, am the type who would rather have an air-conditioning chip installed in their body if such things were yet invented.

I know my outfit isn’t as pretty as Richard’s and I’m not as slim. If only I could shed as many pounds as I have great memories. But the memories and friendships keep me stuffed with joy and that’s what life (if not exercise) is all about.

Bleary eyed from chasing a friend’s cat through the hills above the Hollywood Bowl all night last night – finally captured I’m happy to say! – I had to get up bone-breakingly early this morning to pick up a keyboard in Hollywood. My eyes were still practically glued shut but there’s so much kitsch along the roadways in this city, I can always deal with a situation as long as I remember to bring my camera. In addition to the above mural painted underneath the 101 on Argyle, here are but a few of the gems that crossed my car and eyeballs as I made my tired trek this morning.

There’s nothing better to me than when someone takes a plain building and slaps some cement art up on it.

Well, maybe this is a little better… taking a plain box of a house and attempting to make it look like the Parthenon with the MGM lions greeting you at the door:

I wonder if that person knows that plants can actually be planted in the ground? The only thing missing is a blue tree…

…and maybe this hedge as an entrance:

Thank God this bus wasn’t parked in front or passersby wouldn’t be able to see any of the architectural or fauna beauty:

Despite so many insanely wonderful vintage structures falling victim to the wrecking ball, Hollywood still has some incredible period architecture like this church hugging the entrance to the 101 On Hollywood Blvd.:

You can’t really tell how gorgeous this is from a distance but in addition to those incredible fins and peculiar arrangement of windows, the entire building is made up of 1 inch lavender mosaic tiles. Unfortunately, that wall was slapped up a few years ago depriving drivers of the building’s full beauty. Luckily, the full finned magnificence of the Peterson Automotive Museum on Wilshire and Fairfax is not hidden by a stupid wall.

I know that this is a hideous photo but I  took a short cut through a muddy construction site and barely had time to fumble for my camera as I passed this window:

Perhaps a close-up will reveal more of its beauty:

I swung by one of my favorite papusa places hoping to grab a little breakfast before I sped home to throw myself back in bed but it was closed. The mural still woke me up.

I hope everyone reading this has as jam-packed full and colorful a Sunday as this overly-enthusiastic balloon/cotton candy/inflatable toy man walking around Echo Park Lake this morning. Open your eyes. Beauty is all around you!

I’m sure that Floyd Cardoz is a magnificent chef and I should’ve seen his win coming from that constant coming-in-second storyline all season. But having spent at least half of my adult life eating Mary Sue Milliken’s food, I went into the Top Chef Masters finale openly prejudiced that she would reign supreme.  But alas…

The true true winners last night were Mary Sue’s friends, gathered at Border Grill to watch the finale with her and eat the food she made onscreen amidst the skyscrapers downtown.

Mary Sue won more challenges this season than any other chef. We couldn’t believe she lost, especially as we were sitting there chomping down on the food she competed with. Nano-seconds after Floyd was crowned she was gracious as always, despite guests like me screaming she was robbed!

But I’m here to tell you Mary Sue’s final challenge dishes were INCREDIBLE. Not only were we were served all of them during the finale as they were served to the judges onscreen, but a whole round of other tongue-numbing treasures were passed around during the final elimination show Bravo ran the hour before.

My apologies in advance to Mary Sue for the following descriptions as I undoubtably short-change everything by not being able to describe every ingredient or name the dishes by proper title. I am NOT the next Food Network star! (Though let me loose on diner fare and that’s a different story.)

First came ceviche:

Then cheese empanadas with guacamole:

I know that’s not the way to photograph a foodstuff when one is trying to impress the quality of it upon the reader. The guacamole should be neatly dabbed on top so the empanada doesn’t look like it’s been dragged through the guacamole as one would use a scraper to remove ice from a windshield. Here’s a better, pre-guacamole view:

Quinoa fritters came next:

I THINK the following is avocado tacos coated with sesame seeds and quinoa, but I heard someone at the next table fawning over ahi tuna something. So it could go either way. I just know it was crunchy and good. I also know the photo is blurry, but when it comes to Mary Sue’s cooking it all deserves to be seen.

Finally it’s 7 pm. and the actual finale show begins. For their final challenge, the chef’s had to cook a three-course meal-of-a-lifetime based around food memories. Course #1 was a dish inspired by their first taste memory. Mary Sue made Asian steak tartare.

The second course had to represent a dish that inspired them to become a chef in the first place.

Mary Sue made crab and shrimp salpicon with shrimp and chervil mousse stuffed rigatoni:

An inside look at that rigatoni:
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Mary Sue’s chances were looking excellent on TV as a guest chef diner chomped down on the rigatoni.
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Another guest chef diner was Susan Feniger, Mary Sue’s partner at Border Grill, Top Chef Master competitor last season, and owner/chef supreme of Street, the restaurant I co-own and at which my butt is usually parked at table #20.

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Not such a great shot but night was falling and my camera was snapping slower and slower. Susan was in the kitchen last night helping to turn out the never-ending cornucopia of food we feasted on. Here we are with fellow chomper,Troy Devolld.
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For the third course, dessert, each chef was paired with one of the judges and asked to make their favorite dish. Ruth Reichl requested a lemon soufflé. Mary Sue enhanced it with lemon ice cream, lemon hazelnut meringue and rhubarb compote.
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Our version included the lemon hazelnut meringue and ice cream but the rhubarb compote was replaced with a churro with chocolate ganache. I’ll take dough any day over a vegetable, which rhubarb is despite technically being a fruit. This dish KILLED, but using a flash blew the ice cream out so the churro isn’t getting the attention it deserves in this non-flash photo:
Here’s a tighter yet blurryish shot of the churro mid bite:
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The final slurp of ice cream was sliding down my throat as we learned the Queen was not to take her throne. But Mary Sue’s personality is so infectious, and she’s so damn nice that the crowds’ spirit wasn’t dampened and chewing continued through the night.
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If you’ve never been to Border Grill, that’s a MUST. Really, your tastebuds will be thanking you forever.

Long live the Queen!

I wasn’t even sure what this was when I saw it on eBay a few years ago but it looked like it couldn’t possibly have been actual sanctioned Beatles swag, and that alone kicks it into a very high level of Kitsch. Besides, just the box – 5″x7″x1-3/4″ with colors so vibrant they make your brain rattle – was worth the 3 bucks it took to procure it.

George and John actually look like George and John.

But Paul kind of looks like a cross-eyed Paul and Ringo looks like Paul-but-not-really-but-certainly-not-like-Ringo.

When something comes packaged in the original cellophane as this Beatles product did it absolutely kills me to open it. But seeing as I really had no idea what lay within I had to carefully slice through the cello to reveal this:

100 tiny packages of Beatles pomade:

Greasy, waxy hair product that the Beatles never would have used on their Beatle hair as the whole point was that it bounced all over their head in rock ‘n roll defiance.  The wax still retains its original squish:

Now that the package is open to reveal the secrets within, my whole house smells like the bathroom at a Chinese restaurant circa 1964. Maybe because it was made on that side of the world that long ago.

That smell isn’t the best smell in the world to inspire brilliant music, which I have to write today, so I’ll confine myself to looking at the  box, not smearing anything on my head, and pray the Beatles vibe enters without rubbing it in with pomade.

An important part of any urban experience is where and what you choose to eat. Anyone who knows me knows that no money needs to be wasted on the fanciest or trendiest restaurants in town. I wanted to hit the institutions in Detroit that not only involved the excitement I had as a child driving to them but that have proven to be quality enough (or, preferably, kitschy enough) to live on, restaurants whose very presence defines the personality of the city. Most of my all-time favorites have long since succombed, like Dinah Inn, Jerry’s, both great steakhouses off Woodward, and my all-time favorite deli, Darby’s. Even Carl’s Chop House closed a few years ago.

Thankfully, the Italian restaurant my family went to every Sunday night, Mario’s, is still there.

But although I recognized it from the outside, it’s gotten too gussied up on the inside to be of value to my hungering memory cells now. But old time tradition is still alive in some excellent vintage haunts I’d never been to before. First there’s Mr. Mike’s.

Now selling itself as a karaoke sports bar, Mr. Mike’s is old school dining experience enhanced by dimly lit fake Tiffany lamps, burgundy leatherette booths and stained glass windows.

I could do without the lattice work and Americana dowels but I do like that the banquettes remain intact.

I’m also not a big one for stripping away the plaster to expose the brick underneath in efforts to make a place look old. This place looks old enough without this 80’s postmodern touch.

The waiter didn’t have much patience for me flipping back and forth between a turkey club, onion soup au gratin, Chef’s Salad, and meatloaf, all steakhouse classics for me.

I finally settled on the meatloaf and loaded baked potato. Notice the fringe on the “Tiffany” lamp tilted for optimum lighting of my meatloaf.

The potato especially deserves a closeup:

Though we were all jealous of the liver and onions someone else at the table ordered:

As old school and perfect as the food was, as one of the “grown and sexy people” I’m really sorry to have missed DJ Poppi Smooth:

Another favorite restaurant this trip was Vince’s, an Italian joint in Southwest Detroit. Though I almost didn’t get past the entrance because of the blinding brilliance of this display:

Is the fluffy cotton/Christmas snow backdrop supposed to be steam rising from the pasta?

I don’t know, but the supreme naïveté and kitschiness of the encased pasta art was enough for me to proclaim Vince’s a must-eat-at Italian pit stop in the Motor City. And I’m happy to report that the beauty on the walls continued throughout the restaurant:

As impressed as I am with this Golden Colander award, I’m sure the owners are more excited by this:

I know it’s blurry but you can see it’s a hand-signed personal note from Frank. And you know that means business when it comes to an Italian restaurant. This one isn’t bad either:

Also not bad is the decor:

I was too hungry to remember to snap shots of any of the food but I did get this one of us eating. Well, I’m texting, but eating every other text.

Another stop on the vintage-and-still-standing restaurant run was Sign Of the Beefcarver on Woodward past 10 Mile.

I really wanted to go to this place down the block but it was closed:

But I was excited to hit the Beefcarver as I knew it was a cafeteria.

The food line did not disappoint. As I’ve come to expect in great cafeterias, there’s always a complete selection of salad items.

I had tossed salad with Thousand Island dressing, roast beef, mashed potatoes and corn, my signature meal when I’m in a cafeteria. I forgot to photograph the food here too as I was too busy looking at the walls.

Then, of course, there’s The Telway, with four burgers for $2.25.

And Lafayette Coney Dogs.

I wish I could’ve hit more joints when I was in Detroit but I was too busy preparing for this:

And this:

But my utensils remain sharpened. I’m all ears if anyone else can suggest more vintage eateries for my next trip home which, I’m happy to report, is imminent!

 

We had some time to kill on Tues, April 5th, before going to a reception for the Rust Belt To Arts Belt conference I was giving a speech at the next day. The party was downtown so we used the opportunity to swing by Detroit’s most famous landmark, The Spirit of Detroit.

This bronze statue, designed by Marshall Fredericks for $40,000 in the 1950’s, sits in front of the Coleman A. Young Municipal Center. Turning a gorgeous aqua over the years, it’s right down the block from Joe Louis‘ fist, made very popular most recently in the Eminem Chrysler commercial.

The 24-foot fist, designed by Robert Graham, was a gift to Detroit by Sports illustrated in 1987.

The fist is on Woodward and Jefferson, the last street before you hit before Canada. That’s Windsor across the water.

Mark Blackwell, who was videoing me, and I realized that me positioning myself just right as we drove by the fist could make excellent footage for the documentary we were making of my trip. It took a few times driving around Joe’s hand to get it right. The fist didn’t look right protruding from my head.

And it didn’t look right shooting out of my nose.

I finally just made a fist of my own.

I know my hand position should have echoed Joe’s position more but we were about to get a ticket so we moved on. And now we were running late for the reception.  Which is too bad as we really wanted to eat at the Ellwood, just a few blocks from the fist:

Or here:

Or here:

But we drove straight to the reception, where we were sure there’d be food. There was. Plenty of it, but it was too fancy and I wanted real Detroit, the food I grew up on. So we went back here:

Lafayette Coney Island, home of the crunchiest, most chili-loaded dog in the land.

The dogs aren’t all mine but it made for a better photo. Probably not what Joe ate in his prime years but definitely comfort food for my kitsch brain, and a MUST if you hit Detroit.