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Radegast Does The Right Thing

2011-12-30T17:29:03Z

Radegast Hall in Williamsburg, Brooklyn is not a music venue, per se. It's a beer garden and restaurant that also happens to feature live music two or three times a week. There is no cover charge for the music, and the place is most certainly not a concert setting; the house does not own a sound system and -- despite the cavernous environs -- there isn't really much room to actually sit and watch a band there, unless you're lucky enough to snag one of the dozen or so stools at the bar (there is, however, some room for dancing, which is not only allowed, but encouraged). The music is not the featured attraction for patrons; it's there to provide atmosphere while you sit and drink artisinal beer and eat delicious food (more on that in a moment).

Given the above, it may come as a surprise that not only do I perform here once a month, but it has actually become one of my favorite gigs in town.

I've been playing here with some aggregation of my Biting Fish band, under the radar, for the last year or so -- usually on a Wednesday or a Thursday night. We do three sets, with short breaks, from 9pm until midnight. Recently, these practically anonymous neighborhood hits in this unassuming neighborhood spot have been a forum for some of the most exciting, adventurous music I've been privileged to be a part of in a good long time. In fact, a few weeks ago, on a night when the band included Skye Steele on violin, Scott Barkan on guitar, Kenny Bentley on tuba and Dave Berger on drums, the music reached such heights of expression and bravery that, at times, I was nearly moved to tears. It happened again just the other night with the same band, minus Skye and plus Andrae Murchison on trombone.

I've been ruminating a bit about why this is, and I think I can safely identify a few key reasons. I think, like most things, it starts at the top. I've known Ivan Kohut, the kindly owner, for over a decade now, since the days when he worked the Arts Nights at Europa Club in Greenpoint, presented by the sadly now-defunct New York Arts and Innovations, a terrific organization headed by Marian Zak and his family. Ivan still likes to remind me of the time that Mr. Zak honored my quartet by having us play a party for the then-President of Poland.

Ivan is a man of great integrity and good business sense. He treats the musicians who play at Radegast with respect, it contributes to the quality of the music. Ivan could probably get some schlubs to come in and play for tips if he wanted to. He could opt not to feed the musicians and/or make them pay for their drinks. After all, he's running an eating and drinking establishment, not a music venue.

Ivan could also dumb down his food menu. Have you ever eaten at Radegast? "A beer hall??", you may aslk. Let me tell you something -- the food at Radegast is outrageously good, way better than it needs to be. The menu changes regularly, the chefs in the kitchen use fresh, delicious ingredients creatively (right now they have a winter squash gnocchi that matches anything I've eaten at CRAFT and a vegetarian hot borscht that is equally out of this world).

So, yes, could Ivan be forgiven if he chose to lavish less care and attention on the food being offered to people who -- let's face it -- are going to his place to drink beer? Sure he could. Could he be forgiven for not paying much mind to the quality of entertainment he's providing for free to the same beer-drinking crew who -- let's face it -- aren't even really there to hear music in the first place? Of course he could. But he doesn't, and that's what makes him special as a venue owner, and what makes Radegast the delightful, exceptional surprise that it is.

There are beloved music venues in NYC that do not treat their musicians half as well as Ivan treats the people who perform at Radegast. Those venues shall remain nameless, but Radegast deserves to be named. If you're local, I urge you to come out and support what's going on here. As of now, I'm there once a month, but I'm starting to wish it were even more often than that. My next Radegast "show" is on Thursday, February 16. Come on over -- you'l be glad you did!

Photos by Rod Bachar

FOOD THOUGHTS: Vaandag (NYC)

2011-12-04T19:14:07Z

As anyone who knows me well will tell you, I get excited by food.

I spend at least as much time thinking about it -- ethically, nutritionally, aesthetically, culturally -- as I do eating it. So, why not write about it? I've been writing here about other non-musical passions for years now (film, theater, books, comics), so indulge me if you may -- I'm going to try writing about food. I have absolutely no qualifications for same, other than the fact that I love it, I eat out at least once a day in one of the greatest food cities in the world, and I travel a lot for work (which offers even more opportunities for amazing and unusual food experiences than I have here in NYC). So, let's start with...

I've wandered past VANDAAG any number of times since it opened last summer, admired what I could see through the large plate glass windows, thought about the day's menu, with its uncomfortable (for me) mix of creativity and delicious-sounding combinations of fresh, local ingredients combined with a puzzling preponderance of dead animals in almost every dish. I've always passed by. Sam Sifton's review in The Times last fall did nothing to change my mind. (Truth be told, although he constantly evoked my ire with his constant near-fetishization of said dead animal flesh, I tried never to miss one of Mr. Sifton's columns and miss his food writing dearly).

Last month, I walked by once again, but something was different. It was daytime, just about noon on a Saturday. The sun was flowing into the restaurant's welcoming interior, and the menu featured brunch, with a number of appetizing, unusual, and vegetarian-friendly items. Even though I was en route to Momofuku Noodle Bar, my at the time go-to food destination in the East Village (that's since changed, more on that another time), something made me deicde to give Vandaag a shot.

I was immediately glad I did. While I don't have much of a vocabulary when it comes to interior design (see Sifton's review, linked above, for a good description), suffice it to say that the place certainly has an elegant, Scandanavian feeling to it -- clean, austere, simple, airy, a lot of light and wood. It reminded me of many of the restaurants I ate in when I was lucky enough to visited Stockholm a few years back. There's nothing fussy here, nothing cute, nothing smacking of anything remotely like the "speakeasy" vibe that's currently played-out everywhere (it seems) in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Neatly laid out on the bar were the sections of the day's New York Times (including the Sunday supplements). What a fabulous, underrated service that is to customers who, like me, enjoy the ritual of dining alone on a regular basis as a kind of public solitude. I eagerly borrowed a couple of sections for my table, and sat down with the menu.

I ordered and ate two things, both astoundingly well-prepared and delicious. The smoked mackerel scramble was, essentially, what it sounds like, with a few beautiful touches -- accompanying the fluffy scrambled eggs (at least three, I would guess) and the tasty bits of smoked fish were a couple of dollops of yogurt, onions, green peppercorns and fresh dill. This was all served in its own skillet, with a giant piece of the house's hot, toasted, buttered, "Red Ale Bread" -- perhaps the best piece of toast I've ever had, outside of the garlic toast at Tequila Bar in Uzhgorod, Ukraine.

I also ordered the Hete Bliksem, or "Hot Lightning," just because it looked so extraordinary on the menu. While I am a 99% of the time pescatarian -- and even then, only if the fish is wild, and only once in a while, so let's call it a 75% of the time vegetarian -- I will make exceptions every once in a while if the dead animal being served is an essential part of a dish that I want to try, and if said dead animal is local and free range. VANDAAG's "Hot Lightning" is described as crisp fingerling potatoes with bacon, apple and stroop syrup. A dash of hot pepper makes it hot, and the syrup makes it sweet. It sounded like something fantastic that I had to try on this Saturday early afternoon to accompany my smoked mackerel, and I wanted to honor the chef by ordering it as envisioned which, in this case, meant eating a little bit of bacon. I went for it, and I have to say that the dish is indeed extraordinary and worth getting, but next time I will not feel the slightest compunction about asking them to hold the bacon; while the intensity of the hot pepper and sweet syrup complement the crisp potatoes in an exotic, unexpected way, they completely overwhelm the flavor of the pork, rendering it into little tasteless bits of chewy flesh added for -- what, exactly? Texture? I don't think so. More likely to appease the foodie masses who happen to be in love with all things pork at this moment (see: bacon vodka, bacon chocolate, bacon ice cream, ad nauseum indeed).

* * *

I've been back to VANDAAG several times since, and have continued to sample the menu (it changes daily), including the excellent seasonal pickle pot; the outlandishly good roasted chestnut soup (my friend and musical cohort Russell Farhang correctly compared the taste of it to fallen leaves on a chilly, sunny autumn afternoon); the decadent French Toast with pine, cranberry and stroop syrup; and the roasted sunchoke omelet (the only near-miss for me, but that may be simply because I'm neither an omelet guy or an artichoke guy; so why did I order it? I don't know). I couldn't help but feel that the Stroop Wafel, a small, thin caramel-filled treat, would be even better served warm.

The service is always excellent, and the experience being there in the daytime is just delightful. I do wish that they'd opt for better music, but I'm aware that this is a disease most eating establishments have -- they simply don't know how to leave a patron's ears alone. If I'm with someone, I want to talk quietly between bites. If I'm alone, I want to read. Either way, I do not need nor want any thumping music, thank you.

I have yet to dine at VANDAAG in the evening, but it's absolutely become one of my favorite daytime places to eat in the East Village. If you're in the neighborhood, stop in. I might just see you there!

THINGS I THINK ABOUT: Bookstores

2011-11-29T02:59:27Z

I've got an idea.

What if independent brick-and-mortar bookstores charged an entry fee -- say a dollar -- and used the proceeds to enable them to level the playing field with online retailers in terms of pricing?

What if independent music and record stores did the same thing?

What if every retailer that was selling something that could be had for less on the internet did it too?

* * *

I was browsing at The Strand last night, and I found a newly published book I wanted to read. It was marked 10% off the retail price of $29.95. Like a lot of people these days, I pulled out my smart phone and checked to see what it would cost to buy it online at amazon. I happen to despise amazon but, times being what they are, I wanted to see what my options were.

Amazon lists the book, brand new, for $16.45.

And so ensued the ethical debate: support The Strand and pay a whopping $10 more for the book, or save the $10 and order the same book online, further hastening the imminent demise of great bookstores like the very one I was standing in?

It seems like a no-win situation. As much as I love The Strand and all it stands for, that's a huge margin of difference in price...and that's only one book. Let's say I bought five or six books (not uncommon for me , expecially there), and let's say the same price differential applied, on average. I could spend $135 at The Strand, or I could spend $67.50 for the same books online. Do the math.

So, am I, are you, are we, all expected to subsidize the small, independent little guy simply because we know it's the right thing to do? I'm onboard with this in principle, and if I had my own reality show and was selling out Madison Square Garden, I absolutely would...without question. But, like most people these days, I'm mindful of my finances. Paying a third more for exactly the same product seems, well, unsustainable. This is not news....it's why bookstores and record shops and other Old Media outlets are disappearing faster than you can say Digital Monday.

I want The Strand to have my money. I'm willing to give them a little more than I'd spend online, just because. They deserve it, simpy for the service they offer by having a physical store to browse in. That's absolutely worth something to me.

So, here's my idea. Monetize what is now a free service. Let Old Media stores charge admission. A buck. Wouldn't you pay a buck to browse in The Strand for as long as you like? I would. For a buck, you have access to their entire inventory. You can pick the books up, look at them, feel them in your hand, read a page or two. You can talk to the knowledgable staff, ask their opinion, shoot the breeze. For a buck, you can be physcially surrounded by the greatest words ever composed from the greatest minds from all corners of the world. And the best part? You're not obligated to buy anything while you're in there. But if you DO, it will be priced competitively with online retailers, because we all agreed to pay a buck for the privilege.

Wouldn't this be a great way to give those suckers (amazon, et al) some pause, even a run for their money?

I don't know the economics, so this may be a naive idea. How many people walk into The Strand every day? A thousand? Two thousand? Would every one of those people contributing a buck provide enough economic cushion to the retailer to allow for quasi-online prices? And what about the little guy with the little shop in the litlle town in the country, who gets a dozen customers in per day? That owner probably won't be able to compete. But maybe the economics in the little town in the country are different?

* * *

All I know is -- I love bookstores. The physical ones. And record stores (where they still exist). I want them to stick around. I always want to be able to go and browse in them, and I'm willing to pay a premium to do it. But an extra 30% is asking a lot. Something has to change about that calculus, and soon, I would think.

Give a dollar to get in to The Strand? Absolutely. All day.

Wouldn't you?

EVERYBODY WAS FRIENDLY: Notes From The Road, Sept. 2011

2011-09-14T16:47:48Z

Poster from the Ann Arbor show

Just back from debuts in Michigan and Ohio.

It's true what they say about people in the Midwest -- they're kinder and more friendly than East Coasters. By and large, everyone we encountered on this trip seemed genuinely happy to talk with us, help out with questions, or was just generally as pleasant as can be. More than once, I heard members of the band practically exclaim with astonishment: "People are so NICE here!"

I arrived in Ann Arbor a couple of days before the band so I could spend some time with Connie Converse's brother and sister-in-law, Phil and Jean Converse. They graciously offered up their time to me and to documentarian (and fellow Brooklynite) Andrea Kannes, who synched up her trip with mine to minimize demands on the Converses' time. Phil and Jean spent the better part of a couple of days answering questions, reminiscing, and allowing us unlimited access to CC's papers. I'm fascinated by the latter's music and life, and have been performing some of her songs at recent shows.

Connie Converse

* * *

The band arrived on Friday, and what a band it was! People often ask at shows -- "how long has the band been together?" Anyone who's seen more than a couple of my concerts knows that this is a hard question to answer, since I have --essentially -- a collective of a couple dozen stellar musicians who all know my music and perform with me regularly. Who I have with me at any given gig generally depends on scheduling and availability. This particular version of the group included Mazz Swift, Etienne Charles and Nathan Peck.

Photo By Bianca Garza

Our first show, at the Kerrytown Concert House, was terrific and packed with an enthusiastic, smart audience that made us feel completely welcome in our first Ann Arbor outing. We can't wait to go back there!

Of course, it didn't hurt that the venue was just a block away from Zingerman's Deli. Oh man. If you're ever in Ann Arbor, this is a don't-miss. And if you're craving some delciious Korean, stop by Seoul Street, a little hole in the wall in the back of a strip mall that serves up the authentic goods and sources their ingredients locally. Alas, everything is served in not-very-green throwaway plastic takeout dishes, but the staff is friendly and accomomodating, and finding this place open late-night one evening was a godsend.

* * *

One funny aside about the Ann Arbor show -- at the intermission, while people were (literally) mobbing the CD table (who knew that people still buy CDs? They do in the Midwest!), a young woman introduced herself and said she'd enjoyed hearing my songs about Romania, her home. "Oh," I asked, "and what part of Romania are you from?" "Maramures," she replied. "Wow", I said, since this was the area I was traveling in when I was there. "Where in Maramures?" "Baia Mare," she said.

Well, that was a first. I've been playing these Romania-inspired songs for a couple of years now, but have never before met someone from Baia Mare (the subject of a song by the same name that I wrote and recorded for the CD "No Further Instructions"). I had to apologize to her in advance -- it's not a pretty song.

The Black Swamp Arts in Bowling Green was the following afternoon and, again, we were received with such warmth and enthusiasm it left us wondering why we don't visit the Midwest more often. Impresario/presenter Kelly Wicks knows what he's doing...all of the food in the artist hospitality tent was grown and harvested on local, sustainable farms. And the coffee was roasted at Kelly's own local coffee shop, Grounds for Thought. I think the best part of the Bowling Green festival for me was the fact that there were so many little kids there, enjoying the music with their families. I love playing for kids, and only wish we got a chance to do it more often.

We drove home after our set on Saturday, a straight ten-hour shot back to NYC, arriving home around dawn.

Next up, the Algonquin!

Talk Radio

2011-09-09T00:39:06Z

I sat down (virtually) for a feature-length interview with WCBN FM Radio host Liz Wason this week, in advance of my show in Ann Arbor on Friday.

Liz was prepared to talk in-depth about my music and projects, and knew quite a bit about my obsessions and quirks to boot. What ensued was a chat with greater depth and far-ranging topics than usual for these kinds of things.

We spoke for almost an hour and a half by phone and to my surprise, delight, and only mild embarrassment, she didn't edit it down to a neat little featurette, but posted the whole darn thing.

You can stream it right here. Have a listen and see what you think.

Thanks so much Liz!

"I'm Just a Kid From Brooklyn"

2011-07-26T18:04:27Z

SPOILER ALERT:

DO NOT READ IF YOU PLAN ON SEEING THE "CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER"

Okay, let me get the fanboy immediate reactions out of the way first:

The Cosmic Cube! Bucky Barnes! The Red Skull! Zola! The Howling Commandos! Doctor Erskine! The original shield and helmet! Cap on a motorcycle, packing a gun! References to the 1940s serial! Whoa!!

Ahem.

I've only been waiting for this movie for most of my life, ever since my Dad bought me my first-ever comic book, the treasury edition-sized "Captain America's Bicentennial Battles." Although I would go on to become a more generalized comic book geek (though heavily Marvel-skewed), Captain America was always my favorite, my hero, the one I most wanted to be.

Like the kid shown at the end of the new movie I, too, ran around clasping a metal garbage can-top as my shield, pretrending to be the shield-slinger himself. I enlisted childhood friends to assume the role of the ill-fated Bucky Barnes (obsessed as I was, even then, with back-stories and tragedy) as we prowled the neighborhood, looking for supervillains. In wintertime, I traded in the garbage pail top for one of those disc-shaped sleds known as flying saucers, and pratciced hurling it around at trees and posts, stand-ins for the Nazis and evildoers in my imagination. I made my friends call me "Cap."

Why? What was it about Captain America that thrilled me? Phil Satlof, bass player for the late Tuscadero and one of my oldest friends (we met in kindergarden) asked me that question a few weeks ago in the midst of the pre-release hype for the new movie. "Why Captain America?", he wondered. "What was it about that jingoistic crap that you were so into?"

It was a good question, and I ruminated on it a bit while watching the film. It's not that I am Mr. Patriot. I have a lot of problems with the state of our country today, and the way we do things here. If you've heard "The Farmer's Song" from "No Further Instructions," you know where I'm coming from.

Captain America was my hero for a number of reasons. It wasn't just his beginnings as a scrawny kid who was always getting picked on (a ubiquitous ingredient in origin stories throughout comics, see: Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Donald Blake, Matt Murdock, ad infinitum). I liked that he really didn't have super powers, relying instead on his intelligence, dexterity and physical training. He was kind of like the Marvel version of Batman in this way, without the psychosis or the weird gimmicks.

I liked that he was one of the few Marvel carry-overs from The Golden Age, and that he was once again (at the time) being written and drawn by one of his creators, nearly forty years after his first appearance. Bob Kane had long since left Batman, Siegel and Schuster were decades removed from Superman, but the great Jack "King" Kirby was once again at the helm of Captain America, and that lent the comic real authenticity to me.

I liked that he had some pathos to his story, carrying with him the survivor's guilt of having outlived his sidekick Bucky and also the confusion and mild shizophrenia that came from being asleep for twenty years -- a man out of time.

Most of all, though, I think I liked that Captain America had real dignity -- a sort of unassailable, old world, old fashioned fairness about him, perhaps owing to his membership in an earlier generation. He had the respect of his peers. He was a natural leader. He wasn't a loudmouth or a show-off, never sought praise or glory, just did his job, did it well, and left the spotlight to others. If he were a baseball player, he'd be Lou Gehrig.

In the new movie, his alter ego Steve Rogers is asked why he's so willing to undertake the great risks involved in the Captain America experiment. "I hate bullies," he says. 'Nuff said...that's Captain America, in a nutshell. He battled unfairness, without the aid of supernatural powers (i.e. Superman, Spider Man) or campy gadgetry (Batman, Iron Man). If one were smart enough, skilled enough, honest enough, and dedicated enough, it always seemed possible that one could grow up to be Captain America. And when, in the new movie, he says "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," the words resonated with that part of me that still believes that to be true.

* * *

Are there flaws in the film? Sure. Chris Evans doesn't radiate the gravitas needed for the part (here's hoping he grows into it as the franchise continues). The Red Skull bears an uncomfortable resemblance to Jim Carey's The Mask, and is -- alas -- not much more frightening. In terms of the story arc of the film, it feels too heavily-weighted on the origin tale; Captain America has barely even gotten into action, it seems, before he's caught in the accident that will put him on ice and effectively end his Golden Age career (and, so, the film). And if you're going to go so far as to give us Bucky (again, Bucky -- hooray!), couldn't you have at least put him in costume for a scene or two?

Still, these are minor quibbles. Captain America is hugely rewarding for longtime fans like me. It just gets so many things right, from the muted color palatte to the steampunk costume elements, to the fealty to so much of the original comic book continuity (even improving on the latter in at least one instance -- the revisionist costume origin is an inspired stroke of genius). I mean, c'mon -- the last wide-release attempt at a live action Captain America movie was the 1979 made for TV movie with the transparent shield and the CHIPs-style motorcycle helmet, an attempt so ill-conceived I think I cried when it aired. Next to that, the new movie is Citizen freaking Kane.

* * *

So there, I've officially outed myself as a comic book freak (and you don't know the half of it). Maybe I'll write and record a superhero song cycle one of these days. And, hey Marvel -- if Bono and the Edge are busy and you need a composer for the Captain America musical -- I'm your guy.

The Redemptive Power of Ben Senterfit

2011-07-18T02:38:23Z

Somewhere in the world right at this moment, someone is making great art in front of a select, intimate group of people...someone who deserves more fame, more money, more recognition, but who volunteers his/her time and talent in the face of the immediate unavailability of any one (or all) of these things to be our surrogate on some collective, heroic journey.

On Sunday night, I sat in a small, dark, hot room (The Stone) watching and listening as Ben Senterfit led his fearless quintet through a soulful set of music that was by turns meditative, chaotic, gritty, muscular and prayer-like. Like all great art, it had a destabilizing effect on my consciousness, calling into question basic assumptions I have about the way I live my life, the choices I make, the beliefs I have, the aesthetics I'm attached to.

Just as painters push paint around a canvas and dancers move their forms across a stage, great musicians move feeling; watching this band, tonight, was like watching trees get struck by lightning. Each member of the group opened himself up as a conduit to the forces of the moment, and transmitted them via sound and emotion through their instruments and back to us. It was thrilling.

In upending my own assumptions about things, the music also had the power to fill in those newly-vacated spaces with new inspiration, new ideas, new possibilities. Real art does this. It makes us look inward, clears out the cobwebs, and gives us back the greatest gift of all: our true selves, revealed, the selves that we can easily let get covered up by unnecessary layers of thought-garbage. Real art cleans us out.

* * *

The band was one unit, an organic machine, working together toward a common goal of truth and (sometimes ugly) beauty. In addition to double-threat Ben Senterfit's sax and guitar (both played with grace and conviction), there was Jacob Sanders' baritone sax, Kailin Young's violin, and the relentlessly grooving rhythm section of Jarad Astin (organ) and Matt Crane (drums).

* * *

All of this, for $10. Ten bucks. The price of one drink in any number of NYC establishments. And how many people were there, besides me? About a dozen.

How many people in New York City went to see the Yankees and Mets play that day at their respective stadiums? I looked it up: 88,652.

Twelve people went to hear Ben Senterfit tonight at The Stone. Twelve. I'm not saying that baseball can't be a fulfilling activity, or that live music somehow has more intrinsic merit. I love baseball. I follow it closely. It brings me great pleasure and diversion.

What I am saying is: something is askew here, and maybe it says something about the state of the American psyche. Imagine a world in which eighty-eight thousand people in NYC went out every night to hear live music. Or half of that? Or a quarter of that? What about a world where ten percent of the people who go to sit in the stands to watch millionaires compete against one another on a ballfield instead went to a live performance? And imagine if half of those people, say 4,000 or so, or half of a half of those people, say 2,000, or even half of a half of a half of those people, say 1,000, felt as inspired as I did after hearing Ben Senterfit at The Stone? What if 1,000 people every single night felt their assumptions and beliefs shaken, were forced to consider new perspectives, felt humbled by the beauty that art can bring, felt more in touch with themselves and the rest of humanity than they did before they walked in the door?

Of course, that's assuming a lot. It requires every show to be as good as the one I saw. It requires every band to be as talented and fearless. It requires those 1,000 people to even know where and when the good shows are happening. Is every live show great? No. Is every baseball game great? No. Seems to me the odds do not favor either. I'd like to think you're as likely to see a great performance just as often as you're likely to see a great ballgame. Which is to say, once in a while. Sometimes. They don't happen every night, but they're what you hope for, and they're why you come back. When they happen, it makes sitting through the mediocre ones -- and even the bad ones -- well worth it.

I was a fan of live performance long before I became performer myself, and it is the audience member and fan in me that urges you to do yourself a favor and make it a practice to go and put yourself in a space with people who are making art right in front of you. It doesn't matter whether it's a jazz band, a dance group, an orchestra, a theater company, or what have you . Go be there and support people like Ben Senterfit, and places like The Stone.

And bring a friend. Bring ten friends. Make it an outing the same way you would if you were going to a ballgame. Have a meal together beforehand, or after. You may go in thinking you're doing something for the artists by simply being there (and you are), but you may leave knowing that you did something even greater for yourself.

Check out Ben's Community Music Space up in the Hudson Valley...our man is doing the right thing.

“Nothing is Real. Nothing is certain”

2011-07-02T16:28:04Z

Werner Herzog's new film, "Cave of Forgotten Dreams."