Heidi Abrahamson

For JAVA Magazine, July-August, 2010

A scene in the middle of the film The Lion In Winter depicts captive 12th century English Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine at her dressing table, surrounded by the various and sundry baubles befitting a female monarch of the Middle Ages. She chooses a ring with which to bribe her guard. Like the stones which built the surrounding castle, her jewelry seems roughly-hewn and elemental - ostentatious for its boldness rather than the intricacy of its detail. Size certainly mattered, with large jewels held fast by large metal bands. She was, after all, Queen.

Flash forward to the 20^th century and "modern" design. The very term (and its derivatives) has different connotations, depending on the specific field of endeavor, be it architecture, painting, jewelry, etc., but can probably best be defined in terms of what it is not. It is expressly not anything that preceded it. Not Victorian, not Baroque, not able to be defined on any terms but its own. By equal measure both carefree and highly self-conscious, "modernist" jewelry could have extremes of form with zero function, or it could have extremes of function and minimal form. It can make ones head spin to try and nail down the term, which is largely the point.

Seemingly at the union of these two design worlds has emerged the jewelry of local artist Heidi Abrahamson, who conjures her wares, item by item, in a small studio within the former warehouse space in which also resides Phoenix Metro Retro, a showcase of mid-century modern furniture on Hazelwood, just west of Seventh Avenue in Phoenix.

Heidi's parents immigrated from Germany in the 1950's, looking to restart their life in the States where, out from under the cloud of Nazi defeat and ruin, all things still seemed possible. Settling in Indiana, the couple took stable jobs and started their family.

Family lore has it that that the course of their lives changed one day when Heidi's mother made an impetuous purchase. "She'd seen this interesting vase at the Salvation Army shop and just had to have it. My father thought it was really kind of silly to spend so much money on a second-hand vase, when money was so tight for us, but mom really thought the vase was special." It turns out Heidi's mother had an excellent eye. The vase was an Amphora, designed by a popular designer of the avant guard. Before long, a buyer for the vase had been found and the family had made a tidy profit.

Thus began a decades-long immersion into the world of resale which over the years would grow from a hobby to a way of life. Long before eBay made the practice all but obsolete, Heidi's family would scour estate sales, auctions and the like, for objects whose value was underestimated by sellers who didn't really know what they had. They would then bring those finds to gathering places throughout the midwest, and resell them to people who valued them more greatly. "They don't do it like that these days, but my mother used to put up curtains and really decorate the selling space at these shows we were selling at. It was really pretty cool," recalls Heidi.

Although the family was living in a large Victorian-era house in Columbus, Indiana, Heidi's parents were gung-ho for modernism. "My parents used to drive the us through town and point out all the cool buildings with modern design influences. Especially being from Germany, they'd get really excited when they'd find something like a Bauhaus influence or something," she says.

Unlike the average child, Heidi soaked it all up; both the elements of style, which were such a departure from her Victorian surroundings at home, and even the names of architects and designers her parents enthusiastically imparted to her. "We'd drive into Chicago and they'd say, 'look - there's a Frank Lloyd Wright' or 'there's a Mied van der Rohe!'"

It was in high school that Heidi became drawn to the possibilities of silver as a medium for jewelry and art. She was particularly attracted to works of such contemporary silversmiths as N.E. From, Georg Jensen, Andreas Mikkelson, Esther Lewittes, Ed Levin.

Heidi studied fine arts and interior design at Indiana University and eventually moved to Seattle, Washington, where she began a career in visual merchandising. She planned and executed in-store decorations for some of the elite retailers in the city, including I. Magnin, Burberry's and the Bon Marche'.

It was in Seattle that Heidi met and married Douglas Abrahamson, who shared her eclectic tastes. After briefly returning to Indiana, Heidi and Doug moved their young family to Phoenix in the summer of 1995.

During her time in the Valley, Heidi began to pursue outside interests, such as desert landscaping (she has a degree in it from Desert Botanical Gardens) and beaded jewelry. Following a desire to have more creative possibilities than she felt were allowed her by stringing beads, Heidi eventually re-acquainted herself with silver. Although she still describes herself as "primarily self-taught," she has taken courses in casting, smithing and stone-setting.

What "self-taught" usually means is lots of experimentation, and Heidi's body of work reflects that. While certain themes recur (the juxtaposition of circles with spheres, for example), overall there is an unbridled crossing of genres and styles.

One stylistic trait evident in many of her rings is that of semi-precious stones encased in broad bands of silver, where the sides of the band actually extend beyond the apex of the stone. Tending toward a muted color palate, many of Heidi's pieces feature stones of dull amber (such as yellow quartz) side by side with stones of complimentary red and/or blue hues.

Pearls are a favorite feature, says Heidi, because of the possibilities for quirky or ironic mountings. One pendant features a shallow dish of silver, with a pearl placed off-center inside the dish. A silver and gold ring features a perfectly flat top, upon which is mounted several pearls in tight alignment. One silver ring features a pool of dark onyx atop which a white pearl seams to float.

There is both motion and tension in Heidi's designs.

Another successful and eye-catching theme is that of large quartz crystals placed within, instead of atop, vertical straps of silver. Some of these rings must be placed on the finger of the wearer horizontally until past the wearer's knuckle.

Tall and with the fair complexion and flaxen hair characteristic of her German lineage, Heidi Abrahamson has a broad, unguarded smile, and an infectious laugh. Though clearly serious about her work and her art, she also displays a healthy sense of humor. When asked if any of her design concepts have ever proved plain unwearable, she spontaneously guffaws, "Oh GOD yes!"

To say that Heidi is still learning her craft would be accurate but misleading. Each finished piece is a cohesive work which

achieves the goals Heidi had for it; but as her technical skills grow, so too do her expectations of herself and her work.

Last September, Heidi was invited to attend the "Ormania" trade show, an annual "selling exhibition" held in Paris, France. Heidi was surprised and honored at her inclusion in the exhibition, which seeks out the best of unique jewelry making the world over. "I didn't apply or lobby for it," she explains. "It was members of a silver forum I belong to who put my name forward."

Heidi is visibly moved when she reflects on the recognition she's received from peers and others with influence in the jewelry world. Her creations have already been displayed as jewelry as well as art at venues such as the Herberger Theater, Red Door Gallery, SMoCA and the Phoenix Modern Expo '09.

Although popular among those in the know, Heidi Abrahmson is still approachable - probably even more so if you happen to catch her at Bikini Lounge, one of her and Doug's favorite hangouts. Her "brand" is also not yet so big that she wouldn't consider commission work, and has designed custom wedding bands for clients in the past.

You can visit Heidi in her studio at Phoenix Metro Retro (which she and her husband own) at 708 West Hazlewood in Phoenix. They're open Wednesday to Sunday, 11am to 6pm. Her website is www.heidiabrahamson.com.

Studio Joy Li

for JAVA Magazine, June, 2010

In modern relationship terminology, fashion is bad for us. Time after time it betrays us, and yet we keep going back to it. Even as we remain hopeful, we eventually learn not to put much faith in it.

Rightly so. By its very nature, fashion is an inconsistent and unpredictable partner. Sometimes the traits we initially found charming end up being plain annoying, and it stays around way too long. Other times, just when we think we're ready to settle down and make a long-term commitment, it comes through the door with a crappy new tattoo and an expensive habit and makes us wonder how we could have been so blind to its true nature. Oh fashion - "I don't know you anymore."

The truth is, fashion was always just too self-centered and mercenary to be trusted. How many of us have made the mistake of investing our hearts, only to find that the same pants we thought we understood like no other, will drop for just about anyone with a credit card or a cheap compliment? Fashion uses us and loses us...but still makes us want it.

To flip the (admittedly shaky) metaphor: The purpose of the fashion industry is to get us to stick around - to continue shelling out money in the desperate hope of not being left behind. In a partnership with fashion, any sense that we're in control is merely the result of mind games.

What's worse, and not at all metaphorical or funny, is that the fashion industry has a sad history of overlooking human rights abuses in favor of increased profits.

As you may have guessed, I am not the best choice for a fluff piece on "fashion." Not only am I cynical by nature, but...actually, "cynical by nature" pretty much does sum it up. Thankfully, I met someone related to the world of pret-a-porter with whom I couldn't agree more.

Joy Li, the designer behind Studio Joy Li on Stetson Drive in Scottsdale, has looked at the fashion industry from every angle in her 25-year career, and some of what she's seen has not been pretty. Along with her business partner, Jean Bartolomei, she has begun a design and manufacturing business that is meant to be the exception and perhaps eventually the rule - a partnership between consumer and fashion based upon mutual satisfaction and no guilt.

Studio Joy Li seeks to restore our faith in women's fashion. There is good reason to think they will succeed.

It would be easy to assume that Joy Li's success in the industry was a foregone conclusion. She's beautiful, articulate, self-assured and energetic. Though in her forties, she still has the figure that once inspired ready-to-wear mogul Liz Claiborne to make Joy THE shape of the Claiborne petit model in the 1980's ("I had to lay down in this stuff and they made a mold out of me…then they made dress forms out of the mold.") She has a degree in graphic design from Carnegie Mellon University. Isn't that enough?

"I was LUCKY!" she says more than once, when describing her circuitous rise to independence in the fashion business. And it was luck, both good and bad, along with her innate talents, which brought her to where she is today; bringing both practicality and a conscience to Studio Joy Li.

The first-born child of Chinese immigrant parents, Joy grew up in Buffalo, New York. "We didn't have toys." Instead, Joy expressed her creativity by drawing paper doll designs on the window panes. Still, the choice of a career in fashion was a non-starter as far her father was concerned. "My father always said that the fashion business was bad because it exploited Chinese labor," she says.

One stroke of luck was that Joy's father had been a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University. "I still couldn't take fashion, but since [her dad] had gone there, too, he didn't mind when I took Graphic Design because it was Carnegie Mellon." Though not fashion-oriented, this education gave Joy what she needed in the way of conceptual design fundamentals.

After university, Joy found graphic design work with a Fortune 500 company in Connecticut. One day she saw an in ad in the New York Times, looking for a petit fit model at Liz Claiborne in New York City. "I took the train into New York City and I got the job on the spot," remembers Joy.

Today, the Liz Claiborne company owns many other labels, such as Kenneth Cole, Kate Spade and Lucky Brand Jeans. Between the late 1970's and late 1980's, however, Ms. Claiborne herself was still in control and in the middle of the company's first major growth explosion. Joy had the luck of joining the company during this phase and the opportunity to learn from the master herself.

As a fit model, Joy was part of a small team which would fly to factories around the world where items for the Liz Claiborne brand were manufactured. Being the definition of what was then considered a size 6 (a 2 by modern standards), Joy would try on prototype clothing inside the factory. "Usually we'd put on the samples and then we'd go over the fit - Liz was always there - I'd say this is where it's a little snug or not quite right...then we'd be on our own until they were able to re-make the sample and call us back for another fitting. I always had a pager on me."

Often, Claiborne would be right beside Joy in the fitting room. "Liz would actually strip down and try on clothes right next to me...she was involved in everything...she really wanted to make sure that the quality was consistent. The goal was for all the clothes to fit exactly the same, no matter where in the world they were manufactured."

One challenge for Joy during this time in her life was that she needed to maintain a consistent body shape throughout the year. "It was a challenge because when I started, I was lifting weights...and then they told me that my arms were starting to get too big...also, on some of these trips maybe I'd get sick and so I'd maybe lose a little weight…"

This was clearly a pivotal and formative period for Joy, and one that she remembers with reverence. "I wasn't making much money, but I was living high and learning about the business," she recalls. "...I wanted to get in to fashion design so bad, but I hadn't gone to school for it. Usually that meant you'd have to start as a receptionist or something and try to work your way up." Joy's foot in the door was undoubtedly more fun than that.

Within two years, Joy had transitioned from model to designer when she accepted a role at Claiborne competitor Carol Little. Other jobs followed, including ones at Guess and Newport Blue Men's.

One incident during this period brought Joy back to Earth and served to mature her thinking as regards fashion and its place in our lives. A family emergency called her briefly to China, where the contrast between the lives of the coastal U.S. fashion set and those of the average Chinese citizen could not have been more pronounced. While frivolous fashions may have artistic significance, and may be fun, Joy started thinking more about clothing that was easy to live in.

In 2001, Joy relocated to the Valley, where she decided the time and place were right to strike out and do things her own way. Two tenets of Joy's "way" were specific corrections in the path she had watched the fashion business take over the course of her career.

The first of these was that the core of Joy's collection would be fundamentals of women's clothing that were meant to be kept for several seasons instead of tossed after only one. These would employ state of the art fabrics that kept their shape and resisted wear. Designed with equal emphasis to form as well as function, the pants, skirts, shirts and dresses in the Fundamentals line come in core colors of black, white and grey and can be mixed and matched with anything else in a woman's wardrobe.

Other lines, while more to the fore stylistically, still employ the ethos of wearability and matchability. Joy describes the brand as "for the woman going from the gym to the office or for the jet-setter who believes that Europe is possible with a single carryon."

The second intentional divergence from what many consider the fashion business mainstream is Studio Joy Li's commitment to fair treatment of the people who make the clothing that bears her brand. All the clothing in every Joy Li line is manufactured in the United States, with Joy and business partner Jean Bartolomei making frequent visits to the factories.

Though Joy doesn't want to isolate any of her past employers as particularly deserving of scorn, she has vivid memories of working conditions that repulsed her. "I'm talking women who had ropes tied to their arms so they had to pull enormous, heavy boxes across the floor…" The words of Joy's father about the exploitation inherent in the fashion business were given vivid detail. "I've quit jobs because of what I saw," she says.

Was there anywhere in the world where it was particularly prevalent?

"In every country in Asia."

Studio Joy Li is located in the Mix group of shops on Stetson Drive in Scottsdale's "SouthBridge District." There, all of Joy's current lines are on display in a showroom that is crisp, airy and bright. Joy encourages women to give her feedback and become real fans. American labor and small runs of fine fabrics mean that clothing from Studio Joy Li is not priced to compete with J.C. Penny; but it is more than reasonable considering the craftsmanship and exclusivity of the line. Prices typically range from tops in the $60's to outerwear in the high $400's.

There are, however, exceptions if you're among the Studio Joy Li in-crowd. "We hold a twice-a-year sample sale. I want to keep it fresh, so we'll have a box where anything in it is $20 and another where everything is $40 and so on."

And the future? "I definitely want to expand the size range. Right now it would be too expensive to offer more sizes than we do." Joy also sees philanthropy and sponsorship in the brand's future, but first things first.

There are a couple of ways to keep current with Studio Joy Li. The best is to stop by the shop at 7144 E. Stetson Drive, Suite 100 in Scottsdale. She also has a Twitter feed, which is studiojoyli, or you can visit the website at JoyLi.net.

JAVA Country Bar Roundup

For JAVA Magazine - May, 2010

(Miss Brittany Doster at Shotgun Betty's)

This ain't yer grand-pappy's Western scene, young 'un. The days when REAL cowboys frequented bars in the downtowns of Phoenix, Scottsdale or Tempe ended in the 1970's, if not earlier, and the establishments which catered to them ended as well. What replaced them were bars, steak restaurants and lounges which chose western-ness as a theme to attract the growing tourist and college dollars.

If you seriously want to get in with the crowd that knows how to castrate a bull (properly, I mean), then you'll have to head out of town. Go to Wickenburg, Casa Grande or Coolidge. Just remember, REAL ranch folk party a little differently. They're up and out before dawn, and in the sack (sleeping) by 8pm.

If you want to get your country groove on, but do NOT want to have to feign interest in the latest hilarious insemination mishap, the Valley proper has you covered. The past few years have seen the emergence of several new venues for those looking to scoot their boots, along with the demise of others. Here we present a roundup of some of the hottest of the kicker bars in the area. One thing is for sure in the Valley - when it comes to Western, there's something for nearly everybody, even if you don't own a hoof pick.

Hot Off The Grill Country

When trends ignite, club owners scramble to cash in, and the collection of clubs that spring up are often a mixed bag. Such is the case in downtown Scottsdale at the moment, where three new clubs are hoping to ride the current cow-person trend through to the end. They are Saddle Ranch Chophouse, Shotgun Betty's and Revolver. One of these places definitely has some charm.

Saddle Ranch (Scottsdale Rd between Fifth Avenue and Drinkwater) is the Western bar Disney would build if Disney still built bars. It's sort of like a double decker Cracker Barrel restaurant, but with booze and more expensive meat. Although the space is cavernous, the central mechanical bull ring doesn't leave much room for dancing, unless it's in the main thoroughfare to the bathrooms. There's a lot of staff running around talking to one another, but they seem to leave the patrons pretty much alone.

While the mechanical bull is a unique attraction in the area, it doesn't take long to figure out that it's not the "bull's" good side you have to get on, but the dude in the booth with his hand on his joystick, CONTROLLING the bull. Basic rule: Hottie girls stay on as the dude bumps and grinds them via his cyber-bovine proxy / too-drunk frat guys get spanked (not in a good way.) Though this may be a suitable ethos in many respects, it spoils the notion that chance or skill are really at play, and means that the bull thing gets boring real fast. If you DO decide to ride, however, remember to tip the joystick dude. Got yer back.

One final word about Saddle Ranch - I was referred to their publicist in L.A. for all comments, and the monitors throughout the place were playing Lady Gaga, Jay Z and Usher. Make of that what you will.

Shotgun Betty's, just down the street at Stetson and Wells Fargo, is a better bet. It's just as inauthentic (when did the country aesthetic and the 1990's Poison video one combine?) but a better place to hang your hat for a couple hours.

Just to get it out of the way, if you haven't heard, it's owned and operated by the same person that owns Skin Caberet, and is his take on the type of bar made famous in the movie Coyote Ugly, where the bar girls get on top of the bar and put on a show periodically. The girls employed seem to be between the ages of 21 and 22, and have a body fat percentage somewhere in the 12% - 15% range. They're dressed in daisy dukes, boots and cowboy hats, and the Western theme pretty much ends there, visually.

It's a small and semi-dark place once night falls, and the walls are lined with tall, cozy banquets. The dancers are there when you want some eye candy, but it's also possible to sit back, have fun with your friends and get pleasantly bombed without the typical Scottsdale meat market mentality taking over. Shotgun Betty's is fun and doesn't take itself too seriously. In that way, it actually does kind of embody the old country spirit.

Besides their nubility, the bar and cocktail staff also seem to actually care about the patrons. They are present enough to be there when you need them, and they pay as much attention to the women as the men. Score one for good, old-fashioned hospitality - a much welcome return to form for Old Town!

Three doors to the west on Stetson, a new club called Revolver has taken over the space once occupied by Six. Revolver describes itself as "western chic." Seems like the same old vibe, though, and you'd be damned before you find any decor from farther west than Chicago. Fortunately they kept the absolute best part of Club Six - the bathrooms. There may be a reason (besides the bathrooms) to go here, but not if you're looking for anything remotely cowboy or western.

Old Country

(Model: Anakaren Slazar)

The Rusty Spur (Main Street in old town) beats Handlebar J's (just north of Shea) by a couple of years, 1958 versus 1960, but surely there's room enough for both under the heading of "oldest western bar in town." Your experience at either would be just about what you would have had there thirty years ago. The wood is real, the live country music is real, and they are both locally owned and operated. They were ALWAYS places that attracted a large percentage of tourists versus locals, but at least at this point they're authentically OLD places that do so. In a town that does very little to preserve its real past in favor of pandering to winter visitors and college kids with the latest re-interpretation, their very survival all these years merits you stopping in at least occasionally.

The Rusty Spur, in particular, is ripe for a local revival! This Summer, after the tourists have gone and ASU is on hiatus, this is the place to be. No table is too far from the bar to yell for another round,

or too far from the stage to join in on a verse of "Cold, Cold Heart."

An honorable mention must at this point go to The Coach House Tavern, located on Indian School Road, at Goldwater. It's not particularly country/western (the only real nod to the genre being an old wagon wheel nailed over the entrance,) but it's another leftover from a city that once proclaimed itself "The West's Most Western Town." A determinedly un-pretentious hole-in-the-wall, the Coach House has been the neighborhood bar of choice for locals for fifty years and continues to go strong. A large patio was added not too long ago, which doubled its capacity, but the heart of the bar is still a small, dark and funky room with decades of residue in the cracks. It's easy to find patrons who have been coming for twenty years or more, no matter when you visit. With drink prices approaching half of what you would pay at some of the surrounding clubs, it's no wonder, either.

Cattle Baron (people who own people who own cows) Country

The Stockyards Restaurant (Washington, just west of 48^th Street) is another hold-over from the Valley's past that has retained much of it's original character and mission. Though difficult to imagine now, as recently as the early 1970's, there was an enormous cattle yard located between Van Buren and Washington at 48^th street. At one time it was the largest in the world, and old-time residents can attest that it smelled like it, too. Beginning in 1954, The Stockyards Restaurant sat on a small elevation usually just upwind (to the south.)

The Tovrea family which owned the meat packing company and the restaurant were local upper-crusters, and The Stockyards became the meeting place for the men (such were the times) who made Arizona happen. Backs were slapped, deals were sealed and pesky investigative reporters plotted against in the overstuffed leather booths. Though cleaner and much less stuffy since a 2005 renovation, it is just as quietly iconoclastic as ever, and the hand-carved mahogany bar is still a sight to behold.

The Stockyards Restaurant is the Durant's of the western crowd. It's just right for those nights when you got $200 bucks to blow and only a nice sippin' whiskey and a charred chunk of large quadruped will do. You know what I'm talkin about.

Alt Country

For men and women who dig men and women, respectively, there's a happening and locally famous bar at Camelback and 7^th Avenue in Phoenix called Charlie's. Long before Brokeback Mountain lifted the weathered canvas veil on same-sex kicker love, Charlie's was strumming that crowd's tune. Now celebrating its 25^th year, Charlie's remains the premier place in the Valley where couples can do the Texas two-step cheek-cheek, toe-to-toe, and scruffy beard to scruffy beard. It's a wild Western place, actually, renown as much for being fun as for being gay. LOTS of straight people go, too, because Charlie's knows how to have a good time, western style. Just leave your inhibitions at the door and nobody gets hurt, yuh hear?

Big Country

There is an entire class of country club which doesn't aim to be anybody's cozy watering hole - they want to attract people by the heard, and they do! Mostly off the beaten path, where lower real estate prices help make a basketball arena-sized bar more viable, clubs such as Graham Central Station, Whiskey River, Tom Ryans and Toby Keith's "I Love This Bar and Grill" load people in by the thousands. Whether you're line dancing, seeing a country band or just getting loaded, bring a posse - a BIG one. You'll need them to hold your seat when you hike to the bathroom!

We've focused on just a few interesting places, but by no means is this sampling of western night life exhaustive. In a city with the footprint of the greater Phoenix metro area, there are tons of out-of-the-way places and many of them attract a more or less countrified crowd. Find em and tell your friends. Stick them in the pocket of your Lee jeans and make em your own.

Valley Fever Sundays at Yucca Tap Room in Tempe

For JAVA Magazine May, 2010

Once a week, there's a place in Tempe where time takes a cigarette and country music lovers are transported to the smokey, whiskey soaked days of the early 1970's. Dana Armstrong, a third-generation Valley of the Sun girl, has done her level best to conjure up that bygone era for patrons of Yucca Tap Room at Southern Avenue and Mill.

For the past five years, Armstrong has hosted Valley Fever, Sunday nights at Yucca Tap. At the weekly gig and various special events throughout the year, fans can experience a more authentic version of the "Arizona country" Dana and many grew up with, albeit with much less nicotine.

"I wanted to recreate a kind of old Arizona feel...kind of like Mr. Lucky's" Says, Armstrong. Mr. Lucky's, which closed in 2004, was a long-time favorite of the Valley honky-tonk set. Although it spawned such pale imitations as big-box country-themed clubs Graham Central Station and Toby Keith's, Mr. Lucky's was there from the get go, and there was nothing ironic, kitschy or retro about it's country/western character.

"I wanted to rebuild that moment. I just brought the records I wanted to hear to the place I wanted to hear them," she explains. "I invited everybody I knew and hoped some would show up...I figured if they stayed that was just a bonus. I didn't want to force it on anybody - Whoever else appreciated it, that's who I wanted to be there."

Dana thinks the Yucca Tap Room was the perfect environment. "It looked right - it's been there for forty years."

The Yucca Tap Room is kind of easy to miss, but once you find it you'll understand the appeal. To say it's unassuming is an understatement. It looks very much as it has for forty years, just off the southwest corner of Southern and Mill, with a low, flat roof and peeling paint. Yucca still doesn't accept credit cards, either - yet another charming throwback to the past!

Once inside, though, the atmosphere is warm, and you can hear some of the best music in town. "After about three months [spinning records at Valley Fever], we decided to start adding [live] music...usually just one band every Sunday…"

The bands are mostly NOT cover bands, though. "Some of them are just straight honkey-tonk bands, like Junction Ten...they write their own songs, but they sound like they're from 1975, which is perfect for me. I can't really label it...we have some bands that come at it from a sort of folk angle, but they all have the same spirit. The bands don't stick to covering those songs, but they're definitely strongly influenced and inspired by those old songs."

Valley favorite Flathead is part of what Dana calls the "Valley Fever family" of bands. "Greg Swanholm [lead singer of Flathead] is like our biggest supporter...he was there from the beginning and still comes every Sunday," she says. "The thing about Flathead is they're so unique and hard to categorize...I don't know what to call their music, but it fits right in."

Armstrong has noticed the popular re-discovery of country/western culture of late, but draws a distinction between that and Valley Fever. "It may be a trend right now generally, but at Valley Fever it's the real deal." Instead of re-packaging and borrowing from the original version of the culture, "we're actually trying to re-cultivate and delve into it."

Why 1970's honkey tonk? "I have this thing where I just want to be living in a very specific era...it goes back to my childhood and my dad's taste in music...Waylon Jennings, George Jones, Mo Bandy…" She plays older stuff, too. "I'll play anything from the fifty's...Hank Snow, Hank Thompson...but my favorite is the late 60's to early 70's."

In addition to Sundays, Valley Fever typically hosts several day-long events throughout the year. "We have our annual all-day show called the Quarantine usually in March. Last year we had Waylon day, to celebrate his birthday, then we had HanksGiving, where six bands played all Hank Williams covers."

"It's still fun!"

Modern Phoenix Dot Net

for JAVA Magazine

"We all have to do it for ourselves, that's the message," says Alison King who, along with Husband Matthew, run Modern Phoenix, a web presence devoted to the preservation of Modernist residences in the Valley. Perhaps so, but in terms of understanding the mid-century architecture that surrounds us, the Kings alone have given the rest of us an enormous head start.

What began as a visual scrapbook for the two design fans, has grown in less than a decade to be THE source for information on the subject; as well as a virtual meeting place for fellow enthusiasts and homeowners.

Between March 28 and April 11 this year, that virtual meeting place becomes actual, as Modern Phoenix holds its sixth annual Modern Phoenix Home Tour and Expo. For details on this, go to ModernPhoenixWeek.com. The subject of the tour this year is the Paradise Gardens community of Central Phoenix, a 1960's era neighborhood designed in conjunction with famed Modernist architect Al Beadle.

Growing up in a Modernist-designed Scottsdale neighborhood, Alison didn't always see the charm in her surroundings. "When you grow up with it, it just seems normal and you don't appreciate it," she says. It wasn't until she lived in New York, where most of the housing was of pre-war design influence, that she came to see Valley architecture differently. "It was just just so different there, with all the brownstones…," she says.

"When my husband and I went to Parson's School of Design [in NYC] we took classes in architectural design and started going to the Guggenheim and the Met and I was coming to understand the vocabulary and detail of it...so when we would come back here for holidays I started to appreciate it more and more."

"When we decided to give living in Phoenix a shot, we had to decide between [traditionally] historic bungalow, Willow-district homes, which people were really fixing up, and more modernist homes, which were really actually in decline."

The Kings bought a "cracker box" current home in North Phoenix and began searching the Valley for someplace more suitable. That search formed the foundation of Modern Phoenix.

Alison would use her spare time to drive around Phoenix and take pictures of homes she thought might be possibilities or which generally suited the couple's aesthetic sensibilities. "This was before Flickr, before Facebook...but I could build my own page with my pictures and give my husband the URL so that he could look at them," she explains. "...but once you start naming things [on the internet] people start finding them."

Soon, Alison and Matthew began to get lots of correspondence from people interested in individual architects, or Modernist dwellings in general. "People would write me from Texas or someplace and say 'I'm coming to Phoenix and I have no idea where to look.'"

Alison didn't intend to be the go-to guru for all questions regarding local Modernist architecture. "It started to be a serious time commitment, for one thing," she says. "That's why I started the forum; so people could get in touch with one another and share their own information."

Ultimately, though, another unforeseen time commitment arose. "Within months of putting up the message boards and getting people to talk to each other consistently making these sort of virtual friendships and this network...it became obvious to us that we really needed to do a home tour." Modern Phoenix was taking shape.

"It started off as a group of like-minded friends who wanted to get together and talk about somebody's house or bathroom or whatever…" The first event was in 2005. "We just said, 'let's be Arizonans and walk around.'" Sounds care-free, doesn't it? Not so fast. "The minute it was over, people kept asking me 'when is the next one?'"

And so a new annual Valley event was born, the Modern Phoenix Home Tour and Expo.

Aside from the very first event, organizing the homes to be toured was more difficult that Alison first imagined. Not only did many people not know what they had in terms of the significance of their own houses, but putting that forward as the basis for a community activity was something Alison sometimes had to work at. "That's the hardest thing...it's not like it was in the '70's when I was growing up - sometimes these neighbors don't even know each other…"

It's getting easier as the event matures, Alison explains. "I still do a lot of the recruiting by word of mouth or door-to-door or phone calls." Thanks in large part to the King's efforts, awareness has been raised about mid-century architecture in general and the Modern Phoenix site and tour in particular. "They've heard of us now," she says.

In fact, the event has become successful enough to pay for itself. "We charge a fee for the tour...but this is the first year that we're able to offer most of our educational events for free," she says. In addition to the actual tour, other items on the roster include seminars, discussions and slideshows by architects, designers and historians.

Anyone curious about researching their own home (or their future one) will find resources and guidance at this year's event as well.

Besides having become a second career, Modern Phoenix has benefitted the Kings in a particularly tangible way. It was through a connection made on the website's message board that the Kings found their own current home, just outside Phoenix's central corridor. A participant with whom Alison had once corresponded got back in touch, wondering if the Kings had any interest in a home that was about to go on-market. "If we'd just gone with a traditional realtor, I doubt if we ever would have found anything like this."

In fact, the home they found was close to the very heart of mid-century, Modernist design. "Our house was designed by Ralph Haver, who first built the house next door as his own residence, and then this one." From it's "spider legs" exterior columns and beams, to it's low-slope roof, the house is a classic example of modernism for the masses.

Though small by today's standard, the main impression one gets is of spaciousness. De rigueur design elements from recent decades, such as framed-in alcoves, artificial columns, rounded corners, and elaborate window coverings are absent in a modernist home. In Alison's, house, clean lines are the order - lines that seem to go toward infinity, as they begin at the front door and cary through to the furthest reaches of the patio (shown here.) The far wall of the living room is a picture window; essentially making it a landscaped view of the world beyond. Her breakfast table nestles at the joint of two more broad expanses of glass (shown below.)

Form follows function here. Designed for life where temperatures can exceed 110 degrees, the living spaces are quick to heat and quick to cool, as there is no additional airspace given to vaulted ceilings. While entire walls of glass feature prominently in some parts of the house, sides facing full sun (such as the traditional front of the house) have none.

Other intrinsic advantages? "These things are built like tanks," says Alison. She says an independent home inspection on her Haver house turned up a small fraction of the problems that previous, contemporary, home had - even though the Haver home had a good 50 years on the other.

At this point, Alison believes she has a good handle on what once was and what now remains of the mid-1900's Modernist dwellings in the Valley. Her main source of initial research has been at the Phoenix Public Library's Arizona Room. Developers used to announce their plans for new subdivisions in learned journals and trade-to-consumer publications, many of which are are stored there. These aren't available online and can't be loaned out; so Alison has multiple three-ring binders straining to hold page after page of old articles and advertisements that she's photographed at the library, and brought back to "Modern Phoenix Central" to follow up on with a personal visit.

"1953 to 1964 was the heyday of Modernist home building in the Valley," says Alison. "Around the mid-sixties is where single family homes gave way to multi-family homes." "Also, at one point there was apparently a mason's strike, and all these homes that were built out of block or brick [like virtually all of the Modernist ones] were in crisis...that's a unique regional thing that influenced what was being built at the time."

Being old and of limited supply in the Valley housing market at one time meant the likelihood of protection and even assistance when it came to preservation. Neighborhoods with early 20^th century housing, such as the Willow and Encanto areas are designated as historic and owners are kept from making alterations that run too far afield of the property's original design.

Mid-century homes, on the other hand, didn't have time to reach the same type of popular appeal before a critical change took place. In 2006, Arizona Proposition 207 was passed which, among other things, put the price of historic designation so high as to make it nearly impossible to achieve, says Alison. "The city has played its role maintaining the historic neighborhoods that were already designated prior to Prop 207, but now [a neighborhood would] have to hire a private consultant for thousands of dollars before you'd even have a chance."

And so the importance of Modern Phoenix grows even further. In the place of neighborhood associations and historic designation, it hopes to raise the value of mid-20^th century architecture in the Valley by raising the awareness of it. "As owners of Modernist homes, we're on our own," says Alison. "A lot of homes have been lost just out of neglect and because people really didn't know what they had. A huge part of the fight for preservation is education."

The Doctor Is In...teresting!

An Evening With Dr. Dot

Excerpts in JAVA Magazine

March, 2010

The business and personal promotion phenomenon that is Dr. Dot whirled in and out of the Valley briefly a couple of weeks ago. The self-described Massage Therapist, Sex Columnist, Author, Singer and Celebrity Confidant came to town to drum up massage business at an annual convention for the performance tour industry. Marginally successful there, she truly excelled in her main area of expertise - BEING Dr. Dot!

The JAVA offices made the connection for me. She had come in yesterday and was leaving tomorrow. "Tonight," I was told, "she plays." If I was going to behold the good doctor (an admittedly un-official title) this would be my only opportunity. 10:30pm. Uncle Monkey's in Mesa. I'm in.

Search your heart out on the net - there's plenty to see and most of it is supplied by her. The basics are thus: Hippie parents taught her massage. Became a teenage concert junkie. Supported her habit by trading massage favors for access to gigs. Went from massaging for access to massaging for pay thanks to Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones. Toured with the Dead for a year with a German boy who "looked like John Lennon." Had a baby with him. Dated Bruce Willis. Has apartments in Berlin and the New York City area. Featured multiple times on German TV. Can drop names like most people drop skin cells.

In recent years, she's developed a worldwide army of "Dot Bots" - licensed massage therapists and/or chiropractors who get their assignments directly through Dr. Dot. They earn a spot on the team by either auditioning in person or, more typically, for someone else who has, and who knows what Dr. Dot requires.

In addition to that, she writes contributions for Penthouse, a regular sex and relationship advice column for the NYC alternative rag, the New York Press, and something similar for a German sex publication. "I'm really mean in that one. Oh God, am I MEAN!"

Right at 10:30 I enter Uncle Monkey's, a hopping and unpretentious joint in a strip mall near Southern and Dobson in Mesa. Looks like a dive, smells like a dive, but the place is packed with regulars, drinks are cheep and the girl behind the bar is cute as Hell (cuter, really.) At the far end of the room, past the dancing couples and the young guys playing pool, in front of the DJ booth, at a cocktail table with an entourage of two, stands the figure of Dr. Dot. She looks for all the world as if she could be Christina Applegate's busty younger sister.

She's doing karaoke.

More to the point, she has come to kick some karaoke ASS. "Did you see me do Stevie Wonder?!" she asks.

"No - I didn't even know he was here!" She doesn't get it. "What did you sing?"

"I did 'Livin For The City.'"

"Great song! How did you do?" I ask.

"It was phenomenal."

I'm expecting her to smile, but it's immediately clear that she is merely stating a fact. No irony at all, and she doesn't stay engaged for my reaction. She's busy looking through the catalog, trying to decide on her next phenomenal performance. "Nobody even clapped. Everybody here is so apathetic."

Hmm.

Not wanting to interrupt her search, I introduce myself to one of her two companions, a pretty young lady in jeans named Rachel who, though attentive, seems very tired. I tell her the conversation I'd just had. She chuckles knowingly at my description of Dr. Dot's glowing self praise and then acknowledges, "well she WAS pretty damn good."

And so she would continue to be. Over the next couple of hours and at two different bars, she does a handful of other songs and owns each and every one. Her takeover of Tina Turner's part in "Proud Mary" was a revelation. Sure, Ike was still helping out on the low end, but Dr. Dot was neither derivative nor inferior. It helped that she had the short skirt and pumps, but the vocal alone would have still passed the audition.

As it turns out, Rachel and the other girl in the entourage are Dot Bots, and joined up in Mesa to man a booth at the convention. Rachel is local, Dr. Dot flew in from New York City ("O.K., well Hoboken"), and the other girl is from Michigan.

There's no phony pretense that this is a party of equals, and no reason there should be any. They all have an easy rapport with one another, but there's no disputing who is in charge. The alpha is not prepared to concede any ground and the betas don't try.

If she's king of the hill, though, she's a benevolent one. Both in person and online, an unavoidable aspect of her personality is that she gives credit where it's due. She is fiercely proud of the Dot Bots and credits their talent with the success of the concept. Instead of saying good things happen to her because she's innately deserving, she comfortably and naturally acknowledges others for giving her the various opportunities that have come her way.

She also has, when she wants to exhibit it, something that customer service experts call "relationship extension." She can approach strangers and develop a mutually rewarding, temporary, relationship with them. This skill was on display throughout the night whenever something would catch her attention or pique her curiosity. Not only with men (who are more apt to allow her in anyway) but also with other women; such as servers, karaoke dj's, and various strangers in the clubs. If she wants to know something, she asks. She made them feel that she was genuinely interested in them, and she seemed to be.

At Uncle Monkey's, she leeds a one-table rebellion to change the mood of the room. We clap for every karaoke performer, good and not so much, because it's only right. Dot's not looking for anything she's not prepared to reciprocate.

Dr. Dot says she only drinks alcohol occasionally, and tonight she has cranberry juice at one bar and club soda at the next. That is one thing that separated her from most every other patron. She doesn't smoke - neither cigarettes nor marijuana ("It makes you apathetic!")

The doctor works her message - it's her primary asset these days - and that message is "I've been included in the lives of celebrities." It's not mere words. At least three different times between the two clubs and at breakfast afterward, she took out either her phone or camera and riffled through scads of candid photos of her with artists of varying renown. There are far too many to mention, but try these on for size: Mick Jagger, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Sting, Joey Ramone, Motorhead, Tool, Depeche Mode… They kept coming, long after the point had been made.

Which is cool in a way and a shame, as well. Dot Stein (her real name) is talented and energetic in her own right. She's built - and is still building - a small empire in a niche market. She's smart enough not to let her indulgences drag her down, yet independent enough to carve her own path. She is every bit as rock and roll as the "stars" she massages and banks on. When pressed, she concedes that the celebrity angle is a means to an end - it opens doors. One must wonder, though, if she will always be comfortable being so strongly identified in terms of the company she keeps rather than her own achievements.

The entire Dr. Dot International Massage operation is, apparently, done from her cell phone; with ALL the calls worldwide going to Dr. Dot personally before being assigned out. She maintains absolute control over everything. Obviously this saves her money, and satisfies the control freak in her, but how much larger can it all get before she goes nuts? She just shrugs.

While virtually everyone else around us was getting loose and letting it all hang out, she kept her cool, kept her edge and kept control. She observed everything and everyone. If this was an example of blowing off steam, I felt a little sorry for her, actually. There was never a ten minute period where she wasn't checking her cell phone for new messages and massage requests. If there's a time when she's not on, it wasn't this night.

After the bars, we headed to Denny's for breakfast, where Dot let her guard down a bit. She's a natural observer and formulates opinions on many things. "Are you circumcised?" Uh… "American guys are usually circumcised. They're also limp. I've known some boys in Ireland and their dicks were hard as diamonds over there! It's because they put fluoride in the water here - it gives guys limp dicks and makes them apathetic." Yes, sir, opinions.

By 3:30am, fatigue was taking its toll. The girl from Michigan had long since left, and Rachel was about to pass out. I had begun my day intending to end it at least five hours earlier. Tomorrow, Dr. Dot had another busy day ahead, with an early afternoon flight back to New York and some potentially contentious negotiations with a band manager who wasn't towing the line; yet only she seemed unfazed by the late hour. Finally, though, she took pity on us and called it a night. Sort of.

"If you want to talk more you can come back to the hotel," she said, "but I'm not going to fuck you. I'm also not going to give you a blow job." In true rock and roll fashion, Dr. Dot knows how to get her point across.

Some other times a comment like this, though coming from left field, may have offended me. Maybe I would have protested about how much I've avoided drinking fluoridated water all these years. I mean, a guy likes to be asked, you know?

In the end, though, I just smiled and said, "That's o.k." The evening, and not marijuana or fluoride, had rendered me apathetic.

POSTSCRIPT

I've heard from Dr. Dot since this piece (or most of it) came out in the print version of Java. She was at first very complimentary, and ultimately very bitter. In the space of three days (March 5 - 8) she friended me and UN-friended me on Facebook. She claims that I misquoted her. I don't believe so. One error that I DID make was in describing the nature of the publication she writes for in Germany. What I called a "sex publication" is actually an arts/entertainment magazine that Dot informs me is similar to JAVA, only larger. Fair enough. I stand by all the rest.

You can read her blog post about it here, and read the original excerpt printed in JAVA Magazine. The full piece is what you see above. There was one line she asked me to omit in my online posting. I did so as a courtesy, and because from my standpoint the change was insignificant. It's neither the first, nor the last, instance of me eating a little shit to keep the peace. It's usually more effective.

I certainly can't fault her for wishing to guard the value of her "brand." The piece I did is the only thing I can find online that is anything but a re-statement of her own advertising message. If that's what all this is, though, then I think she's being much too sensitive. I said some pretty nice things about her, after all. She tells me that in her public railings against me she intentionally omitted my last name so I wouldn't have to "worry about anybody looking [me] up." How kind. She did, however, reprint the entire article; so I presume that she feels my veracity is only questionable when she doesn't like what I say. I'd like the by-line back, but no worries, Dot - my gift to you. Rock on.