Gazelle Emami checks out Berkeley's film-oriented BALLE Conference ....

The purpose of educational films—bear with me—are to inform the public. But here’s where they bump into their biggest obstacle. Unless Al Gore is at the helm, they’re probably not going to get wide viewing beyond festivals that are specifically geared toward showing films of their kind. Enter the first ever Business Alliance for Local Living Economies’ (BALLE) Conference Film Festival, a two-day event that was held this past Tuesday and Wednesday at UC Berkeley’s Wheeler Auditorium. The festival’s goal was to build positive sentiment for the BALLE Conference this weekend, kind of like a pep rally for the big game. BALLE, which represents 47 local networks and more than 15,000 small businesses and community organizations, holds an annual conference gathering the preeminent leaders in green industries to discuss pressing issues facing the economy.

Still from Manufactured Landscapes, a film the opened the conference

According to festival organizer Lisa Katovich, she knew they would be preaching to the choir for the most part. Therefore, Katovich and others tailored the festival’s content to approach the subject matter from a difference angle. So it didn’t really matter that only about 30 people were scattered around an auditorium that can hold roughly 700. By the end, at least all 30 left the room a little more enlightened, as opposed to the hundreds that left Spiderman 3 disappointed, if not a little dumber.

By Stephen Torres

Spending a year in Mexico City provided some insight into the possibility of what is deemed edible. Like most cultures throughout the world, insects and their kin are considered delicious little morsels to not only chilangos (residents of the capital) but most folks throughout the country. They even have that sort of "adorable and delicious" relationship with some bugs that we share with say bunnies or piglets. One such example would be el chapulin (the grasshopper.)


Adorable, delicious ... deadly?

Chapulines are a longtime mainstay of mexican culture stretching from the days of Tenoch all the way down to the lovable El Chapulin Colorado, a goofy superhero icon of mexican TV. Beyond that, however, they are also a tasty snack enjoyed my millions that are often compared to dried shrimp. You can get them pretty much anywhere in a bag to go with lime and chile or perhaps in a taco.

On this side of the border, however, they can be a little scarce and finding them even in the most extensive mexican grocery store can be tough. As a result, like most stuff down there, when you're feeling a little nostalgic or homesick you just ask someone to stick some in their knapsack on their next visit home.

By Gazelle Emami

During World Cup fever about this time last year, I found soccer the way some people find religion. Or maybe it was more in the vein of finding yourself with a drug addiction. Either way, once it’s in your blood, soccer becomes a way of life, and it can make you crazy.

So as my friends and I rushed to the stadium Saturday afternoon for the U.S. Men’s National Team (MNT) vs. China match in San Jose, 20 minutes into the first half, hearing the crowd go wild over Marcus Beasley’s penalty goal for MNT, my heart sunk a little at the thought that I’d missed the only chance to see a goal that afternoon. But at the same time, the sound of that crowd made my heart beat a little quicker and my feet move a little faster. Was this panic or excitement I was feeling? This game can make your emotions go a little haywire.

By Molly Freedenberg

Some scientists try to cure cancer. Some build robots that vacuum our houses for us. But the really important scientists are the ones developing new beverages for upscale clients. Like p.i.n.k., a vodka that has caffeine and guarana already in it so you don’t have to mix it with cloying, syrupy, expensive Red Bull. Superfluous? Or brilliant? Can’t it be both? I’m sure you’re just dying to know…

See? p.i.n.k. is s.w.a.n.k. (Apparently, the name is an acronym for the distilling process, which is a ginormous company secret.)

By Deborah Giattina

As always, a trip to the Commonwealth Club proved to be an edifying venture. For last night’s event, Hot Young Sommeliers (that’s pronounced so-mol-yay), the club rounded up three of the aforementioned creatures from the front houses of our city’s finest restaurants.

Now, I don’t know very much about wine, and young is such a relative term, n’est-ce pas? But I know hot, as in wouldn’t kick ‘em out of the sack, not as in a wine that heats your palette because it has too much alcohol (ew). And all three panelists--Mark Bright of Oola, Christie Dufault of Quince Restaurant, and Courtney Cochran, steward of the monthly Hip Tastes events--definitely met my grape expectations.

Oola's hot sommelier, Mark Bright, gives his girlfriend a cool look

By Molly Freedenberg

In case you hadn't heard (though you'd have to have spent the past two months on acid to have missed the news by now), this year is the 40th anniversary of just about every major event that defined the music and culture of the 60s. Which means this summer should be full of all kinds of cool, interesting, psychedelic, retro events celebrating that fact. (Check out our Summer Guide list of Summer of Love events to see some of them.) Like this one, a screening of a documentary about and made at the original Monterey Pop Festival (and an interview with the filmmaker). Sure, it's in Monterey, but you were thinking of taking a road trip next weekend anyway, right?

And if you're not sure what the hell I'm talking about or why you should care, check out the wikipedia entry on the Festival that launched the careers of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin to America, acted as the precursor to Woodstock, and brought Moog's synthesizer to the Doors' attention here.

Bang your head and break out your best moves, rockers. Director Alexandra Lipsitz's Air Guitar Nation was one of the sweet, funny, and shockingly heart-warming surprises of the Asian American film fest this year; you get another chance to see it at the Red Vic today, June 7.

C-Diddy rocks the haus in Air Guitar Nation.

And if you're still slacking, know that it comes out in August on DVD. Of course, if that's not enough know that the real thing the doc is based upon - the US Air Guitar Championships started yesterday in DC and ends in SF at the Independent on June 28. So gentlemen - and ladies - start your night moves - and remember the US national finals are in NYC on Aug. 16 and the world championships are, as always, in Oulu, Finland in September.

I spoke to Lipsitz this spring when her doc took its first turn through SF theaters.

Director Alexandra Lipsitz.

Bay Guardian: What brought you to air guitar?

Alexandra Lipsitz: Kriston Rucker and Cedric Devitt, the guys in the movie who are the narrators - they read about it in the Wall Street Journal, went and filmed in Finland in 2002 and came back and pitched it as a television show to Magic Elves, the company I work with. My sister owns the company, Jane Lipsitz, along with Dan Cutforth. We do shows like Project Greenlight, Project Runway, Top Chef, Last Comic Standing, a lot of reality TV shows. Kriston and Cedric brought the idea to them as sort of an anti-American Idol television show.

OK, someone has to voice it: was I the only one who detected a whiff of misogyny in the latest three-quel to shamble lazily into our movie theaters, Oceans Thirteen?

Ellen Barkin's ruthless manager Abigale Sponder inflicts her rigid beauty standards on a would-be casino cocktail waitress.

Ladies note: all that self-tanner use is admirable 'n' all - kudos especially for the job around the wrinkly peepers of Al Pacino - but what's with Steven Soderbergh and company's conflicted treatment of the bad girl of the piece: Pacino's assistant Abigale Sponder, played by Ellen Barkin who's sexed up in a tight hot-pink sheath, boobage jacked up to bubble-like Wonderbra proportions. Her chest literally steals the second half of the show: it's impossible to look at anything else when she's or they're on screen. Is overt retro-sexism acceptable when it's swathed in Rat Pack-style nostalgia and quasi-pro-sexy feminism? Yet the fact that the Matt Damon character - of all of the crew and in a faux honker to boot - can swoop the "cougar" as he calls her, is insulting. There's no need to roll out the "real" weaponry like Brad Pitt.

Older women are ripe prey for any ole member of Danny Ocean's crew?

On the surface, one might posit that Barkin's lusty portrayal is empowering for older gals, but you can't hide the contempt in the filmmaker's gaze - never mind that she's a bad guy's moll in the style of Natasha and Boris. The fact she's served up - the sole female "name" among the many Hollywood hotties - like a aging flesh sandwich as some sort of signifier of corruption in Ocean's glam universe, reeks of not-so-covert crone-bashing.

I'm all for juicier parts for older actresses, but do worthy players like Barkin need to stoop to this?

By Molly Freedenberg

During the summer of 2000, as a a recent college grad with a lot of desire to drink and only a little money with which to do it, I made a chart of Portland bars’ happy hours, drink specials, and free food nights so I’d always have know where to drink affordably. The chart was divided by day. It was color coded. It also was a ridiculous waste of time – particularly since bar policies change so often that my chart was quickly rendered obsolete.

But I stand by the fact that the idea of such a resource was a good idea: for example, it’s Wednesday, it’s two o’clock, and I’m thirsty. Oh look! The chart says it’s half off beers at My Father’s Place right now! … or whatever.

New York businesses already know that giving away alcohol is actually in their best interest. But Bay Area bars still need to catch on. “I never thought I’d say it, but SF needs to loosen up a bit,” said myopenbar staff writer Dave Schonenberg.

Well, the folks at sf.myopenbar have taken that idea (not from me, mind you) and improved upon it by about a thousand perfect. These wise folks compile a list of all the ways and places to drink for cheap or free in the SF area. And they’re actually places you’d want to go, like Amnesia for karaoke and $2 PBR, El Rio for free oysters and $2.50 drinks (today), or the Swap SF event for vodka, coffee, and clothes-sharing for $5 (Saturday). Plus, they include events like Critical Mass (Drinking on your bike is free, isn’t it?) and art gallery openings.

By Stephen Torres

Back when I was bright-eyed youngin' in the city and my liver was still shiny and hale, I made my daily bread by working at the recently deceased MacArthur Park in Jackson Square. This was right before the dot.com belle-époque had a meeting with its maker, and times were fast and easy.

We had a pretty fun, outgoing crew at MacArthur, and one of my co-workers, Robin, tended bar part-time at some place called the Expansion up on Church and Market. Like I said, these were the days when my experience in the ways of the gin bin was still relatively little, however it would be this crusty old watering hole that would guide me into being a full-fledged pro.

By Molly Freedenberg

I must admit, I was excited about . I like Debra Messing. I liked the First Wives Club. And I have some kind of strange, in-born affinity for the dumped, abandoned, lost, and unappreciated. (Charlie brown Christmas tree, anyone?) So I was primed and prepared to like the Will and Grace star’s new USA TV show (which premiered May 31). What’s more, the first time I saw it I was drunk, tired, and suffering the kind of insomnia born of too much wine and too much Diet Coke.

But.

Even so.

I found the show cheesy. And irrelevant. And overacted. I can’t look past the fact that it’s a navel-gazing premise about a Hollywood executive’s wife who’s left to suffer the indignities of not getting in the good restaurants (the horror!) or hanging out with the celebrities (even more horror!) after her high powered husband dumps her without warning ort explanation. Maybe this resonates with Beverly Hills first wives, but there’s nothing universal enough in this show to extend beyond that demographic. At least, not in the first episode. “And I’m not sure there’s enough here for me to give it a second shot.

Of course, I am a never-married journalist living on a salary that affords me the kind of luxury you can enjoy with three roommates and no in-house washing machine, so I might be biased. But still. There’s so much potential with this actress (I refuse to call her an “actor”) and with this premise. Why waste it on Hollywood clichés?

Sigh.

Back to DVDs of Buffy and reruns of Lost for me.

By Molly Freedenberg

I like wine bars. Not only for the obvious reason -- good wine -- but because they tend to be small, intimate, and a bit quiet – the perfect place for an intimate conversation or romantic rendezvous. The thing about them, though, is they also often tend to be pretentious. Or stark. Or cold. Or all of the above. And this is too bad for someone like me, who enjoys the occasional dress-up affair but is more of a Pabst and jeans and easy laughter kind of girl.

Enter Dell’uva, a brand spanking new (as in, less than a month old) wine bar in North Beach. This place has the ambience of a nice coffee shop, the soundtrack of a good neighborhood bar (you might hear hip hop, indie rock, or reggae on any given night), and the visual stimulation of a sports bar (yes, there are TVs showing basketball and football - though I’m trying to convince the owners to host a Lost night when the season starts up again).

By Steven T. Jones
Formerly jailed blogger Josh Wolf faced off against Stephen Colbert's pseudo-conservative schtick and wit last night on the Colbert Report -- and Wolf came through it like a champ. Check it out for yourself, here. BTW, Josh, love the mohawk and suit combo.

Remember Angel? Remember flab, the folds, and the sticks and stones we called my bones? Thierry Mugler - the fashion designer who went all the way with shoulder pad fascism and added the scent of chocolate (with sublime results, if we might say so ourselves) to perfume - has evidently gone completely ape for adrenalin and weird bulgy veins in strange places, and has turned himself from a "renowned courturier to muscle-bound beast." This according to the WOW Report.

Doesn't Thierry Mugler's head look Photoshopped onto some odd prefab Frank Frazetta-style Conan bod? Courtesy of the WOW Report

WOW continues: "We reported that the 59-year-old French designer and perfumer had been lifting weights to such an extent that he bulked himself into an unrecognizable creature that required a whole new identity. Thierry now wants to be called Manfred. 'He's been incommunicado since he closed his couture house,' said a former friend. 'What he's done to his body is totally scary.' We didn't realize the extent of the damage until a friend e-mailed us a photo of the buffed and bare-naked Manfred."

Zut alors! It's like a big wake-up call to step away from the 'roids, kids. If it's real... Wake me up when it's over.

By Molly Freedenberg

You'd think that if I was going to rave about Bacar, it'd be for its swank, open design. Or for the stellar wine selection. Or even for the existence of an on-site sommelier there to answer questions with words like "oaky" and "hint of grapefruit" (and with a straight face). Maybe you'd even expect me to talk about the food, which I didn't try, but my neighbors during a recent visit swore was fab-u-lous.

But no. I'm going to talk about the bread. Fresh and warm and served with a ramekin of butter that was not only soft enough to spread but also arrived with a stripe of rock salt for flavor and flair. And this basket o' goodness isn't just one variety of bread either, oh no. It's cornbread with a hint of spice and a blissfully subtle sweetness. Some kind of white bread that's soft and dense on the inside, and crusty (but not hard) on the outside. And a brown bread highlighted - but not overpowered - by herbs.

You can get the bread as part of a meal, one you're surely sharing with some well-paid love interest while wearing your best heels or your most recently pressed shirt. But I prefer to get it by itself, accompanied only by a bottle of half-price wine (a Monday special! Woohoo!) and the company of a good gossipy friend. There's nothing like carbs and confidential information to end your workday right...

In a hilarious gaffe, local free monthly-ish paper for women The City Edition published a wild-eyed editorial this week accusing the Guardian of promoting prostitution, causing anorexia, keeping women from "tapping into orgasmic potential," and basically steering any girl under the age of 18 into a hellacious vice-hole from which she'll never return. (We caused Paris Hilton? Good for us.) City Edition didn't identify us by name for some reason, but it ran a pic of our cover and called us a " local alternative newspaper publishing out of a warehouse in Portrero Hill."

Read the glorious editorial here (PDF)

So what have we done to deserve such epithets? While it's no secret we're an unalloyed den of iniquity, editorial writer Rosemary Regallo especially took issue with our depictions of half-naked covergirls, in particular our recent Summer Guide model, Marina Bitch:

Marina Bitch: "A sparsely clad, anorexic model who looks like she's aching to get laid"
Photograph by House of Herrera

Thing is, Marina Bitch is a man.

In fact, almost all of our recent covergirls have been drag queens -- naked club star Anna Conda graced our Sex Issue cover with a giant python wrapped around her (something SFist didn't catch ) and Marina and Candi Gurl were peekaboo see-through on our first SCENE magazine. (In retrospect, I'm now limiting myself to one gender illusionist cover model a month. Too much of a good thing, maybe.)

Regallo writes:

"Sexualized and at times racist imagery of young women in so-called alternative newspapers is paving the way for a generation of damaged girls and a proliferating global sex trade. So why does the S.F. Public Library continue to distribute the city's most popular porn, prostitute and adult entertainment guide at all its branches?" [italics mine]

Because of course young women can't be counted on to make their own decisions, the poor little things. Then Regallo goes on to talk about ancient goddess cults and prescribe more images of women as firefighters. I smell Fall Arts Preview cover: Heklina with a hose!

By Molly Freedenberg

It's about time to talk about TransportedSF, not just because they have another kickass event coming up June 21, but because their sexy little crew dubbed "The Nomads" just graced a page in our equally sexy Scene Magazine (on newstands last week, and online for, well, ever.)

So. Here's the deal with the Transported crew: they're awesome. Need more information than that? Okay, fine. The idea is this: a biodiesel bus taking passengers on themed adventures throughout the city, from hosted dinners to impromptu outdoor DJ parties to movie nights. The bus picks you up at the Rite Spot, gives you a night to remember, and drops you back off at a reasonable hour. You drink, play, or simply don't have to worry about driving. In exchange, you pay a nominal fee.

The view inside -- part lounge, part partymobile. The very back of the bus acts as a dance floor or movie screen, depending on the night's theme (and the time of night).

The guys at the helm (literally and metaphorically) are Jens-Peter Jungclaussen (yes, he's German), who has traditionally used his bus (named Das Frachtgut, meaning "The Good Freight," though Jungclaussen might change it to something English mouths can better pronounce) for educational and corporate events; and Alxndr Warnow, a DJ, promoter, and photographer who's worked with Jungclaussen for more than two years. Most importantly, these guys are fun. Which pretty much guarantees their events are fun. Case in point? Our Big Lebowski tour a few weeks ago.

By Gazelle Emami

It’s hard to define piroshki, though there’s no doubt they’re a Russian food. I say “food” because it’s a little ambiguous as to whether it’s a pastry, snack, or meal. Whichever group(s) it falls under, with its thick, deep-fried dough stuffed with an assortment of fillings ranging from meat to vegetarian-friendly options, You might call piroshki the Hot Pocket’s granddaddy.

Owner Galina Galant and her father pose with racks of the piroshki they make fresh every morning.

You won’t find piroshki too easily in these parts—Paramount Piroshki, open since 1956, is one of the only places around to dedicate itself wholly to the traditional Russian treat. Owner Galina Galant and her family came to San Francisco from Russia in 1983 and bought the business from its previous owner. The building used to be in the style of a coffee shop, but given Potrero Hill’s industrial landscape, the Galants converted it into a factory and are mainly in the business of selling to other businesses.

By Molly Freedenberg

Looking to take a break from Pride madness next Sunday? How about a good old-fashioned Garden Party? The UC Botanical Garden is holding a fundraiser called inflorescence! [sic] from 2pm to 6pm, featuring food, wine tasting, a silent auction, and music by jazzy, eclectic VidyA and vintage, acoustic Dodge's Sundodgers (think polkas and waltzes, Hawaiian music, traditional Mexican tunes, and plenty more music you can dance to). Oh yeah, and gorgeous June-blooming flowers (like the mutisia sublata, pictured right), of course. Tickets are $45 in advance, $50 at the door. Buy yours and get more information on the event's website.

Location info: UC Botanical Garden, 200 Centennial Drive, Berk. (510) 643-2755 x03, botanicalgarden.berkeley.edu

By Stephen Torres

As long as there have been admin and reception jobs, there has been un-relenting, mind-numbing boredom as well. Since the positions were held primarily by the female set for such a long time, publications such as Cosmopolitan, founded by the inimitable Helen Gurley Brown in the sixties, found a place jammed into the desk drawers or bags of all those working girls. Or so Miss Brown had hoped. I'm mean, what gal on the go would read anything else?

Nowadays, when you can't take the monotony of data entry or similar thankless office tasks, one's options are opened up to whatever you possibly could desire through the magic of the Internet. Never behind the times, Cosmo has added its own brand of pastimes that every girl will doubtlessly enjoy: video games. So I channeled Miss Moneypenny and decided to have myself a look.

The first game is entitled BoyToy and was recently highlighted on Gawker.com -- and I really couldn't agree more with their take on the matter. I'm not one for video games anyway, but it is an inane simulation of what its like to be your alter ego -- the girl who gets what she wants from the boys simply by snapping her fingers. The overall impression I got was not that of feeling empowered by living through a blond and tan version of myself named Bunny, but more the miserable experience of being her put-upon slave Cord. It’s like having a split personality that requires more booze, more music, and more attention. Quite frankly, I thought I'd have more fun with Minerva, the slutty nemesis in hospital whites.

By Sean Manning

I started watching Bravo’s Top Chef because it was a cooking show that threw creative challenges at its contestants and occasionally gave useful advice for the wannabe chef. That was Season 1. I got hooked on Season 2 because it acted like a classy cooking show when it was really a culinary “Lord of the Flies” (complete with their own Piggy—the endlessly obnoxious man-child Marcel Vigneron). Those antics were fun while they lasted—about to the point when chef Cliff Crooks tried to hold Vigneron down and shave his waifish Syndrome hair off in the middle of the night. And then the guilt set in. Like many of the show’s fans I had to ask—at the very least, aren’t I supposed to be able to pretend this is a food show?

Maybe that’s why the first installment of the show’s third season (originally aired last Wednesday, and sure to be shown in reruns many, many, many, many more times in the future) seemed so determined to utterly kick the shit out of its 15 brand new cheftestants. Not only were they subjected to two tough challenges (Surprise! Make an amuse bouche out of the buffet platter you just ate on, and a surf and turf combo of nasty meats), but the merciless Chef Anthony Bourdain was brought on to mock the unworthy. As for the chefs themselves, my money is on CPA (“Certified Professional Asshole”) Hung Huyhn, who is making an early bid for this season’s pretentious fine dining villain. If the past two seasons have been any indication, we’re in for some quality television in the coming weeks.

By Johnny Ray Huston

They've got passion to burn, whether there's 100 percent pride or a potent dose or two of critical shame in their game. They're the dozen-plus-one LGBT artists who constitute this year's lineup of flaming creators -- individuals and groups adding radical perversity, butch dyke glitter, b-boy funk, punkified monkey love, dandified bear flair, and more to the Bay Area. It seems apt to pun off the title of Jack Smith's still-revelatory 1963 film Flaming Creatures in uniting this wildly varied group: all of them ignore or defy the conformist strains of mainstream gay culture to blaze new trails of truth and fantasy. As part of our Queer Issue, we pay tribute to them.

NAME Keith Aguiar

WHAT I DO Currently, I am photographing a community of queer artists who continue to resist assimilation and express themselves freely without compromise to both hetero and homo normative values that have imprisoned so many of our generation. I want the viewer to enter my world of rich color, texture, and chaos to find the intricate beauty that comes from reconnecting with more primitive forms of expression. More recently my work has been progressing to include portraits, erotic photography, and even a few landscapes. I'm currently seeking funds for my next show and have started to do commissioned work on the side.

MOTTO Create your own reality. Live your own myth. Be your own God.

MORE KeithAguiarPhotography@gmail.com
www.flickr.com/photos/untamedvessels

NAME Dreamboat, Where Are You? (Carrie Baum and Jessica Fudim)

WHAT WE DO We're a punk pop duo with choreographed vaudevillian antics and a penchant for monkeys, monsters, and Yiddish innuendos. We've been described as "the Buzzcocks meet the Muppets." We'll be leading a Dancers' Group Rock Theater workshop July 21, and we also have our own projects: Carrie's Exit Sign: A Rock Opera and Jessica's dance show Please Feed My Animal will both be previewing at CounterPULSE's "Rock 4 Art" benefit Aug. 4. (Carrie also runs Big Star Printing; Jessica is a certified Pilates trainer.)

MOTTO Be sure to share your cookies.

MORE www.myspace.com/dreamboatwhereareyou

By Molly Freedenberg

When I heard the San Francisco Symphony is hosting a Prokofiev festival – ten whole days devoted to one composer – I figured I should probably know who this guy is. If our city’s esteemed symphony thinks he’s so important, shouldn’t I know why? So I set out doing my research, sure that I knew nothing about the little bugger.

Turns out I’m more familiar with the Soviet musician than I thought – and so, probably, are most of us. He’s the composer responsible for Peter and the Wolf – that famous piece used in elementary schools across the country to teach the kiddies about classical music. He also wrote the most famous version of Romeo and Juliet, the one written for the original Kirov Theatre production. He mastered several genres of music, wrote for film and for children as well as for symphonies, and basically kicked musical ass all over the world. And far from being a hero just to the classical set, he had such far reach that seminal punk band The Damned actually put out a 7” single dedicated to him, appropriately named “Prokofiev.” Which is to say, dude’s pretty badass. Or, you know, he was (he died in 1953).

It seems he was also a bit of an oddball. The little child prodigy started playing piano and composing music before most of us stopped sucking our thumbs – and yet, his first piece in the key of F completely skipped using the B-flat key because he didn’t like touching the black keys. (Wtf?) Later, teenage Sergei was known in the St. Petersburg music scene for being an enfant terrible(i.e. a pain in the ass), and now is considered one of the most important, and quirkiest, composers of the 20th century.

All of which is why conductor Michael Tilson Thomas and four virtuosic soloists are dedicating a quarter of a month to the Russian firebrand. And though the festival started June 14, you haven’t missed your chance to hear Prokofiev’s music for yourself. On June 22 and 23, see “Films, Frenzies, Fairy Tales,” featuring Prokofiev’s scores for the film Lieutenant Kije and the ballet Cinderella. And on June 24, see “Primitive and Refined,” a program featuring Piano Concerto No. 4 for the left hand (written for Paul Wittgenstein, who lost an arm in World War I), and two pieces inspired by Slavic paganism. For more information and ticket prices, visit the Symphony website.