THROWBACK THURSDAY: TREEFORT MUSIC FEST 9 (2021)—The Evening Class Interview With Smokey Brights

Photo: Rachel Bennett.  All rights reserved.

Since first seeing Smokey Brights at the 9th edition of Treefort Music Fest, I have caught them in performance several times. They continue to be one of my favorite bands and I’m delighted they are returning for this year’s Treefort, playing at the Boise Brewing stage on Thursday, March 27, at 9:00PM.  

As outlined at the Treefort website: “Smokey Brights have been steadily growing out of the mossy Pacific Northwest city of Seattle for over a decade. The band, formed by friends working together at a pizza restaurant, has roots in Seattle’s DIY punk, songwriter, and psych scenes. Through the group’s four LP and three EP releases, you can hear Smokey Brights’ sonic branches stretching through 70’s prog, synthy new wave bops, fuzzy 90’s anthems, and intimate indie storytelling. You can also trace the lives and romance of songwriters Ryan Devlin and Kim West who married a few years after the formation of the band. The couple’s entangled approach to songwriting and melody has yielded a remarkable amount of original, genre bending music. Nick Krivchenia’s steady, stylish drumming is the backbone of the Smokeys’ sound, while bassist Luke Rägnar adds low end bounce as well as a third harmony to Ryan and Kim’s melodies. The band’s music has been featured in film, television, video games, and podcasts. They’ve toured throughout the US as well as the UK and mainland Europe. Their most recent releases, 2023’s ‘Broken Too’ EP and ‘Levitator’ LP, both landed on iconic radio station KEXP’s top 90.3 records of the year." 

 I reiterate my gratitude to Dana Robinson Slote, tour manager for Smokey Brights at Treefort 2021, who first invited me to come listen to the band at Treefort, and then arranged a Zoom interview the week after.

 * * *  

Guillén: I want to congratulate you on your presence at Treefort. I caught your “hot” show at The Hideout, where you were literally dripping with sweat. It looked like you were melting on stage! I’d like to start off with the name of the band—Smokey Brights—because I haven’t read anything anywhere regarding what that name signifies. How did you go about choosing Smokey Brights as the name for your band? 

Ryan Devlin: Originally, before we were Smokey Brights, we were called Colossal Brights. We had a little recording project going—Nick, myself, our original bassist Jim, and Mikey our original lead guitarist. We were making some demos and were thinking, “How are we going to get a name for this?” I had the radio down real low when I was driving home one night listening to KEXP and this song where I thought I heard someone say in this song “colossal brights”. I thought that was such a cool phrase. I came back to the band and told them, “I’ve got the band name: Colossal Brights!” Jim looked at me and he goes, “Spell Colossal.” And I couldn’t. So I said to him, “Well, it’s back to the drawing board, I guess.” 

A day later, Jim was like, “Y’know, ‘Brights’ is a cool name. I’ve never heard that attached to a band. It’s kind of cool.” We’ve always straddled some darker, moodier, gloomier elements—being Northwest folks suffering through the cold—but we also love pop, and are trying to find the light of things. So, it felt like ‘Smokey’ Brights embodied the dichotomy that sounded like what we were already doing.  

Guillén: I understand you’ve been to a few of the Treefort festivals, but I’m curious what your experience of this particular edition of Treefort was like? For our community this edition was painfully meaningful. It took such a struggle and effort on the part of the Treefort team to get the festival going that, for myself, it felt triumphant that Treefort actually got back out there for the community. There had been worried concerns that they might have to cancel again when the Delta Variant began spreading in Idaho, which I honestly believed might have spelled the death of this festival. So it was great that the festival got to go, albeit masked and vaxxed and waxed (whatever people had to do). [The band laughs.] 

So I want to know if each of you can give me a feeling you had about what your experience of the festival was? I know you got to play three different stages—the Record Exchange, the El Korah Shrine, and the Hideout—which is lucky. I don’t know many musicians that have had that luck. So, perhaps, in describing your experience, can you comment as well on the variance of the stages? Perhaps on the sound systems? If you felt your music was being presented differently on the different stages? 

Kim West: I’ll go first. You described it perfectly. The experience was triumphant. It was triumphant and surreal to get to play our favorite festival. We played Treefort a couple of times before and the first time we played we came in 20 minutes before our set and had to leave at 7:00AM the next day because we were on tour. All of our friends were like, “What are you doing? You have to be here the whole time!” We were walking around the streets of Boise, freaking out, saying, “What are we doing? We’re messing up! We have to be here the whole time!” Ever since then, we come Wednesday through Sunday and just try to experience so much of it because it’s more music than we get to see in four days.  

Guillén: Who can? It’s a discovery festival! You’ve been here three or four times, as you’ve said, and yet this is the first time I’ve seen you, or even heard of you, because there’s always over 300 bands and it’s tough trying to graph out who to listen to. A person can only do so much. I feel lucky that I got to see you guys this time. A lot of that is due to Dana, who has been doing a remarkable job for you. She reached out and invited me to come hear you. I feel your band is on the cusp of something—I sense it, I feel it—and I’m excited for you guys. I’ve been listening to as much of your music as I could get my hands on and have been bopping around the house. I really love the music. But back to the festival, other band and stage experiences? 

Ryan Devlin: I’ll try to be brief but I can speak to that feeling that it might not have happened was really palpable. There was a lot of conflict even within our own immediate community of other musicians and friends, people who come to every Smokey Brights show in Boise, who weren’t so convinced that Treefort should be happening. I was following along. I read Eric Gilbert’s interview in the Idaho NPR affiliate where he said, “We need to prove that this can work. That if we get vaccination cards in hand, and we mask up, we can go ahead and have a really good time together.” 

One of the most surreal moments to me was when I had a hangout with a friend, a resident of Boise, usually vocal on Twitter about how Treefort shouldn’t happen because Idaho’s health care systems were overloaded, and it was too irresponsible. We went to our first set, we hung out, we had a really long conversation, and then that night he drove home and he passed what he described as a country bar. He looked at it and a lightbulb went off in his head. He thought, “I’ve driven by this bar every night during this pandemic and it’s been packed. These people aren’t wearing masks. And these people aren’t being vaccinated (some might be, who knows?). Treefort’s not the problem.” 

Kim West: Of course not. 

Ryan Devlin: Treefort has been working collectively to create a safe experience. If they don’t do that, as a music community, as promoters, as bands, people are going to find something else to do but it might not be as safe. So that feeling of being right on the edge, everyone was feeling that, but it wasn’t until we got there that we thought, “This has to happen.” 

Kim West: It has to happen, yeah. And I couldn’t have thought of a cooler way to start our experience than to play The Record Exchange for their first in-store appearance in 18 months. The sound was amazing. I wasn’t expecting a stage. I wasn’t expecting a full PA. It was like the whole nine yards. The sound guy was probably one of the more experienced sound guys in Boise. He had worked for everybody and knew that whole system backwards and forwards. We could hear everything. It was a really nice way to ease back into this festival experience.  

Guillén: I was just watching the videos from your performance at the Record Exchange today. They’ve just gone up. 

Kim West: Oh, cool….  

Guillén: And they do sound good. 

Kim West: We’ve played in stores before and it doesn’t usually sound like that.  

Guillén: How about the El Korah Shrine? 

Nick Krivchenia: I think my audio is gone again. Oh, here I am!!  

Guillén: [Laughs.] Okay, that’s enough feedback out of you! [Band laughs.] 

Luke Logan: The El Korah was massive. We felt really humbled to play it and thankful that we were able to get that slot and that Eric trusted us with that. One of the things that we didn’t have during the pandemic was audiences. They’re a pretty important half of what we do; the people who come to give it back in our faces. We played some shows throughout the summer. We had a couple of ones where it felt like we were getting some energy and pulsing but they were smaller scale. Our El Korah experience was big scale. Talking to what Ryan was saying, knowing that everyone had gone through so much to get to that point too, that it was a very intentional crowd, even moreso than it usually is, made it even more meaningful as they were moving along with the rhythms that Nick was putting out. It made it one of the more special performing experiences I’ve ever had.  

Guillén: Which leads me to the question of what it was like for you guys to be onstage looking out at a masked audience? Normally, you’d be registering smiles, you’d be registering facial reactions to your music; but, suddenly, you’re watching a sea of masked faces. Did that affect you? Other musicians who have answered that question for me have said that it didn’t make a difference, that they still felt the energy of the crowd. But did you miss the facial connection? 

Ryan Devlin: I can speak to that. We had a few practice runs of playing to masked audiences and I have to say that, at first, it was a little disorienting because we are so much depending on the energy put forth from our audience and, yeah, that is usually displayed in cheering, in smiling, in singing along, all those things that we don’t really get to have with a masked audience. But by the time we got to the El Korah Shrine, we had several different performing experiences and I was pretty used to the masked audience. Feeling the energy of those people in that room far transcended any sort of loss of seeing the smiles or anything like that. One thing that the mask does not cover are tears. When we played “I Love You, but Damn”, I looked out and saw at least three friends, dude friends, just crying.  

Guillén: Dudes aren’t the same anymore, are they? [Laughs]. Nick, reaction to the Hideout. How did you like the Hideout? 

Nick Krivchenia: Loved it.  

Guillén: It wasn’t too hot for you? 

Nick Krivchenia: It was super hot. The sound was great. We got everything we needed. Great crowd.  

Guillén: You guys might not have noticed this, but across the street from the Hideout was a big parking lot, which was where I was parked whenever I came down to the festival, and in the parking lot your music got amplified. It was a huge sound. I couldn’t believe it! There were people actually sitting on the higher levels of the parking lot to watch your set from there. 

Kim West: That would have been a good spot to watch!  

Guillén: I came in to cover Treefort this edition primarily because of my interest in the COVID Interruption—those 18 months of artistic interruption—which almost devasted film and film festival culture because film culture is based so much on production and exhibition, both of which couldn’t be done. Whereas, music differs in that—though you couldn’t have exhibition and concerts—musicians could still make music. Can you speak to how your band kept its musicality together? I’m actually proposing that the COVID Interruption helped many artists focus and get more creative. What happened with you folks? 

Kim West: For us, it was three phases of COVID. We had a record on deck, “I Love You, but Damn”, that was going to come out. We had four tours, national and international, booked. We had a whole year ready to go. We were like, “Here we go!” We were getting ready and then COVID hit. We actually personally weren’t very creative the first couple of months. We were sad. All of a sudden we were free-floating and trying to figure it out. I consider us very lucky in that we were all able to prioritize our time in getting together and practicing and making that something that was important to us. Ryan and I saw these two men [Nick and Luke] and our two other friends and that was it. Those were the only people we saw during the whole pandemic in person without the masks. We made it work. We got through the sadness. We wrote a record that we kind of liked. Then we kind of scrapped that. Then we wrote another record that we really liked and we went and recorded it about a month and a half ago. In two days all the amazing tracks were done. In a week everything was recorded. Then we came into being able to play live shows again. There wasn’t a moment of, “Oh no. Do we know how to do this still?” It was: “Oh yeah, we can!!”  

Guillén: One thing that has always fascinated me about music is the cover song. There were two songs that caught me in your work immediately: “I Love You, but Damn”, of course, but then you had a cover of Gerry Rafferty’s “Right Down the Line”, which was just a beautiful cover. And then when Dana sent me the press notes, I discovered there was this wonderful love story behind all of this with the covers and the poor Christmas and the CD that went out with the covers on it as Christmas gifts. I’m interested in knowing what some of those covers were on that CD, because it’s not available is it? 

Kim West: I actually have a picture of it on my phone from a friend’s aunt who just found a copy of that. 

Ryan Devlin: It was just a burnt CD.  

Guillén: That’s what I figured, but I thought it was interesting because I have been arguing with musicians I’ve met in the Boise scene about the importance of covers. I’m an older guy so I’m familiar with music from the ‘60s and the ‘70s, and going even further back. I had a complaint with the Boise music scene when I first arrived because it was so thoroughly saturated with neo-psychedelia. It was like every band I heard was neo-psychedelia and they were copying each other. I could only take so much of that, y’know? I would say, “Can’t you guys learn a traditional? Like even just one traditional? Can’t you go back and sing a song written by a songwriter from the 1970s? Would that be so wrong?” For me, the value of a song is that it can be interpreted. If you write a good song, it can be sung in different tempos, different languages, you can do so much with the structure of the song. So you started out with a burnt CD of covers and I’d like to know what some of the titles were on that burnt CD. As I was going through your body of work noting which covers you’d done, there was “Right Down the Line”, there was Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams”, and Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares to You.” Are there any others that you’ve actually recorded? 

Ryan Devlin: That first EP was wintery, holiday-feeling songs for us, but they were not traditional holiday songs. We had Joni Mitchell’s “River”, Kim sang it, and it was really beautiful.  

Guillén: I would love to hear that. You know, of course, that Joni Mitchell’s “River” has since become an official holiday song? 

Ryan Devlin: We did a cover from one of my most formative bands, Idaho’s own Built to Spill. We did “Twin Falls, Idaho.” We did “St. Augustine” by Bob Dylan, again feeling vaguely religious, vaguely holiday. It’s one of my favorite Dylan tunes.  

Guillén: How autobiographical are your songs? My roommate was listening to “I Love You, but Damn” and he was taken with the lyrics from where you talked about “being taken home to dinner to meet the parents and how are you going to explain me”. Was that about you two? 

Kim West: “You’re back home getting your degree / explain me to your family.” 

Guillén: With the COVID Interruption having tripped up the release of “I Love You, But Damn”, don’t you think it should somehow be re-released? 

Ryan Devlin: We would need to get a bigger label. 

Kim West: We have two singles coming out soon. And we’re going to release a deluxe version of “I Love You, but Damn” on CD with those two. We’ve gotten quite a number of requests for CDs, generally from people not in the U.S., usually people in Asia; but, CD technology is still alive and well in certain parts of the world and in people’s cars.  

Guillén: Tell me the story of “I Love You, but Damn.”

   

Ryan: In the briefest sense possible, not all of Smokey Brights’ songs are autobiographical, but the speaker in that song is probably Ryan Devlin, me. When Kim and I first started dating about twelve years ago, I was playing in a couple of punk bands and touring a lot. For the first six months of us dating I was gone easily three months of it. We had an up and down cycle, y’know? We’d get together, we’d break up, we’d get together, we’d break up. That song is literally about love and distance, trying to grow up and figure it out, while being very far away from this person that might be falling in love. If we might be falling in love, we might have to change ourselves, I might have to change how I think about myself.  

Guillén: I’m sure you recognize that in the corpus of your work, it is an important song. As I was reviewing your work, it was the first song that, POW, I was grabbed. “What is this song?!!” And I’ve noticed you’ve chosen to use it to close your sets, so obviously you are aware of its power? So I’m glad it’s getting a CD re-release with your two new singles. 

I’m going to let you go, because you got to go, you have other people to talk to, but thank you so much for your time and I really hope you guys enjoy your ascent. I really think you’re on a cresting wave. 

Smokey Brights: Thank you, Michael.

REVIEW: EXTRACTED (2025)—Episode 3: “The Hunt”

Justin & Austin Denison.  Photo courtesy of Fox.

The third installment of the Fox reality series Extracted raises the question of where it is that drama resides? Which human qualities offer opportunities for drama? What strength is the seed bed? What weakness? Which personalities and behavioral characteristics fuel it? 

I hand it to Team Jake. These three brothers are solid. I admire the dedication Austin and Justin have to helping their brother Jake survive the wilderness—one could say that’s a given—but I’m even more impressed with how Austin lends support to the struggles and achievements of other teams. When Haley, driven by hunger, elects to eat ants that taste like lemons, Austin and Justin physically react in sympathetic revulsion. Austin expresses his pride in Davina for hanging in there and keeping an optimistic attitude, even though she is clearly ill-equipped to handle the wilderness, not even being able to build an adequate shelter for herself. He gives it up for Rose when she gets her fire going. Empathy becomes a makeweight in the building of drama. 

The bulk of the third episode is a second survival trial. As the survivalists begin to hear their stomachs grumble in hunger, they’re offered a chance to retrieve meat from a fallen deer. At HQ, the family companions are briefly shown a map of the deer’s location (30 seconds) and must then reconstruct the map from memory to guide their competitors to the carcass. Once they finish their map, they enter the supply room for a container for the meat and must choose (first come first serve) a knife the survivalist will use to cut the carcass. The knives vary in utility and as each team enters the supply room, choice becomes limited. Justin observes that when he and his brothers are in the wilderness they can read a map and know where they’re going; but, to be a shown a map for 30 seconds and then have to reconstruct it in their mind is another story altogether. This proves to be true as he and Austin have a hard time getting their bearings while drawing their map for Jake. They are unaware that they misread the map they were shown and have placed the carcass north of the lake, instead of south. They eventually make the painful discovery that the map they have drawn and delivered to Jake by drone is inaccurate and upside down. Justin finds it amazing that neither he nor Austin caught the error and worries that Jake is screwed because of them. 

As Jake begins navigating through two miles of unforgiving terrain to locate the deer’s carcass, he has started off in the wrong direction and detects early on that there is something “weird” about the map. It makes Austin sick to his stomach how much they have put their brother at a disadvantage, but Justin trusts his brother and is depending on Jake’s instincts to compensate for their error. He hopes that Jake will rely on landmarks to get him to his destination. 

Meanwhile, in the survival zone, Jake complains that “someone” is really bad at drawing maps. Austin beseeches him to “figure it out”, which Jake does admirably. Determining that the landmarks on the map are accurate even if the directions are not, he figures out that he’s on the wrong side of the lake and compensates accordingly, arriving fourth to the carcass and able to carve off enough venison to feed himself. 

As a coldfront approaches after the survival trial, the threat of hypothermia becomes a concern. A supply drop of wool socks and cannisters of hot chocolate are offered to the survivalists, but only for seven out of the eleven teams. The companions at HQ must decide amongst themselves which survivalists will receive the critical supplies to offset potential hypothermia, and who will not. Not only that, but for every three minutes that passes without the companions making a unanimous decision, one of the supply packs will be removed. Justin and Austin immediately volunteer to go without. They can see that some of the survivalists are truly struggling—without water, fire or food—and that volunteering to opt out is the right thing to do. Though it’s unfortunate that Jake opens an empty supply box, I have nothing but respect and admiration for the strong moral center of the Denison brothers. My question is answered: integrity, compassion and competence are what makes proactive drama. 

Inversely, selfishness and incompetence make for reactive drama. As the families bicker over who should get the supply drops or not, animosities and resentments surface. I’m glad Team Jake removed themselves from that undignified scene before it even started. By the end of the episode, Davina is extracted, wasting a survival drop of hot chocolate and socks, which does not go unnoticed. 

 

REVIEW: EXTRACTED (2025)—Episode 2: “Gimme Shelter”

Austin & Justin Denison in HQ; courtesy of Fox.

With 80 robotic surveillance cameras positioned in the Survival Zone, and who knows how many observing from HQ, the amount of footage needing to be edited to shape the Fox reality series Extracted (2025) is near to mind-boggling. But shaping the story through editing also hints at later developments. Team Jake (Jake, Justin and Austin Denison) appear infrequently in the first and second episodes of the series because focus, of course, needs to be drawn to those competitors and their companions who will be the first to be extracted. 

Thus, Team Anthony is singled out and profiled as Anthony loses his cool and demands his parents extract him. Austin comments, “Oh boy…” as Anthony begins to cuss out his parents for not extracting him upon demand. Justin grimaces. It’s difficult to watch Anthony self-combust. After much anger, disappointment and embarrassed frustration, his dad finally pushes the extraction button. His mother refuses to. Good riddance. Anthony personified everything I do not like in entitled young men who think the world owes them everything. I suspect his “unbecoming” behavior (as his mother phrased it) will limit his opportunities in his “modeling career.” My heart goes out to his mom and dad who have yet to teach him how to control his emotions and stop vandalizing good will. 

Austin and Justin can’t help but celebrate, however, because now there’s only 11 families left to go; Team Jake among them. Their confidence shows because Jake by his own admission is doing good and will sleep well his second night out. The only true competition they perceive is Team Ryan W.  Ryan has made himself a killer moss-lined set-up for shelter (“amazing” Justin describes), and has a fire going.

On the morning of day three, Austin and Justin are up by 6:15. In HQ the teams are advised that the survivalists are each wearing a smart watch that tracks their biometric data (heart rate, respiratory rate, stress level and sleep), summarized into four color codes: baseline green registering healthy biometrics; moderate yellow showing signs of decline; elevated orange suggesting that medical attention may be required; and severe red indicating that extraction may be necessary. Jake’s first data summary falls within green. 

The first survival trial is announced. The survivalists must make it across the lake to retrieve three potential shelter supplies. One cache has two tarps, rope and a bear skin; the second has two tarps, rope and a sleeping mat; and the third has two tarps and a rope; all on a first come first served basis. Further, the first survivalist to cross the lake receives an advantage for their family in the next supply drop. The families in HQ are responsible for designing the raft and providing the tools necessary to build it. Austin and Justin slap hands after they secure what they feel Jake will need to make the raft they have designed. Their design and Jake’s construction are not shown and Jake isn’t one of the top three winners, but he is able to retrieve some (unspecified) shelter supplies. 

On day four, Jake starts out his morning by noting that he’s good on water but begins boiling more from the lake as a reserve. I’ve switched away from the Fox website to watch the Extracted episodes in their entirety on YouTube where the commercials that were bogging down the stream on the Fox website have been minimized to a brief few.

 

THROWBACK THURSDAY—SVFF 2013 / TREEFORT MUSIC FEST 2013: CINEMA DISRUPTION (ONLINE, IN CINEMA & BACK AGAIN)—Evening Class Questions For the Creative Team Behind the Road to Treefort Web Series

"Interesting distributing something like this with the internet and then not really knowing much beyond that."—Zach Voss, Retroscope Media. 

Fourteen years ago, in the Spring of 2011, I brokered my relocation from the San Francisco Bay Area to Boise, Idaho, by befriending a vibrant crew of youthful artists whose creativity embraced me in their contagious enthusiasm. The Treefort Music Fest ("Treefort") inaugurated their cultural initiative in March 2012, at the same time that the Sun Valley Film Festival (“SVFF”) launched north of Boise. By the Spring of 2013, I was fully immersed in the second editions of both Treefort and SVFF. At the same time, influenced by the regional filmmaking I witnessed happening throughout the Treasure Valley, my film journalism focused on both regional filmmaking—as monitored primarily through Idaho-produced short films and music videos—but also on the multiple national and international platforms that had become increasingly available to exhibit short form work, obviating regional restrictions. The interstitial tension between film production and film exhibition seemed nowhere more apparent than in the opportunities afforded short film content, particularly in its capacity to occupy multiple spaces, often concurrently, for different marketed and/or social effects. 

A near textbook study of these shifting trends of short content occupying multiple spaces was the Road to Treefort web series developed by Retroscope for Treefort. Not only did Road to Treefort screen in-cinema at SVFF 2013, but was likewise slotted into a shorts series shown at Boise’s Egyptian Theatre, in conjunction with Treefort. Having watched the Road to Treefort web series online several times ramping up to the music festival, I likewise sought out the experience of watching the series in a movie theater projected onto a large screen. After that Egyptian Theater screening, Zach Voss, Willow Socia, Cody Gittings, Bronwyn Leslie and Yurek Hansen—members of the team responsible for creating the web series—fielded questions from their Treefort audience. 

Ramping up to the 2025 edition of Treefort, I find myself nostalgic regarding the early years of the fest and grateful that I took notes at that Egyptian Theater Q&A session; a perfect entry for Throwback Thursday!! Looking back to turn forward. 

* * * 

Bronwyn Leslie helped with casting and production coordination, as well as acting. Yurek Hansen was the "puppeteer of sorts" who donned the monster costume and ran around the forest. Hansen's been a professional dancer with the Idaho Dance Theatre for the last 13 years and recently returned from field work in Africa. Cody Gittings, the director of photography, also helped co-edit the first episode and plan the blocking and cinematography. Willow Socia (who "makes anything and everything") was the designer of the monster costume and helped fabricate it alongside Daniel Fo. 

Interesting for Voss was that the series went straight to the internet where it was well-received with several views and likes, admittedly shorthanded communication, so Voss welcomed the opportunity to hear questions from his live audience. 

 I began by complimenting Willow Socia on her iconic monster and asked how she came up with the concept? How she designed it? And how she then actually fabricated the creature? Socia noted that the monster was designed upon illustrations by James Lloyd, Treefort's Art Director. She taught herself to crochet and decided to incorporate her new skill into providing texture to the monster. She had never made a costume before. Fittings were interesting because she didn't have Yurek Hansen on hand all the time, though she did have Zach. He spent a lot of time donning the monster's pants so Socia could fit them properly; she had never made pants before. "With crochet you work in the round," she explained, "so I would try one leg on, then the other leg, and made it up around that." The Monster's head was made out of painted insulation and the beard was made of dangling shoe laces. 

Voss credited Daniel Fo for the costume's foam components—the head, the feet. Fo had moved into the Oddfellows Building where several artists, Voss included, had studio spaces. Voss watched Fo build rock formations for a train set he was making and offered, "Daniel, jump in on this project with us. It'd be great for you to interpret something we'll be working on." That was another tangent that worked out really well, but wasn't necessarily planned. 

Mosaicist Anna Webb asked how Voss got the Shriners to participate? Were they game from the beginning? Voss replied that—when they first launched the series and it became live on the internet and picked up speed—Treefort already had the El Korah Shrine booked as a music venue. At that point it was easier to approach The Shriners because they had already seen the support the web series was receiving (the series helped promote Treefort on Pitchfork and Spin). The same was true for then-Mayor Dave (David H. Bieter). When Voss approached the Mayor's Office, they knew all about the web series so it became easier to propose where Mayor Dave could play a part and have his office represented. Without question, however, both the Shriners and the Mayor's Office were behind Road to Treefort. With the Shriners in particular, it became a case of having to turn down the amount of participation they were willling to offer. Voss recalled attending a meeting where they offered fire trucks, dune buggies, scooters, all sorts of things, which Voss declined on the caveat that next year they might take advantage of the fire trucks and the elephants. 

As for locations, the rustic bar used in the series was Diamond Lil's in Idaho City. Gittings and Voss had driven up to Idaho City to scout for locations and exteriors, including the cabin where the crew hung out. They filmed that cabin exterior in Idaho City, but the interior was actually shot in Willow Socia's parents' home. They stitched those two together. Then the scene where they're running down the field was filmed in the Grayback Gulch Campground. In reality, the production was a process of piecing together elements that were available and at hand, to save time, plus meeting locals who were game to help make the film. Diamond Lils was ready to go on the day shooting was scheduled, even though they were still open for business. Several of their bar patrons drank and watched while Voss and his crew filmed and when Voss would shout, "Quiet!", everyone in the bar—including the patrons—froze. They were totally into it. The scene would be shot, Voss would shout "Cut", and the bar would break into laughter and celebratory applause. 

Gittings and Voss were setting up the scene where the Treefort Monster first ambushes the crew at the bar after they've downed shots. They had dolly shots of the Monster opening the door, but they needed something else. "What have we got?" they thought, "Fog or smoke or....?" They wheeled around, faced the patrons at the bar and asked, "Who here smokes?" Lots of hands went up. So the shot where the Monster appears in the doorway surrounded by smoke is engineered by the sheer lung power of a crowd of bar patrons who blew out cigarette smoke on cue on either side of the open door. "It's things like that," Voss enthused, "that you can never totally plan for, but when you set yourself up at the right place and the right time, things come together. And that was really one of the charming parts of the project, late at night after a full day of shooting, but we still had so much energy and enthusiasm, including people who smoke who were willing to help out." 

I first met Bronwyn Leslie at the work-in-progress screening of An Unkindness of Ravens held at the Sun Valley Opera House during SVFF. The following weekend I saw her onstage as the musical act Lionsweb backed up by Sun Blood Stories in the Linen Building during Treefort and I was blown away by her honest, soulful talent, let alone that she was Visual Art Director for Treefort. In addition, she was on screen running around in a white fur coat in The Road to Treefort. I asked Leslie how she had trained and become fluent in so many different forms of creative self-expression? Admitting she had no training but simply liked "to do it", Leslie moved to Idaho from Alabama. She's been here nine years. She took acting and video classes at Boise State. Her grandparents ran a photography studio while she was growing up so Leslie was accustomed to imagemaking, even though she never knew it would become her art and passion, which blossomed when she met Voss, Socia, Gittings and Hansen.

  

 

 

TREEFORT 2025—RAÍCES: The Evening Class Interview With Miguel Almeida

Miguel Almeida is an illustrator / muralist based in Boise, Idaho. He works both digitally and traditionally to create colorful illustrations. His personal work is largely inspired by his Mexican roots. He combines colors inspired by Mexican folk art and heavy line work to create a modern graphic style. Almeida has worked with numerous clients from City of Boise, Idaho State Museum, Chocolate Skateboards, Calexico, Push & Pour, Google/DLR Group and many more. I’m grateful for his taking time from his busy ramp-up to Treefort to answer some questions.

* * *  

Michael Guillén: I’ve studied Precolumbian iconography for decades, and have watched the welcome and creative appropriations of Teotihuacan, Toltec, Olmec, Aztec and Mayan motifs by Chicano/a/x and Latino/a/x artists, primarily in California in the Bay Area through exhibition spaces like the Mission Cultural Center and Galería de la Raza. My own art collection revolves around Mayan themes, drawing from the work of Patssi Valdez, Juana Alicia, Calixto Robles, Mario Romero, Tony DeCarlo, and several others. When I relocated to Boise, Idaho, I was delighted to discover your community work, along with Bobby Gaytan’s. I’ve been fortunate to acquire one of Bobby’s paintings but have yet to secure one of yours. Let me articulate why it is that I want to eventually include you in my collection. 

I see in your artwork a similar practice of claiming and incorporating our cultural legacies; but, what I find singularly unique in your expression is your palette. Whereas most of the artists I know have gone the way of bright, primary colors, you have chosen instead a range of specifically-hued pinks, yellows and blues. Can you speak to me of how you have incorporated Precolumian imagery into your work and how you have melded it with contemporary formats (i.e., skateboards, stickers), and why you have chosen your particular palette to do so? 

Miguel Almeida: My color palette is largely inspired by the pueblos in Mexico. My grandparents lived out there in Zacatecas, so I spent a lot of summers visiting them and seeing all the art in Mexico. A lot of those pinks, teals, yellows are inspired by the building colors out there. Here in the USA everything is just a boring grey, black, white or brick. I love that out in Mexico it is very colorful and I feel like color is a big part of the culture. 

As far as incorporating Precolumbian imagery, I do draw inspiration from it and do my best to honor it in a way that feels right to me. Like a large majority of Mexicans, I am Native American mixed with some Spanish but due to colonization I don’t really know what specific indigenous culture my ancestors were a part of. I have some ideas through family research but nothing 100% certain. I don’t want to step on anyone's toes, but I try to do my best to honor my Native American roots through my art. To me it feels like an act of resisting colonization and reclaiming something my ancestors were killed or punished for.  

Guillén: You describe your work as having a “heavy line work technique” and I’m slightly embarrassed to say I don’t know what you mean by that. Could you explain? 

Almeida: I use the term “heavy line work” to describe my art because there is a lot of line work involved. I don’t paint shadows or light in my work but often use lines to create the effect of a shadow or to define an object. It’s more of a graphic style similar to the result of a linocut work.  

Guillén: In an admirable “danger, Will Robinson” move, you landed on robots for your design of beer cans for local brewery Lost Grove. Lost Grove is also one of the participating sites of Treefort’s “Back Rooms” Artfort initiative. Speak to me about your commercial interaction with Lost Grove, how you decided on robots for the campaign, and how you’ll be representing at Treefort. Will you be participating in the “Back Rooms” program? Will you be painting a window or mural during the festival? 

Almeida: The Lost Grove Robot beer collaboration was a fun one. I grew up being a big fan of Mega Man and Gundam anime so getting to design robots was something new but something the kid me would have loved. I was working with Lost Grove on launching their Artist Residency project that involved designing labels for their more specialty barrel aged beer and they wanted me to design some of their Hazy IPA beer line. I had a lot of fun doing it. It’s always nice to be able to tap into the kid in me and create something for fun but still make it feel like my art. 

I’ll be doing a couple things at Treefort this year. I’m helping organize an art show with Marianna Edwards, Maria Ayala and Tropico FM at the Basque Center. The show is called “Coatl: Ten Perspectives” and I recommend coming to check it out; it should be really cool. It’s all Latino/a/x artists and we’ve got some heavy hitters in our community with some younger artists too. Tropico FM does a great job to make sure we have a space to be represented and usually we have Musicians from Latino America performing. 

 I’ll also be painting a live mural at the main stage Wednesday—Sunday. There are a few of us from the “Coatl” show that will be painting a mural live. Shoutout to Sector Seventeen for making it happen. It’ll be a good time hanging out with all the artists and painting. Aside from those two events that I’m doing, hopefully I’ll be able to catch some shows and enjoy being outside.  

Guillén: In a distinct Wassup Rockers vibe, you’ve elevated patinetas to subcultural prominence. I know you’ve been a skateboarder for a couple of decades and so it seems a given that you would want to take your work to the street not only through your murals but through your sidewalk traffic. We have a major skate park in downtown Boise. Has Treefort created any kind of event there that you have participated in? 

Almeida: Treefort puts on Skatefort with Boise Skateboard Association and Prestige Skateshop. In the past I have donated some apparel / stickers from my Brand Raíces to give away for kids who land tricks. It’s super cool and always fun to be there skating with everyone.  

Guillén: Talk to me about the relevance of public art and representing and providing presence to Chicano identity in our community. I should qualify that question. I grew up in California, so I identify as Chicano; but, I have friends who don’t feel comfortable with that term and go by Tejano. I’m not sure what the appropriate appellation would be here in the Treasure Valley. Mexicano? How do you identify? 

Almeida: I use both Mexican and Chicano but I identify more as Mexican. As a first generation Mexican American that grew up in Idaho, to me Mexican represents me and my history more. I grew up in a very traditional Mexican family. If we were in the 70’s, though, I’d identify more with Chicano for sure. I’m all about fighting for our people and challenging oppressive systems set in place to harm us.  

Guillén: Back to the relevance of public art, can you speak to what it means for you? 

Almeida: Public art to me is a very special opportunity that many Mexican / Chicano artists in Boise don’t always get. I never take the opportunity lightly so I always try to create something that represents me, my family, and my community because it's rare to see our stories being told and celebrated in public spaces. I grew up in Marsing / Caldwell, Idaho, so growing up I never saw art in public that reflected me or my family. I love that public art is accessible to everyone. I always think about my parents and tíos who have probably never gone to an art gallery and how they can experience art in public. I love seeing my community's reaction to seeing familiar stories, objects and our community being celebrated. I hope kids who grew up like me can get inspired by it and dream of being an artist. That is something I didn't have growing up but hope the future generations have.  

Guillén: I’m aware that you have done great work in Garden City and I’m wondering if you can contextualize your efforts there? With Treefort's offshoot Flipside being venued in Garden City, have they assisted your initiatives? I want to emphasize my admiration and respect for the political aesthetic that runs through your public art, not only in minority representation, but also in causes you believe in (such as climate change). I’m further aware that you were the first artist chosen for the Garden City Climate Action Artwalk sponsored by Conservation Voters For Idaho and that you’ve collaborated with the Garden City Placemaking Fund, which I first heard about through a public lecture sponsored by Flipside. Can you speak to where the Garden City initiatives are at this point, if anything is coming up? 

Almeida: The murals that I did in Garden City were the first two murals I ever did. Big shout out to The Garden City Placemaking fund for their trust and opportunity to help kick off their project along with Ashley Dreyfus, Julia Green and James W.A.R. Lloyd. One of the murals was tied to a climate change project so I decided to create something that said the message in Spanish versus English. I felt it was important to include folks like my parents in the conversation who speak Spanish and very little English. The second one I did on the wall of Visionkit was based around farmworking. Chinden being a busy road, I thought it’d be a good place to create something that honored farmworkers and a reminder to folks where their food comes from. 

I haven’t had any involvement with Flipside Fest. I think they might have used the mural in a video, but that might be all my involvement. [Laughs.] 

To be honest, I’m not too sure on the situation of the Garden City Placemaking Fund. I know it is still around and helping folks with first-time mural opportunities. I think without funding it’s really hard for it to grow as fast as they’d hoped. I’m glad it is still around though and hoping one day they get the funding for future public art opportunities. It's a really cool organization and I owe alot to them for giving me my first mural opportunity. Mural work for me really blew up after those first two murals. That’s their mission: helping artists get mural experience and being a resource with a large pool of experienced artists / muralists.  

Guillén: Will you be speaking during Treefort in conjunction with National Farmworker Awareness Week (particularly in response to Trump's disrespect of the contributions of farmworkers to the well-being of the American economy)? 

Almeida: As for the talk with National Farmworker Awareness Week, I won’t be a speaker on that panel. I’m sure the mural I paint will, for sure, be a response to all the disrespect and hate we are enduring.  

Guillén: Finally, I’m always interested to hear where musical interests lie. Is there anyone you’re excited to hear at Treefort this year? 

Almeida: To be honest, I haven’t seen many bands on the line up that I recognize. I might have to take a deeper look. So far the only ones I can think of are Ramona and LA LOM, who I haven’t seen before.

  

 

 

 

 

REVIEW: EXTRACTED (2025)—Episode 1: “Survive the Night”

Photo courtesy of Entertainment Weekly

I’m not really a reality T.V. enthusiast, but have to admit that one of my guilty viewing pleasures has been watching the American version of Big Brother, which kicked off in 2000. Unbelievably, I’ve been watching Big Brother for 25 years. In its 26th season I was intrigued by Boise resident Cedric Hodges being one of the contestants. Hodges, a former Marine, lasted for 31 days in the Big Brother house. I was rooting for him because I thought he was a genuinely nice guy; but, it was that quality of kindness that undid him when he volunteered to put himself up as a pawn and was, consequently, evicted. I often wondered if I would ever run into him out and about in Boise, Idaho. 

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I went in for my annual eye exam at Boise Vision Care. There were all sorts of balloons in the reception area. I asked what was the cause for celebration? The receptionist advised that my optometrist, Justin Denison, had been chosen to be a contestant on a new reality show called Extracted, which had just premiered on Fox. “But don’t ask him about it,” she said, “because he doesn’t like to talk about it.” 

“But I’m a film writer,” I protested, and—of course—it was the first thing I brought up in conversation. He had been forewarned of my interest and gamely fielded questions about his participation in the show. I decided then and there that Extracted would be the first televised reality show that I would monitor through The Evening Class. 

For starters, Dr. Denison was born and raised in Boise. He graduated from Centennial High School and attended Boise State before receiving his Bachelor’s Degree in Exercise Science from Brigham Young University. He then went on to receive his Doctor of Optometry Degree from Midwestern University in Glendale, Arizona. He joined Boise Vision Care in 2013. He is a member of the American Optometric Association and Idaho Optometric Association. Not intending to demean his professional credentials in any way, I’ll refer to him as Justin for convenience sake. 

With Sylvester Stallone among the producers of Extracted, the series premiered on the Fox network on February 10, 2025, with new episodes airing each Tuesday. Episodes are also available on the series website (though bogged down with commercials). The premise of Extracted is unique and intriguing. Twelve teams composed of one amateur survivalist ("Competitor") and two friends or family members ("Companions") are sent into a forested area in British Columbia, Canada. The Competitors are each isolated in the wilderness and must do whatever they can (such as finding food and building shelter) to sustain themselves while their actions are monitored by cameras throughout the area. The Companions are together in a nearby compound in a studio where they can watch and listen to all the Competitors. At set intervals throughout the competition the Companions have the opportunity to aid their teammates by selecting items for survival packages (e.g.: tools, bedding, food and other consumables) that are delivered to the Competitors via drone, helicopter, or boat. 

The Competitors are informed that they will have no control on when their participation in the competition ends. The Competitors can only be removed from the wilderness by their Companions, who may press a red "extract" button in the studio to initiate their Competitor's evacuation. Doing so eliminates the entire team from contention. The last team remaining will win a grand prize of $250,000. 

Of course, he’s probably under a legally-binding document not to reveal the series’ outcome, but my one-dollar bet is on Team Denison. Justin’s brother Jake—a mortgage loan officer in Meridian, Idaho—is the Competitor, while he and his other brother Austin are the Companions participating from “Headquarters” (“HQ”). I immediately came home from my eye exam and—even though my eyes were still dilated—couldn’t resist watching the first two episodes of Extracted. The fourth episode just aired today and so—before we get too much further into the season—I’m starting in with, not so much a review, but sheer vicarious participation. As there are so many individuals involved, my focus will be—of course—on Team Denison in each episode. 

Season 1, Episode 1: “Survive the Night” 

The stage is set. Within an extraordinary, timeless and dangerous mountain wilderness, 80 robotic surveillance cameras are watching and listening to twelve competitors dropped into this challenging environment with nothing more than the clothes on their back and selfie camera equipment. This is one of the elements that Justin did mention to me in his recollection of the experience: the daunting edits of so much footage masterfully reduced to what would provide the most intense and exciting narrative traction. Miles away in a high-tech headquarters, the camera feeds can be seen and heard by the competitors’ companions. “Don’t let me die,” Jake shouts out to his brothers as the helicopter arrives to lift him into the wilderness. Austin boasts that Jake is their team survivalist because he’s confident that Jake “doesn’t have any quit in him.” 

As the amateur survivalists are dropped into a survival zone around a lake fringed by forested mountains, back at HQ family members are advised that in order for them to secure resources for their loved ones through supply drops, they must compete for limited supplies with the other families, or the contestants must compete for them through survival trials. 

Finding a campsite and setting up shelter is the first objective of the competitors so that they can withstand their first night. Jake is shown hoisting “bad boy” logs onto his shoulder either to get them out of the way or to use them to construct a shelter. He quips that he’s waiting for a bear to jump out and snatch his arm. 

The following morning as the first supply drop is announced, the families have a minute to enter the supply room to fill a box and seal it before their time is up. Austin predicts that there might be potential animosity if it’s revealed that one family takes more than their share and Justin concurs that they’ll be fine as long as those before them don’t wipe things out. Irritation arises when Team Jakoben takes two knives, leaving one family without. This is the first indication of the sharpness of the competitive edge within HQ. 

But more disturbing is the lack of gratitude on the part of Anthony towards his parents, who filled his supply box with everything he would need to do well in the outdoors. Allegedly a model, Anthony quickly becomes a model of an immature, spoiled and ill-behaved young man, whining about his advantages. This is when the series deepens to being more than just a survival reality series and becomes an interesting study of family dynamics. As someone who is fond of dystopian narratives where social alliances determine survival, Extracted presents the family unit as the first litmus test of cooperation and solidarity. Anthony’s ungrateful behavior embarrasses his mother and father, particularly his father who blames himself for his son’s lack of maturity. He had hoped that the experience would have toughened him up and it is uncomfortable to watch Anthony give up so readily and not be the man that his father wants him to be. He begins to come unglued and disrespectfully demands extraction. “This is not a request,” he asserts. Shaking his head, Austin characterizes Anthony as “an 18-year-old kid who’s unhappy.” 

The expectations that family members have on the survivalists also speaks to failures of trust. Making fire becomes a fulcrum of judgment. Jake conquers the challenge swiftly, but others struggle with flint and firedrills, unable to get a fire going, and this frustrates and worries impatient family members. Tensions begin to escalate…. 

…and I’m hooked.

REVIEW—LIZA: A TRULY TERRIFIC ABSOLUTELY TRUE STORY (2024)

"I am a part of all that I have met," poet Alfred Tennyson wrote In “Ulysses”, a poem in blank verse that served as a dramatic monologue detailing the Greek hero's travels, encounters, and escapades, through which Ulysses was exposed to many different types of people and ways of living. By having Ulysses say this, Tennyson offered his view that humans are shaped by a combination of all life's experiences. 

It could easily be something Liza Minnelli would say. The philosophy that a person is shaped by others in their life is the documentary structure of Liza: A Truly Terrific Absolutely True Story (2024), written and directed by Bruce David Klein. Liza’s influences were iconic and celebrated, beginning with her parentage (Judy Garland, her mother; Vincent Minnelli, her father) and continuing on through a family of friends and mentors into the ‘70s when all she became influenced her fans to become themselves. 

I’m the first to admit that you either love Liza Minnelli or you don’t; you’re a fan or you’re not. I was 18 years old when Cabaret (1972) came to my local moviehouse in Twin Falls, Idaho. I was living in an upstairs apartment that I had painted bright yellow and gnashing at the bit to get out of Twin to go find my life somewhere else. Liza’s Oscar®-winning performance as Sally Bowles dazzled and motivated me. I saw Cabaret eight times in as many nights. It fueled my eventual release from Idaho and catapulted me into the urban lifestyle that characterized my adulthood. 

San Francisco became my home and it was there that I was fortunate enough to see Liza several times in concert, including the preview performance of “Shine It On” (eventually “The Act” on Broadway). Directed by Martin Scorsese with original music by John Kander and Fred Ebb, “Shine It On / The Act” suffered from a lousy script. The disappointment in the audience was palpable; the tepid applause painful. Then the curtain opened, Liza walked out, admitted to the play’s faults, and asked if she couldn’t compensate by singing for us. The crowd, as they say, went wild. Myself included. To be in the presence of such a consummate entertainer was rapturous. So, yes, you either love Liza Minnelli or you don’t; you’re either a fan or you’re not. I am unabashedly a loving fan. 

So I started with Cabaret, explored earlier projects (The Sterile Cuckoo, Tell Me You Love Me, Junie Moon), subsequent projects (Liza With A Z, New York, New York, Arthur, Stepping Out), and learned more about her life; all of which is affectionately surveyed in Klein’s filmic tribute. 

“Being Judy Garland’s daughter is not a lot of laughs,” Liza once stated. Contrary to the stereotypical presumption that all gay men were “friends of Dorothy”, I knew nothing of Judy Garland until many years later when I caught a telecast of A Star Is Born and connected the dots: not only why gay men iconicized Garland, but for me the more sobering insight that Liza’s protective relationship with her mother was much like my own. We both played the role of child-as-parent, suffering from the adage that childhood cannot wait for the parent to grow up. Escaping the weight of that loving duty, surviving her mother’s death, and negotiating an identity separate from Garland required that Liza embark on her own odyssey. 

Her father Vincent Minnelli helped in that regard. Vincent Minnelli instilled a sense of perfectionism in Liza. “Emphasize what you think is good,” he said, “what you don’t like, change it.” As she was preparing for the role of Sally Bowles, Minnelli introduced Liza to silent era icons Lya Diputti and Louise Brooks, which helped Liza create the look of Sally Bowles; a look which Liza adopted thereafter. 

Also helping in the creation of Sally Bowles, Christina Smith—a make-up artist who befriended Liza—took advantage of her large eyes and exaggerated her eyelashes. As her celebrity increased, Liza remained loyal to Smith, championed her work, and helped her become one of the first female make-up artists in Hollywood without union credentials. 

Kay Thompson took over when Garland died, becoming Liza’s mother surrogate and mentor. It was Kay who advised Liza not to go around with dull people or people she didn’t like. “Even if you’re curious,” Kay cautioned, “don’t do it.” Her full-blown personality—which Liza emulated—made Liza the superstar possible. 

French singer and songwriter Charles Aznavour was next. Aznavour changed Liza’s life by teaching her how to act out the emotion of a song. They were “more than friends, less than lovers.” He recognized that—like many young performers—Liza was imitating others and had not yet found her voice. He showed her how to incorporate the grittiness of life into her interpretation of a song, to make a song her own by singing it close to her heart, making it intimate and not needing to make every song a national anthem (as Frank Sinatra once complained to Mia Farrow, Liza’s friend since their teenage years). 

Despite Sinatra’s valid critique, I nonetheless have always enjoyed when an entertainer can belt out a song. Sometimes it’s essential to a song’s emotional authenticity; its drama. Not everyone agrees, I know, as I learned when I was at Tower Records in North Beach asking for what was then Liza’s latest album “At Carnegie Hall” (1987). The guy at the counter shouted out to a co-worker, “Hey, do we have the new album by the screaming lady?!!” 

Another quality Liza picked up from her father was an appreciation for choreography. She loved to dance and her association with choreographer Bob Fosse had a strong influence. Like her father, Fosse was a perfectionist, and precise. He brought discipline and focus to her dancing. 

But it was musical theater lyricist Fred Ebb who truly invented Liza. He was her big brother. According to Michael Feinstein—one of the documentary’s main talking heads—Liza was Fred Ebb’s alter-ego. As much as Kay Thompson instilled in Liza the very showmanship that she was unable to achieve for herself, Ebb wanted to be Liza. He channeled his talent through her’s. He began shaping her identity by steering her away from talking about her mother, explaining that the focus would shift to her. It was while Ebb and John Kander were writing the songs for “Flora the Red Menace” that they became godfathers to Liza’s career, recognizing that only she could play Flora, for which she earned a Tony Award for Best Actress in a musical. “She had the thing you can’t teach,” Kander opined, “even though she had a lot to learn.” 

With Bob Fosse, Fred Ebb produced the television concert Liza With A Z (1972). Fosse directed and choreographed the concert and Kander and Ebb wrote and arranged the music, including the titular tune that definitively set Liza’s identity in song and the clever “Ring Them Bells” (whose lyrics provided the title to Klein’s documentary). The television concert won Liza an Emmy and was likewise notable for her costumes, designed by Halston, to whom Liza had been introduced through Kay Thompson. She and Halston became intimate friends. It was Halston who gave Liza her signature red sequin look; a glittering compensation for her perspiring on stage. “Know yourself,” Halston encouraged socratically. “Know what suits your purposes.” Liza had the eye; she knew what looked good; but, Halston was the one that could make her look good. He designed for her body, which gave her confidence.

  

In my late twenties I had the good fortune of befriending Peter Allen when he began appearing in clubs in San Francisco. I didn’t know anything about his marriage to Liza Minnelli until years later; but, he referenced her in his song “Tenterfield Saddler” where he described himself as having been all around the world living in no special place but “marrying a girl with an interesting face.” Though Allen’s bisexuality dissolved their marriage, Mia Farrow commented that—of all of Liza’s husbands—she was happiest with him. Along with Feinstein, Farrow’s friendship with Liza contributes some of the film’s primary commentary. Other talking heads include Chita Rivera, George Hamilton, Ben Vereen, Joel Grey, Darren Criss, and her sister Lorna Luft. 

I could go on and on with anecdote after anecdote about Liza, but suffice it to say that Liza: A Truly Terrific Absolutely True Story will satisfy and fill in the gaps. If each person’s life is an odyssey that exposes them to individuals who influence them, and aware that nowadays there are more stars than you can shake a stick at, when I was young during the incredibly formative 1970s, there were only a few true superstars, Liza being one of them. Her influence upon me has been indelible. I may not have met her in person but I have seen her in person. I’ve applauded at concerts and even applauded with a movie audience when she sang “And the World Goes ‘Round” when New York, New York screened in San Francisco. It was as if she was there, and we couldn’t help praising the woman on screen. Rumor has it that she was actually in the audience incognito, and delighted by our response. 

Curiously absent from the documentary is Liza’s association with the Pet Shop Boys for one of my favorite albums of hers: "Results" (1989). Later that year at the Grammys, she sang Stephen Sondheim’s “Losing My Mind” (which had been included on "Results") before receiving a Grammy Legend Award, thus making her one of only sixteen artists to receive a Tony, an Academy Award, an Emmy and a Grammy. 

Among the many cameos she made later in her career, my favorite was from the television series Smash when she sang “A Love Letter From the Times”. 

  

Liza: A Truly Terrific Absolutely True Story runs through Friday, March 7, 2025 at the Roxie in San Francisco, California and the Smith Rafael Film Center in San Rafael, California. Unfortunately, as far as I’m aware, there are no scheduled screenings in Boise, Idaho.