Arts & Entertainment

By day, Maria Cole heads up the expansion of the Denver Art Museum for Davis Partnership Architects. By night, she heads up Architectural Laboratory – Denver, a non-profit group that brings together architects and artists to discuss theories of design, free from the constructs and constraints of day-to-day reality. But Cole doesn’t limit the discussion to stuffed-shirt academics or think-tank snobs; instead, Architectural Laboratory offers a public lecture series so the community can come together to riff on such topics as “The Code of a Great City” or “Decoding Diplomatic Architecture.” (Can you tell the lab took a cue from the Da Vinci Code for this year’s theme?) That’s a progressive twist on the concept of community-building.

Nothing sucks more than getting drunk to crappy music. But at Capitol Hill mainstay Gabor’s, there are no worries: The bar’s jukebox is stocked with a passel of discs that make the firewater slide down all the easier. From the twang of Patsy Cline and Neil Young to the shiver of Joy Division and Massive Attack, the selection is as varied in time as it is in tone, with Muddy Waters rubbing elbows with hip new stuff like the Arcade Fire. There’s even a handful of homemade mixed CDs to spice things up. Regardless of your taste in tunes and booze, Gabor’s provides the perfect soundtrack to souse yourself senseless.

Before an enormous black-and-white mural of Johnny Cash graced the east-facing facade of Bender’s 13th Avenue Tavern, the run-down, windowless structure was home to a string of short-lived hip-hop and goth-oriented night spots: Tongues Untied, Club Onyx and Club 314. Enter Tyson Murray, upright-bassist for local country powerhouse the Railbenders, and an entrepreneur with a vision beyond mere turntables and gossamer. In addition to hosting a weekly movie series, karaoke nights and outdoor patio service, Bender’s now boasts a wide range of live local bands — everything from the Denver Gentlemen to Cephalic Carnage. As further testament to the club’s eclectic spirit, Murray and company have lured top national acts like Rex Hobart, Jolie Holland, Slim Cessna’s Auto Club and Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. Even the Man in Black wouldn’t argue with that.

All-ages venues have had a spotty history in Denver — mostly due to outmoded liquor laws that make it prohibitive for clubs to admit teens and still serve that rent-paying alcohol. Though Rock Island has long hosted sixteen-and-up dance nights, the club’s kiddie offerings got a boost when Mike Barsch of Soda Jerk Presents moved his concert-promotion company into the hallowed LoDo hall. Since then, it’s housed some of the best punk, hardcore and metal shows in recent memory, attracting youth-friendly national acts that might otherwise fall through the cracks — or worse, be thrown into a 21-plus joint. Thanks to Rock Island, the kids are alright.

There’s no doubt about it: When it comes to booking the best national acts, the Larimer Lounge consistently beats every venue in town. Sometimes, though, the club’s intimacy has worked against it — especially when bands are way too big, in terms of both popularity and sheer size, to fit comfortably on the stage. But recently, co-owner Scott Campbell expanded the cramped platform and upgraded the P.A., and the change has been remarkable. With improved sound and visibility, the Larimer remains the best spot to catch hot new bands before they break through to the next level — or to just watch your buddies jam on a Monday night.

Sure, it’s pain a for Denver dwellers to drive to Boulder to see a show. But the Fox Theatre makes it impossible not to. Over the past year, the venue has begun snagging a ridiculous amount of noteworthy acts from nearly every sliver of the spectrum: jam, soul, reggae, blues, jazz, metal, punk, country, world music and indie rock, not to mention the best hip-hop around. The Fox has always boasted the state’s most breathtaking sound; now it’s bringing some of the greatest bands in the country while remaining radically diverse enough to draw just about any audience — even xenophobic Denverites.

Club Evolution opened last year in the building that was once home to Muddy’s but looked wrecking-ball-worthy in recent years. Fresh from a floor-to-ceiling overhaul, the place is now a gorgeous, two-story jewel of a club with an intriguing split personality. During the day, the upper level welcomes a wi-fi crowd for coffee; by night, the brick-walled room serves as a comfortable cocktail lounge with great drink specials. (Look out for the rolling chairs, however: After the crowd has a few drinks, the place turns into chair-derby.) Downtairs is a bumpin’ dance club where the city’s chicest assortment of family, and friends, come to be seen. No wonder there’s a line out the door on Fridays and Saturdays: Evolution is the smartest combination of elements we’ve seen in Denver nightlife.

Originally more of a jazz-oriented setup, Dulcinea’s 100th Monkey has hopped branches and now embraces the jam nation with equal enthusiasm. Though images of Miles Davis and John Coltrane have been replaced by shots of Warren Haynes and Bob Weir, the overall vibe remains the same: mellow, welcoming and dedicated to the making of music. Where else in town can you find ten musicians crammed onto a small stage, blissfully noodling to the retro undulations of vintage lava lamps? Don’t miss Monday-night open jams hosted by John Tipton of Electric Side Dish, or Grateful Dead Tuesdays, which features local Dead-inspired acts. The rest of the week, the house hosts some of the best national and local jam, bluegrass and roots acts.

Combining elegance and hep, Dazzle Restaurant & Lounge refracts the elusive quality of Mingus, Monk or maybe even Parker in a soothing atmosphere. From classic to experimental, the joint swings seven days a week. Sheryl Renee pays tribute to the legends on Sunday nights, while Ralph Sharon recalls Ellington, Carmichael and Berlin on Wednesdays. Up-and-coming young bands take the stage as well. The comfortable dining room provides an intimate, non-smoking setting where you can take in some cocktail crooning and still retain the ability to breathe. Dazzle offers a colorful and festive lounge with a happy-hour food menu and drink specials, and serves dinner seven nights a week. The Sunday Jazz Brunch is a nifty new addition. Just be prepared to scat on command.

What began as a humble new dive in November 2003 has quickly blossomed into the best room in town. Occupying the space once held by Quixote’s True Blue and the legendary 7 South, the hi-dive offers everything: karaoke, movie screenings, some of the most imaginative DJ nights in town — and, of course, live music pumped through a top-notch system and killer acoustics. While owners Matt and Allison LaBarge are still building their stable of touring acts, local bands (and their fans) know that the combination of great sound, cheap drinks and anything-goes atmosphere just can’t be beat. In a town saturated with outstanding venues, the hi-dive towers.

With Ted Nugent on the jukebox and silicon-injected blondes peddling trays of Red Bull and Jäger, Brewski’s is the place to let loose your inner Swayze and grab one for the roadhouse. Damn, even the drunk jackass at the bar wearing fake snakeskin boots is getting’ play! When the house gets packed, hit the dance floor with a Bud Light and an open mind. Because come 2 a.m., someone is going home with someone uglier than they are — which leaves hope for all of us.

Not to be undone by some 31.8 inches of snow that collapsed its roof during the blizzard of 2003, Vinyl came back bigger and badder than ever last fall. Now boasting what is arguably the best sound system in Colorado, Vinyl is a four-story behemoth of a dance club, with three floors all featuring different music and an uber-swanky lounge for those who just want to chill and have a drink. Saturday nights feature international guest DJs in the main room along with hip-hop in the basement and ’80’s retro/electro upstairs on the sunset lounge. Since its reopening, the Broadway hot spot has retained its place as the best dance venue in an always-crowded field — and the flagship in a part of town now brimming with club culture.

The space at 60 S. Broadway has weathered many incarnations recently, including 60 South and the short-lived Southpark Tavern. Viable as neither a lesbian club nor a sports bar, it was transformed last year into the Cherry Pit. The format this time? Rock venue. Strangely, the room finally feels like it’s found its true identity. While all manner of homegrown punk and metal acts have crossed the Pit stage recently, the dance floor is still intact and hosts Disintegration, a goth/industrial soiree, every Saturday. The layout is cozy and the sound impeccable. Whether or not the Cherry Pit can stick it out, for now it’s a pretty sweet place.

Off the Wall is a glorious celebration of all things ’80s, without the shlocky retreads that get played ad nauseam. The hump-day affair is helmed by Westword‘s own Jason Heller and DJ Al from the Maybellines. The pair’s deep old-school cuts will have you cabbage-patching before you can say OMD. So whether you came of age during Reaganomics or just witnessed it through the lens of John Hughes, Off the Wall is just that — especially when it comes to unearthing the best and (worst) music of that era.

Launched in June 2001 by DJs Michael Trundle, Tyler Jacobson and Tim Cook, aka the Denver 3, Lipgloss has grown from a once-a-month Monday-night shindig into the best club night in town. Since relocating from 60 South to La Rumba last Spring, Lipgloss draws the crowds with a laid-back, unpretentious vibe, an expansive playlist and guest DJs; Carlos D from Interpol was among the luminaries who took over the tables last year. These days, it’s not uncommon to see a line down the block on Friday nights. For a measly five-dollar cover, it’s well worth the wait.

On Saturday nights, salsa virgins and sexy pros go hand in hand on the dance floor at La Rumba, the stylish Golden Triangle staple that’s become one of Latino Denver’s top weekend destinations. Rookies can arrive early for a quick primer before the main event: The club offers free lessons, during which buzzed boys and girls are split up like kids at a junior high dance until the instructor unleashes them. Later, crowds cram the large floor for an energetic evening of hot salsa. Although most of the action takes place under the disco ball, patrons can slip to the front room for some bilingual chit-chat. Bailemos!

With an elevated stage surrounded by vintage vinyl, Bender’s 13th Avenue Tavern is the best place to experience bar culture’s most self-indulgent pastime. New Wave/Indie Karaoke Night — hosted Tuesday and Thursday nights by ebullient wiseacre Keith Houston and his lovely assistant, Laura Benson — welcomes seasoned hams and budding exhibitionists alike to wrap their pipes around a tune or twelve. Whether you’re drunk enough to take on Sinatra or the Sex Pistols (both versions of “My Way” are available), or feel like massacring Morrissey, the eclectic song selection covers everything from Aqua to the Zombies. There’s even a psychiatrist’s couch available under the spotlight for more introspective numbers like “The Star-Spangled Banner” or Pat Boone’s “Speedy Gonzalez.” Sing out.

Comics that turn up for the Squire Lounge’s Comedy Night want to win the $25 bar tab that’s awarded for best performance each week. But it’s not the booze they’re after, and it ain’t the glory; other venues are far more lucrative and offer way better exposure. No, Colorado comics know that if you can kill on Colfax, you can kill anywhere. And between the heckling of incoherent drunks, the abrasiveness of hipsters playing shuffleboard, and the steely gaze of a room full of jaded comedians, the anything-goes night offers a real challenge. First-time performers need not fear, though: The Squire, while difficult, is a good spot to cut your comedic teeth. Afterward, you’ll be promptly belittled from the stage, regardless of the quality of your set. Welcome to the club.

Armed with just an acoustic guitar and a gorgeous, angelic voice that alternately recalls Gillian Welch, Rosie Thomas and Paula Cole, Judith Avers could literally sing the classified ads and still be positively riveting. Fortunately, that won’t be necessary: Avers is equally adept and compelling as a storyteller, crafting heartrending tales steeped in both hopefulness and despair. Although she performs mostly at area coffeehouses and sports bars, in a just world, Avers would play to standing-room-only crowds. With talent like hers, it won’t be long.

A scant year and a half ago, Gann Matthews resembled nothing so much as an unplugged disciple of Thom Yorke and Isaac Brock. What a difference a few months make. The young troubadour has swiftly graduated from shaky-throated emulation to sure-footed maturity, trading in indie pallor for a rich, ruddy rootsiness that teems with guts and depth. His debut disc, The Thin Line, is a dexterous exercise in classic folk/pop syntax that’s as candid as is it crafted. Just 23, Gann Matthews is already at the head of Denver’s singer-songwriter herd. Give him a couple more years; he’ll be unstoppable.

As fitting at a basement show as it is under the disco ball, the music of Constellations is a protean thing. While clearly drawing from many of the same sources that fuel the current dance-punk lemming march, the group molds jarring guitars, pixilated noise and logarithmic beats into a much more slippery sound. Its stunning debut, Sistering, careens between laptop and agitprop, rattling vertebrae even as it leaks a chilly futurism; somewhere in the middle, singer Zak Brown warbles like Jello Biafra drunk-dialing Morrissey. Trying to calculate Constellations’ arc through the cosmos would be a crapshoot, but one thing is certain: It’s a band with a luminous future.

Timing, they say, is everything. Which is why Detective Jabsco may be the most unfortunate band in Denver. The outfit’s music is lacking absolutely nothing: Impassioned, concise, soulful and catchy as hell, it’s a welcome lungful of fresh air. So what’s the catch? The style is straight-up ska-core circa 1995, perhaps the uncoolest thing you could possibly be playing in today’s post-punk-glitch-crunk-garage-emo-indie atmosphere. With the recent rise of “Ska Is Dead” tours and buzz bands like Dogs Die in Hot Cars flirting with that skank-heavy upbeat, Detective Jabsco shouldn’t have to wait long for a full-blown ska revival — and the attention it deserves.

Some bands are just made for booze. ZZ Top? Tequila. Black Flag? Why, a six-pack, of course. But when listening to the ragged country punk of Out on Bail, whiskey is the only real choice. The semi-acoustic coed quartet writes songs that burn on the way down, peel the casing off your entrails and make you simultaneously sappy and feral as a pit bull. And when OOB revs out its gruff cover of Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World,” you’d better pass that fifth over here, quick. Screw tears in your beer: These guys will leave a hunk of broken heart swimming in your shot glass.

Jay Munly might be the star, but cellist Rebecca Vera and violinists Elin Palmer and Frieda Stalhiem are the driving force behind the Canadian transplant’s “thinkin’ man’s country music.” Weaving together complex rhythms and sensuous melodic lines, the trio of harlots augment Munly’s dark, rootsy side with a chamber-driven classicism, turning lyrical murder ballads and tales of backwoods madness into uniquely beautiful arrangements. Then there’s the girls’ stirring vocal harmonies — airy, crystalline, seductive and just the right balance for a Southern Gothic hoedown.

Bluegrass traditions may not be ancient by the standards of Greek mythology, but they have a proud history that Fort Collins-based Open Road limns with love and skill on its latest disc for Rounder Records, …In the Life. The longer Bradford Lee Folk and his musical partners perform this music, the deeper and more natural their playing and singing becomes. They bring the past into the present.

Artist, producer, teacher and one-man guitar battalion Dave Beegle remains an underground six-string phenom. After launching power trio Fourth Estate in the late ’80s, the Fort Collins homeboy used his masterful tone — something that mates Joe Satriani and Paco de Lucia with Johann Sebastian Bach’s blessing — to explore the instrumental nuances of flamenco, world fusion and ethno-acoustic rock. As fluent with the blind-dog blues as with a Balkan-flavored arrangement, Beegle, lauded nationally as “a guitarist’s guitarist,” has issued a handful of exceptional solo and group-oriented discs via brother Morris’s Hapi Skratch imprint, proving what can be accomplished when simple wood and wires merge with virtuosity and heart.

Anyone who dismisses Ghost Buffalo as just a Planes Mistaken for Stars side project doesn’t quite get it. While guitarist Matt Bellinger and drummer Mike Ricketts do indeed split shifts between the two bands, Ghost Buffalo is a full-time passion for leader Marie Litton. The songwriter lends her soaring, haunting voice to the group’s heartache-weary country rock; on stage, she’s nearly dwarfed by her acoustic as she gazes heavenward and pours her heart out to the universe. The dazzling contributions of Bellinger, Ricketts, guitarist Josh Coyle and bassist Tom Ventura can’t be overstated, but it’s Litton who’s the front, center and soul of Ghost Buffalo.

Back in the day, Brian Hagman was the only real reason to watch local punk act Wretched Refuse. But when Black Lamb (né the Lambs) formed at the dawn of the millennium, the singer finally found a band that could keep up with his intensity. Crooning like some three-headed clone of Ozzy Osbourne, Ian Astbury and Glenn Danzig, Hagman prances through a veritable minefield of thunder-conjuring, sludge-boogie riffs with a derangement that borders on outright bloodlust. Catch the group live, and you’ll see: Nothing short of a mushroom cloud could tear your eyes off Hagman’s force-of-nature performance.

For two years, White Dynamite has been leveling stages and logic itself with its off-kilter, hardcore-spawned pandemonium. But the real show is singer/guitarist Luke Fairchild. A veteran of such Denver bands as Why Planes Go Down and Sparkles, Fairchild has at last completely surrendered to whatever demons possess him. He barks. He jerks. He chews at the air. He falls down and goes boom. And somehow, in the midst of all that rabidity, he manages to beat guitar chords into the shapes of hallucinations. Somebody, please: Stick a belt between his teeth.

When Rocket Ajax disbanded in early 2003, many scenesters were befuddled. Just a few months earlier, the band had picked up stakes and headed for the West Coast in search of fame and fortune — or at least a record deal. At the time, Ajax was one of the most promising hard-rock bands around. Shortly after relocating to Los Angeles, though, the outfit inexplicably imploded. Just like that, Ajax was no more. No farewell show. Nada. So when the Rocketmen regrouped for one night in January, it was a chance to mourn what might have been.

You say love has no boundaries? Tell it to the judge, fucker. Then back up a thousand feet.

Tobias Jupiter was a strong contender for this year’s “Best Band With the Worst Name” award, but the quintet dodged that honor by changing its name last month to the FlashBangs. Where Tobias Jupiter stumbled clumsily off the tongue, the group’s streamlined new moniker efficiently sums up its sound: a bright, loud burst of indie-powered rock and roll sparkling with cruel hooks and brash female vocals. The band recently finished recording its debut CD with Bryan Feuchtinger of Hot IQs — and The FlashBangs, thankfully, will be the name emblazoned across its cover.

Way before The Matrix, a struggling actor named Laurence Fishburne donned Jheri curls and a ten-gallon hat to play a character called Cowboy Curtis on the Saturday-morning kids’ show, Pee-wee’s Playhouse. Today we have Cowboy Curse, a trio featuring bassist Tyler Campo, singer/guitarist Ben Bergstrand, and Ben’s brother, Josh Bergstrand of the Symptoms, on drums. The band name actually comes from a pitchforkmedia.com article that talks about how touring acts view Denver as a cursed place. But it’s much more fun to imagine Cowboy Curtis perched on the band’s shoulder like a muse, belting out bucktoothed harmonies and playing air guitar to Cowboy Curse’s angelic, Shins-infused indie pop.

It’s a rule of thumb: Never include a musical genre in the name of your band. Metal groups with “metal” in their monikers? Bad. Punk outfits called the Punk Rock something-or-others? Even worse. Machine Gun Blues, though, never got the memo. Which sucks, because the quartet’s music is a writhing, scorching convulsion of blues rock that sounds about a hundred times more compelling than its handle. Whether MGB christened itself after the Nick Cassavetes movies, the venerable blues standard or the Smashing Pumpkins lyric, the fact remains: Machine Gun Blues, for the love of God and rock and roll, you need a new name.

When Chuck French moved to Denver last year to play bass for Planes Mistaken for Stars, he was already playing guitar in a Chicago act called Git Some. Instead of breaking up, the band followed French to Colorado. With handmade demo tapes in hand, the foursome started tearing up bars and basements around town with its chaotic uppercut of groove-gouging post-hardcore. Like a blunt, sloppy mutilation of Deep Purple and Angel Hair, the group rips up a dripping chunk of Midwestern punk vitality and drops it smack in the middle of the Queen City. Git Some? Got it.

Who would have thought that the 21st century would see a huge resurgence of interest in Guns N’ Roses? Too bad Axl Rose is too messed up to capitalize on his own legacy. But picking up his Slash, er, slack is Rocket Queen. Begun as a one-off Guns N’ Roses tribute at the popular “Monsters of Mock” concert held every Halloween, the Queen consolidates members of local punk and hardcore bands Shogun, the Gamits, Contender and Signal to Noise. Now, though, the group has become an ongoing affair; with wigs, denim and hip swivels in full effect, Rocket Queen will take you down to Paradise City.

When not pulling duty in the veteran local outfit Uphollow, Ian Cooke writes and performs his own music. But instead of going the orthodox acoustic route, the flamboyantly coiffed artist employs electric cello, piano and a wireless microphone headset to sculpt arty, gorgeous pop compositions that are as delicate as they are virtuosic. Combining the pathos of Antony and the Johnsons with the bathos of Freddie Mercury, his shows are buoyant and arresting enough to almost outshine Uphollow’s own excellence. Cooke’s act may be solo, but there’s not a thing missing.

Dow Jones, Sid Fly, Aseone, D.O. Da Fabulous Drifta and DJ C.Y. — the five members of Ground Zero Movement — have spent much of the past year teasing area hip-hop fans. A few copies of Writer’s Square, the exceptional followup to the 2003 full-length Future I.D. , were leaked to the media months ago, but the disc still isn’t available from area retailers or on the group’s website, www.groundzeromovement.com. With luck, that will change in the coming months. The album is now slated for release this summer, around the same time as a solo joint from Fly is set to drop, and Guns…The New Watermelon, an album by D.O., may be out by mid-April. These side projects don’t mean the Movement has come to a standstill. It remains a going concern, and if its current release schedule holds, music lovers will soon be repaid for their patience. Given the group’s skills, the wait will most likely be worth it.

In July 2001, Tyfoid Mary lost its frontman, Vince Stott, in a fatal car accident. While such a tragedy would cause most bands to hang it up for good, Tyfoid persevered and found a new voice in Jerry Harper. He had his work cut out for him, as Stott was a well-regarded vocalist. But Harper — a giant in his own right at 6’5″ and nearly 300 pounds — brought with him a monster set of pipes and an imposing stage presence. The result was two stellar releases — 2002’s Nu Strain and last year’s brilliant Quarantine — and a shit ton of momentum. Talk about resuscitation.

While not entirely a straight-up ramen act (though lead guitarist Damon Wood can noodle with the best of them), Harmonious Junk pulls together savory parts funk, jazz, blues, psychedelic, soul and jam. The versatile outfit is equally comfortable pumping the groove at a Colfax smoke hole or loosening wallets and hips at more upscale clubs downtown. Composed of members of James Brown’s band (yep, that James Brown) and local outfits Cocktail Revolution and the Byron Shaw Projex, the band likes to keep it “old-school, organic and boogieable.” Expect classic covers, fresh originals and the sweet sounds of real talent.

Fort Collins-based Matson Jones has been around for a couple of years, but it’s only in the last few months that the group has really started carving out its empire. Not that the coed quartet seems crassly ambitious; instead, it’s wholly focused on creating music that obliterates expectation even as it captures the brain and heart. With a lineup comprising two cellos, stand-up bass and drums, the outfit crafts a seething, tense tangle of sound resembling that of a chamber-punk PJ Harvey. Newly signed to Sympathy for the Record Industry, the indie label that launched the White Stripes, Matson Jones stands poised to whip its captivating whisper into a full-on roar.

It’s like a full-scale ninja battle on stage: eight sweaty freaks brandishing guitars, horns, tambourines, microphones, pheromones, feedback and blood as they eviscerate everything that is decent and respectable about rock and roll. The band is Call Sign Cobra; that wet splat hitting your underpants is what’s left of your spleen. With players culled from Scott Baio Army, Out on Bail, Mustangs and Madras, Rabbit Fight and Pariah Caste, Call Sign leaves no eardrum unscarred in its attempt to force-feed Rocket From the Crypt into Molly Hatchet — and, of course, cement its position as the most blistering, organ-engorging live act in Denver.

It’s no secret that the club market in Denver is oversaturated. And like crabgrass, for each spot that doesn’t make it, two or three others sprout up in its place. Nowadays, folks need a reason to search a place out — namely, cheap drinks, plenty of free parking, and great sound and booking. The Toad Tavern has all of those things. But the best deal of the week happens at Toads on Friday nights, when, in exchange for a small door charge, you get all the free Anthony’s pizza you can shove down your gullet.

The Walnut Room is a massive extension of Soundstructure Studios — a popular, musician-friendly rehearsal space on a formerly barren fringe of the Ballpark neighborhood — with its own restaurant, bar and performance venue. Since it opened, the room has netted a reputation as one of the best-sounding rooms in town, with a huge stage and spot-on sound crew. With its fine wood bar, red neon sign and generous drink specials, the Walnut Room is more than just another cool venue in an invigorated part of town. Rather, it signals a sea change in the way Denver thinks about local music: Here’s a venue dedicated entirely to supporting and showcasing musicians while giving them a place to hang out and build community.

Tony and Lydia Fiore, a musician and artist, respectively, sensed that the local music community needed a high-quality, inexpensive place to record and mix music. They were right: Since opening last year, Globalsound Recording Studio has produced demos and CDs for scores of local acts drawn by its accessible atmosphere, reasonable prices and more than adequate facilities. The place is modest, with two studios equipped to varying degrees of high-techness: In the scaled-down Studio East, most bands are able to work at a pace of about two hours per song for recording and mixing. The more highbrow Studio West sports ProTools and a Digidesign Control 24 mixing console. And because time is money, Globalsound is also a good deal as a one-stop CD shop, offering duplication, web design and graphic-arts services. Get rolling.

Randall Frazier not only fronts the moody, psychedelic outfit Orbit Service, but he’s responsible for recording and mixing some of 2004’s most engaging local releases, as well. After moving from a west Denver cellar to a space that currently shares walls with the Revoluciones art space, Frazier and production veteran Matthew Mensch helmed audio projects by Sons of Armageddon and Drop the Fear. Boasting 42-track digital production, Cubabse SX editing abilities and endless synth options, their R00m can likewise enhance any recording project with Hammond organs, Wurlitzers, cello or timpani. They’re also branching into video production and will soon score international distribution throughout Canada, Europe, Japan and Australia. When it comes to head music, there’s nothing like a R00m with a view.

Rudy’s Studio sits on the outer edge of north Denver, in the basement of Mark Obermeyer’s suburban ranch home. Using two tracking rooms and a slew of gear, Obermeyer has recorded some of Denver’s best-sounding records over the past few years. And although he initially cut his teeth working with metal bands, he’s capable of recording just about any style. Aesthetically, Rudy’s may not be the poshest room in town, but there’s a reason that respected bands like Love.45, Rogue, Rexway, Kronow, Dead Heaven Cowboys and Drug Under have chosen to track here.

Producer Bob Ferbrache has been the studio ace behind many of the truly exceptional releases to emanate from the Front Range over the last decade. Working from the unlikely confines of his mother’s basement in Westminster (Absinthe Studios is actually located within arm’s length of a washer and dryer!), Ferbrache added to his impressive back catalogue by engineering two of the year’s best albums: Consider the Birds, David Eugene Edwards’s redemptive masterstroke as Wovenhand, and the self-titled stunner from Munly & the Lee Lewis Harlots. Throw in some informal summer sessions with visiting members of Twinemen (the late Mark Sandman’s bandmates from Morphine) and you could call Ferbrache’s grandiose feat a goddamn trifecta. Bartender — another round of wormwood!

Tucked away in a small warehouse studio just south of downtown, producer Dave Otero has captured some of the most ferocious music ever to be recorded — not just in Colorado, but anywhere. Anomalies, Cephalic Carnage’s release for Relapse Records, was recorded at his Flatline Audio studio and is currently being heard around the country. But Otero is still relatively unknown outside of Denver’s extreme-metal community. Don’t be surprised if his reputation grows right alongside the Cephalic record: He’s a wunderkind behind the sliders.

Ever been down to the Soiled Dove and experienced anything other than flawless sound? Yeah, didn’t think so. In the extremely rare event that you did, chances are someone other than Chris Steele was sitting behind the mixing board. Although it would be easy to credit the Dove’s P.A. for the outstanding sound, we all know that any system is only as good as the person operating it. In this case, that person also happens to turn knobs at the Pepsi Center when he’s not at the Dove. Crank it up, Chris.

No one has worked as hard to promote the Denver metal scene as Wayne Quigley, the man behind Big Q Productions. From frequently booking shows at the Ogden, Gothic and Bluebird theaters to putting together smaller gigs at Iliff Park and Eck’s saloons, Big Q has shone the spotlight on many of the best emerging metal acts in town. Promoting bands — particularly bands on the way up — isn’t exactly a huge moneymaking endeavor. So we can only deduce that Q is in it for the love of the music. And for that, Mr. Quigley, we give you the horns.

Co-founded by Rogue frontman Bill Terrell and Voodoo Productions owner Dave Zaharia, Infexious Recordz is a headbanger’s nightmare sprung gloriously to life. In addition to luring national acts like L.A. Guns, Exodus and Pissing Razors to town, Infexious has showcased over a hundred of Denver’s own up-and-coming metal acts — Tyfoid Mary, Kill Syndicate, Mud Crawl and Kronow, among others. Like they say, an eightball of infexion is worth an ounce of cure.

As a showcase of new Colorado music, PS 2 isn’t perfect. But it’s closer than anyone’s ever come before. Ranging from humble to heavy-hitting, the disc amply displays the passion and attention to detail that Ben De-soto and Tim Garvey of Public Service Records bring to this project — and to the local indie scene as a whole. Everything from digital noise to folk to garage punk is represented here, and the overall flow and excellence of the selections makes PS 2 much more than just a fervently waved banner for Denver rock: It’s also a great listen.

Cost of Living, a Denver supergroup featuring ex-members of Qualm, the Departure and Shogun, completed production on its debut in the spring of 2004. But Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead wasn’t released until last month — an excruciating eternity for the quintet’s fans, many of whom have been rabid devotees of singer Justin Hackl and guitarist Ryan Welter since their days in Qualm. Why the wait? According to Hackl, the band “just wasn’t ready yet.” But now, with Cost of Living consistently outdrawing most touring punk bands who visit town, it’s the perfect time for Trample‘s melodic, uncompromising assault.

This past year, when DJ Quote wasn’t mixing things up on the air with Troubleshooter Tom Martino, he was issuing CDs at a frenzied pace. Taking the game to a whole new level, Quote’s discs have been hosted by an assortment of noteworthy guests, including MC Serch, Pitbull, DJ Cocoa Chanelle and David Banner, who will introduce Colorado to material from his forthcoming disc, Certified, via song snippets on Quote’s latest mix of the same name. And the DJ (aka Quentin Jones) is building a national reputation, as well: Quote recently joined the Core DJs — a group that lists such lauded jocks as Clinton Sparks, Green Lantern and Baka Boys as members — and the Bum Squad DJz crew.

Saxophonist Hess has been a part of Denver-area jazz for so long that it’s tempting to take him for granted. Crossed Paths, on Tapestry Records, shows how unwise that would be. The disc, which features bassist Ken Filiano, drummer Matt Wilson and trumpeter Ron Miles (another local treasure), doesn’t break any new ground, but it makes spending time in familiar territory incredibly satisfying. Jazz lovers will want to cross these Paths again and again.

Since launching Hapi Skratch Entertainment ten years ago, Morris Beegle has shaped his label into a hub that supports musicians at all levels. Celebrating a decade of operations this year, this Fort Collins-based company is one of Colorado’s foremost purveyors of homegrown music. Over the years, Hapi Skratch and its three offshoot imprints have worked with a diverse array of the area’s most prominent musicians in one facet or another — be it CD production, duplication, distribution and licensing or design work and studio facilitation. At this point, it would be easier to list the artists the company hasn’t worked than to compile a roster of those it’s helped. Hapi anniversary, Mr. Beegle.

Yes, NorthernBlues Music is based in Toronto, but it’s got a soft spot for Colorado blues talent. The imprint has put out a number of Otis Taylor’s finest efforts, including White African and Respect the Dead, and recently reached out to two other area bluesman: Eddie Turner, who released Rise last year, and Dan Treanor, whose collaboration with vocalist Frankie Lee, African Wind, is extremely impressive as well. O, Canada!

Champions of unstructured sound collage and homemade instruments, Backwards Records is home to an array of adventurous laptop jockeys and electronically minded noise artists: Page 27, Blackcell, Robot Mandala, Haunted Sound Lab, Sporadik, Kuxann-Sum and Paraclude, among others. Surviving on the distant fringes of normalcy, the unsung label creates sounds as willfully edgy as they are impossible to pigeonhole. No wonder their motto is “Forward thinking, backwards living.”

Denver’s underground rock scene is boiling over right now — and one of the individuals who’s been dutifully stoking the fires is Dan Rutherford of Morning After Records (www.morningafterrecords.com). He envisioned the label while attending South by Southwest last year, and found the perfect flagship band when he got back to Colorado: the indie-pop sensation Hot IQs. The group’s debut, An Argument Between the Brain and the Feet, was released in October, peaking at number 75 on the CMJ charts and snagging year-end accolades from local media. And the disc itself? Quite simply, one of the best albums to ever come out of Denver and a sign of great things to come.

When Robert Eldridge decided to commit his acoustic wizardry to disc, he didn’t bother with pricey studios. No, Eldridge simply went to an Einstein Bros. Bagel outlet, plugged a pick-up into his six-string and let ‘er rip. Recorded live and expertly mastered by Desert Airport’s Eric Shiveley, Eclectic and Mental Guitar Music finds Zeut’s lead electric-guitarsmith alternating between ragtime, classical, blues, calypso and something he calls “schizophrenic flamenco.” There’s even the background noise of a lunchtime crowd. The only thing missing is lox and a shmear.

Forget vampires, mummies and werewolves. Last Halloween’s most frightening spectacle was an evil dachshund flying on oversized bat wings, shooting death rays from a pair of black, lifeless eyes, transforming the Front Range into a smoking crater. Amusing cover art aside, Sparky the Dog’s spooktastic holiday compilation was a fun, apple-bobbing affair cobbled together by Soapy Argyle, Matt Shupe, Brett Duesing, Andy Gross, Jeff Cohen and others from the homespun collective. Boasting fourteen tracks that range from “Booty Pirate” to “Decomposing Beethoven,” Halloweiner Dog has a bark worse than its bite — but don’t ever look it in the eye if you want to live to see another footlong.

Last December, this very publication saluted the new self-titled full-length by the Denver Gentlemen for several very good reasons. The group, led by the enigmatic Jeffrey-Paul Norlander, helped establish the gothic-roots sound that distinguished the Denver scene during the ’90s, with former members going on to found 16 Horsepower, Slim Cessna’s Auto Club and the Kalamath Brothers. Moreover, the new songs stood among the band’s best work, and they could be downloaded for free at www.denvergentlemen.com. Unfortunately, that’s no longer the case: The tunes are now on discs for sale at area stores, and are well worth the purchase price. As consolation, the first Denver Gentlemen long-player, the equally stirring Introducing…the Denver Gentlemen, is now available on the site at no charge. Gentlemen, start your search engines.

The year 2004 was a very good one for electronic composer Tyler Potts. Beginning in January, he set out to record a new song every week, and not only did he stick to his Sisyphean schedule all the way through December, but the music he made over this span was consistently fascinating: imagistic electro-ruminations on his world and what was happening in it at that particular moment. The entire opus can be experienced at his website, www.tylerpotts.com, which is outfitted with an audio player that randomly plunges listeners into Potts’s ambitious undertaking. It’s a beautiful place to hang out.

Blues aficionados from Colorado and beyond know Eddie Turner best for his contributions to many of Otis Taylor’s recordings. Yet as Rise demonstrates, he’s also a fine frontman, with an expressive voice and guitar skills that blast through genre boundaries as if they were nonexistent — which, in his mind, they are. The disc was produced by Kenny Passarelli, another longtime Taylor ally, and the sound on cuts such as “Resurrection” and a cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary” is stunning: deep, eerie and evocative.

It’s hard enough finding bandmates who are in the same musical headspace as you. But when Ryan Policky formed the shoegazing Drop the Fear, he discovered that not only were his cohorts — Gabriel Ratliffe and Sarah Marcogliese — sympathetic sonic collaborators, they were also fellow filmmakers. Fittingly, the trio’s eponymous debut comes with a DVD featuring a self-produced documentary called Questioning Fear. Shot during a road trip across the West, it captures the responses of random passersby when asked what they fear the most — with profound, occasionally chilling results. More than just the album’s wallpaper, the DVD is an arresting experience all by itself.

CU’s sex-and-booze scandals make Animal House look like Romper Room. Still, the 1978 John Belushi film popularized a relatively raucous time in American pop culture: the era of frat rock, that surf-drenched bastardization of R&B that blared across university campuses in the early ’60s. The Orangu-tones have frat rock down to a science, from the buzz cuts to the bleating saxes, and they’ve captured the whole thing on Pledge Kappa Epsilon Gamma. “Monkey Boy,” a savage reworking of the Premiers’ “Farmer John,” is just one of the disc’s cuts that would have fit seamlessly on the Animal House soundtrack. Toga! Toga! Toga!

With the occasional exception of standup comics, most people who use common speech as their main form of creative expression don’t fare well when it comes to compact discs. So give veteran wordsmith SETH credit for combining poetry and music in a singularly bold way. The sounds whipped together by Bob Peek, Scott Seeber and Edward Marshall are simultaneously accessible and adventurous — the ideal match for SETH’s sometimes highfalutin but frequently arresting turns of phrase.

Area artists always try to make their discs sound as professional and high-quality as those put out by major record labels, but very few succeed. With Antidote, pressed by Suburban Home Records, the Gamits joined this rarefied company, exciting fans who hoped the disc would propel the band into the bigtime. Instead, Chris Fogal’s creation splintered mere months later — but if the Gamits had to perish, at least they left behind something great to remember them by. What a way to go.

Denver Gentlemen alum David Eugene Edwards hasn’t left 16 Horsepower behind, but as an extremely prolific songwriter, he needed another venue for his efforts. Wovenhand fills this particular bill very well, and on Consider the Birds, Edwards’s third disc under the moniker, he takes advantage of it. Like all of his compositions, the Wovenhand offerings are striking expressions of the themes and topics that obsess him — love, faith and retribution among them. He’s a unique talent, no matter what guise he’s toiling under. Denver’s lucky to have him.

Metal bands usually get straight to the point when it comes to naming their albums: Morbid Angel had Domination; Kreator issued Endless Pain; Venom put out Welcome to Hell. Then there’s Throcult’s second full-length, Stormbringer: Conjuration of the Nighthorde. Even without umlauts, it’s a real mouthful, sporting two compound words, eleven syllables and one pesky colon. Saying it out loud seems to take forever — and only makes you wish you could speak in a really deep voice like Lurch. Then again, Throcult could get even wordier before it steals the crown from English symphonic metal band Bal-Sagoth’s reigning long-winded 1996 title: Starfire Burning Upon the Ice-veiled Throne of Ultima Thule.

Woody Allen once said, “Don’t knock masturbation — it’s sex with someone I love.” In the cocksure hands of Wanker however, love means never having to say you’re anything but horny and alone. Then again, damn near every song by these nostalgic, faux-Anglican glam-bangers revolves around frigid white girls, full-metal teddies, or sisters with blisters. Get a grip.

In a year of exceptional local releases, DeVotchKa’s How It Ends stood out like a peacock at sunrise. A dizzying feast of neo-classical strings, south-of the-border tango flirtations and punk-informed polka, the fourteen-song cycle finds Denver’s most sumptuous quartet at the pinnacle of its craft. Recorded and mixed by Craig Schumacher (who has worked with Calexico, Giant Sand and Beth Orton), Ends features an overabundance of exotic tempos, textures and stylistic flourishes. Frontman Nick Urata, who augments his incurably aching vocals with smatterings of Italian, Spanish and French, leads his fellow DeVotchKans through the ultimate immigrant experience — one where doomed romantics arrive wide-eyed in a new world, only to escape heartache through wine and song, longing for one last kiss before the curtains fall. Ay, mi corazón!

For anyone who cuts the rug like Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis or Elaine from Seinfeld, the Colorado Prog Music Fest offered the perfect excuse to boogaloo like you just didn’t care. Area musical acts committed to precision and unusual time signatures held court for an entire day of free-form anarchy. The all-ages event featured sets from the Colorado Guitar Circle, the Music Retaliation Ensemble, Patch, Pindral, Singularity and Zed. For event organizer Phillip Satterly, who also runs the Colorado Art Rock Society, it was an opportunity to celebrate an often misunderstood art form that always looks forward, strives to be new, and dissents vigorously from the current musical establishment.

Before they appeared on Saturday Night Live and The O.C. and were lionized by damn near every music scribe in the free world, the Killers were just another out-of-town act performing at the Larimer Lounge on a Tuesday night. Although the Lounge was only a quarter full — the band was still flying well beneath the radar, and most folks opted to catch the Strokes at the Fillmore that night — the Las Vegas-based quartet brought the house down with its retro-tinged romp. Talk about a missed opportunity: The next time the Killers played Denver, they sold out the Fillmore, just like the Strokes.

Ironically, many creators of contemporary experimental music are too stuck in academia and orthodoxy to truly forge their own voice. But Michael Andrew Doherty, after earning a bachelor’s degree in philosophy and religious studies at CSU, ditched his musical studies and began orchestrating sound according to the dictates of his own soul. The result is a string of releases and collaborations over the past few years that fuse severe minimalism with wit and humanity. His latest work, Preface: Found Score, is a prelude to numerous upcoming projects in 2005 — including a chamber ensemble that will interpret ’80s new-wave hits. “Rock Me Amadeus” as read by John Cage, anyone?

The authors of this tome draw from a wealth of experience. Bliesener once drummed with ? and the Mysterians, a group remembered for the garage-rock hit “96 Tears,” and went on to become a successful promoter and manager of bands such as Big Head Todd and the Monsters. Knopper, for his part, has written about music for newspapers such as the Boulder Daily Camera, and is currently a frequent contributor to Rolling Stone. These pedigrees inform Guide, which should give even the densest person a fighting chance to win, or at least survive, the music game.

A professor at Colorado College, Scott does more than just teach about music. He also makes it in a very singular way. Rather than play the piano using the instrument’s keys, he and his assistants physically pluck and manipulate its strings with the assistance of everything from guitar picks and percussion mallets to nylon fishing line and horsehair. This approach sounds absurd, but recordings of Scott’s so-called bowed-piano works, including Paisajes Audibles/Sounding Landscapes, recently issued on CD by Albany Records, are consistently fascinating. Listen and learn.

With all the energy its name implies, Kaffeine Buzz is a scattershot, ADD-fueled cornucopia of music journalism. Covering local as well as national punk, indie and hip-hop, the site features interviews, club listings, weekly show picks and CD and concert reviews. Editor Kim Owens, who also pens an impressive portion of the text, employs a solid, personable writing style that displays a deep knowledge of popular culture without sounding overbearing. Kaffeine Buzz also touches on art, fashion, cinema, even snowboarding — but it’s the great music coverage that keeps it bookmarked.

Looking for the latest disc from P-Nuckle, GasHead, Lisa Bell or Drag the River — but don’t feel like scouring the bins of your nearest independent retailer? How ’bout a DVD of Xiren’s live set at Red Rocks? Billie Tolles’s hard-to-find Chapulteset? A hardback copy of G. Brown’s Colorado Rocks! or a reissue of Lannie Garrett’s Doubleback? On milehighmusicstore.com, Hapi Skratch’s latest online venture, hundreds of CD titles from Colorado-based artists are just a click and a credit-card number away. You’ll find everything categorized by genre — whether it’s children’s music, easy listening, spoken word, self-help, hard rock, metal, punk or pop. What could be easier?

Although some dyed-in-the-wool vinyl-lovers cling to the romance of crate-digging, more and more jocks are embracing digital technology. They’re also embracing Beatport. Led by lauded DJ Jonas Tempel, the site is helping to revolutionize the way DJs approach their craft. Tempel and his crew have amassed one of the most comprehensive dance-music repositories on the Web. Last year, when the site launched, it offered roughly 2,000 tracks from 72 labels; by the beginning of this year, there were 20,000 titles from more than 700 labels. From drum-and-bass to trance and everything in between, the hottest dance music is now just a click away.

Founded by longtime local-music champions Tommy Nahulu and David Barber, rockoncolorado.com is more than just a collection of snapshots. The site also contains music-related articles and reviews, as well as a calendar and message board. But the primary attraction is the massive searchable database of live photos. From bigger shows at the Bluebird and Gothic to smaller gigs at places like Cricket on the Hill, Soiled Dove and Herman’s, Rock On Colorado is documenting the scene one frame at a time. And it ain’t all pretty.

Take the computer flirting scene between Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy in Pretty in Pink, multiply it by a few bazillion gigabytes, and you’ve got myspace.com. With millions of profiles of computer-addicted geeks around the world, it’s basically a glorified, digitized singles bar. But the site is more than Friendster’s hipper usurper; it’s also the best way for local groups to connect and be heard. While real websites require cash and a modicum of computer savvy to maintain, any idiot can set up a free profile on myspace. Within minutes, bands can upload photos, MP3s and press kits onto a page that’s easy to read and, most important, easy to find. It’s kind of like purevolume.com — only with way more hotties.

Too late for the mountains? Too early for the bars? Too drunk to drive? Kick back at home and log on to rockdenver.com, where, for the price of a dumb look, you can enjoy live monthly webcasts from Herman’s Hideaway. The shows feature many of Denver’s emerging acts: the Fray, the Railbenders, Yo, Flaco!, Aggressive Persuasion, Battery Park, Chronophonic, Ion, King Rat, Rexway, Carolyn’s Mother, Drug Under, Orion’s Room and the Fong Jones Band, just to name a few. The site also archives more than 300 local music videos. Finally, agoraphobia makes sense.

Ever wonder what your favorite local musicians are doing during the week? Presumably, the majority of them are working at jobs, like normal people. At least that’s what you’d think until you stopped by the Denver Message Board and sorted through the myriad posts. Musicians and scenesters go to the DMB (whose unofficial motto is “You can’t spell dumb without D-M-B and U”) to vilify one another for sport — anonymously, of course — and respond to such cerebral threads as this one posted by a user named Eww: “Local singer who likes to secretly fart into the mike at shows.” Obviously, there’s not a lot of actual work getting done.

The best MC in Denver isn’t really even from here. In fact, if you ask the Black Pegasus, aka Robert Houston II, he’ll tell you he’s straight outta Colorado Springs. No matter, though. Black P is up here so often warming up stages for everyone from Atmosphere to Tech N9NE, we’ll just go ahead and claim him as our own. With a crisp cadence and a laid-back delivery, Black P is the most polished and commercially viable MC in the state. And from the sounds of his latest effort, Knuckle Up, he’s poised to break through on a national level.

DJ Idiom could easily be considered the most creative and eclectic DJ In Denver. Typically sticking to mellower, groovier down-tempo and hip-hop beats, Idiom moves around to incorporate tunes by Bjrk, Sigur Ros, and even Guns N’ Roses in a way that actually makes sense. A regular feature at the Sherbert and White Girl Lust parties, Idiom’s ability to rock a variety of crowds is as solid as his mixing skills. His first professional mix CD, Nursery Rhymes, features a clever blend of children’s music and down-tempo beats.

DJ Dragon and his crew, the Triad Dragons, are key forces keeping the rave scene alive in Colorado. The Triad’s Global Dance Festival at Red Rocks and the Caffeine Festival are the two biggest electronic-music events to go down each year. Dragon has also become the face of Denver trance and progressive house, playing events around the country, including this year’s Ultra Dance Festival at the Winter Music Conference in Miami. Dragon could emerge as Denver’s first bona fide superstar DJ.

DJ Foxx is one of the key DJs who’ve put Denver house music on the map. From holding down residencies at some of the city’s top clubs to playing throughout the United States to producing tracks and releasing records under the alias “Rhythmcentric,” Foxx lives and breathes the style. During his regular nights at Mynt and Lotus, he never sticks to just one sound: Foxx blurs the lines between house, tech-house, progressive house and straightforward techno by combining long, subtle mixes and layering effects. Foxx’s energy is unmistakably his own.

A Sunday-night institution in Denver since the late ’90s, DJ Nutmeg pumps house music in clubs like the Snake Pit, Lime, Rise and ROX with a verve that comes from years of experience and dedication. Turning each club he plays into an essential spot to hit up, Nutmeg has made himself one of the most in-demand DJs in the scene. He plays house the way it should be played: groovy and sexy. Having recently added Shift Fridays at Lotus to his resumé and now producing his own tunes, Nutmeg’s piece of Denver nightlife just keeps growing.

Bringing the hipster indie-rock set and the dance-music contingent together may seem like an impossible feat, but the DJ duo of Eric Kozak and Clay Meador, otherwise known as White Girl Lust, have done just that. WGL has almost single-handedly fused DJ culture with the rock scene, cleverly reworking songs by acts like the Pixies and Bloc Party so they flow together seamlessly, house style. White Girl Lust parties at the High Street Speakeasy have comprised a wildly eclectic mix of people and tunes. There’s even some straight-up dance music.

Although calling Chris Barber a renaissance man may not be fair to Leonardo da Vinci, there’s no question that he’s got plenty on his plate. He leads Spiv, an enjoyable power-pop band, oversees Pop Sweatshop, a label whose catalogue brims with interesting acts, and, in his free time, channels Elvis Presley. Inspired by a pilgrimage to Graceland last fall, Barber has the hair and the chops, if not the waistline, to bring the King back to life — figuratively speaking, that is.

Joan Jett, Sonia Dada and Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe were the major draws of last year’s LoDo Music Festival. But tucked away from the main stage, quarantined in the dirt like some flea-infested sideshow, the funky members of Log held court for late-night stragglers not quite ready to call it a night. And in the midst of all the hip-swaying grooves and flying sparks from the band’s industrial grinder, something wonderfully spontaneous happened: A conga line broke out. Fueled by roller-skating beauties and rowdy drunks in animal costumes, the line eventually ensnared even security personnel and people who’d been heading for the exits. Brief but oh-so passionate, it was the kind of joyous outburst that would have made Federico Fellini proud.

Drag queens? Please. When it comes to gender-bent entertainment, boys who dress as girls are as worn out as an old pair of pantyhose. Fortunately, Denver is home to the Alterboys, a troupe of six women who love grrrls and look like bois. The Alterboys have a flavor for every taste: cowboy, gangsta rapper, ’50s greaser, punk-rocker, even an Eminem lookalike who transforms into Madonna. Their shows are as progressive and avant-garde as female drag acts on either coast. For a truly transforming experience, go where the boys are.

El Centro Su Teatro’s Tony Garcia combined with composer Daniel Valdez to turn the saga of the Chicano community into a moving presentation about Denver’s Mexican-American population. But Westside Oratorio wasn’t just about Denver; it chronicled decades of experience throughout the entire Southwest. As Garcia noted in his script, memory in the United States is short. That notion was ironically borne out by the location of this production: Westside Oratorio was staged on the Auraria campus, which is built on the site of what once was the heart of Denver’s Latino community.

The winds of change are blowing through the Denver Center Theatre Company. New artistic director Kent Thompson has announced that the upcoming season will include two more plays than usual and feature female, black and Latino voices. Thompson seems intent on restoring the company’s role in nurturing original plays, and to that end is networking with important local directors. Finally, by working to attract new audiences to Denver Center productions, he plans to make the city a center for theater nationwide. We wish him every success.

Okay, so we weren’t knocked out by The Tricky Part, and we found some fault with The Long Christmas Ride Home and Yellowman. But Inventing Van Gogh and The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? represented theater at its best. And even though some productions are more winning than others, there’s a stamp of integrity on every single Curious production. Artistic director Chip Walton doesn’t decide on repertoire by convening focus groups or holding his finger to the wind; he’s interested in artistic and intellectual exploration. Curious brings in exciting plays that would never be seen here otherwise, and brings them to life with strong performances and production values. How lucky for the rest of us.

Nagle Jackson is known as a classical kind of guy — an intelligent translator and a witty and incisive playwright. So it wasn’t a surprise when he staged a lucid production of Molire’s The Misanthrope for the Denver Center Theater Company. But who expected him to follow with a wildly controversial contemporary drama about a guy shtupping a goat? Jackson pulled off The Goat or, Who Is Sylvia? for Curious Theatre Company with both energy and style.

Jamie Horton, one of the earliest members of the Denver Center Theatre Company, is a local treasure. He proved it again this year with his performance as Dalton Trumbo in Curious’s Trumbo: Red, White and Blacklisted, making the man eccentric, outspoken, wise and wily in that peculiarly evocative American way. Horton also shone in The Misanthrope at the Denver Center. And he was almost the only actor on stage with sufficient power and presence to project a distinct personality through the speech-muffling masks of the DCTC’s Oedipus Rex.

Mare Trevathan brings a combination of subtlety, conviction and luminosity to every role she undertakes. In Harold Pinter’s Old Times for Bas Bleu, she was the mysterious Kate, whose husband and onetime best friend spent the evening vying for her attention. She was also somewhat muted as the wife of an adulterous husband in Curious Theatre Company’s The Long Christmas Ride Home. More marital problems followed in Curious’s The Goat or, Who Is Sylvia?, when Trevathan’s character, Stevie, learned that her husband had fallen in love with a goat. Trevathan juggled these complexities with the combination of passion and cool intelligence she brings to all her roles.

Where would Denver theater be without Ed Baierlein? He and his talented wife, Sallie Diamond, started Germinal Stage thirty years ago, back when there was very little theater of any kind in town. He has produced a roster of challenging, hilarious and thoughtful plays every year since — and in the process, has discovered many of the city’s best actors. Baierlein acts (brilliantly), directs, runs the box office and handles publicity, all with finesse. He’s also one of the most literate theater people around, staging work that challenges the imagination while never pandering to the crowd.

Wendy Ishii is the artistic director and co-founder of Bas Bleu, a major theatrical force in Fort Collins. She has also gained attention for her work on the plays of Samuel Beckett with faculty from Colorado State University. Ishi’s energy and vision keep Bas Bleu going: Her efforts to secure funding facilitated the company’s recent move to a larger home. And in performance after performance, she has also proved herself an extraordinary actress. As an all-powerful but eccentric angel in this year’s Angels in America, she ripped off the roof. Which, come to think of it, seems only fitting.

Jeremy Cole assembled an excellent group of actors, each of whom played several roles, to bring Ovid’s fables into the twentieth century in Metamorphoses. He balanced the tone of the production comfortably between comedy and tragedy, mythic resonance and contemporary humor. The set — a huge, water-filled granite pool that could be anything from a Hollywood swimming pool to the Greeks’ dangerous, wine-dark sea — was a miracle of design and engineering, put together by Michael Duran, Ben Wofford and producer John Ashton. Cole’s Metamorphoses seductively combined lighthearted pleasure with a powerful theme.

Last year, Bas Bleu, which has been presenting theater in Fort Collins for over a decade, moved from its exquisite small theater building to a roomier location. For the first event in the new space, the group staged a two-evening production of Tony Kushner’s brilliant seven-hour epic, Angels in America, in collaboration with OpenStage, another Fort Collins institution. The presentation benefited greatly from the combination of resources. Angels boasted some of the best talent around, including OpenStage founders Denise Burson Freestone and Bruce K. Freestone in pivotal roles, and directors Laura Jones and Terry Dodd. This was an understated but emotionally committed production that did full justice to Kushner’s mind-bending script.

In A Lovely Sunday for Creve Coeur, set during the Depression years, Tennessee Williams was exploring less poetic lives than in his earlier work. He used caricature, slapstick, even diarrhea jokes, and maintained a fine balance between humor and his customary melancholy. He also gave us moments of grace in which the characters overcame their essential separateness to minister to one another. Williams’s later work has often been dismissed as a thin echo of his powerful early plays, but it’s clear from this lovely piece that he continued to develop as an artist. Director Laird Williamson and an excellent cast delivered a fine production of Williams’s script; Kathleen M. Brady, whose warmth and humor were on full display, was especially riveting as the loud, sweaty and excessive Bodey. The Denver Center Theatre Company deserves kudos for unearthing the play.

Buntport is known for wacky, iconoclastic humor, but the group is also highly literate. So it makes sense that this ice-skating version of Franz Kafka’s life (along with an exposition of his most famous story, “The Metamorphosis”) would be both laugh-out-loud funny and respectful, even beautiful. No one but the Buntporters would have thought to use artificial ice to such good effect. No other troupe has the ingenuity to write messages in light. No one else combines levity with genuine insight in quite this way.

What kind of director would think of staging chapter fifteen of James Joyce’s Ulysses, with its stream-of-consciousness representation of one man’s mental processes during a single day? Who’d want to tackle all those puns, metaphors, allegorical riffs, allusions, fragments of liturgy and bits of drama, poetry, Shakespeare and even Gilbert and Sullivan? Germinal’s Ed Baierlein, that’s who. At first confounding, even stunning, the production’s magnificent stream of language was ultimately an exhilarating experience. Within Germinal’s small space, Baierlein and his talented cast communicated the unwieldy, magnificent uncontainability of Joyce’s magnum opus.

The Fourth Wall gave pleasure on many levels. It was erudite without a trace of pomposity, forceful without ever becoming mean-spirited. Well cast and directed by Billie McBride, the production had audience members snorting with surprised laughter time and again. It also gave them something to think about on the way home.

True, it’s hard to continue loving an outfit that started cheeky and small but is now a multimillion-dollar endeavor that becomes more expensive by the year. But these folks keep delivering. Where does Cirque du Soleil find these extraordinary people — clowns, dancers and athletes who combine precision, explosive power and balletic grace? Varekai‘s musicians and performers, like its settings and costumes, were evocative, amazing and totally enjoyable. It was a performance that left audiences incapable of thought, suspended, wishing the show would never end.

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Dreamcoat is a mishmash of silly jokes and pulsing tunes. For his first show as artistic director at Boulder’s Dinner Theatre, Michael J. Duran energized the company’s talented actors, including a group of delightfully unself-conscious children. He tossed in just enough zaniness to keep the audience engaged and giggling. Duran’s feat was amazing, indeed: He brought a swirling joy and excitement to a tired old musical.

Director Stephanie Shine set her Comedy of Errors in nineteenth-century New Orleans and gave the actors a lot of freedom to improvise, resulting in many hilarious bits. But she also reined them in when necessary and protected the music of the lines. The result was funny, relaxed and magical — the perfect amusement for a summer night.

Racism is a common enough topic in theater, but Dael Orlandersmith’s Yellowman explored a different kind of bigotry: the contempt felt by some lighter-skinned African-Americans toward their darker-skinned brethren, and the reciprocal rage it engenders. The play dares to evoke all kinds of stereotypes as Alma, one of the two lead characters, describes the revulsion she feels toward her own mother, whom she describes as fat, drunken, ugly and uneducated. The “high yellow” Eugene is rejected by his far darker father. Orlandersmith deserves tremendous credit for her honesty and courage in dealing with this topic, and Curious must be commended for its serious-minded production.

Some observers speculated that Dirty Story represented departing artistic director Donovan Marley’s raised middle finger to the Denver Center Theatre Company. Others viewed it as an intelligently provocative selection. Either way, it was a brilliant choice. The production transformed the Israeli-Palestinian conflict into a sadomasochistic relationship between a middle-aged English professor and a bright young student, with a dopey, gun-twirling cowboy periodically erupting into the action. There was something in it to offend both Jews and Palestinians, and plenty there to make all of us think.

Jacques Brel is about roses and wine, nostalgia, love, and bright, toe-tapping songs. But there is also a sense of bitter world-weariness to Jacques Brel’s music, which was brought to life by three talented musicians and four superb performers, including singer Erica Sarzin-Borrillo. Sarzin-Borrillo is a unique stage presence, lacquered and artificial — but there’s a profound reservoir of passion at her core. The raw yearning she brought to “Marieke,” one of Brel’ s most powerful songs, was one of this revue’s unforgettable moments.

Gypsy‘s Rose is usually played as an iron-sided belter, but Susan Dawn Carson made her warm and sympathetic. This interpretation brought out interesting nuances in the role, actually highlighting the character’s narcissism. Marcus Waterman gave Rose’s partner, Herbie, a sad integrity that made him the moral center of the play. There was genuine chemistry between these two actors, and it breathed life into a well-worn plot.

In PHAMALy’s Guys and Dolls — and with a nod to Marlon Brando — Leonard Barrett Jr. shone as the seductive conman Sky Masterson. In Angels in America, he played a completely different role: that of Belize, a former drag queen. Here his acting was playfully self-aware without being self-conscious; he was sometimes funny and sometimes wise. When, without sentimentality, he told the dying protagonist Prior that he’d be with him all the way, he touched us to the core. The theater community has a satisfying double threat in Barrett Jr.

William Nicholson’s The Retreat From Moscow was a real find for the Aurora Fox — the best production staged there in several years. The play details the breakdown of a highly civilized marriage, unfurling in low-key, logical increments. It’s subtle, passionate, assured and full of magnificent bits of quoted poetry.

Casting Terry Burnsed as Bloom in Circe, a staged chapter from Ulysses, was a stretch. Burnsed is slender and small, closer in body type to James Joyce himself than to such traditional Blooms as Zero Mostel. But his performance in the role was masterly. He managed the difficult feat of making the character simultaneously ascetic and self-indulgent, anguished and funny, powerless and the fulcrum of the action.

Alicia Dunfee wasn’t the obvious choice to play Sally Bowles, Cabaret‘s immature heroine; Dunfee is a grown-up woman who takes the stage with authority. Nonetheless, the interpretation worked. As always, Dunfee gave herself fully to each musical number and held the audience mesmerized. But she also created a convincing portrait of a naive sophisticate, managing not only an English accent, but 1930s intonations, as well.

In Paul Robeson, a one-man show detailing the life of the scholar/athlete/performer of its title, Russell Costen held the stage for over two hours on his own. Robeson was a tall, powerful man with a rumbling bass voice, while Costen is shorter and more muted. Still, Costen communicated Robeson’s gravitas and found his measured vocal cadences. Though this was a highly skilled performance, it was about far more than skill: It was a generous and openhearted act of tribute.

Good impressionists don’t just mimic their subjects, they become them — and Frank Gorshin simply was George Burns in this production. He had the man’s walk and mannerisms, and also seemed to possess his spirit.

The dying Prior in Angels in America is often whiny, snappish or unreasonable, but he has intellect and dignity, too. In the Bas Bleu/OpenStage Theatre and Company production, Todd Coulter gave all these characteristics their due. Late in the play, Prior receives a reprieve, thanks to new AIDS drugs, and from then on, he becomes a kind of guide into the future. It was wonderful to watch this revivification, and Coulter’s final blessing was touching.

Playwright Mary Zimmerman incorporated large segments of poetry into Metamorphoses, including passages from Ovid and Rilke’s extraordinary “Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes.” The poems lend the script much of its power, but they can also be a mouthful. Elocution isn’t taught much these days, and many actors scorn verbal precision and fluidity. Trina O’Neil has these qualities in spades. Her beautiful lucidity made Rilke’s words resonate long after the play was over.

In one of the funniest, sweetest scenes in Kafka on Ice, Erin Rollman skated on a floor of artificial ice, skidding, gliding and falling cutely about as a Chaplinesque Kafka (played by Gary Culig) sped to her rescue again and again. Rollman is one of Denver’s most inspired comic actresses; in Kafka on Ice, she was able not only to reveal her gift for caricature, but also to venture more deeply into character — which, paradoxically, made her performance even more hilarious.

Tongue of a Bird is a pretentious, forgettable play about a woman pilot searching the mountains for a lost child. But it had a bright spot in teenage actor Brittany Heileman. She appeared to the protagonist in visions, her face bloodied, in a performance that was sharp, quick, cheerful and without a trace of sentimentality. Heileman is that rarest of beings: a young actor you really want to watch.

The Fourth Wall featured a housewife so distressed by contemporary politics that she arranged the furniture to create an invisible fourth wall in her living room. Rhonda Lee Brown played Julia, a brittle interior decorator from New York, brought in by the protagonist’s husband to help unravel her motives. Affected by the stagy living-room setup, Julia began acting as if she were indeed on stage, trying on various characterizations and making up the plot as she went along. Maintaining the difference between acting and Acting is a difficult task for a performer, but Rhonda Lee Brown did it to bitchy, preening perfection.

Anna is one-half of a prickly lesbian couple that forms the heart of Boston Marriage, David Mamet’s first play to feature female protagonists. She likes falling dramatically onto the chaise lounge, having the vapors, exploring flights of self-pitying fantasy, and tossing off acerbic witticisms. In a tour-de-force performance, Annette Helde did all this with feeling, wit and precision.

Randy Moore’s Scrooge was pinch-mouthed and mean, but he was also an aging child, with a child’s unconcern for decency and politeness, as well as a vulnerability. Although Moore has played the role for several years, this was his most joyous and deeply felt performance. When the reformed Scrooge humbly asked the charitable couple he had turned away in the first scene, “Will you come and see me?,” all the loneliness of his empty, money-grubbing days yawned beneath the words. When he took a deep breath and said, “To be alive…,” the next words could just as well have described his performance: “It’s glorious.”

Hi-Hat Hattie was a sentimental, one-dimensional piece of theater, but Sheryl Renee made it work. She’s a fine actress, but it was her vocal abilities that transfixed us as she sang a mix of blues, funk and show music. At times, Renee’s voice emanated from the depths of her being; at others, it soared operatically high. Her phrasing was sophisticated, and she could be funny, silkily seductive or downright tragic at will.

Most people remember Guys and Dolls‘ Adelaide as the chanteuse (or chantoosie) who sings “Take Back Your Mink” and “A Bushel and a Peck.” PHAMALy’s Lucy Roucis delivered these songs with sass and sang the famous “Adelaide’s Lament” so feelingly that you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Either way, you were riveted.

Dulcet-voiced and warm, Shelley Cox-Robie is always a joy to watch. As Joseph‘s narrator, she was the constant presence that stitched together all of the jokes and wild goings-on in the Boulder’s Dinner Theatre reading of this early Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Cox-Robie’s empathetic work with the children in the large ensemble cast was particularly charming.

Bat Boy: The Musical is based on a character in the Weekly World News, a bat-human creature found in a cave. In this musical, he’s discovered by some teenagers, one of whom he bites. Nicholas Sugar — an actor we should be seeing a lot more of — plays the role full-tilt. He’s weird, comic, scary, athletic and pathetic. He squeaks and gibbers, scuttles about the stage and hangs upside down from furniture. Sugar is particularly funny in the show’s My Fair Lady takeoff, as he’s taught to speak with a BBC accent and to drink his tea with his pinky primly raised.

Many regular customers of Boulder’s Dinner Theatre stayed away from Cabaret. The show’s seedy settings, writhing dance numbers and uncomfortable focus on fascism clearly set it apart from most BDT fare. But in a just world, it would have attracted dozens of people who normally never set foot in a conventional dinner theater. Director Michael J. Duran’s production was a visceral treat, with fantastic music, deft staging and vivid, all-stops-out performances. Brian Mallgrave, with a fresh take on the familiar Emcee character, and Alicia Dunfee as Sally Bowles were especially good.

Harold Pinter’s Old Times is a bleak, enigmatic play, but Denise Perry-Olson’s sensual energy and radiant smile animated it. Her Kate — sophisticated, sexy and well-traveled — flirted equally with onetime best friend Anna, and with Anna’s husband, Deeley. It sometimes seemed she was about to stride off with Bas Blue’s entire production.

Christopher Leo gave two confident star turns in Inventing van Gogh — as an unscrupulous art authenticator named Bouchard, and as the painter Paul Gauguin. Bouchard was self-mockingly mannered, effete in the most amusing way, while Gauguin was arrogant and thick-skinned. Both characters possessed a juicy vitality that served as a perfect foil for the other actors’ lower-key interpretations. Leo was obviously having a lot of fun on stage, and his enjoyment was infectious.

Angels in America‘s Harper is a pill-popping young Mormon wife who spends half her time yearning for her faithless husband and the other half in a fantasy. She could easily seem fey or just plain irritating. But Laura Norman moderated Harper’s dopey ethereality with a wry humor and a sense of groundedness. Her interpretation was potent, but also wonderfully unassuming.

In a luminous portrayal, Brett Aune made Vincent van Gogh an essentially gentle and guileless man, a little uncomfortable in his own body. Aune possessed an arrogance that stemmed from the artist’s bone-deep understanding of the rightness of his work, coupled with the insecurity of someone who has laid bare his heart and received only contempt and indifference in return. The image of Aune’s van Gogh wandering into the night with four flickering candles on his hat remains indelible.

Inventing Van Gogh unleashes a torrent of ideas about art — possibly enough for a dozen plays. But its primary achievement is illuminating the artist’s struggle to wrench meaning from a recalcitrant world, and to ransom his own soul. Steven Dietz’s script incorporates historical fact without lecturing; bits of Vincent van Gogh’s letters erupt into the text like cries from the grave. We’re told that by the time van Gogh created his later works, he was squeezing paint directly onto the canvas rather than using a brush, and shaping it with such force that it retained fragments of his fingernails. There’s something of this intensity in the form and content of the play itself, with its swirling structure, density of allusion and furious commitment to discovery.

Edward Albee’s play about a man in love with a goat makes you question every assumption about sexual mores you’ve ever made. Just where are the boundaries between the permissible and the impermissible, and what do they mean in the lives of actual people? The Goat or, Who Is Sylvia? is skillfully written, funny, silly, profound and disquieting all at once; the script includes one of the most extraordinary scenes in modern dramaturgy, as the wife who’s discovered her husband’s animal obsession careens from rage to helpless laughter, laughter to anguish and anguish to bitterness, breaking vases and furniture as she goes. Director Nagle Jackson gave this strange, daring piece a top-notch production at Curious, with an expressive cast, intelligent direction and an elegant set.

Organized by Pamela Jamruszka of the Red Rocks Community College theater faculty, and with the support of the Arvada Center for the Arts and Humanities, the first Playwrights Showcase of the Western Region featured three intense days of panels, workshops, discussions and play readings. The series was designed to inform and inspire, and to begin the process of putting Western playwrights on the map.

Last August, a selection from the Denver Art Museum was reduced to a tiny canvas, but it reached a global audience. An intricate 1940s Navajo weaving by master artisan Daisy Taugelchee was one of ten artifacts depicted in “The Art of the American Indian” stamp, a series of 37-cent stamps released by the United States Postal Service. The inclusion of Taugelchee’s piece, which has a permanent home in the DAM’s Native American Arts collection, lent a bit of Colorado cachet to letters sent around the world.

For several Decembers now, the Denver Art Museum has hyped an exhibition on Our Lady of Guadalupe by offering free Southwest Santos family backpacks, which include special games designed to encourage interaction with the artwork. Families can play Rhymes & Riddles or put together an Our Lady of Guadalupe magnet puzzle while taking in the museum’s collection of Virgin-centric artworks, most of which are housed in the Spanish Colonial gallery. The idea is to attract groups that might not normally visit the cultural institution; free vouchers are available for some families. Organizers deem the outreach a success. Some might even call it a miracle.

Retired teacher and Colorado Preservation, Inc. State Honor Award-winner Grace Stiles rescued a once-dilapidated Victorian frame house in Five Points and reshaped it for the greater good. The Stiles African American Heritage Center is stuffed with Stiles’s own special legacy for black Denver’s youth: a haystack of pictures and artifacts that piece together the lives a dozens of the region’s African-American historical figures. Stiles invites school groups to tour her mini-museum, and occasionally hosts lectures and Chautauqua-style performances for the public.

Lakeside Amusement Park creaks on year after year, slowly sliding down the path toward historical oddity. It’s Colorado’s very own Coney Island, and that’s exactly what makes the place so charming. Local photographer Christina Ianni captured the broken-down park — with the rickety old Cyclone and carny-favorite Tilt-A-Whirl — on film, using toy cameras scrounged at five-and-dimes. The results were rich, magical photos that expressed the beauty and nostalgia of one of Denver’s great cultural legacies. When they all hung en masse in Kirk Norlin Gallery, it was as if Ianni had captured not just the park, but the heart and soul of Denver.

Assembly art gallery is know for showing more controversial, cutting-edge works than some of its neighbors on Santa Fe Drive. But it wasn’t an exhibit that got director Jared Anderson in trouble with the City of Denver. No, it was his yard art, “Womb.” Designed as a freestanding monumental sculpture, “Womb” spans nearly fifty feet by fourteen feet, blocking the back of the gallery from the trashy alley behind 768 Santa Fe. It’s a beautiful, innovative piece, but when inspectors got wind that Anderson had used recycled doors — a prohibited material for constructing walls — they cited him and took him to the Board of Adjustment of Zoning Appeals. Anderson eventually prevailed, and he won a variance for his sculpture. Now he hosts regular film nights in the gallery’s back garden, where visitors can enjoy the protection of the city’s best art wall.

In the early ’90s, architect Cab Childress designed a mountain home for University of Denver chancellor Daniel Ritchie. The imposing stone structure was done in an unusual neo-traditional style, with a copper roof called “Granny’s Castle.” Though Childress didn’t know it at the time, the building was his audition for the post of DU architect. Over the next decade, Childress rewrote the appearance of the DU campus, beginning with the impossible-to-miss Daniel L. Ritchie Sports and Wellness Center, and followed by many other equally outrageous buildings. Curator Sally Perisho told the whole story in Poetry and Stone, a long-overdue salute to Childress’s great contributions to the built environment of Denver.

The Denver Art Museum’s New World department includes both pre-and post-Columbian sections, and patrons Jan and Fred Mayer were principal sponsors of two relevant shows designed to showcase both. First was the post-Columbian offering, Painting a New World, which surveyed Mexican colonial painting. Then came the pre-Columbian Tiwanaku, which examined a little known civilization in Bolivia. Donna Pierce, the DAM’s curator of Spanish colonial art, put together Painting a New World, and Margaret Young-S´nchez, the museum’s curator of pre-Columbian art, did Tiwanaku. The two shows were predicted to have low attendance, and they did. But they were fine, well-thought-out shows, so it’s great the DAM did them anyway.

The West has inspired artists for over a century, and LoDo’s David Cook Fine Art is one of the best places in Denver to check out some of the genre’s older creations. The gallery rarely presents exhibits, so The Painter’s Eye, on display last summer, was an unusual treat. The show included pieces by artists who worked in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and California. A bonus was the in-depth display of pieces by local master Charles Partridge Adams, an impressionist who worked in the early twentieth century. It was a great way to enjoy the mountains without having to leave town.

Under the direction of Gwen Chanzit, a professor at the University of Denver and a curator at the Denver Art Museum, a group of DU students organized IN LIMBO, a terrific show at the school’s Victoria H. Myhren Gallery. The exhibition featured works generously loaned by big-time local art collectors Vicki and Kent Logan. The students used computers to view digital images of the Logan Collection at the DAM, as well as the Logans’ private hoard. They then made their final selections, researched the chosen artists, produced an exhibition design and had a catalogue published. The finished product took a lot of hard work to produce — and was a lot of fun to look at.

Susan Goldstein’s POLI VESTURE lent the Edge Gallery a creepy, haunted-house mood last spring — not surprising, considering that Goldstein’s photos were shot in an abandoned factory where religious articles were once produced. The title of the show was taken from the name of the factory, which was located in Pittsburgh. Goldstein captured the broken crucifixes and headless saints under dim lights. In the context of the factory’s wrecked infrastructure, with abandoned machinery glimpsed in the background, the photos had an ironic quality, but they also seemed strangely pious.

Unstitched: A Voyeur’s Idiom, displayed at weilworks, was both confrontational and beautiful, an outlandish and hard-to-achieve combination. Photographer Jimmy Sellers used his childhood interest in G.I. Joes to create political works that comment on the issues of gays in the military and same-sex marriage. In color and black-and-white digital prints, the macho figures were posed in various evocative situations; some involved violence, others eroticism. The G.I. Joes so resembled real men that many viewers had a hard time figuring out what was and wasn’t real. Taking beefcake shots of dolls to further political discussions was very funny — and very effective.

Computers have had a big effect on the visual arts, especially photography: Digital cameras and digital printing are now the standards. And though the pieces in Quintin Gonzalez: digital images resembled digital photos, they were actually drawings created with a variety of software applications. One of the most striking features of the work was the iridescent palette of remarkable tones that Gonzalez squeezed out of a LightJet printer. Not only is Gonzalez one of the best high-tech artists in town, but he also inspires the creative use of technology as a teacher at the University of Colorado at Denver. The Sandy Carson show was a good introductory course.

Open Press LTD: A 15-Year Anniversary was a short course in the recent history of printmaking in Denver. The show, presented at the Gallery of Contemporary Art at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, was an enormous survey of the fruits of the fine press founded by master printer Mark Lunning. Over the years, Lunning has facilitated scores of artists in making thousands of prints in Denver. The daunting job of winnowing the selections down to a manageable number fell to the GCA’s longtime director, Gerry Riggs, who created an exhibit that included a big chunk of the contemporary-art scene around here.

Sometimes shows in Pirate’s cramped and awkwardly shaped Associates’ Space outshine the main attractions up front. That was surely the case when Conor King’s Sentience was on view there. The twenty-something King, a recent University of Colorado graduate, created six photo enlargements framed in natural-wood boxes. The photos were illuminated from behind, making them glow. The images depicted people involved in enigmatic activities — like a man on a rope raiding a nest filled with giant eggs. The room was lit only by the glow of the photos, which unified them and also established an appropriately somber mood.

For his self-titled show at the Robischon Gallery, photographer David Sharpe focused on unfocused shots of the Western landscape taken with primitive, homemade cameras — the kind of thing he’s done for years. His pinhole cameras are made from cylindrical containers such as oatmeal boxes. Aping the method of nineteenth-century photographers, Sharpe travels into the countryside with an ad hoc photo lab — though the actual printing goes on in his home studio. There he has mounted an enlarger in his garage attic and projects the images through a hole onto light-sensitive paper on the garage floor. The great distance between the projection and the paper allows Sharpe to produce large prints from his tiny originals.

Ron Wohlauer was a legend among Colorado photographers, with a style best exemplified by his majestic black-and-white landscapes. Sadly, he died last year after battling repeated bouts of cancer. In a truth-is-stranger-than-fiction moment, Wohlauer’s latest book of photos, SMALL ROOMS and HIDDEN PLACES, came out just a few days after he passed away. There was nothing else to do but to put on a memorial show based on the book. And that’s precisely what John Grant of the Mayor’s Office of Cultural Affairs did, curating a gorgeous exhibit at the Colorado Photographic Arts Center. Credit is also due to Skip Kohloff and Lisbeth Neergaard Kohloff, CPAC’s heart and soul, respectively, for hastily clearing the decks to make room for it.

Justin Beard went all out to create his funny, smart and somewhat politically incorrect installation “Second Hand Smoke” at Capsule@Pod. The meticulously crafted piece was also interactive. Beard placed a black table in front of a red-vinyl-covered banquette. On the table was an open, bound sketchbook, which contained a stencil and, underneath, a vacuum. Visitors were invited to sit at the banquette and smoke a cigarette; as the vacuum pulled their exhaled smoke through the page, the residual tars spread to color the open areas of the stencil. Ironically, the finished smoke-drawings were traditional in style — unlike the work itself.

The rambunctious Group Show 2 was the latest version of Studio Aiello’s biennial. This time around, Kathy Andrews, director of Metro State’s Center for Visual Art, served as a single juror, selecting all of the pieces herself. Among the dozens of objects that Andrews chose was “Evolution of Form & Concept, #2,” a sculpture by emerging art star Morgan Barnes. The piece, which took charge of the front gallery, was downright zany for a modernist work: a stile that rocked and chimed, with a rusted patina accented by polka dots. Studio Aiello has since signed Barnes on as a regular, and if this piece is any indication of things to come, that was surely the right move.

The William Havu Gallery pays as much attention to sculpture as any place in town. There’s always a piece on the sidewalk, and there’s a proper sculpture garden in back. For Three Dimensions, a great indoor show, owner Bill Havu gathered work by three established sculptors from the region: Denver’s Lawrence Argent; Mary Bates Neubauer, from Tempe, Arizona; and Stephen Daly from Austin, Texas, whose pieces filled a couple of rooms. The combination of styles made for a sensational trio.

Andy Miller: A Deconstruction of Life knocked everyone out when it was shown at Pirate last spring. The show featured four monumental steel and neon sculptures that depicted simplified images of men committing suicide. One was hanging by a noose from the ceiling, another aimed a gun at his head, a third was taking a vial of poison, and the last was jumping to his death. The subject matter was disturbing, but suicide is only one of the topics Miller hopes to take up in the future; these pieces are the first in a series of sculptures addressing crime and violence.

The Powerball lottery seems an unlikely source for paintings and prints. But in Random Art Two, his smashing solo at Capsule@Pod, Brandon Borchert assigned a specific image to each of the Powerball numbers, one through 53. The images illustrated one of four subjects: sex, death, food and art history, and included everything from canned meat to hand grenades. The show comprised prints of the individual images, along with a series of accompanying paintings in which Borchert assembled the pictures in groups based on the winning Powerball sequences. Referencing dada, surrealism and Spam, Random Art Two was definitely a winner.

One of the state’s biggest and most important annuals, Colorado Clay, has been held at Foothills Art Center in Golden since the ’70s. This year’s guest juror, Peter Held, from the Arizona State University Art Museum, took a new approach: Instead of choosing objects, Held chose artists — and fewer of them than usual. Each of the sixteen ceramicists was shown in depth, with the works taking over Foothills’ entire main area. Among the standouts in a field crowded with first-rate artists were Marie E.v.B. Gibbons, Katie Martineau-Caron, Dan Fogelberg, Janey Skeer, Carol Juddiece Cooper and Carla Kappa.

The Lakewood Cultural Center has made ceramics a specialty, with regular group shows devoted to the medium. The center hosted a rare solo show last fall, when Michael Coffee’s smart-looking Place of Mind was installed in the north gallery. Coffee, a retired architect who turned to ceramics ten years ago, has mastered the art of clay, as evidenced by his totem sculptures made of glazed clay cylinders stacked on top of one another. Best of all, the exhibit came and went without anyone from the City of Lakewood seeking to censor it, as happened out there more recently with another ceramics show.

Nationally known Colorado artist John Hull likes to mix Hollywood-style shoot-’em-up imagery with traditional painting techniques; taken together, his cyclical narrative pieces could be called visual novels. In Pictures From Sonny’s Place, Hull told the story of an imaginary rural junkyard — based on an actual place in Wyoming — where meth is used and dealt. The story is filled out with tough guys and their wild girlfriends, a bunch of hot cars (some of them wrecked) and even a gun or two. It’s an ordinary story in the impoverished countryside nowadays, but in Hull’s able hands, the tale was epic.

Put together during the few short months when Ivar Zeile was teamed up with Ron Judish, Bruce Price: Fill was a major success — unlike the partnership. Price is a local pioneer of post-minimalism, known for pattern paintings based on his theories of decoration. For Fill, which debuted in New York before moving to Denver, he put on one layer of paint after another with transparent layers in between, creating a weave of patterns. The paintings didn’t just give the illusion of being three-dimensional; they actually were.

In a recent episode, Extreme Makeover — Home Edition came to Arvada to build a duplex for two low-income families and, next door, a community park. Young hotshot David Mazza was tapped to create a sculpted entry for the public space. Inside a week, Mazza turned around “Renaissance Park Archway,” a work in welded steel. The form of the piece is a pair of abstract linear sculptures that mirror one another exactly; each composition pivots visually off a central mast that comes out of the ground, the sculptor’s signature approach. Looks like Mazza’s ready for prime time.

It was a brilliant stroke last spring when the Robischon Gallery, the city’s flagship, presented two sculpture shows, John Buck and Manuel Neri, and installed them back to back. The show illustrated how the two artists compare and contrast with each other. Both are masters of contemporary sculpture who work in the West — Buck lives in Montana, Neri in California — and both do pieces that incorporate the human figure. But each is unique: Buck likes a lot of extraneous details, whereas Neri is into simplification. The thoughtful placement of the works at Robischon enhanced the whole experience.

San Francisco artist Rex Ray is perhaps best known for his graphic designs for Apple Computer, Bill Graham Productions and David Bowie. But he’s a fine artist first, as demonstrated by the knockout show Rex Ray: Recent Work at Rule Gallery. Ray, whose real name is Michael Patterson, lived for a time in Colorado, and he has occasionally exhibited here since settling in the Bay Area back in the ’80s. For this show, he created an installation of nearly 500 drawings on one wall and surrounded it by scores of mixed-media collages on wood. There was a retro-’50s feel to these pieces, but they also looked newer than new.

The title of Repeat Offenders indicated that each artist in this group show did work in a series. That was a fairly open-ended qualifier, since nearly all artists create their pieces that way. But the handle gave Singer Gallery director Simon Zalkind an excuse to feature artists whom he felt were among the best around — more than two dozen contemporary artists working in metro Denver. Most were well-established locals, including Stephen Batura, Roland Bernier and Sushe Felix, but the work of a few accomplished emerging talents — including Brandon Borchert, Katie Taft and Jason Patz — stood up to the best their elders had to offer.

Studio Aiello typically hosts big, unwieldy group shows in its big, unwieldy building, and only rarely presents solos. That’s surely because few artists have enough work to fill it. But Boulder painter Virginia Maitland came up with enough to cram the gallery — and its storage room — to capacity. Opened Windows charted Maitland’s career of more than thirty years, revealing how she went into, then out of, her signature color-field style. Though there’s usually a grungy quality to Studio Aiello, Maitland’s work made it look like a little museum.

A traveling show out of New York, True Grit addressed the work of a group of women artists who rose to prominence before the feminist revolution of the ’70s. Organized by Katherine Crum of the Parrish Art Museum in Southampton, the exhibit included pieces by Lee Bontecou, Jay DeFeo, Nancy Spero, Louise Nevelson, Claire Falkenstein, Nancy Grossman and Louise Bourgeois — seven of the most famous women artists of the modern period. A few were feminists, others weren’t, but all had their reputations enhanced by the interest in women’s art brought on by feminism. CVA director Kathy Andrews simultaneously mounted a Louise Bourgeois solo exhibition that seamlessly hooked up with the wonderful main course.

Emerson Woelffer: Life in the Abstract, at the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center, wasn’t large, but it was definitely grand. Woelffer, one of the best of a generation of abstract expressionists working in southern Colorado in the ’50s, is mostly remembered instead as a Los Angeles artist. When he lived here, he was director of the now-defunct-but-then-famous Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center’s art school. Hunter Frost, a friend and former student of Woelffer’s, curated this gorgeous show and also wrote its catalogue. Frost’s selections reveal that Woelffer did some of the finest paintings of his lifetime not in L.A., but during his years in Colorado.

As a curator, Cydney Payton is at her best when dealing with art she really loves, which is why Dots, Blobs and Angels was so darned spectacular. Payton’s a fan of John David Rigsby’s work, and it’s easy to see why. The quality of the paintings, sculptures and drawings that made up this stirring retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Art/Denver was first-rate. The show followed Rigsby’s career, which he began as a sharecropper’s son scrounging for materials in Alabama in the ’30s, through his impoverished existence in Houston at the end of his life, when he once again had no money for supplies. In between, he hit heights of fame and success. But whether in good times or bad, he always created something wonderful. Dots, Blobs and Angels demonstrated that Rigsby was a groundbreaker — not just once, but over and over again.

It started as a museum devoted to the work of a single artist, Vance Kirkland, but the Kirkland Museum has expanded its collecting scope greatly over the years, and now has an exhaustive collection of decorative art on display. Kirkland director Hugh Grant has also avidly sought out artworks by other Colorado artists, making the Kirkland the only institution in the state to focus on locals. The museum currently houses examples by nearly 200 artists who worked in Colorado, including recently acquired pieces by Chuck Parson, Edward Marecak and Mel Strawn. The fact that most area museums all but ignore homegrown talent makes the Kirkland even more vital.

Last summer, Dianne Vanderlip, head of the Modern and Contemporary department at the Denver Art Museum, put together scene Colorado / sin Colorado, an exhibition devoted to the work of some of the state’s top artists. Drawn from the DAM’s permanent collection, the show focused on mid-career talents as opposed to emerging ones. Vanderlip displayed no aesthetic agenda in her selections, which incorporated a wide variety of styles: Offerings ranged from representational imagery by Matt O’Neill to minimalism by David Yust. Scene Colorado also had the bittersweet distinction of being the DAM’s last contemporary exhibit until the museum’s new building is finished next year.

With all the creepy stuff on display at the Denver Museum of Nature & Science, including mummies, Quest for Immortality was guaranteed to bring in the crowds. And it did. Tens of thousands marched through the blockbuster collection of ancient Egyptian tomb art during its several-month-long run. The show, sponsored by the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., was filled with magnificent objects that were to die for. The ancient Egyptians created these articles as part of an elaborate scheme to attain eternal life. It looks like it worked, because thousands of years later, their artifacts made up one of the best shows in Denver.

The beleaguered and financially strapped Museo de las Américas has been rudderless since founder José Aguayo stepped down a few years ago. But hope for a turnaround spiked late last year, when Patty Ortiz was brought on as director. Ortiz spent five dedicated years at the Museum of Contemporary Art/Denver, but no one could blame her for seizing the chance to guide the Museo. So far, her best idea has been to integrate pieces by Hispanic artists from Colorado into visiting shows. For example, Ortiz supplemented the current exhibition about Mexican artist David Alfaro Siqueiros with a small sampling of works by local muralists. Such an inclusive approach signals great things for the newly energized Museo.

Last August, Mayor John Hickenlooper got everyone’s attention with the announcement that the City of Denver had agreed to receive the paintings and drawings in the estate of abstract-expressionist master Clyfford Still. The multimillion-dollar gift from the estate’s trustees was made in exchange for a promise that the city would build a museum to display the collection. So far, no architect has been selected to design the building, nor has a site been picked out. But fundraising is well apace, and Dean Sobel, former head of the Aspen Art Museum, has been hired as director. Sounds like a wish is rapidly becoming a promise.

The Colorado Convention Center has bigger fins than a ’57 DeSoto and is lit up like a laundromat at night. So it can be hard to notice the fabulous rusted-steel sculpture sitting out front, “Indeterminate Line,” by international art star Bernar Venet, that’s situated on the lawn along Speer Boulevard at the Stout Street tunnel. It’s a large, elegant twenty-ton scribble depicting an oval that’s been rendered organic and geometric at the same time. Venet, who was born in France, has lived for decades in New York, and his work has been installed throughout Europe and the United States. We’re lucky to have “Indeterminate Line,” one of the best outdoor sculptures in the city.

John Sayles’s elaborate political fable Silver City was less than boffo at the box office, and its cautions about the corruption of the electoral process didn’t fly with a weary public amid the bloodiest, most divisive election-year brawl America had experienced since 1968. But this dark comedy about the nitwit machinations of a fictional Colorado gubernatorial candidate gave Sayles plenty of opportunity to train his cameras on Denver. The City and County Building, the Oxford Hotel, Union Station, early morning at a bar on the seedy end of Larimer Street, even the interior of the Westword office on Broadway all have cameos. Want to catch another glimpse of our dusty cowtown? Get thee to the video store, pardner.

In the course of a long and illustrious movie career, the star of Driving Miss Daisy, Glory and The Shawshank Redemption has intrigued audiences with his versatility and his gift for nuance. So when Morgan Freeman visited the Denver International Film Festival last October, ticket-holders were in for a rare evening of artistic assessment and warm personal reminiscence from a craftsman who said, “I was born to act; I was born to pretend.” Soon after his appearance at the Buell Theatre, Freeman was nominated for an Academy Award for his supporting-actor performance as a weary old boxer in Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby. When he finally won his long-overdue Oscar, Denver festival-goers must have been especially pleased.

The best thing to happen for Denver-area film buffs in decades, the Starz FilmCenter at the Tivoli presents a year-round selection of art-house fare, independent features and revival screenings that rivals the best offerings in cinema-rich cities like New York and San Francisco. Recent programs have included a series of five contemporary French comedies, a three-film series honoring the great Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu and new features from Denmark, Bhutan, India, Iran, Argentina and Italy, among other nations. The FilmCenter’s education arm is expanding; meanwhile, its signature event remains the Denver International Film Festival, which screens for ten days each October and offers more than 200 films.

Generally speaking, a ‘plex is a ‘plex. But the fifteen-screen Denver Pavilions in downtown Denver offers a couple of advantages over its suburban counterparts: free underground parking (with validation) in a roomy adjacent structure, and the proximity of good food and drink in many establishments on Denver’s 16th Street Mall. Otherwise, the Pavilions’ stadium seating is as padded-rocking-chair comfortable as at any other multiplex, the concessions are acceptable, and standards for sound and film projection are uniformly high. Whether you’re in for three hours of The Aviator or the quick yuks of Be Cool, the Pavilions gives them to you in butt-soothing, eye-pleasing comfort.

Landmark’s Mayan Theatre continues to expand its commitment to good eats and drinks. Longtime patrons can still snatch up old faves like the big, fat bagel dogs, Odwalla juices (try the Mango Tango) and Alternative Baking cookies (Explosive Espresso Chip suits us fine). But if you’ve never sprinkled your popcorn with soy sauce or Spike multi-seasoning, get right on it. The new Dazbog coffee flavors (“Russian-born, Denver-roasted”) are top-notch, and a Lindt classic white-chocolate bar suits a screening of Sideways as well as any Pinot.

A native Denverite and devoted alumnus of East High School, actor Don Cheadle has impressed movie audiences in everything from Devil in a Blue Dress to Ocean’s Twelve. But when he starred as the quiet manager of a four-star hotel in Hotel Rwanda, last year’s troubling drama about genocide and conscience, he earned a Best Actor nomination from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and new respect for all of his work. In the film, Cheadle’s Paul Rusesabagina sets up a haven within the hotel’s walls for Hutu and Tutsi fugitives, which keeps them safe — at least temporarily — from massacre. His compelling performance is the centerpiece of a heart-wrenching film.

When Denver-based movie director Alexandre O. Philippe came across a copy of Hamlet that had, according to its cover, been restored to the “original” Klingon text, it opened a door to a strange world called the Klingon Language Institute, whose members study and speak the made-for-TV tongue that linguist Mark Okrand created for the iconic series Star Trek. Like Gene Roddenberry’s wrinkled warrior geniuses, the KLI faithful are ruled by codes and wonders, and Philippe’s profoundly weird, highly engaging documentary does them every justice.

The LGBT community is an active producer of independent film. But not many titles make it to the major theaters. Fortunately Denver has a viable outlet for queer cinema. Now in its sixth year, the Cinema Q festival (formerly Seeing Queerly: The Denver International GLBT Film Festival) creates a local outlet for cutting-edge celluloid dyke dramas, queer comedies, sexy shorts and everything in between. Presented over a three-day weekend, Cinema Q screens local entries as well as films from around the globe. In addition to opening- and closing-night parties, symposiums and discussions are scheduled between film blocks. Come wine, dine and shmooze with directors and actors while discussing the flicks that changed your life.

Michael Moore has proven that it’s possible for left-leaning documentaries to find a home in the multiplexes. But for most makers of progressive films, widespread distribution — or any distribution — is as distant as the expression on George Bush’s face. Fortunately, since 2003, ArgusFest’s Jason Bosch has presented free screenings of documentaries that focus on human rights, social justice, environmentalism, globalization and the media. Each week, the ever-increasing slate rotates between local lefty bastions the Mercury Cafe, Oh My Goddess Coffee House and Boulder’s Penny Lane Coffeehouse. Bosch is also working to expand into cities like Austin and San Francisco. The lively discussions that follow each film are a great model of how citizens can watch globally and talk locally.

The multiplexes keep multiplying, but they’re all showing the same Adam Sandler and Lindsay Lohan atrocities. True cineastes know that Denver’s central library can be counted on for filmfests that mix the traditional and the edgy, the classic and the avant-garde. Past offerings have included the films of Billy Wilder, horror flicks, gay cinema, notable adaptations of great novels and a selection of top-drawer items from the “golden year of film,” 1939. They’re all free, often hosted by online film critic Walter Chaw — and there’s even popcorn for sale.

You never know what progressive cause you’ll find on www.denverevolution.org. Sometimes it’s a notice for a biodiesel meeting; sometimes it’s a radical-film night. Tony Shawcross and the rest of the [denverevolution] collective ensure that the good people of Denver are never without something to do — and that the city’s underground activists and change agents have an audience for their efforts. Also interested in film, [denverevolution] began developing their digital skills and opened a free film-editing studio for members of the public to create their own documentaries. Last year, Shawcross took the revolution one step further, moving the group’s production arm, Deproduction, to the P.S.1 charter school, where they’re building a film-production studio for students. The revolution just may be televised after all.

The Museum of Contemporary Art/Denver’s effort to build a new home began last year, when Mark Falcone and Ellen Bruss donated a tract of land at 15th and Delgany streets. A

series of presentations by six architectural firms from around the world — all vying to build a new structure on the site — drew standing-room-only crowds. The MCA’s selection panel eventually chose African-born, London-based architect David Adjaye of Adjaye/Associates. Last summer, Adjaye unveiled a model of the proposed building: a glowing lighted box of glass and translucent white plastic. If all goes according to plan, the MCA is bound to be one of Denver’s greatest 21st-century buildings.

Adam Lerner directs The Lab at Belmar, one of several exciting new spaces that have distinguished the urban shopping center as a creative hub as well as a shopping destination; in its first year, Belmar has hosted everything from filmmaking workshops to gallery exhibitions and cutting-edge public art. The Lab’s “Appreciating Contemporary Art & Things You Learn From Aunt Miriam” program has been the center’s runaway hit: The lecture series — held from October through May on the first Thursday of every month — considers art from cultural, political and spiritual perspectives, exploring its power to shape and change societies as well as the human psyche. Photographers, video artists, writers and historians are among the speakers who christened the series’ inaugural run. The talks are so popular that reservations are recommended. Capacity crowds turning up to talk art in the middle of the suburbs? There’s something happening here.

Stan Kroenke’s Altitude Network took a blow right along with the National Hockey League: Pro hockey’s strike-riddled lost season translates into lost revenue for the new station, which was conceived primarily to broadcast Avalanche hockey, along with play by other Kroenke-owned sports teams. But the Altitude team made a small comeback by creating On Stage, a concert series featuring live performances by such local music sensations as Wendy Woo and Big Head Todd and the Monsters, all videotaped in local clubs. Nice save.

It makes sense that Regis University, a Catholic Jesuit institution, should end up with a statue of the great Irish author James Joyce on one of its campuses. After all, Joyce’s stand-in, Stephen Dedalus, is referred to as a fearful Jesuit in the epic Ulysses. Sculptor Rowan Gillespie forged this life-sized bronze in Ireland in 2001; encircling the figure in a sundial pattern are carved entries from the novel. Located just a short stroll from parking lot 2, the statue provides inspiration for those who want to contemplate a writer whose work was once banned in the United States but is taught — for now — at virtually every place of higher education.

The only thing wrong with Mayor Hickenlooper’s declaration last September naming Abelardo “Lalo” Delgado Denver’s first poet laureate was that it came too late for Delgado to savor it — just two months after he died, at age 73. During his lifetime, Delgado — whose politically charged epic “Stupid America” is considered a classic of Chicano literature — battled the literary aristocracy for acknow-ledgment. But the thought was there, and Delgado, a community-minded teacher and activist who was much more than a poet, must be smiling down on the barrio in his honorary capacity. We miss you, Lalo.

September’s inaugural Yell Fest was a wild, chaotic mess. Put on by Comedy Works house comedian Chuck Roy, the night was advertised as a search for “Denver’s biggest asshole.” What the night actually determined was that given limited rules and ample booze, everyone’s an asshole. Roy has since fine-tuned the format, and the resulting Stand-Up Comedy Battles, which take place on the last Wednesday of the month, have become a hilarious match of wits between the city’s finest comics. Featherweight, Middleweight and Heavyweight contestants receive subjects about a week in advance, then square off on each topic in front of an audience to see who wrote the funnier jokes. Simple enough formula; the results, however, are anything but.

Good food and Cherry Creek North? Two of the most obvious bedfellows in town. It took little stretch of the imagination to combine them into a fail-safe annual festival. The glitzy al fresco celebration spreads over several Saturdays and features a gourmet market and cooking demonstrations by hot chefs from the region and the world, working in a state-of-the-art outdoor kitchen on Fillmore Plaza. The event, which culminates in a Grand Tasting soiree, is bling for your belly. So rev up your tastebuds: The series returns in July.

The first of its kind in the United States, The Shoot Out Boulder celebrated the art of quick and cheap movie production. Filmmakers were given 24 hours to complete a seven-minute short. Only in-camera editing was allowed — meaning everything had to be shot in sequence — and the footage had to incorporate specific locations or props from within the Boulder area. Several dozen crews of both novice and seasoned filmmakers participated in the quick-paced contest, resulting in an amazing variety of subjects and styles that ranged from the hilarious to the reflective. Plans for another festival are under way, which is great news: The Shoot Out is a can’t-miss opportunity for area filmheads.

Normally, when you come across a celebrity in Aspen — say, Kevin Costner fashioning a kayak for an In Style magazine photo shoot — it’s funny, but not ha-ha funny. For nearly one week out of every year, though, Aspen is the ha-ha-funniest place in the world. The U.S. Comedy Arts Festival is a veritable all-you-can-eat buffet of humor, from standup to sketch comedy to readings; Cheech and Chong, Conan O’ Brien, Jim Carrey and Dave Eggers were among those on hand this year. And how about all those hangers-on in fur coats with VIP passes around their necks, talking on headset cell phones? Now, that’s funny.

Capitol Hill encompasses a wide swath of central Denver, so it’s no wonder that the Capitol Hill People’s Fair is the city’s best, and most diverse, festival. From its humble beginnings at Morey Junior High in 1971, when 2,000 people attended, the People’s Fair has exploded into Colorado’s premier arts-and-crafts happening; last year, some 275,000 people attended the three-day event at Civic Center Park, soaking up live entertainment, food by the barrelful, community and family-oriented activities and the best people-watching of the year. The fest is a huge fundraiser, as well: Capitol Hill United Neighborhoods raised $45,000 for area nonprofits in 2004. Kick back, kick off your shoes, and celebrate Denver’s funkiest neighborhood.

Though Stevyn Prothero’s tiny Iron Feather Book & Zine Shop is in danger of losing its space in north Denver, the place’s do-it-yourself attitude lives on to the bitter end. Prothero welcomes any and all wannabe zinesters to use his stuff — Xerox, keyboard, scissors and so on — to create their own page for the community-based Open Zine Project. Prothero knows something about what it takes to create an indie publication: His own Iron Feather Journal has been coming out sporadically for years. Open your mind and take up your pen.

The action can get pretty hot and heavy when LoDo’s bars let out at 2 a.m. But from the cheap seats on the sidelines, watching the crowds pour out of the clubs and pour themselves into cars and cabs — after some last-second attempts to hook up –can be mighty entertaining. And the vehicles parading slowly past offer a non-stop urban soundtrack.