BOOK
ALLISON HOOVER BARTLETT: THE MAN WHO LOVED BOOKS TOO MUCH
(Riverhead Books)
San Francisco journalist Alli­­­son Hoover Bartlett’s new work of nonfiction reveals that in addition to being a haven for authors of all stripes, the Bay Area is home to a prolific rare-book thief. John Gilkey, whose exploits Bartlett first chronicled in San Francisco (February 2006), is an accomplished con artist who has made it his life’s goal to possess a first edition of every book on the Modern Library’s 100 Best Novels list. To date, Gilkey has stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of books from dealers across the globe, and many of those volumes remain unrecovered. Spun from Bartlett’s interviews with Gilkey and a number of rare-book dealers—most notably Ken Sanders, who helped bring Gilkey to temporary justice—The Man Who Loved Books Too Much evokes the world of book collecting in vibrant, seductive color. Readers who hanker for a resolution to the conflict between Gilkey and Sanders may be left unsated, but Bart­lett’s decision to implicate herself within the narrative provides plenty of drama. We find ourselves swept up in her moral dilemma: Should she pass Gilkey’s admissions along to the authorities, thereby losing access to the story that could one day help her write a hallowed book of her own? A-
—GRETCHEN SCHRAFFT



ALBUM
KOWLOON WALLED CITY: GAMBLING ON THE RICHTER SCALE
(The Perpetual Motion Machine)
A band’s name is usually a clear indicator of its sound. (Really, could Cannibal Corpse play anything but metal?) This holds true for Kowloon Walled City, though you might not realize it at first. The San Francisco metal band takes its name from a famously dangerous Hong Kong neighborhood run by killers, drug dealers, and pimps—a sort of hell, in other words—and the group sounds satisfyingly like its name. Banging out a symphony of down-tuned guitars and turned-up amps, KWC harks back to similarly heavy forebears, like the Melvins, Helmet, and Oakland legends Neurosis. The band’s brutal debut EP last year earned it a spot at the gene­rally metal averse Noise Pop Festival, and its first long-player only improves on the formula. The opening track, “Annandale,” sets the tone, with front man Scott Evans’ sandpapery croak slicing through the barrage of low-end riffs and hammer-fall drumming. A keen sense of dynamics keeps things interesting all the way through: “Paper Houses” swings like an undertaker on his way to the boneyard, and the cathartic closer, “More Like the Shit Factory,” features a chiming guitar that could almost be called pretty. But the idyll doesn’t last long—these guys have a name to live up to, after all. A
—CHRIS SMITH

[Photograph by John Korty]

FILM
MIRACLE IN A BOX: A PIANO REBORN
(Korty Films)
It’s not the only regional highlight of this year’s Mill Valley Film Festival, but North Bay filmmaker John Korty’s Mira­cle in a Box is a can’t-miss for proud locals. None of us should be shocked to learn that we have an artisanal piano-restoration company in our midst, as well as a director with enough grace, sensitivity, and story sense to make a fine documentary about it. Ever the example setter—it was he who convinced Francis Ford Cop­pola and George Lucas, among others, to set up shop here and make movies their own way—Korty has concocted a standard-bearing specimen of the traditional, no-frills nonfiction narrative: He hangs around with the affable, amusingly diverse crew of Callahan Piano Service as they restore a 1927 Steinway destined to be the grand prize in the First Berkeley Piano Competition. This film doesn’t push any pol­itics or rake any muck, and it isn’t stylized to within an inch of its life. Instead, it offers New Yorker–style attention-span revitalization: You didn’t know how interested you were. The movie could have been a bore, but in Korty’s hands, it’s an accessible treatise on artistic infrastructure and a nuanced portrait of dedicated craftspeople in their workshop—where, during a send-off party for the revived Steinway, the contest’s winner performs. A
—JONATHAN KIEFER



ALBUM
PETE BERNHARD: STRAIGHT LINE
(Milan Records)
As a potential chart-topper, the singer-songwriter died somewhere in the ’80s, when synthesizers overwhelmed the earnest tunes of Jackson Browne et al. But the genre is returning from the grave, thanks to acts like Jolie Holland and Bright Eyes, who rely on the connective tissue of live performance more than on radio product. Pete Bernhard knows this phenomenon firsthand as part of country-punk outfit The Devil Makes Three, which formed in Santa Cruz seven years ago and can now sell out venues as big as the Great American Music Hall. Bernhard’s second solo disc, Straight Line, consists of mat­erial that didn’t quite fit with the down-and-dirty chaos of his acoustic trio. While the tempos are more relaxed and the singing more lackadaisical, Bernhard retains his scrappy temperament: “A lot of people don’t like me / Not my music, I mean personally / They want to tell you how to act and what to say / Would you rather be an orphan or a slave?” he rasps on “Orphan.” The whole album—especially “Sugar Cane” and “8th and Main”—has a rambling yet crafted air, with one foot in John Prine’s trousers and the other in a boxcar. The charts still may not be ready for scruffy bards like Bernhard, but aficionados of heartfelt music will adore him. A-
—DAN STRACHOTA



BOOK
RICHARD POLSKY: I SOLD ANDY WARHOL. (TOO SOON)
(Other Press)
In May 2005, Sausalito art dealer Richard Polsky sold a 12-inch self-portrait by Andy Warhol at auction for $375,000. The small silkscreen meant far more to Polsky than his usual inven-­tory does: He chronicled his quest to purchase it in his entertaining 2003 book, I Bought Andy Warhol. The sequel is a story of seller’s remorse. Set in a world that’s now almost unrecognizable, since art prices collapsed last year, this book is more broadly an account of the runaway market of the mid-2000s—where auction houses sold close to $400 million of art in a night, and the value of a Warhol might quadruple in a month—and one private dealer’s attempt to adjust. Unable to afford anything he might be able to sell, Polsky finds himself forced, after 30 years in the business, to become a “financial art adviser” who brokers exchanges between galleries, auction houses, and collectors. In other words, he deals in relationships, a role that proves particularly challenging, given his knack for social faux pas. Polsky’s prose is as unpolished as his per­sona, but that only adds to the rare candor that animates his riveting account of behind-the-scenes trading. Now that the market has plummeted, we can only hope he’ll be able to buy back his Warhol and complete the trilogy. A
—JONATHON KEATS