A & E

Offerings from Pittsburgh's cultural arts and entertainment events.

Joan Osborne

Joan Osborne opened her concert Thursday at Mr. Small's Funhouse Theatre in Millvale with "Rodeo," a song that's pleasant enough, but far from her best material. It was a curious choice, but one that allowed the sold-out show to spiral upward as the evening progressed.

Osborne is a versatile, expressive singer, and songs from her new album, "Little Wild One," allow her to exhibit her range. "Hallelujah in the City" had a soaring, neo-gospel feel; "To the One I Love" a jazzy aspect. "Sweeter Than the Rest" and the title track, soulful pop tunes, might be the territory best suited for Osborne's voice, but she is equally adept as rocker. A cover of Dave Mason's "Only You Know and I Know" was perhaps her most powerful vocal performance.

Of course, Osborne sang "One of Us," the obligatory rendition of her hit single; "St. Theresa:" and "Ladder" also were crowd favorites. But she saved the best for last, a sterling, magical cover of the Roy Orbison tune "When the Blue Hour Comes."

-- Regis Behe

Little E's

Jazz found a new home Downtown Friday as Little E's opened on the second floor at 949 Liberty Ave.

Bassist Dwayne Dolphin, who led his Piccolo Bass Band at the gig, praised the opening of new venue and, better yet, provided music that made the date worthwhile.

His music seemed to please the quite mixed crowd of about 50 that gave the little space a filled feeling without packing it too tightly at the first set.

The club is a small room with a bar at the street end, the stage at the other and tables in between. The stage is so tight Dolphin and saxophonist Lou Stellute stood on the floor, leaving the stage to the other three members of the band.

But the smallness of the room didn't make the amplified nature of the Dolphin band overwhelming. The sound was fine, and the intimate setting suggests acoustic groups could be equally enjoyable, in a completely different way.

The evening suggested good possibilities for this site.

Details: 412-392-2217.

-- Bob Karlovits

'The Department'

Government power was hilariously skewered in "The Department," which was performed by Jo Stromgren Kompani on Saturday night at the New Hazlett Theater on the North Side. Although the Norwegian group nominally is a dance company, there was only one brief section of dancing.

"The Department" was performed in an artificial language which was incomprehensible, except for a few English words thrown in for comic effect. It hardly mattered, because the sense of the interactions was clearly conveyed by stage context, body language and verbal inflections. It's as if the border guard bit by Joe Flaherty and Nick Toth in the 1981 film comedy "Stripes" was extended to an hour-length sitcom.

Work in the department seemed as much about propaganda as domestic surveillance. The technology being used was paper-based and used pneumatic tubes to send documents. It suggests the 1930s to 1950 -- pre-television and pre-computer.

The four workers, all men, alternated between tense fearfulness of the power above and, to relieve the tension, a semi-juvenile humor between them. Their department is completely isolated until one of them ventures outside the office. He's pulled back in, seemingly dead. Near the end, Stromgren introduces a loaf of bread as a symbol of normal life, which overwhelms them all, including the dead one who revives.

The identity of the Great Leader above, who exercises power through such unimpressive people, never is made clear. That's the real point. "The Department" could happen anywhere. The show was part of the Pittsburgh International Festival of Firsts.

-- Mark Kanny

Jonathan Richman

Unlike maybe 90 percent of the music out there -- well, the stuff I listen to, anyway -- it's impossible to leave a Jonathan Richman show without a big, dumb grin on one's face.

Richman has been making music since the '70s -- with the Modern Lovers -- and briefly got famous for providing musical narration for the movie "There's Something About Mary."

Nowadays, he has stripped away everything superfluous from his performances, leaving just a middle-aged guy with an acoustic guitar -- and a drummer -- rocking out with all the energy of a sugar-crazed 6-year-old.

Instead of "taking the stage" Wednesday night at Mr. Small's Funhouse Theatre in Millvale, he had a small platform set up on the floor, which the crowd could gather around.

Richman's songs often sound like he made them up on the spot, and are frequently full of ad-libs and goofy asides. Silly, upbeat songs like "I Was Dancing at the Lesbian Bar" and another short one about hating cell phones got the best reaction, but when he played quiet ballads -- on an un-amplified acoustic guitar -- you could hear a pin drop.

But for all his child-like appeal -- and there were quite a few kids in the crowd -- Richman's intuitive guitar playing and ability to seamlessly shift into Spanish, French and Italian denote a first-class musical intellect. And even the most jaded hipster-types seemed unable to resist clapping along.

-- Michael Machosky

'13 Most Beautiful...'

Andy Warhol's movies are kind of an acquired taste, and his experimental short films are often a patience-testing exercise in concentration.

But with the simple addition of music from one of my favorite bands -- well, Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips from Luna -- the subtle beauty of Warhol's lugubrious "Screen Tests" became undeniably apparent.

Friday night at the Byham, Wareham and company screened 13 of Warhol's mid-'60s black-and-white film portraits of various friends, collaborators and hangers-on in "13 Most Beautiful ... Songs for Andy Warhol's Screen Tests." The show was part of the Pittsburgh International Festival of Firsts.

In most cases, Warhol simply had asked visitors to The Factory to sit in front of the camera for a few minutes, giving no other instructions.

Wareham wrote or adapted a piece of music for each -- like a snaky, sinuous instrumental vamp for mercurial Warhol superstar Edie Sedgwick, and a druggy, distortion-laden rocker for musician Lou Reed. Although none of the pieces was terribly subtle, they managed to illuminate these strange, static portraits in unexpected ways.

It's a fascinating peek into a mid-'60s bohemia. One girl with dark hair starts crying unexpectedly while staring at the camera. A beautiful blonde brushes her teeth, trying not to crack up laughing. Dennis Hopper, an early Warhol customer, projects a twitchy, nervous intensity -- then later flashes a knowing smile, as if it was all an act.

-- Michael Machosky

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