Thursday, November 15, 2012
Organic Transit is taking it to the streets
by Ned Phillips
In downtown Durham, a small group of highly skilled professionals are quietly building the future. Across the plaza from Major the Bull, behind a deep green facade, is an old furniture showroom. Inside there are vehicle schematics and diagrams on the walls. White marker boards are colored with carefully laid out business plans and there’s a workshop area with enough tools to turn on any grease monkey. The leftover furniture has been used to make tables and workspaces, recycling what was once forgotten into something practical and useful. The paint peeling from the immaculate ceiling and the vast spaciousness of the interior remind me of the Ghostbusters firehouse, historic with a touch of shabby-chic.
Organic Transit HQ, #309 East Chapel Hill St, Durham, photo by Ned Phillips
pictured here, Alix Bowman, Director of Strategy, photo by Ned Phillips
This is home of Organic Transit and they are taking their own crack at saving the world. Organic Transit stands on the literal cutting edge of personal transportation; their vehicles are velomobiles with a solar powered battery, filling the much-needed gap between automobiles and bicycles and potentially revolutionizing the way we get around our urban environment. And while Organic Transit seems to have arrived at just the right moment, the road here has been years in the making.
For CEO Rob Cotter, the Organic Transit seed was planted back in the early 1980s in southern California, when Cotter was working with the International Human Powered Vehicle Association. As Vice President of the land division, he interacted with many of the top minds and designs in the field, witnessing single rider vehicles traveling at highway speeds; 55 and 65 mph. Aside from working with BMW and Porsche, he put on the first solar car race in the United States, lectured at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, acted as a consultant for bike sharing in New York City and served as creative director for an international multimedia company, which he credits with teaching him the marketing and public relations side of things. And while it’s been a long journey to Organic Transit, Cotter hasn’t forgotten any of it--- posters and early designs from his SoCal days decorate his Durham headquarters.
The concept of a high tech but efficient, cool but inexpensive vehicle that has the ability to be mass-produced is something Cotter has been working on for quite a while. After years of exchanging designs and ideas with colleagues on the west coast, Organic Transit built their first prototype, called the ELF, in 2010. The exteriors are TrylonTM, a composite of acrylics and a version of ABS plastic. The molds for the plastic body were created at the inventors’ D-I-Y hub, TechShop. The body panels are now being locally manufactured in Eastern North Carolina. The interior of the ELF is almost entirely off the shelf bicycle parts, save the specially designed frame and assembly parts, four of which are in the patent process, with another four or five heading that direction.
CEO Rob Cotter, photo by Ned Phillips
Cotter describes the design of the ELF as closer to an aircraft than an automobile. Decreasing air drag, streamlining and smoothing of components are just some of the concepts applied in the ELF’s design. The riders have the choice to pedal their own way, or use the solar energy stored in the battery pack, which can carry a rider up to 30 miles. The prototype contains a CVT, or continuously variable transmission, a technology used in windmills that provides easy and efficient gear shifting. Current design allows the ELF to carry 350lbs plus the rider. As to its other advantages over a standard bicycle, you have weather protection, lights, visibility on the road, power to get up hills and you can’t fall over and skin your knee.
pictured here and above, Brent Alexander, Logistics team, photos by Ned Phillips
The company already has other designs in development, including a cargo model called the TruckIt, which can carry up to 800 lbs plus the rider, as well as a sleek sport coupe body style. The idea is that eventually, all these body styles will be interchangeable, as well as having customizable interiors, doors, floors and shelves. Organic Transit is already using materials that will be used in future auto production and while the ELF’s exteriors are almost 80% recyclable, the company is moving towards using bioplastics, bamboo, hemp and seagrass. In addition, Cotter has employed local mobile application designers to create apps for speed and calorie monitoring and hopes to hire 35 more people to work in green jobs within the next nine months.
As a community that embraces local business, entrepreneurship and the importance of self-sustenance, Durham is an ideal home for Organic Transit. Here, visionaries such as Cotter and crew were able to get going through the Bull City Startup Stampede and draw on the ever-expanding network of resources in the Triangle. Organic Transit has already built working relationships with and gained the support of Alliance Architecture and Duke University’s Nicholas School for the Environment, two Durham institutions that share a similar view for the future.
And that is a vision of clean efficiency, Cotter says his team has a moral imperative to work hard and fast. Few things are polluting our Earth as quickly and as badly as our transit structure. At stake are all sorts of issues from personal health to climate change. It’s also financial: having thousands of dollars in your pocket at the end of the year versus handing your money over to large oil companies with their own selfish interests. People are moving back into cities and need new transportation solutions. Gas is expensive. Parking takes up too much space. Traffic is inefficient. Organic Transit takes the position that with human power and solar power, we can do what we need to do, within a reasonable limit.
Organic Transit already has 400 international pre-orders for the ELF, from places as far away as New Zealand. Within the next month, expect to see the first Beta wave of vehicles on the streets of Durham. For Organic Transit, Rob Cotter dreams of a “depot” model- franchised, decentralized, manufacturing cafes in urban downtowns. A community place, where you can have a coffee and visit with neighbors as your vehicle is assembled. It then rolls right out the front door and into the world. Standing in the downtown headquarters, I feel it happening. Children peek through the large windows excitedly at the drawings and prototypes. People stop to take photographs of the recycled furniture sign. Friends pop in to say hello and offer encouragement. I imagine an espresso machine over by the lounge area. Rob tells me they will be having a party soon, to celebrate the launch, here in the workspace. All of a sudden it feels like the future is now.
In downtown Durham, a small group of highly skilled professionals are quietly building the future. Across the plaza from Major the Bull, behind a deep green facade, is an old furniture showroom. Inside there are vehicle schematics and diagrams on the walls. White marker boards are colored with carefully laid out business plans and there’s a workshop area with enough tools to turn on any grease monkey. The leftover furniture has been used to make tables and workspaces, recycling what was once forgotten into something practical and useful. The paint peeling from the immaculate ceiling and the vast spaciousness of the interior remind me of the Ghostbusters firehouse, historic with a touch of shabby-chic.
Organic Transit HQ, #309 East Chapel Hill St, Durham, photo by Ned Phillips
pictured here, Alix Bowman, Director of Strategy, photo by Ned Phillips
This is home of Organic Transit and they are taking their own crack at saving the world. Organic Transit stands on the literal cutting edge of personal transportation; their vehicles are velomobiles with a solar powered battery, filling the much-needed gap between automobiles and bicycles and potentially revolutionizing the way we get around our urban environment. And while Organic Transit seems to have arrived at just the right moment, the road here has been years in the making.
For CEO Rob Cotter, the Organic Transit seed was planted back in the early 1980s in southern California, when Cotter was working with the International Human Powered Vehicle Association. As Vice President of the land division, he interacted with many of the top minds and designs in the field, witnessing single rider vehicles traveling at highway speeds; 55 and 65 mph. Aside from working with BMW and Porsche, he put on the first solar car race in the United States, lectured at Worcester Polytechnic Institute, acted as a consultant for bike sharing in New York City and served as creative director for an international multimedia company, which he credits with teaching him the marketing and public relations side of things. And while it’s been a long journey to Organic Transit, Cotter hasn’t forgotten any of it--- posters and early designs from his SoCal days decorate his Durham headquarters.
The concept of a high tech but efficient, cool but inexpensive vehicle that has the ability to be mass-produced is something Cotter has been working on for quite a while. After years of exchanging designs and ideas with colleagues on the west coast, Organic Transit built their first prototype, called the ELF, in 2010. The exteriors are TrylonTM, a composite of acrylics and a version of ABS plastic. The molds for the plastic body were created at the inventors’ D-I-Y hub, TechShop. The body panels are now being locally manufactured in Eastern North Carolina. The interior of the ELF is almost entirely off the shelf bicycle parts, save the specially designed frame and assembly parts, four of which are in the patent process, with another four or five heading that direction.
CEO Rob Cotter, photo by Ned Phillips
Cotter describes the design of the ELF as closer to an aircraft than an automobile. Decreasing air drag, streamlining and smoothing of components are just some of the concepts applied in the ELF’s design. The riders have the choice to pedal their own way, or use the solar energy stored in the battery pack, which can carry a rider up to 30 miles. The prototype contains a CVT, or continuously variable transmission, a technology used in windmills that provides easy and efficient gear shifting. Current design allows the ELF to carry 350lbs plus the rider. As to its other advantages over a standard bicycle, you have weather protection, lights, visibility on the road, power to get up hills and you can’t fall over and skin your knee.
pictured here and above, Brent Alexander, Logistics team, photos by Ned Phillips
The company already has other designs in development, including a cargo model called the TruckIt, which can carry up to 800 lbs plus the rider, as well as a sleek sport coupe body style. The idea is that eventually, all these body styles will be interchangeable, as well as having customizable interiors, doors, floors and shelves. Organic Transit is already using materials that will be used in future auto production and while the ELF’s exteriors are almost 80% recyclable, the company is moving towards using bioplastics, bamboo, hemp and seagrass. In addition, Cotter has employed local mobile application designers to create apps for speed and calorie monitoring and hopes to hire 35 more people to work in green jobs within the next nine months.
As a community that embraces local business, entrepreneurship and the importance of self-sustenance, Durham is an ideal home for Organic Transit. Here, visionaries such as Cotter and crew were able to get going through the Bull City Startup Stampede and draw on the ever-expanding network of resources in the Triangle. Organic Transit has already built working relationships with and gained the support of Alliance Architecture and Duke University’s Nicholas School for the Environment, two Durham institutions that share a similar view for the future.
And that is a vision of clean efficiency, Cotter says his team has a moral imperative to work hard and fast. Few things are polluting our Earth as quickly and as badly as our transit structure. At stake are all sorts of issues from personal health to climate change. It’s also financial: having thousands of dollars in your pocket at the end of the year versus handing your money over to large oil companies with their own selfish interests. People are moving back into cities and need new transportation solutions. Gas is expensive. Parking takes up too much space. Traffic is inefficient. Organic Transit takes the position that with human power and solar power, we can do what we need to do, within a reasonable limit.
Organic Transit already has 400 international pre-orders for the ELF, from places as far away as New Zealand. Within the next month, expect to see the first Beta wave of vehicles on the streets of Durham. For Organic Transit, Rob Cotter dreams of a “depot” model- franchised, decentralized, manufacturing cafes in urban downtowns. A community place, where you can have a coffee and visit with neighbors as your vehicle is assembled. It then rolls right out the front door and into the world. Standing in the downtown headquarters, I feel it happening. Children peek through the large windows excitedly at the drawings and prototypes. People stop to take photographs of the recycled furniture sign. Friends pop in to say hello and offer encouragement. I imagine an espresso machine over by the lounge area. Rob tells me they will be having a party soon, to celebrate the launch, here in the workspace. All of a sudden it feels like the future is now.
Labels: Durham, energy policy, Ned Phillips, technology, vehicles
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Great Durhamerican Pastime
Clarion Content feature writer, Ned Phillips, aka the Cozmik Gangsta, travels down that oh so American road, "Memory Lane," with a Durham institution, our beloved Bulls.
New memories made fresh here daily...
The Great Durhamerican Pastime
by Ned Phillips
The Durham Bulls season is winding down and for the first time in six years, there will be no division championship or playoff run. On September 1, at 7:05pm, the first pitch of the last game will be thrown at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park. So whether you’re on a first date or a last date, I advise that you get out to the ballpark, partake in tradition and enjoy one of the most exciting, affordable experiences our fair city has to offer.
Going to the Durham Bulls games are among my earliest childhood memories. Decked out in my Little League uniform, glove in hand, hoping to be recognized as an elite ball player (I stunk), I strutted about as if I was ready to be called in from the bullpen at any moment. My cool was shattered only by the occasional interaction with his hairiness, Wool E. Bull, who reduced me from big time athlete to giddy fan boy.
To make myself useful between fly ball scrambles, I’d mark every single pitch thrown on the scorecard included with the program. My statistical analysis gave me a sense of importance. I could understand the grunts and signals from the umpire while my accuracy and commitment to the scorecard made me believe that I was, in some small way, contributing to the victory. However, in time, I discovered the Bulls had an entire team of statisticians and it was, in fact, dorky to wear your uniform to the game. Being a mature nine years of age, decided I‘d rather be dead than caught attending the game in knee-high baseball socks.
By fourth grade, the Old Durham Athletic Park had become a stimulating social engagement. Suddenly I was more interested in making the rounds at the stadium, finding friends, meeting new ones and having as many adventures as possible became the focus of my evening. It was a schoolboy’s night on the town, the equivalent of, I don’t know, going to the club: there was excitement, danger and loud music. It was sensory overload, flavored with the intoxicating scent of the fairer sex and cinnamon glazed pretzels.
On top of providing me with situations to improve my interpersonal skills, baseball outings taught me simple economics. The old DAP was one of the first places I ever spent my own money. Coupled with a small loan from the Bank of Mom, I made my allowance go the distance at the Bulls game. I’d happily exchange a few crinkled, sweaty bills for some sweet drinks with varying degrees of slurpability. But the fact that over expenditure on slushies and funnel cake meant no cheese for a Flying Burrito made for a harsh realization that was never easy to swallow. The Bank of Mom’s refusal to re-finance was tough love at its finest, but as a result I developed a system of food rotation that Adam Smith would have appreciated.
The ballpark is a big place when you’re four feet tall and I began to see it as some sort of crazy American sociological experiment. It is after all one of the few places society has deemed it ok for wide-eyed, innocent children to mingle about with leathery old drunks. Who you are at school or work, takes a back seat to your status as a fan when you’re at the game. At this social crossroads, I watched the melting pot of people, absorbing as much I could about the complex mystery that is human race.
And what is baseball if not a metaphor for life? During our numbered innings on this earth we get a few at bats, a couple chances to do something great. Sometimes we strike out. But sometimes, with enough focus, skill and luck we get a hit. Maybe it’s just a base hit, one to get on and set the stage for later plays. Maybe it drives in a run for one of our teammates. Perhaps we even sacrificed a fly to get them there. And in the rare but beautiful instance that we really connect and send it out of the park, we take the slow trot; touch every bag at our leisure, reflecting at our own pace because we know who’s waiting at home to celebrate.
In baseball, as in life, remember that some things are out of your control. You can blame the weather, the crowd or the stock market, but they are only distractions. The details matter. A white lie, can blow up in your face, just as fast as a whopper of a tall tale. A tiny error or an inch can determine the outcome. But every day begins anew and new opportunities abound. Baseball internalizes the grand old saws, takes them as obvious re-affirmable truths, ‘this is the first day of the rest of your life’ … ‘a journey of a 1,000 miles begins with a single step.” When you come up to the plate your previous at-bats no longer matter. The mano y mano, confrontation, solitary pitcher, tiny, hard, white spherical object grasped in hand, batter, two-tenths of a second to decide, “Is that coming at my face, should I swing, is it outside?” Yet, there’s no time limit and until the final out is called anything is possible. Victory will be sweet and defeat crushing. Your team will be there to pick you up, win or lose. And something unpredictable happens every day.
Aside from the dazzling Ozzie Smithesque acrobatics that can happen at any moment a ball is put in play, for me the best part of baseball are those Ol’ West style gunslinger duels between pitcher and batter. Sixty feet, six inches. One on one, over and over again, for every Benny Rodriguez trying to crush homers and round the bases, there’s a Nuke Laloosh on the mound, breathing through his eyelids like a Galapagos Island lava lizard, straining with every ounce of their being to smite The Jet in the batter’s box. Like two samurai, this is a confrontation rooted tradition and precision. They have been playing the game for 150 years, and yet, today, a single swing can make all the difference.
There is a palpable mysticism that surrounds the game. How did the designer of the infield diamond know the average foot speed of the runners and throwing velocity of the fielders in order create the ideal distance between home plate and first base, resulting in so many close plays? How about second base, who foresaw that one-hundred and twenty feet was just far enough to create the drama of the stolen base? People in baseball always talk about “respecting the game”- the game is an institution, writ large into the American psyche and the narrative of our history and popular culture, bigger than any single player, team or individual.
Like me, the Durham Bulls outgrew their old digs and moved into a beautiful new facility a few blocks south in downtown. While the new, modern cathedral can hold a bigger crowd and has more places to park it lacks the romance of the old DAP (something I rediscovered there in 1998 when Clarence Carter performed “Strokin’ at the Blues festival.)
Now a full-grown man (by some measures) I still find that same excitement, the thrill and fascination at the Bulls games. This year, on opening night, I ran into the same crowd of friends I went to those fourth grade games with. They had on their crusty old Bulls’ hats that they’d had for God knows how long, the ones that only get worn out of the house on game days. We found some seats behind home plate where we could adequately taunt pitchers, belly-itchers and the visiting batters on deck. Close by a father was explaining the pitch count to his daughter and a on the other side of us a young couple nuzzled, oblivious to happenings on the diamond. I realized our slushies had turned to beer and we were now the beer swilling maniacs we had once been amused by as children. Feelings of nostalgic youth swirled with the realities of the present. And I smiled, because I knew for the rest of my life, whatever else is happening in the world, the Bulls will be playing baseball in the summertime.
New memories made fresh here daily...
The Great Durhamerican Pastime
by Ned Phillips
The Durham Bulls season is winding down and for the first time in six years, there will be no division championship or playoff run. On September 1, at 7:05pm, the first pitch of the last game will be thrown at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park. So whether you’re on a first date or a last date, I advise that you get out to the ballpark, partake in tradition and enjoy one of the most exciting, affordable experiences our fair city has to offer.
Going to the Durham Bulls games are among my earliest childhood memories. Decked out in my Little League uniform, glove in hand, hoping to be recognized as an elite ball player (I stunk), I strutted about as if I was ready to be called in from the bullpen at any moment. My cool was shattered only by the occasional interaction with his hairiness, Wool E. Bull, who reduced me from big time athlete to giddy fan boy.
To make myself useful between fly ball scrambles, I’d mark every single pitch thrown on the scorecard included with the program. My statistical analysis gave me a sense of importance. I could understand the grunts and signals from the umpire while my accuracy and commitment to the scorecard made me believe that I was, in some small way, contributing to the victory. However, in time, I discovered the Bulls had an entire team of statisticians and it was, in fact, dorky to wear your uniform to the game. Being a mature nine years of age, decided I‘d rather be dead than caught attending the game in knee-high baseball socks.
By fourth grade, the Old Durham Athletic Park had become a stimulating social engagement. Suddenly I was more interested in making the rounds at the stadium, finding friends, meeting new ones and having as many adventures as possible became the focus of my evening. It was a schoolboy’s night on the town, the equivalent of, I don’t know, going to the club: there was excitement, danger and loud music. It was sensory overload, flavored with the intoxicating scent of the fairer sex and cinnamon glazed pretzels.
On top of providing me with situations to improve my interpersonal skills, baseball outings taught me simple economics. The old DAP was one of the first places I ever spent my own money. Coupled with a small loan from the Bank of Mom, I made my allowance go the distance at the Bulls game. I’d happily exchange a few crinkled, sweaty bills for some sweet drinks with varying degrees of slurpability. But the fact that over expenditure on slushies and funnel cake meant no cheese for a Flying Burrito made for a harsh realization that was never easy to swallow. The Bank of Mom’s refusal to re-finance was tough love at its finest, but as a result I developed a system of food rotation that Adam Smith would have appreciated.
The ballpark is a big place when you’re four feet tall and I began to see it as some sort of crazy American sociological experiment. It is after all one of the few places society has deemed it ok for wide-eyed, innocent children to mingle about with leathery old drunks. Who you are at school or work, takes a back seat to your status as a fan when you’re at the game. At this social crossroads, I watched the melting pot of people, absorbing as much I could about the complex mystery that is human race.
And what is baseball if not a metaphor for life? During our numbered innings on this earth we get a few at bats, a couple chances to do something great. Sometimes we strike out. But sometimes, with enough focus, skill and luck we get a hit. Maybe it’s just a base hit, one to get on and set the stage for later plays. Maybe it drives in a run for one of our teammates. Perhaps we even sacrificed a fly to get them there. And in the rare but beautiful instance that we really connect and send it out of the park, we take the slow trot; touch every bag at our leisure, reflecting at our own pace because we know who’s waiting at home to celebrate.
In baseball, as in life, remember that some things are out of your control. You can blame the weather, the crowd or the stock market, but they are only distractions. The details matter. A white lie, can blow up in your face, just as fast as a whopper of a tall tale. A tiny error or an inch can determine the outcome. But every day begins anew and new opportunities abound. Baseball internalizes the grand old saws, takes them as obvious re-affirmable truths, ‘this is the first day of the rest of your life’ … ‘a journey of a 1,000 miles begins with a single step.” When you come up to the plate your previous at-bats no longer matter. The mano y mano, confrontation, solitary pitcher, tiny, hard, white spherical object grasped in hand, batter, two-tenths of a second to decide, “Is that coming at my face, should I swing, is it outside?” Yet, there’s no time limit and until the final out is called anything is possible. Victory will be sweet and defeat crushing. Your team will be there to pick you up, win or lose. And something unpredictable happens every day.
Aside from the dazzling Ozzie Smithesque acrobatics that can happen at any moment a ball is put in play, for me the best part of baseball are those Ol’ West style gunslinger duels between pitcher and batter. Sixty feet, six inches. One on one, over and over again, for every Benny Rodriguez trying to crush homers and round the bases, there’s a Nuke Laloosh on the mound, breathing through his eyelids like a Galapagos Island lava lizard, straining with every ounce of their being to smite The Jet in the batter’s box. Like two samurai, this is a confrontation rooted tradition and precision. They have been playing the game for 150 years, and yet, today, a single swing can make all the difference.
There is a palpable mysticism that surrounds the game. How did the designer of the infield diamond know the average foot speed of the runners and throwing velocity of the fielders in order create the ideal distance between home plate and first base, resulting in so many close plays? How about second base, who foresaw that one-hundred and twenty feet was just far enough to create the drama of the stolen base? People in baseball always talk about “respecting the game”- the game is an institution, writ large into the American psyche and the narrative of our history and popular culture, bigger than any single player, team or individual.
Like me, the Durham Bulls outgrew their old digs and moved into a beautiful new facility a few blocks south in downtown. While the new, modern cathedral can hold a bigger crowd and has more places to park it lacks the romance of the old DAP (something I rediscovered there in 1998 when Clarence Carter performed “Strokin’ at the Blues festival.)
Now a full-grown man (by some measures) I still find that same excitement, the thrill and fascination at the Bulls games. This year, on opening night, I ran into the same crowd of friends I went to those fourth grade games with. They had on their crusty old Bulls’ hats that they’d had for God knows how long, the ones that only get worn out of the house on game days. We found some seats behind home plate where we could adequately taunt pitchers, belly-itchers and the visiting batters on deck. Close by a father was explaining the pitch count to his daughter and a on the other side of us a young couple nuzzled, oblivious to happenings on the diamond. I realized our slushies had turned to beer and we were now the beer swilling maniacs we had once been amused by as children. Feelings of nostalgic youth swirled with the realities of the present. And I smiled, because I knew for the rest of my life, whatever else is happening in the world, the Bulls will be playing baseball in the summertime.
Labels: baseball, Durham, Ned Phillips, Pop Culture, sports
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Heart to Heart
Durham, have you seen the new LiLa video? It premiered last week at the MotorCo. Featuring scenes from Durham School of the Arts, along with some of their students, and various local celebrities, it was a hit with those in attendance at the debut showing.
Labels: Durham, music, Ned Phillips, Pop Culture
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Full Frame breaking new ground in downtown Durham
Full Frame breaking new ground in downtown Durham
by Ned Phillips
I first attended Full Frame Documentary Film Festival in 2007. I was midway through my program at the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University and getting ready to begin production on a short for Duke’s Summer Documentary Institute. I had never been to a film festival before and when the dust had settled four days later I was speechless. Stunned, by not only the films themselves, but the high level of discourse that they inspired, it deconstructed and rebuilt my understanding of documentary art and what it was capable of.
Since Scottishman John Grierson coined the term documentary in 1926, documentary film has attempted to capture some aspect of reality. Originally used for historical archiving or instruction, documentary had the connotation of being slow paced, boring or over-informative. Through the years, non-fiction filmmaking has become more creative and experimental with the incorporation of new techniques and technology. Animation, state of the art photography and dramatic reenactments are just a few examples of the tools filmmakers now have to help tell their stories. The conversation about what documentary art is continues in academic and artistic circles, and with the increasing popularity of the internet and reality television, the lines between truth and fiction become evermore blurry.
That is why Full Frame is so refreshing. It is a rocket ship from the mundane to the extraordinary. With the overwhelming saturation of screens, information and “entertainment” we find ourselves in on a daily basis, Full Frame emerges, phoenix-like, to lift us above the bullshit and mediocrity we’ve grown all too comfortable with. For four days in April, Durham, North Carolina becomes the epicenter of the universe for the most talented, cutting edge non-fiction storytellers.
During my first festival in 2007, my preconceptions were shattered immediately by a film called Manda Bala (Send a Bullet) directed by Jason Kohn. Kohn, who previously worked as researcher for doc-legend, Errol Morris, wove together a head-spinning tale about the current socio-economic and political climate in Sao Paulo, Brazil. Kidnappers, politicians, frog farmers, doctors, businessmen, detectives, lawyers, plastic surgeons, victims and criminals tell the story of their beloved, albeit flawed country, which culminates in a dazzling final sequence of profound realizations and stunning super 16mm cinematography over a soundtrack of psychedelic 70s Brazilian rock. It was documentary film like I had never seen before: gripping, beautiful and engaging, it had all the aspects of my favorite popcorn blockbuster with one exception- this story was unfolding in actuality. These were real people.
In addition to introducing us to new characters and situations playing out in our world, documentary can also delve deep and provide new insight to characters and issues we’re already familiar with. In 2007, one such film was Kurt Cobain About a Son, directed by AJ Schnack. Interestingly enough, it was a mellow, contemplative portrait of the Seattle rocker and Nirvana front man. Set against gentle footage of the Pacific Northwest, we hear a publicly perceived wild Cobain telling his own story, in his own words through a series of previously unreleased audiotapes. We eventually realize that the imagery we’re seeing are the places Cobain grew up in and around, including the ocean view from the apartment where he eventually committed suicide. It’s an intimate depiction of an artist, often misunderstood, who still represented and spoke to an entire generation: mine.
After completing my program at The Center for Documentary Studies, I moved to Paris, France where I worked as a tour guide, travel writer and photographer for nearly four years, so this year’s festival was the first I’d been able to attend since 2007 and having been around the world, I can’t imagine a better setting for such an event.
Full Frame takes place in downtown Durham, with five cinemas spread between The Durham Arts Council, Durham Convention Center and the Carolina Theater including the beautiful, historic Fletcher Hall. The plaza in front of the Carolina Theater serves as the nexus of the festival, offering ample room for discussion, networking, and general chitchat. Here, while talking shop, you can grab a cocktail or a coffee, amid various top-notch Durham eateries, including Rue Cler and Parizade, which set up onsite restaurants making it easy to enjoy a quality meal between films and events.
Here, at festival headquarters, the energy and enthusiasm for Full Frame is palpable and I find myself wanting to eavesdrop on every single conversation happening around me. People at the top of their game are talking about their next projects, what’s gotten funded and telling war stories about the films they are showing. Introductions are being made and reflections are being shared, all propelled by a thirst and passion for the art and culture of documentary storytelling.
The festival is also a great way to showcase Durham as the next cultural boomtown. Full Frame draws a lot of attention from the best and the brightest and I had many conversations with out-of towners who had nothing but positive things to say about the Bull City.
Everyone’s film festival experience is different due to that fact that films are often showing at overlapping times. You must cultivate a plan of attack, yet be flexible. Films sell out, recommendations get made, you meet people you want to sit next to- the possibilities are endless. Just sitting in the cinema waiting for the show to start, I met fascinating individuals; a cameraman who works for the Canadian Broadcasting Company, traveling the world for forty years shooting documentaries; a local physician interested in health reform checking out the array of health related films. You’ll find yourself secretly checking out the passes everyone is wearing around their necks to figure out who they are and what they are up to. You never know- you might be standing in the beer line, chatting up a beautiful girl from NYC with long brown hair. Suddenly, she flips her pass around to reveal herself as a world-class filmmaker in town to show her latest project. Cue the nervousness.
Perhaps the best thing about any festival of this nature is the opportunity to interact with the filmmakers. Whether they are telling you a dirty joke after too many cocktails at one the evening parties or answering a tough question during the Q&A after their screening, it’s an invaluable experience to gain insight into their process, their challenges and then hear their stories of success.
The scope and subject matter of this year’s selections were wide and diverse, ranging from a film about a cat living in South Carolina named Mr. Lee to a documentary filmed in twenty-five countries over the course of five years that the filmmakers describe as “a nonverbal, guided meditation that will transform viewers around the world as they are swept up along a journey of the soul.” Whoa…
Whoa, indeed. The opening night film was the world premiere of Jesse Owens, directed by Laurens Grant. It was fairly straightforward, highlighting the track star’s athletic accomplishments during the racially charged 1936 Berlin Olympics. By winning four gold medals, he single handedly foiled Hitler’s plot for an Aryan super-athlete dominated games. And although his victories were celebrated abroad, his heroism did not exactly translate to success in his American homeland. Making outstanding use of archival footage, as well as interviews from both sports writers and scholars, the film tackles the fascinating life of a revolutionary athlete at the intersection of sports and race- a conjuncture that still fuels passionate debate today.
Other highlights for me included, the world premiere of Herman’s House, a film about an unlikely friendship between a New York City artist named Jackie and a man named Herman who’s spent forty years in solitary confinement for a crime many believe he is innocent of. Together, they design Herman’s dream home, which will serve as youth center until Herman moves in- if he’s ever released from the penitentiary. The audience is easily carried by Jackie’s energy and enthusiasm for the project and a particular credit goes to director Angad Singh Ballah’s ability to make us care so deeply about Herman, a character we never actually meet on screen. While illuminating some very unsettling issues within the American justice system, the film is ultimately about friendship, hope and what we can accomplish when they’re kept alive.
Then there was The Imposter, a beautifully photographed film directed by Bart Layton. In this head scratching mystery a 13-year-old boy goes missing in San Antonio, Texas only to turn up years later in Spain. When his family travels all the way across the Atlantic to collect him there is immense relief, but as time goes by, it becomes obvious that something is wrong. Powerful interviews drive this story of perception, deception and the subjectivity of truth.
The Queen of Versailles tells the story of the obscenely rich Siegel family who plans to build the largest home in America, modeled after Louis XIV’s palace in France. However the film takes an unexpected turn when the real estate bubble bursts and the family has to make serious lifestyle changes. These setbacks reveal true character, as the family comes to grips with the fact the American Dream may not be what it seems. Director Lauren Greenfield handles what could easily have turned into a Real Housewives-eque nightmare with graceful craft and skill.
Ai Wei Wei: Never Sorry tells the story of Chinese artist and political activist Ai Wei Wei, who’s held exhibitions in the top venues all over the world. Alison Klayman’s incredibly intimate portrait shows how one man’s crusade against censorship and oppression has inspired many to push for free speech and transparency of government, often at their own risk. By examining the changing landscape of art and activism, with particular regard to technology, the film shows just how far one visionary will go to inspire change in his homeland.
However the film that rocked me to my soul the hardest was Samsara, the latest from meticulous filmmaker Ron Fricke. The title derives from a Sanskrit word, meaning to flow on, to perpetually wander, to pass through states of existence. More specifically, the titles relates to the cycle of birth, life, death and then rebirth. It’s hard for me to describe what the film is about because in a sense, it’s about everything. Throughout the feature length documentary, there is not a single word of dialogue. The hypnotic imagery, captured masterfully on full 70mm film explains the cyclical nature of life on earth from both a natural and human perspective. A sweeping soundtrack provides emotional and narrative structure as the film expertly juxtaposes the personal versus the collective experience. Art, war, technology, architecture, religion, natural disaster, urban planning, farming, sex, death and industry are all touched upon, again, without a word uttered. I was so flabbergasted when the credits rolled, that I started to wander aimlessly through the streets in deep contemplation, only to discover myself at my doorstep hours later, in the middle of the night.
And there lies the power of documentary film- the ability to transport us to worlds and situations otherwise inaccessible. One thing that struck me about the films this year was that every single one contained some sort of thematic cycle: political, economic, natural, human. These movies hold up a mirror to the world we live in and ask us whether we will continue down that same road or will we break the cycle. Documentary is social commentary at its highest form. At times, it entertains us. At times, it uplifts us. At times, it sickens us. At times, it calls us to action. But above all, documentary will always provide understanding and give merit, meaning and example to the old cliché that truth is stranger than fiction. I look forward Full Frame Documentary Film Festival, right here in Durham, for years to come.
by Ned Phillips
I first attended Full Frame Documentary Film Festival in 2007. I was midway through my program at the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University and getting ready to begin production on a short for Duke’s Summer Documentary Institute. I had never been to a film festival before and when the dust had settled four days later I was speechless. Stunned, by not only the films themselves, but the high level of discourse that they inspired, it deconstructed and rebuilt my understanding of documentary art and what it was capable of.
Since Scottishman John Grierson coined the term documentary in 1926, documentary film has attempted to capture some aspect of reality. Originally used for historical archiving or instruction, documentary had the connotation of being slow paced, boring or over-informative. Through the years, non-fiction filmmaking has become more creative and experimental with the incorporation of new techniques and technology. Animation, state of the art photography and dramatic reenactments are just a few examples of the tools filmmakers now have to help tell their stories. The conversation about what documentary art is continues in academic and artistic circles, and with the increasing popularity of the internet and reality television, the lines between truth and fiction become evermore blurry.
That is why Full Frame is so refreshing. It is a rocket ship from the mundane to the extraordinary. With the overwhelming saturation of screens, information and “entertainment” we find ourselves in on a daily basis, Full Frame emerges, phoenix-like, to lift us above the bullshit and mediocrity we’ve grown all too comfortable with. For four days in April, Durham, North Carolina becomes the epicenter of the universe for the most talented, cutting edge non-fiction storytellers.
During my first festival in 2007, my preconceptions were shattered immediately by a film called Manda Bala (Send a Bullet) directed by Jason Kohn. Kohn, who previously worked as researcher for doc-legend, Errol Morris, wove together a head-spinning tale about the current socio-economic and political climate in Sao Paulo, Brazil. Kidnappers, politicians, frog farmers, doctors, businessmen, detectives, lawyers, plastic surgeons, victims and criminals tell the story of their beloved, albeit flawed country, which culminates in a dazzling final sequence of profound realizations and stunning super 16mm cinematography over a soundtrack of psychedelic 70s Brazilian rock. It was documentary film like I had never seen before: gripping, beautiful and engaging, it had all the aspects of my favorite popcorn blockbuster with one exception- this story was unfolding in actuality. These were real people.
In addition to introducing us to new characters and situations playing out in our world, documentary can also delve deep and provide new insight to characters and issues we’re already familiar with. In 2007, one such film was Kurt Cobain About a Son, directed by AJ Schnack. Interestingly enough, it was a mellow, contemplative portrait of the Seattle rocker and Nirvana front man. Set against gentle footage of the Pacific Northwest, we hear a publicly perceived wild Cobain telling his own story, in his own words through a series of previously unreleased audiotapes. We eventually realize that the imagery we’re seeing are the places Cobain grew up in and around, including the ocean view from the apartment where he eventually committed suicide. It’s an intimate depiction of an artist, often misunderstood, who still represented and spoke to an entire generation: mine.
After completing my program at The Center for Documentary Studies, I moved to Paris, France where I worked as a tour guide, travel writer and photographer for nearly four years, so this year’s festival was the first I’d been able to attend since 2007 and having been around the world, I can’t imagine a better setting for such an event.
Full Frame takes place in downtown Durham, with five cinemas spread between The Durham Arts Council, Durham Convention Center and the Carolina Theater including the beautiful, historic Fletcher Hall. The plaza in front of the Carolina Theater serves as the nexus of the festival, offering ample room for discussion, networking, and general chitchat. Here, while talking shop, you can grab a cocktail or a coffee, amid various top-notch Durham eateries, including Rue Cler and Parizade, which set up onsite restaurants making it easy to enjoy a quality meal between films and events.
Here, at festival headquarters, the energy and enthusiasm for Full Frame is palpable and I find myself wanting to eavesdrop on every single conversation happening around me. People at the top of their game are talking about their next projects, what’s gotten funded and telling war stories about the films they are showing. Introductions are being made and reflections are being shared, all propelled by a thirst and passion for the art and culture of documentary storytelling.
The festival is also a great way to showcase Durham as the next cultural boomtown. Full Frame draws a lot of attention from the best and the brightest and I had many conversations with out-of towners who had nothing but positive things to say about the Bull City.
Everyone’s film festival experience is different due to that fact that films are often showing at overlapping times. You must cultivate a plan of attack, yet be flexible. Films sell out, recommendations get made, you meet people you want to sit next to- the possibilities are endless. Just sitting in the cinema waiting for the show to start, I met fascinating individuals; a cameraman who works for the Canadian Broadcasting Company, traveling the world for forty years shooting documentaries; a local physician interested in health reform checking out the array of health related films. You’ll find yourself secretly checking out the passes everyone is wearing around their necks to figure out who they are and what they are up to. You never know- you might be standing in the beer line, chatting up a beautiful girl from NYC with long brown hair. Suddenly, she flips her pass around to reveal herself as a world-class filmmaker in town to show her latest project. Cue the nervousness.
Perhaps the best thing about any festival of this nature is the opportunity to interact with the filmmakers. Whether they are telling you a dirty joke after too many cocktails at one the evening parties or answering a tough question during the Q&A after their screening, it’s an invaluable experience to gain insight into their process, their challenges and then hear their stories of success.
The scope and subject matter of this year’s selections were wide and diverse, ranging from a film about a cat living in South Carolina named Mr. Lee to a documentary filmed in twenty-five countries over the course of five years that the filmmakers describe as “a nonverbal, guided meditation that will transform viewers around the world as they are swept up along a journey of the soul.” Whoa…
Whoa, indeed. The opening night film was the world premiere of Jesse Owens, directed by Laurens Grant. It was fairly straightforward, highlighting the track star’s athletic accomplishments during the racially charged 1936 Berlin Olympics. By winning four gold medals, he single handedly foiled Hitler’s plot for an Aryan super-athlete dominated games. And although his victories were celebrated abroad, his heroism did not exactly translate to success in his American homeland. Making outstanding use of archival footage, as well as interviews from both sports writers and scholars, the film tackles the fascinating life of a revolutionary athlete at the intersection of sports and race- a conjuncture that still fuels passionate debate today.
Other highlights for me included, the world premiere of Herman’s House, a film about an unlikely friendship between a New York City artist named Jackie and a man named Herman who’s spent forty years in solitary confinement for a crime many believe he is innocent of. Together, they design Herman’s dream home, which will serve as youth center until Herman moves in- if he’s ever released from the penitentiary. The audience is easily carried by Jackie’s energy and enthusiasm for the project and a particular credit goes to director Angad Singh Ballah’s ability to make us care so deeply about Herman, a character we never actually meet on screen. While illuminating some very unsettling issues within the American justice system, the film is ultimately about friendship, hope and what we can accomplish when they’re kept alive.
Then there was The Imposter, a beautifully photographed film directed by Bart Layton. In this head scratching mystery a 13-year-old boy goes missing in San Antonio, Texas only to turn up years later in Spain. When his family travels all the way across the Atlantic to collect him there is immense relief, but as time goes by, it becomes obvious that something is wrong. Powerful interviews drive this story of perception, deception and the subjectivity of truth.
The Queen of Versailles tells the story of the obscenely rich Siegel family who plans to build the largest home in America, modeled after Louis XIV’s palace in France. However the film takes an unexpected turn when the real estate bubble bursts and the family has to make serious lifestyle changes. These setbacks reveal true character, as the family comes to grips with the fact the American Dream may not be what it seems. Director Lauren Greenfield handles what could easily have turned into a Real Housewives-eque nightmare with graceful craft and skill.
Ai Wei Wei: Never Sorry tells the story of Chinese artist and political activist Ai Wei Wei, who’s held exhibitions in the top venues all over the world. Alison Klayman’s incredibly intimate portrait shows how one man’s crusade against censorship and oppression has inspired many to push for free speech and transparency of government, often at their own risk. By examining the changing landscape of art and activism, with particular regard to technology, the film shows just how far one visionary will go to inspire change in his homeland.
However the film that rocked me to my soul the hardest was Samsara, the latest from meticulous filmmaker Ron Fricke. The title derives from a Sanskrit word, meaning to flow on, to perpetually wander, to pass through states of existence. More specifically, the titles relates to the cycle of birth, life, death and then rebirth. It’s hard for me to describe what the film is about because in a sense, it’s about everything. Throughout the feature length documentary, there is not a single word of dialogue. The hypnotic imagery, captured masterfully on full 70mm film explains the cyclical nature of life on earth from both a natural and human perspective. A sweeping soundtrack provides emotional and narrative structure as the film expertly juxtaposes the personal versus the collective experience. Art, war, technology, architecture, religion, natural disaster, urban planning, farming, sex, death and industry are all touched upon, again, without a word uttered. I was so flabbergasted when the credits rolled, that I started to wander aimlessly through the streets in deep contemplation, only to discover myself at my doorstep hours later, in the middle of the night.
And there lies the power of documentary film- the ability to transport us to worlds and situations otherwise inaccessible. One thing that struck me about the films this year was that every single one contained some sort of thematic cycle: political, economic, natural, human. These movies hold up a mirror to the world we live in and ask us whether we will continue down that same road or will we break the cycle. Documentary is social commentary at its highest form. At times, it entertains us. At times, it uplifts us. At times, it sickens us. At times, it calls us to action. But above all, documentary will always provide understanding and give merit, meaning and example to the old cliché that truth is stranger than fiction. I look forward Full Frame Documentary Film Festival, right here in Durham, for years to come.
Labels: Durham, Ned Phillips, Pop Culture
Friday, March 30, 2012
Skate Away the Hate
The men behind the benefit and the music, Toon and the Real Laww.
Photos courtesy of Scenes from my Lunch Hour
Skate Away the Hate
By Ned Phillips
Spring has officially sprung and on March 30th there’s a perfect way to shake those winter doldrums. Up and coming Durham rappers Toon and The Real Laww have put together what they describe as a rap/skate extravaganza, happening at Wheels Fun Park, with the proceeds benefiting victims of domestic violence through the Durham Rescue Mission.
This one-two combo of beats, rhymes and good times have produced music together for years and interestingly enough, it all began with the raiding of a refrigerator. Bound by a heretofore unknown a mutual friend, Laww discovered Toon in his kitchen perusing the perishables in his icebox! What could have immediately become beef changed direction when Toon noticed Laww’s microphones and recording equipment- conversation ensued and musical friendship spawned.
Though both artists had been working on music individually, there was an evident mutual benefit from the collaboration. Laww, a Marine reservist and a veteran of both Iraq and Afghanistan, had been writing and rapping before starting to dabble in the more technical side of production. At this time, Toon was passing out mixtapes of his own during breaks while working at Duke.
Toon describes his early style as fun and comedic. But beneath Toon’s upbeat tracks were painful memories and emotions stemming from his mother’s nasty divorce out of an abusive marriage. After the split, Toon and his mother relocated from Baltimore to Durham, where Toon credits Laww with helping him get in touch with his personal story- a thing he is now comfortable approaching in his music.
Now, the duo makes beats for one another, rap on each other’s tracks, perform, and even live together. Toon’s high pitched animated delivery provides amazing counterpoint to Laww’s deep baritone and their chemistry is so tight that they perform individual sets on a single stage and it flows as one show.
While it seems many rappers today are concerned with stackin’ cash and acting hard, Toon and The Real Laww focus their energy and ability on giving back to communities and causes they support. Having already put on a successful fundraising event for the Wounded Warrior Project, they have now set their sights on raising awareness and support for victims of domestic violence and the Durham Rescue Mission.
Once described as “fashion philanthropists” Toon and The Real Laww are establishing a new model for how rappers can engage with their communities- leave it to Durham- by using their talents to aid local charities dear and personal to them. And though these two have fun, wild personalities that are infectious to be around, they are very serious men and deeply committed to the community and the causes they support.
At Wheels, this Friday night, DJ Shahzad will spin tunes on the decks and three different skate crews, including the Infamous Skate Freaks of NC, will bust moves that make you wish you’d spent more time at the rink in your youth. Rounding out the party with possible guest performances by Toon and The Real Laww, and it’s an evening not to be missed.
Whether you are planning to glide hand in hand with your sweet thang or cruise the circuit to your own groove, it’s going to be a sick time for an important cause. There’s no reason not to go so lace up those quads, roll bounce over to Wheels and "Skate Away the Hate."
When: Friday, March 30, 10pm
Where: Wheels, 715 N. Hoover Rd. Durham, NC, #919-598-1944
Why: Good times, good cause!
Labels: Durham, music, Ned Phillips, Pop Culture
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Chan Banh's Wok n’ Roll story
The Clarion Content is delighted to welcome on board a new regular contributor, Ned Phillips. Ned is recently returned from Europe where among his many endeavours he made fabulous short films and wrote well received travel articles. He is a veteran of the Durham scene, with a returning expatriate's take on our dear city.
Check out his first dispatch below.
Wok n’ Roll
by Ned Phillips
In Banh’s Cuisine on a warm Saturday afternoon chef/owner Chan Banh sits across from me, talking about the glory days of Ninth Street. These were the early to mid 90’s, right around the time Nirvana was peaking and Snoop Dogg was just starting to matter.
Wellspring Grocery was thriving across the street, the Ninth Street Bakery delivered quality breads while the Ninth Street Bar and Grill was the only place you could get a beer. McDonald’s Drugstore churned out fresh, handcrafted milkshakes and Dogstar Tattoo was the preferred hangout for musicians, skater kids and underage cigarette smokers. Poindexter Records was one of my favorites, carrying an obscure selection of tapes and CD for any taste. Being ten years old, North American Video was THE most exciting place to me, where on Friday nights I’d browse the aisles of videocassettes admiring at the titles and box covers, deciding which world to enter, Mother permitting.
Aside from the ability to still attract fringe characters, Ninth Street has undergone tremendous transformation in the past two decades. Bars run rampant, the Wellspring complex is all but abandoned and even soul sucking, indie-crushing Subway has moved into the old Ninth Street Active Feet. Home cinema has gone from VHS to DVD to Blu-Ray and online databases.
Through the years, Chan has seen people and businesses come and go. Banh’s Cuisine has been on Ninth Street since the late ‘80s and he tells me of a time when Grant Hill would sit in my very seat, everyday at 3pm, eating spicy chicken wings. That is until his routine was discovered and he could no longer dine in peace. Mentioning the great #33 stirs my inner Dukie and an elevated conversation about the current state of ACC hoops ensues. During the autumn and winter months, NFL football is the topic of discussion.
In my early Banh’s days I was in a loving, committed relationship with Kung Pao chicken---diced chicken, watercress and green peppers, with just enough kick to keep you from shoveling it down too fast, was all I ever wanted. After a few years I strayed, moving in with General Tso---his spicy sweet, brown sauce with a hint of ginger gave unprecedented life to sautéed broccoli and carrots. The zing of ginger planted a seed I could not ignore, and now, when no one is looking, I flirt with ginger chicken and vegetables.
Unless it is Saturday. Saturdays and Wednesdays are typically the busiest days at Banh’s, when in addition to his usual cuisine Chan dishes up more typically Vietnamese fare. Pho soups and traditional vegetarian subs served on French baguettes are among the delicacies. During these specialty days the dining room is a bustling, jovial place and the take-out traffic is fast and furious.
In addition to his wok mastery, Chan serves as a fundamental cog in the Durham music scene. He’s made beats for local hip-hop acts and maintains a Godfather like status among the areas best musicians and producers. I’ve heard him, in the dining area, laptop in hand still wearing his chef apron talking with customers about Abelton audio engineering and the effect of renaissance equalizers. In his pockets are memory sticks filled with the latest Pro Tools plug-ins for those he’s mentoring. His passion and knowledge for music and production has rendered him a go-to guy for much of the area’s top talent.
Upon first acquaintance, Chan’s a seemingly shy guy. Yet time reveals him to be an incredibly warm and fascinating jack-of-all-trades. During a visit, you’re more likely to encounter one of his sisters, who double as cashiers and servers in the dining area. Like the great Grant Hill, Chan enjoys a certain anonymity, preferring the back of the kitchen to the front of the house.
Chan Banh’s eatery on Ninth Street is a veritable link to the past and bygone times when food and service were personal. Tradition and simplicity, in the best of ways, meant something. No frills, bells or whistles. No fancy tableware, just great food cooked fresh by wonderful people. I recently overheard an exchange between Chan and a customer regarding a new piece of recording software that had just been released- when asked if it was hard to learn, Chan Banh smiled, shook his head and said “Nah man, I’ll show you.”
Banh’s is a solid rock in Durham's gastronomic geology, and Chan truly one most fascinating quilt squares in the fabric of the Bull City, a community I am proud to be a part of again.
Check out his first dispatch below.
photo credit: Ned Phillips............Bahn's, #750 Ninth Street, Durham.
Wok n’ Roll
by Ned Phillips
In Banh’s Cuisine on a warm Saturday afternoon chef/owner Chan Banh sits across from me, talking about the glory days of Ninth Street. These were the early to mid 90’s, right around the time Nirvana was peaking and Snoop Dogg was just starting to matter.
Wellspring Grocery was thriving across the street, the Ninth Street Bakery delivered quality breads while the Ninth Street Bar and Grill was the only place you could get a beer. McDonald’s Drugstore churned out fresh, handcrafted milkshakes and Dogstar Tattoo was the preferred hangout for musicians, skater kids and underage cigarette smokers. Poindexter Records was one of my favorites, carrying an obscure selection of tapes and CD for any taste. Being ten years old, North American Video was THE most exciting place to me, where on Friday nights I’d browse the aisles of videocassettes admiring at the titles and box covers, deciding which world to enter, Mother permitting.
Aside from the ability to still attract fringe characters, Ninth Street has undergone tremendous transformation in the past two decades. Bars run rampant, the Wellspring complex is all but abandoned and even soul sucking, indie-crushing Subway has moved into the old Ninth Street Active Feet. Home cinema has gone from VHS to DVD to Blu-Ray and online databases.
Through the years, Chan has seen people and businesses come and go. Banh’s Cuisine has been on Ninth Street since the late ‘80s and he tells me of a time when Grant Hill would sit in my very seat, everyday at 3pm, eating spicy chicken wings. That is until his routine was discovered and he could no longer dine in peace. Mentioning the great #33 stirs my inner Dukie and an elevated conversation about the current state of ACC hoops ensues. During the autumn and winter months, NFL football is the topic of discussion.
In my early Banh’s days I was in a loving, committed relationship with Kung Pao chicken---diced chicken, watercress and green peppers, with just enough kick to keep you from shoveling it down too fast, was all I ever wanted. After a few years I strayed, moving in with General Tso---his spicy sweet, brown sauce with a hint of ginger gave unprecedented life to sautéed broccoli and carrots. The zing of ginger planted a seed I could not ignore, and now, when no one is looking, I flirt with ginger chicken and vegetables.
Unless it is Saturday. Saturdays and Wednesdays are typically the busiest days at Banh’s, when in addition to his usual cuisine Chan dishes up more typically Vietnamese fare. Pho soups and traditional vegetarian subs served on French baguettes are among the delicacies. During these specialty days the dining room is a bustling, jovial place and the take-out traffic is fast and furious.
In addition to his wok mastery, Chan serves as a fundamental cog in the Durham music scene. He’s made beats for local hip-hop acts and maintains a Godfather like status among the areas best musicians and producers. I’ve heard him, in the dining area, laptop in hand still wearing his chef apron talking with customers about Abelton audio engineering and the effect of renaissance equalizers. In his pockets are memory sticks filled with the latest Pro Tools plug-ins for those he’s mentoring. His passion and knowledge for music and production has rendered him a go-to guy for much of the area’s top talent.
Upon first acquaintance, Chan’s a seemingly shy guy. Yet time reveals him to be an incredibly warm and fascinating jack-of-all-trades. During a visit, you’re more likely to encounter one of his sisters, who double as cashiers and servers in the dining area. Like the great Grant Hill, Chan enjoys a certain anonymity, preferring the back of the kitchen to the front of the house.
Chan Banh’s eatery on Ninth Street is a veritable link to the past and bygone times when food and service were personal. Tradition and simplicity, in the best of ways, meant something. No frills, bells or whistles. No fancy tableware, just great food cooked fresh by wonderful people. I recently overheard an exchange between Chan and a customer regarding a new piece of recording software that had just been released- when asked if it was hard to learn, Chan Banh smiled, shook his head and said “Nah man, I’ll show you.”
Banh’s is a solid rock in Durham's gastronomic geology, and Chan truly one most fascinating quilt squares in the fabric of the Bull City, a community I am proud to be a part of again.
Labels: Durham, food, Guest columns, music, Ned Phillips
