INSIDE LOOK: Docu on Ani DiFranco's career to screen at The Little next week
This month, a documentary highlighting DiFranco's captivating life story is being brought home. Titled '1-800-ON-HER-OWN,' two screenings will take place at The Little Theatre on East Avenue on Thursday, May 15, and Saturday, May 17.
Director Dana Flor sat down with News 8's Gio Battaglia to discuss the film and the inspiration that brought it to life.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: Tell me about the documentary. What made you want to do this project?
Dana Flor: '1-800-ON-HER-OWN' is a documentary about Ani DiFranco. I had the opportunity to meet her, and I was really captivated by her amazing life story. I was also really captivated by her persona. She's so incredibly sort of cinematic and an incredibly honest person with an amazing tale. It was an untold story. So, I'm always kind of drawn to stories like that.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: Tell me about how the documentary takes viewers into DiFranco's life.
Dana Flor: The film is a mixture of her past and her present. And I had the good fortune to meet Ani at a very specific time in her life where a lot of things were happening. And one of the things that did happen was COVID. So, we sort of ride out that, and we also reflect back on her past as a young teenager growing up in Buffalo, New York, and forging her own record label and all that. It is sort of intermixing of the past and the present.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: How did DiMarco react when you wanted to make a film about her life? Tell me about her involvement in the film.
Dana Flor: She obviously was present during the whole thing. Towards the end of the film, she was really busy with Hadestown, so probably not a lot of involvement, but she sort of gave me free reign to tell her story. I was really fortunate to have a lot of trust on her part, and spent a lot of time with her. It was quite a few years there. I started it in 2019, and this film premiered and Tribeca last year. So, it's a real labor of love. Took a long time, but we're really proud of it.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: What were the fans reactions at the Tribeca Film Festival?
Dana Flor: Tribeca was one of the most amazing screenings I had ever been at. It was wild. I mean, I think that her fans are very particular, and they're very passionate. And they were wild, they laughed, they cried. It felt a little like 'Rocky Horror Picture Show.' It was very participatory. We have done a theatrical rollout through the country, and we found that it's been like this a lot. Her fans are super involved and super receptive, and they also have a tendency to drag people who don't know Ani to the film. So that's been really, really fun.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: It is so amazing that this film focuses on a Buffalo native. I am so excited that it is showing at The Little.
Dana Flor: It really is, I'm really glad to be able to sort of bring the film home. Obviously Upstate New York, Buffalo, was truly formative and who Ani was and is. So, it's great. And I bet there's a lot of people who are going to come out that can say, 'Oh, I remember in 1993 I thought…' I think that'll be really fun.
News 8's Gio Battaglia: What else should viewers know going into the film?
Dana Flor: This is a timely story. Ani's real North Star is her activism as a feminist. And again, another thing that happened during the filming was the Dobbs decision. So, you know, the death of Roe versus Wade. So, I think her work as a feminist, as an activist, is really central to who she is. It's central throughout the film, and it's sadly, incredibly timely right now.
Tickets to '1-800-ON-HER-OWN' are available on The Little's website.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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San Francisco Chronicle
3 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
No drinking or late nights: How 20-year-olds are changing S.F.'s nightlife scene
When the San Francisco Entertainment Commission held its annual nightlife summit in May, the room at the city permit center on South Van Ness Avenue was packed with the folks who make the city hum after the sun sets — nightclub owners and impresarios, party promoters and publicans. On the agenda was a panel exploring a pressing post-pandemic question: 'Where did our customers go and how do we get them back?' In a city that is rapidly aging, it was the youngest panelist, 22-year-old party promoter Caden Velasquez, who was the center of attention. The recent UC Davis graduate was bombarded with questions about Gen Zers in their 20s: Why are they mostly missing from the city's struggling bars and nightlife scene? When they do show up, why don't they drink alcohol like the generations before them? What would it take to get them back to San Francisco and out in the bars and clubs? 'There was a three-year period during COVID that people my age didn't learn how to party,' Velasquez said. 'People my age are just realizing things — like going to trivia night on a Tuesday night is a fun thing to do. Because it is! Everyone here is welcome to tell Gen Z how to party.' The discussion underscored parallel demographic threats that have sent the city's entertainment industry into a tailspin: The city is aging faster than other metro areas in the nation, creating a bar and nightlife economy increasingly dependent on people in their 40s and 50s and 60s for revenue – groups often too busy raising families, paying mortgages or caring for aging parents to spend much time catching live bands or happy hour with colleagues after work. Meanwhile, unlike with previous generations, the city's twenty-somethings aren't filling the gap. About 20% of residents in their 20s left town during the pandemic and many of those who stayed have not embraced the drinking culture that has long supported the city's nocturnal economy. That confluence of aging customers, pandemic population shifts and the fact that the people of partying age are no longer partying has led to waves of bar and restaurant closures, while many establishments are barely holding on. 'The fact that we are breaking even is a miracle,' said Ben Bleiman, the president of the Entertainment Commission, who recently reopened downtown tavern Harrington's, which had gone out of business during the pandemic. San Francisco County now has the second-lowest share of people under the age of 30 among the 150 largest counties in the United States, at about 30%. From 2013 to 2023, the share of San Franciscans between the ages of 22 and 29 decreased from 16% to 13% — about 25,000 residents. The city's dwindling pool of young people, and its growing share of Gen Xers and boomers, is reshaping health care, education and housing. And it could have a crippling effect on San Francisco's hospitality sector, the bars and clubs that have always relied on the trade of young professionals — often people in their 20s with disposable income and no kids to pick up from school. As the city fights to bring people back to downtown neighborhoods and restore the vitality that vanished during the pandemic, it has become clear that nightlife must be a big part of the solution, said Sarah Dennis Phillips, director of the Office of Economic and Workforce Development. The hospitality industry generates $6 billion a year in direct economic impact in San Francisco while employing 54,000 workers. 'We started to realize that entertainment and nightlife was going to be one of the fundamental remaining reasons to live in a city or come to a city,' Phillips told the audience at the entertainment summit. But beyond the decrease in Gen Z population is the puzzle of catering to a generation detached from the alcohol-centric culture that has kept everything from jazz venues to sports bars to rock clubs afloat. Data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics shows a massive drop in drinking between millennials and Gen of the latter group spend $3.1 billion annually on alcohol, a massive drop from the $25 billion in booze sales to Boomers. Millennials, meanwhile, spend $23.4 billion, with Gen X shelling out $23.1 billion, according to the government report. 'They drink hop water and Red Bulls. They drink tap water,' Lynn Schwartz, co-owner of Bottom of the Hill, a rock venue in Potrero Hill, said about Gen Z. 'It's really good that they are healthier than we were coming up, but it's bad for the business model.' 'Gen Z has been wiped off the map from COVID,' said Bleiman. 'I haven't given up on them as a generation, but in terms of hospitality, we need to write them off.' The fallout from these parallel demographic shifts can be seen at places like the century-old Great American Music Hall, where manager Fred Barnes said he's been forced to completely shift his strategy since the COVID shutdowns. 'We basically had to change the way we are doing everything,' he said. 'If you were to book bands now based on what would have been a safe strategy before the pandemic, it would be an epic failure.' Some of the shows that would have been 'instant sellouts' before COVID — like the Bay Area's rich network of Grateful Dead 'adjacent' bands — are no longer sure bets. That makes sense, he said. It's natural that older people retire elsewhere or go out less as they age. But like other club owners, Barnes has been focusing on understanding the tastes of the Gen Z audience. They tend to be broader and more eclectic than earlier generations, he said, and less based on genre. A metal band that is trending on TikTok might pack the place, while a seemingly similar group might play to a mostly-empty house. The allure of jam bands may be fading, but there is a growing audience for Cumbia, the high-energy Latino genre rooted in Columbia. All-night raves have been replaced by daytime DJs and coffee-shop pop-ups. Which has forced Barnes to become more creative in finding talent that will appeal to a fickle and unpredictable audience. On a Monday night in April, he booked 70-year-old ambient Japanese saxophonist Yasuaki Shimizu's first U.S. tour. The show sold out. 'You think, 'This is going to be a really old crowd — the guy is in his 70s,'' Barnes said. 'It was the complete opposite.' But even shows featuring bands that attract a young fan base may not turn a profit given the decrease in alcohol consumption, said Schwartz, co-owner of Bottom of the Hill. The club works hard to book bands with younger followings, and to keep ticket prices low, even if it means not making much money. That was the case with a recent bill featuring the Nashville 'egg punk' band Snooper, an act whose live shows include papier-mache puppets and animatics. She said, 'Snooper killed it and the kids showed up for them.' 'We consider some of the all-ages shows to be a loss leader,' Schwartz said. 'It's how you introduce young people to the club — show them such a good time they will keep coming back. Eventually they will be able to afford higher ticket prices and a Shirley Temple — maybe even a real cocktail.' Still, she said, there are too many nights when the crowd is a sea of gray hair and bald heads. 'Some shows are like, 'Whoa,'' Schwartz said. 'You get 20 calls for reserved seating — people who can't stand for a long period of time, who have a bum hip, who use a cane.' The decade prior to the pandemic, San Francisco became an epicenter of the artisan cocktail movement, with patrons drawn to increasingly bespoke, and expensive, drinks. One group at the forefront of that trend was Future Bars, which today owns 13 establishments in San Francisco, including Bourbon & Branch, Local Edition and Rickhouse. Future Bars CEO Brian Sheehy said the cost of living in San Francisco, combined with the sluggish pandemic recovery, has slowly driven away many young people who worked and drank in his bars. In the last 15 years, the average age of his patrons has increased from late 20s to the mid 30s, while the average age of employees is even older. Sheehy said his company is 'running to break even for the fifth year in a row.' 'We are spinning our wheels, doing the work, holding on and holding out for things to get better,' he said. 'At some point we might have to make some tough decisions.' In order to bring in more patrons, especially younger ones, Future Bars is pivoting from an experience focused mostly on ambience and cocktails to one that also includes art and music. Today, the two most successful Future Bars establishments — the Dawn Club and Local Edition — both feature live jazz. Sheehy is opening a Cuban bar in North Beach that will feature music as well as an art gallery, and he's reconfiguring other places to include rotating exhibits. In a way, the company has come full circle: 23 years ago, Sheehy and a friend, the late Dahi Donnelly, both immigrants from Ireland, put on packed art openings at their first bar, Anu at Sixth and Market. 'Up until the shutdown, we didn't have to worry about putting art in our bars,' Sheehy said. 'We are going back to our roots.' Nightlife entrepreneurs say the crisis stems not just from the flight of young customers, but also workers. About 70% of leisure and hospitality workers were laid off during the pandemic when hotels and restaurants shut down. Many left town. 'People can't wait around to go back to work, and they didn't,' said city economist Ted Egan. Compounding the problem, those workers, many of them young, tended to be among their industry's most reliable customers. A $20 tip left on the bar at Ocean Ale House near City College may end up at the Royal Cuckoo on Mission Street or Specs in North Beach. 'A huge portion of the business was the service industry. They are gone,' said Blieman of the Entertainment Commission. 'They used to go out, they used to party, they used to spend the tips they just made at your bar after their shift.' Even after the pandemic ended and bars and restaurants reopened, servers in a depressed San Francisco were making a lot less than they had been, which in turn prompted a flight of talent to other markets, Sheehy said. A whole group of Future Bars servers and managers relocated to New York, lured by tales of tips exceeding $400 a night. 'They have created their own ex-pat community of San Francisco hospitality folks in New York,' Sheehy said. 'They have a great lifestyle and make more money. It's hard to blame them.' Despite the unsettling sales and migration data, Gen Z members believe there's hope for the city's nightlife scene — even if they have to look to the daylight hours for inspiration. Recent San Francisco transplants say the statistics don't reflect the vitality of the arts and entertainment scene taking root at places like the Faight Collective in the Lower Haight or Casements in the Mission, or at parties put on by Cave Rave, which recently threw a dance party in the tunnels by Sutro Baths. Velasquez, the party planner, said 'there has been this weird stain' on San Francisco since the pandemic, 'but a new narrative is forming that San Francisco is alive.' Day parties are popular, Velasquez said, explaining that Gen Zers value 'community' and tend to be loyal to particular venues or collectives they feel part of. His generation may be drinking less, he said, but more importantly is 'partying differently.' He has been contacting coffeehouses, asking to put on events at 10 a.m. — and seeing hundreds of people show up. One of the venues that has figured out how to attract Gen Zers, the Faight Collective, is part art gallery, nightclub, retail space, theater, yoga studio, live music venue and recording studio. 'It's the era of community organizers. It's the era of coffee pop-ups and day parties,' said Daniel Bondi, 30, who founded the venue with Andrew Wasilewski in 2023. 'We did a techno brunch where everyone wore black and sunglasses. It was a Berlin club but at 11 o'clock in the morning.' Casements, an LGBTQ-friendly Irish bar in the Mission with a festive beer garden, has cultivated a loyal customer base through a combination of old-school hospitality and curated events. There might be a chicken schnitzel party on a Wednesday and a 'Seanchoíche' — a night of Irish storytelling — the next night. On a recent Saturday, Casements hosted an 11 a.m. Virgo Supperclub Pop-Up followed by a 3 p.m. lesbian and queer friendly wine pop-up hosted by Somebody's Sister followed by a drag bingo. The establishment serves four types of non-alcoholic beers and an extensive list of low-alcohol cocktails. 'We have immersive interactive events because folks are looking for experiences-driven things,' said co-owner Jillian Fitzgerald. She said she has seen more 20-somethings moving to San Francisco primarily for community or culture, rather than just for a high-paying tech job. 'Before the pandemic there were a lot of people here who didn't want to be in San Francisco — they would have much preferred to be in Houston with a big backyard,' she said. 'San Francisco has always been a city of unexpected things and that died for a while. Now it's starting to come back.' Leah Woods, a 28-year-old composer who lives in the Haight, runs the Tuesday night open mic at the Faight. She said the city needs to do a better job promoting itself as a place for artists and musicians. 'S.F. is so casual about the art that comes out of it. It doesn't really care,' she said. 'You drive into the city and every billboard is about AI and you have no idea what any of it means. How about a billboard promoting a frickin show or an artist's new single or a performance in the park?' While the Faight still generates revenue selling drinks and tickets, Wasilewski and Bondi emphasized that the Gen Z audience responds well to 'layering,' an array of activities like crocheting or watercolor painting that 'calm the nerves' and can appeal to people not used to socializing with strangers. One recent Faight open mic participant was Elijah Milak, a 24-year-old guitarist and singer who moved to San Francisco in 2021 after graduating from Howard University. 'When I got here nightlife was pretty dead,' he said. 'Now it feels like the city has come out of its shell. You can come to a community like the Faight and there is a genuine energy. ' At the entertainment commission summit, Faight co-founder Wasilewski said that venues, instead of guessing what customers in their 20s are looking for, should empower the next generation by bringing in young promoters or collectives who know what their contemporaries want. 'Give them the freedom to come in and take over the space to do their thing,' Wasilewski said. 'Get creative. Don't be cheap. Don't be lazy. Give people good non-alcoholic options. People want to enjoy having a good-looking drink in their hands. It doesn't have to be alcohol.'
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Black America Web
8 hours ago
- Black America Web
Carlos King, Castmates & Candid Confessions: OWN Celebrates ‘Love & Marriage: Huntsville' Season 10 With Swanky Soirée In The A [Exclusive]
To toast to the tenth season of Love & Marriage: Huntsville , OWN turned up the southern charm with a sleek, swanky celebration in the A, and BOSSIP got exclusive deets from the King of reality TV and two fan faves ! Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN Series creator and executive producer Carlos King linked up with Kimmi Scott and LaTisha Scott at Atlanta's The Forum Cocktail Co. for an intimate evening of cocktails, conversation, and candid confessions. Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN Attendees including journalists, influencers, and media mavens, sipped handcrafted drinks, nibbled on upscale Southern bites, and caught a behind-the-scenes glimpse at the drama set to unfold when #LAMH returns TODAY, Saturday, July 19 at 8/7c on OWN. Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN From fellowship to spicy spoilers, the evening was a full-on fête honoring the franchise's milestone season, filled with family feuds, fresh starts, and familiar faces fans can't stop watching. Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN According to super producer Carlos King, it's 'nothing but God's blessing' for a Black-owned production company to have this kind of success. He also teased what's to come. Source: OWN / Love & Marriage Huntsville 'This season we are bringing so much when it comes to emotional intelligence and shade and drama, but also what you guys love the most,' he told BOSSIP. 'You get to see them at work, you get to see a lot of them in their professional positions in the community, so it's a fantastic season.' Elsewhere in the conversation, Kimmi and LaTisha also jumped in and shared which of their castmates surprised them most. 'I would say Destiny,' said LaTisha. 'She allowed us to tap into her life a little bit deeper. People said she's not opening up, but she's opening up this season, y'all.' Source: OWN / Love & Marriage Huntsville Kimmi, meanwhile, said the biggest shocker was… herself. 'I think who surprised me the most is me,' said the #LAMH staple. 'Because I usually am pretty calm and composed, and I try to give grace.' As for Carlos King, he said he wants fans to keep their eyes on Tricia. Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN 'Y'all are gonna love this. Trish surprised me the most,' said King. 'Not to give it away because it was in the trailer, Tricia is going back into her past to understand her present and to see if she wants a future with her present. So, I would say, Tricia is a beautiful surprise.' Source: OWN / Love & Marriage Huntsville Speaking of surprises, King dropped jaws with an explosive super trailer he debuted on his Instagram and told BOSSIP that that's just the tip of the iceberg. 'The trailer obviously shows the highlights of the season, but each episode delivers something spectacular,' King told BOSSIP. 'So don't sleep on it!' added Latisha. Source: Love & Marriage Huntsville / OWN The trailer teased the ongoing Martell vs. Marsau drama, including LaTisha's threats to expose Martell and Martell interviewing a woman who claimed to be Marsau's mistress. It also showed Destiny flirting with Nell's godson and confronting Nell's son, Lance, for not telling her he had a baby on the way. Meanwhile, Nell is seen going toe-to-toe with LaTisha and Kimmi—who fires back with a threat to dunk her in a pool—and Maurice calls out Martell over rumors that they both cheated on their wives. 'What does my d*** look like?!' Maurice pointedly asks during the confrontation. The post Carlos King, Castmates & Candid Confessions: OWN Celebrates 'Love & Marriage: Huntsville' Season 10 With Swanky Soirée In The A [Exclusive] appeared first on Bossip. SEE ALSO Carlos King, Castmates & Candid Confessions: OWN Celebrates 'Love & Marriage: Huntsville' Season 10 With Swanky Soirée In The A [Exclusive] was originally published on
Boston Globe
2 days ago
- Boston Globe
Amid squeeze on musical ecosystem, an old Cambridge venue gets new life
It reopened earlier this year, after a year-and-a-half closure, according to the venue's owners. In doing so, it became something of an anomaly in Greater Boston. Band member Clifford Carraha tested a microphone on the small stage. Ben Pennington/for The Boston Globe As beloved, housing and cost of living crises. Gregg Perry, the trio's 42-year-old guitarist from Arlington, plays in a couple bands, but the gigs don't come as often as they once did. A Berklee College of Music dropout, Perry works as a delivery driver part time nowadays, he said. Advertisement 'I don't know, man, the Boston music scene is really tough,' he said. 'Just trying to get a gig, dude is like, [expletive]. . .' His voice trailed off. Advertisement JP Faundez Power Trio bandmates Gregg Perry, J.P. Faundez, and Clifford Carraha (left to right) played together in Toad. Ben Pennington/for The Boston Globe Tommy McCarthy, and his wife, Louise Costello, are behind Toad's rebirth. It is the fifth bar they've opened. The first, and perhaps most well known, is Both musicians by trade, McCarthy and Costello didn't know much about running a bar at the time. 'We just thought if you could create the music, the rest will follow,' said McCarthy recently. That mantra has guided the reopening of Toad. It's connected by a doorway to a larger pub, formerly known as Christopher's, now called McCarthy's. While Toad puts on live music — blues, acoustic singer-songwriters, rock — later at night, McCarthy's has a traditional Irish session every day of the week that starts at 7 p.m. The Burren has a similar setup of different performance spaces. Jonathan Bricker, a professor who teaches courses on live music, touring, and concerts at Berklee, said the COVID-19 pandemic wiped out many small, independently run venues that are a creative lifeblood for the local musical community. 'Rooms like that are essential for developing, for trying out, and growing as an artist, as a band, wherever you find yourself on the musical spectrum,' said Bricker, who manages several local acts. Data on small, independent music venues, and their closures since the start of the pandemic, are hard to come by. The Advertisement Toad's reopening is welcome news among local musicians. Trama acknowledged that at a time when it is becoming 'tougher and tougher' for artists to exist in Greater Boston, any survival of another place to gig should be applauded. 'All of these smaller places, they are a lifeline to the culture of art in the whole Boston area,' he said recently. 'More of them, the better.' People mingled before the music started at Toad. Ben Pennington/for The Boston Globe 'It's a victory, definitely,' she said of Toad's reopening this past April. 'Having it back is a major win. Places like Toad, you have every skill level of musician playing that room.' Jim Haggerty, a full-time musician who has played bass for about 50 years, lamented the dwindling number of small venues. He described Toad, a place he has played more than a hundred times, as somewhere 'where professional musicians can play, and, if you have a good enough following, you can make a living.' Haggerty moved to Boston from upstate New York in the 1980s, when it was possible to work odd jobs, pay cheap rent with 'a bunch of buddies,' and pursue one's artistic dreams. It's no longer that town, he said. Haggerty lives in Roslindale and was able to buy a house 'before things got crazy.' Implied is that musicians nowadays have a much steeper fiscal climb to put down roots locally. Advertisement 'I got extremely lucky,' he said. Back in Toad before his gig, Carraha, the bassist and singer, said for him, the barometers of a good set are straightforward: Are the players in sync, feeling the groove? Is the crowd responding positively? Carraha, a 42-year-old Watertown resident, has been playing gigs around town for about 25 years. In his day job, he co-owns a catering company. 'Every venue is essential because as artists we need that,' he said. His bandmate, Perry, will be happy with his take from the night's performance. Perry will make $120, he said. In years past, he played gigs at Toad where the entire band got $150, plus whatever was in the tip bucket, and some comped food and drinks. 'It's medicine for the soul,' he said of music. 'I need this.' Minutes later, his band started to play. Danny McDonald can be reached at
