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Recent Articles
Recent Articles by Mike Warren
How percussionist Mike Dillon cut the narcotic vines that were holding him down.
Thursday, November 2, at the Uptown Theater.
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SF Weekly
You won't believe the California wine industry's latest new-age craze.
By Joe Eskenazi
Westword
They lived for excitement, but the FBI got the final thrill.
By Joel Warner
Seattle Weekly
Chuck Bundrant built an unlikely seafood empire--with a little help from Alaska Senator Ted Stevens.
By Laura Onstot
Village Voice
How a benevolent billionaire mayor ended up owning us all.
By Wayne Barrett
Michael Burks
Wednesday, March 31, at the Ameristar Casino.
Published on March 25, 2004
Michael Burks sings his sensitive tales of bad behavior like a man waking up with his best friend's wife the morning after said best friend stole his own wife away. In Burks' complex blues fables, awful things happen. But what the hell -- might as well make the best of it. When Burks sings I hope he's worth my pain, both man and guitar sound wounded, and when he croons Just let the doorknob hit you/Where the good Lord split you, it's clear that the narrator isn't the only one who's bruised. Burks picks up the bad-SOB-next-door story exactly where Robert Cray left off, and with several well-deserved W.C. Handy nominations under his belt (including Song of the Year for "I Smell Smoke"), his soulful guitar and baleful breakup tales are definitely worth a gamble.