Apparently Twitter is a free service that lets you keep in touch with people using the web, your phone, or IM (their words). This is a website for people who think the status update on Facebook should be an RSS feed. I was "lucky" enough to be pointed in the direction of former-stripper/fashion-disaster and all around hack face Diablo Cody's Twitter page. Diablo Cody is the hellspawn that wrote a movie about a preggers teen who loves track shorts and sub-par folk music.
Some brief highlights in the one page I glanced at:
She mentions her Oscar.
She mentions she is getting a "wettie" while looking at some girl which I can only hope will turn into a new teen slang once her new television show hits.
She likes to quote Boogie Nights to no one at all.
She is trying to avoid using Juno-esque music in her new show so people don't think she is an "avowed freak folkie." Poor mislead DC. We all think you are a talentless wanker! Besides, the Moldy Peaches were anti-folk or as I like to call them, total rubbish. Diablo needs to stop trolling the Brooklyn Vegan message boards for new contrived genres, although to be fair, I haven't heard the phrase "freak folk" since Pitchfork slammed the Coco Rosie album.
When people follow her around she gets the urge to do something obscene. Does this girl have Marilyn Manson's number?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Ways in Which Listening to Tokyo Police Club is Like Dating a Girl You Won't Commit To
After 2 EPs and around 30 minutes worth of music, Tokyo Police Club put out their full length record, Elephant Shell on Saddle Creek Records this week.
Truth be told, I would have probably ignored TPC's debut album if my bike ride to work wasn't soundtracked by "Nature of the Experiment," one of their herk'em, jerk'em songs from last summer. As I pedaled up the Brooklyn Bridge I couldn't help but acknowledge TPC's appeal. They pumped me up, they kept things simple and were economical as hell. I'd heard some pretty good things about Elephant Shell and I even liked the songs I sampled from the new record. Yet, I felt no urge to seek out the album in any form.
Why can't I find it in my heart to welcome Tokyo Police Club to the Thom Siblog roster of artists? I think it's because listening to Tokyo Police Club is like continuously dating a girl who you know you will never settle down with. And I just don't have it in me after last summer's fling with the Black Kids. So I did what any white middle class male would do. I made a list comparing dating to music consumption!
1) You know it won't last: Isn't that how it always starts? With a romantic trip up the Brooklyn Bridge in the morning? But much like the girl I met at trivia night who told me she came to trivia to learn, this band is lacking that something that would make it a long term contender and it's painfully obvious. Both the girl and the song were attractive enough: both were short and to the point. But the bottom line is that at 27 I've seen enough girls and heard enough songs to need more than a fuzzed out guitar tone or a really nice bottom. I'll rock you tonight, tomorrow and even on the NJ turnpike but ultimately my affections in this case are fleeting. I know me and trivia girl won't be going skiing this winter just as I know that TPC won't be on my Christmas time mix cd.
2) Convenience: Doesn't everyone have that one friend who seems to lack the shame gland that prohibits most guys from walking up to pretty girls and saying ridiculous things? Everyone wants to be the cool, brooding guy in the corner who sips his Glenlivet smoothly until a fiesty young lady approaches him. This system occasionally works but it yields uneven results. In my experience, girls who make themselves so easily available usually fall below the Jamie Mendoza diagonal on the hot/crazy scale. Yet, there is an allure that comes with ease.
In the same light, don't we all have a friend who runs around the internet scavenging for new bands/rare tracks and unreleased albums? But then we have that other friend who loves the music you put on his iPod for him because he read all about those bands on Stereogum (sorry guys). Tokyo Police Club is a band of convenience. No one has to seek these guys out or go through lots of trouble to discover them. Furthermore, much like the girl who bought your bullshit brooding at the bar, this band is easy. These guys know the game and they're going to play it. You won't have to think about your ex during TPC's peppy bursts of pop punk in the same way you won't be writing poetry for the graphic designer who slipped you her number after you told her you were busy later, but that is the appeal.
3) Shame: Lately I've noticed that when my other family members aren't looking or aren't within an earshot my grandfather pulls me over and says, "How are things with the ladies?" with a wink and a nod. Sometimes he even grabs my arm and startles me. This always makes me mildly uncomfortable and I'm not really sure what to say. Is the correct answer, "I really gave it to her. I even had her call me grandpa"? Or something more truthful like, "Grandpa I've got no time for that. Between rewatching episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and leaving people movie notes on Netflix I don't have much time for dating. Also why do you ask me when no one else is looking?"
Needless to say, Grandpa has never heard about the 6 foot Haitian woman at my office that makes me squirm everytime she passes my desk nor has he heard about the time I made out with an adorable girl from Trinidad in a dank sauna outside of Toronto. If she isn't going to be partaking in one of the Siblo's gluttoneous feasts, there really isn't a need to shade the pictures for Gramps, I'd prefer broad strokes.
Now, as a music nerd who hangs out with other music nerds, I frequently get asked the broad question, "Whatchu been listening to?" as to open up the floodgates of conversation. I rarely admit that I've been listening to old New Found Glory singles (although most of my boys couldn't deny the sheer awesomeness of "Dressed to Kill") and frequently opt for a more obscure (and better) answer that would enlighten the potential listener (perhaps the Marked Men?). Tokyo Police Club are not a band I'd ever lump into the latter category. Hell, I wouldn't even lump them in with NFG since TPC didn't soundtrack my sophomore year of college shenanigans. If they were to ever be brought up it would be in the context of "you know who isn't that bad... Tokyo Police Club." No David Fricke-esque hyperbole, no youthful enthusiasm. Shameful silence. Which brings us to...
4) Guilt: Jack Donaghy, Vice-President of Television and Microwave Oven Programming at GE once described being Catholic as having "a crushing guilt" at all times. It would follow that as a recovering Catholic and former Altar Boy, I carry this guilt with me at all times. And thus when some girl tells me how she is "best friends with Ben Gibbard...ya know, from Postal Service" and I tell her how much I love them just so we can make out, I feel a little bad. I feel less bad when she tells me she holds supreme knowledge of the northwestern music scene and doesn't have any idea who Calvin Johnson is. And yet, there is still this guilt.
Do you have any idea how bad I'd feel pretending to commit to Tokyo Police Club? Everytime one of their painfully consistent B+ hooks hit my ears and I hum along I'd feel terrible knowing that they'd be the Oxford Collapse of this summer. I just can't lead them on like I did with Architecure in Helsinki or the girl I met from Pratt with the Andy Warhol tote bag.
5) Limited Happiness: Now, say you've been seeing the girl you will never settle down with for awhile. Eventually, what will start to happen is you will begin justify the relationship in your head. Sure, she wears Crocs but she is damn cute. Except when she puts her hair back. But she is always there for you. Yet she seems too available. But then as you are laying in bed, enjoying some post coital Galaxie 500, you think to yourself: "Hey why can't this girl be a contender. No one is perfect, especially not me. Let's give this a go." Elated at the discovery of your feelings for this girl you decide to go grab that kick ass Dogfish Head IPA from the bodega. As you wait in line you notice you most adorable blue eyed art student who tells you she loves your Modern Lovers t-shirt.
And all of a sudden you don't want to go home. You remember the road trip you took last weekend with the girl lying in your bed. You remember the disappointment of kicking off the trip's mix cd with the kick ass road trippin' quinessential opening track, "Roadrunner" and getting a blank look from the girl. And you realize that girl in your bed can only get so good, so why settle?
And this isn't to say that the girl in bodega is perfect by any stretch. This has nothing to do with the typical male affliction of always needing something "new" (a metaphor that works with music as well). But when something works, romantically or musically, the flaws are irrevelent and overlooked. One of my all time favourite bands is Screeching Weasel, nuff' said.
So when Rocket From the Crypt's "Waste It" comes on right after "Nature of the Experiment," I realize that my joy for that angular guitar line can only make me so happy and that TPC will never crush my brain daily with chaotic breakdowns and infectious hornlines, no matter how much I'd like them to.
Hopefully TPC and I can still see each other platonically or on a liberally assembled playlist soon.
Truth be told, I would have probably ignored TPC's debut album if my bike ride to work wasn't soundtracked by "Nature of the Experiment," one of their herk'em, jerk'em songs from last summer. As I pedaled up the Brooklyn Bridge I couldn't help but acknowledge TPC's appeal. They pumped me up, they kept things simple and were economical as hell. I'd heard some pretty good things about Elephant Shell and I even liked the songs I sampled from the new record. Yet, I felt no urge to seek out the album in any form.
Why can't I find it in my heart to welcome Tokyo Police Club to the Thom Siblog roster of artists? I think it's because listening to Tokyo Police Club is like continuously dating a girl who you know you will never settle down with. And I just don't have it in me after last summer's fling with the Black Kids. So I did what any white middle class male would do. I made a list comparing dating to music consumption!
Ways in which listening to TPC is like continuously dating a girl who you know you will never settle down with.
2) Convenience: Doesn't everyone have that one friend who seems to lack the shame gland that prohibits most guys from walking up to pretty girls and saying ridiculous things? Everyone wants to be the cool, brooding guy in the corner who sips his Glenlivet smoothly until a fiesty young lady approaches him. This system occasionally works but it yields uneven results. In my experience, girls who make themselves so easily available usually fall below the Jamie Mendoza diagonal on the hot/crazy scale. Yet, there is an allure that comes with ease.
In the same light, don't we all have a friend who runs around the internet scavenging for new bands/rare tracks and unreleased albums? But then we have that other friend who loves the music you put on his iPod for him because he read all about those bands on Stereogum (sorry guys). Tokyo Police Club is a band of convenience. No one has to seek these guys out or go through lots of trouble to discover them. Furthermore, much like the girl who bought your bullshit brooding at the bar, this band is easy. These guys know the game and they're going to play it. You won't have to think about your ex during TPC's peppy bursts of pop punk in the same way you won't be writing poetry for the graphic designer who slipped you her number after you told her you were busy later, but that is the appeal.
3) Shame: Lately I've noticed that when my other family members aren't looking or aren't within an earshot my grandfather pulls me over and says, "How are things with the ladies?" with a wink and a nod. Sometimes he even grabs my arm and startles me. This always makes me mildly uncomfortable and I'm not really sure what to say. Is the correct answer, "I really gave it to her. I even had her call me grandpa"? Or something more truthful like, "Grandpa I've got no time for that. Between rewatching episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and leaving people movie notes on Netflix I don't have much time for dating. Also why do you ask me when no one else is looking?"
Needless to say, Grandpa has never heard about the 6 foot Haitian woman at my office that makes me squirm everytime she passes my desk nor has he heard about the time I made out with an adorable girl from Trinidad in a dank sauna outside of Toronto. If she isn't going to be partaking in one of the Siblo's gluttoneous feasts, there really isn't a need to shade the pictures for Gramps, I'd prefer broad strokes.
Now, as a music nerd who hangs out with other music nerds, I frequently get asked the broad question, "Whatchu been listening to?" as to open up the floodgates of conversation. I rarely admit that I've been listening to old New Found Glory singles (although most of my boys couldn't deny the sheer awesomeness of "Dressed to Kill") and frequently opt for a more obscure (and better) answer that would enlighten the potential listener (perhaps the Marked Men?). Tokyo Police Club are not a band I'd ever lump into the latter category. Hell, I wouldn't even lump them in with NFG since TPC didn't soundtrack my sophomore year of college shenanigans. If they were to ever be brought up it would be in the context of "you know who isn't that bad... Tokyo Police Club." No David Fricke-esque hyperbole, no youthful enthusiasm. Shameful silence. Which brings us to...
4) Guilt: Jack Donaghy, Vice-President of Television and Microwave Oven Programming at GE once described being Catholic as having "a crushing guilt" at all times. It would follow that as a recovering Catholic and former Altar Boy, I carry this guilt with me at all times. And thus when some girl tells me how she is "best friends with Ben Gibbard...ya know, from Postal Service" and I tell her how much I love them just so we can make out, I feel a little bad. I feel less bad when she tells me she holds supreme knowledge of the northwestern music scene and doesn't have any idea who Calvin Johnson is. And yet, there is still this guilt.
Do you have any idea how bad I'd feel pretending to commit to Tokyo Police Club? Everytime one of their painfully consistent B+ hooks hit my ears and I hum along I'd feel terrible knowing that they'd be the Oxford Collapse of this summer. I just can't lead them on like I did with Architecure in Helsinki or the girl I met from Pratt with the Andy Warhol tote bag.
5) Limited Happiness: Now, say you've been seeing the girl you will never settle down with for awhile. Eventually, what will start to happen is you will begin justify the relationship in your head. Sure, she wears Crocs but she is damn cute. Except when she puts her hair back. But she is always there for you. Yet she seems too available. But then as you are laying in bed, enjoying some post coital Galaxie 500, you think to yourself: "Hey why can't this girl be a contender. No one is perfect, especially not me. Let's give this a go." Elated at the discovery of your feelings for this girl you decide to go grab that kick ass Dogfish Head IPA from the bodega. As you wait in line you notice you most adorable blue eyed art student who tells you she loves your Modern Lovers t-shirt.
And all of a sudden you don't want to go home. You remember the road trip you took last weekend with the girl lying in your bed. You remember the disappointment of kicking off the trip's mix cd with the kick ass road trippin' quinessential opening track, "Roadrunner" and getting a blank look from the girl. And you realize that girl in your bed can only get so good, so why settle?
And this isn't to say that the girl in bodega is perfect by any stretch. This has nothing to do with the typical male affliction of always needing something "new" (a metaphor that works with music as well). But when something works, romantically or musically, the flaws are irrevelent and overlooked. One of my all time favourite bands is Screeching Weasel, nuff' said.
So when Rocket From the Crypt's "Waste It" comes on right after "Nature of the Experiment," I realize that my joy for that angular guitar line can only make me so happy and that TPC will never crush my brain daily with chaotic breakdowns and infectious hornlines, no matter how much I'd like them to.
Hopefully TPC and I can still see each other platonically or on a liberally assembled playlist soon.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Film Review: "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" (dir. Nicholas Stoller) 2008
Up until I saw the coming attraction for Forgetting Sarah Marshall I hailed Jason Segel as an up and coming comic talent. I even fantasized about casting him in a minimalist black and white about mopey twentysomethings (he has that pedigree). As a once loyal Apatowian, I had the fortune to witness his initially great run: while most people know him as Nick, the loveable but tragically untalented Neil Pert wanna-be from Freaks and Geeks, I usually have his reoccuring role on Undeclared in mind as his quinessential comic moment. On Undeclared, Segel played Eric, the left behind boyfriend of Lizzy, a college freshmen who went away to college. Lizzy (Carla Gallo) played the girl down the hall from you who plastered her walls with pictures of the relationship that everyone knew was doomed but continued to go on with the charade. On Undeclared the reason Lizzy's walls are covered in pictures of Eric is that Eric is the manager of a Kinko's-esque copy center. Eric, who wields his occupation like a amorous weapon gives Lizzy a number of gifts ranging from Lizzy and Eric themed calendars right on down to a pillowcase with Eric's face on in (complete with "Dreaming of You" thought bubble). Apatow loved the Eric character so much that the final episode of Undeclared features the main characters tangently, opting to dedicate his final 22 minutes on network televison to Eric and the copy shop's staff, brilliantly played by Kyle Gass and David Krumholtz.
Eric's inability to let go of Lizzie and acknowledge the failing romance staring him in the face seems to be Segel's trademark. Aside from this being the case in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Segel's Nick suffered the same pathetic indignity in Freaks and Geeks as well. Only as Marshall (the underrated How I Met Your Mother) the serial monogamist, does Segel change up his schtick and it's a subtle: Marshall is who Eric or Nick would be if they were a bit smarter and luckier in love. It should be noted that Segel's turn as a would-be lothario, spurting off cheesy pick up lines decked out in a tracksuit in Knocked Up felt long overdue and is already sorely missed.
Eric's inability to let go of Lizzie and acknowledge the failing romance staring him in the face seems to be Segel's trademark. Aside from this being the case in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Segel's Nick suffered the same pathetic indignity in Freaks and Geeks as well. Only as Marshall (the underrated How I Met Your Mother) the serial monogamist, does Segel change up his schtick and it's a subtle: Marshall is who Eric or Nick would be if they were a bit smarter and luckier in love. It should be noted that Segel's turn as a would-be lothario, spurting off cheesy pick up lines decked out in a tracksuit in Knocked Up felt long overdue and is already sorely missed.
If Segel is so damn good, why does Forgetting Sarah Marshall feel like such a disappointment? Is it because Nicholas Stoller is a mediocre director? Check. Is it the hackneyed physical comedy gags? Well in FSM we get pelvic thrusts (rinse, repeat), a poor attempt at surfing and naturally, our hero taking a tumble off a cliff. Thus, check. Or is it that Segel doesn't seem to know where his strengths lie. Or perhaps it is the one note characters surrounding Segel's Peter, who is at best, a two note character. Or perhaps it is because Segel doesn't have the chops to write a really funny or really stirring movie and we end up with something that is chemically sweet and heavy on cliche jokes (gays, accents, falling and overweight people).
I'll skip the first two observations and jump right to the crux of my problem with this film. Segel, who wrote the movie as a vehicle for his first leading movie role, can't carry a film. Or at the very least, his current on-screen persona can't handle a feature length motion picture. He is grating, whiny and annoying. Peter's best moments are not the moments when he is being "tender" (read: self absorbed) but when he is being neurotic and awkwardly crazy. When Peter arrives at the hotel and meets his love interest, played by the too-good-looking-to-not-make-a-fuss-over Rachel (Mila Kunis) only to discover he is trapped on the same island with his television star ex-girlfriend (and her new man), he attempts to joke his way out of this whopper of a coincidence. As Peter nervously blurts out he has come to Hawaii to kill Miss Marshall (only with kindness!), it is both clumsily hysterical and telling: although Peter is a docile guy, this situation is killing him. Rather then focus on fifteen minutes worth of Peter's weeping, it would have been wise to show how desperate this situation has made him, perhaps with some comedic situations along the way.
Jonah Hill plays a homoerotic waiter who serves as a reoccurring reminder that Mr. Apatow and his brethren are from the suburbs- and they don't plan on moving to the city any time soon. Mr. Hill spends the whole movie making variously awkward flirtations towards Sarah's new beau, the over-the-top rocker Aldous Snow (Russell Brand). Which is fine, except that the underlying theme seems to be that fat+ gay = funny. Not quite the formula I'd expect from the alumni of a television show that licensed "No Language in Our Lungs" but I guess I'll learn to deal.
Since the movie is only funny in short spurts, I am led to believe that I am supposed to be interested in the drama at hand. But I'm not. The audience is never privvy to what Peter and Sarah really had or what Peter really loved about Sarah. If this were a straight comedy I'd never be looking for these kinds of plot points but since it is obvious the audience is supposed to really feel for Peter, the couple's history is important. The only glimpses of their past are seen in short flashbacks that are cute but don't add up to much more than superficial visuals of two people smiling. Peter cries and wails and pouts and moans but never seems to give one specific reason that he misses the movie's namesake gal. The movie wisely (but briefly) gives Sarah's point of view (always a weak link for Apatow and his disciples) and shows why Peter was dumped in the first place. Sadly, this amounts to a single flashback of Peter wearing sweatpants. Has Mr. Segel never seen Annie Hall? An obvious reference point, but Allen's thrifty flashbacks said so much in such brief snippets that it would be wise for Mr. Segel to find inspiration beyond The 40 Year Old Virgin if he plans on writing another film anytime soon. And if the relationship between Sarah and Peter is flimsy, that would make the romance between Peter and Rachel flacid. The only thing he seems to like about her is that she likes him, clearly out of pity. And when Peter tells his brother-in-law Brian he met a "cute" girl at the desk, my suspense of disbelief alarm rang loudly: no matter what universe Mr. Segel lives in, Rachel is gorgeous and Peter's character deserves to be buried in the sand for not even batting an eye over her (undeserved) interest in him.
Finally, shame on Mr. Segel for keeping the Apatowian universe so TMZ-oriented. I grow more and more weary of modern comedies ability to be funny on it's own. That is, to not reference other movies or television shows. I cringe at the thought of having to sit through "Rock of Love" joke in 5 or 10 years.
The film ends with the "Peter Gets His Groove Back" montage and (spoiler alert!) the girl. Blah. I guess it would be too much for the film to perhaps let Peter end the movie alone, seeing as how he just got out of a 5 year relationship that caused him to have a nervous breakdown. But not in tinseltown! You are nobody until you meet somebody and we can all look forward to a sequel in which Peter, jilted by the hotel receptionist flees to Europe and... well you know.
Sometimes I wonder if I am too hard on Apatow and his clan. This crew was spawned from Freaks and Geeks, known for it's honest portrayal of high school in the 80's (or any era). But how come all these movies feel more like American Pie? Sometimes I think it's because much like with Sarah Marshall this potentially talented group of people overlook what made Freaks and Geeks so good: the unflinching, unwavering honesty of the storytelling. What Mr. Apatow and co. seem to take away from the cult following of Freaks is America has an apparent obsession with the eternal adolensce of dim-witted stoners. It would be nice to see a successful, ambitious man who didn't need a woman to "fix him." The way these movies simplify femininity is the reason Judd probably couldn't score a hot babe until he could cast her in all his movies.
Most of all, doesn't anyone realize that Paul Feig was the real tastemaker of Freaks and Geeks?
Sometimes I wonder if I am too hard on Apatow and his clan. This crew was spawned from Freaks and Geeks, known for it's honest portrayal of high school in the 80's (or any era). But how come all these movies feel more like American Pie? Sometimes I think it's because much like with Sarah Marshall this potentially talented group of people overlook what made Freaks and Geeks so good: the unflinching, unwavering honesty of the storytelling. What Mr. Apatow and co. seem to take away from the cult following of Freaks is America has an apparent obsession with the eternal adolensce of dim-witted stoners. It would be nice to see a successful, ambitious man who didn't need a woman to "fix him." The way these movies simplify femininity is the reason Judd probably couldn't score a hot babe until he could cast her in all his movies.
Most of all, doesn't anyone realize that Paul Feig was the real tastemaker of Freaks and Geeks?
Friday, April 18, 2008
Podcast Review: Sound Opinions interviews Tim Fite (4/14/08)
Now for another weekly review of Sound Opinions, the infuriating, highly entertaining rock critic playpen featuring the love children of rock criticism, Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis. They open the show this week with an interview with Jill Sobule, who if you had a pulse in the 90's, you'd know sang that totally irritating song "I Kissed a Girl." Apparently, Jill's music career is not doing super well and now she is having her fans finance her next album . Kind of like virtual busking if you ask me. This is possibly one of my least favourite models that has emerged in the download era. First off, Sobule set her recording budget at $75,000, which seems a bit exorbitant unless she has cut and run from her previous girl with acoustic guitar leanings. Since you are charging your fans for the final product, one might imagine you'd use your financial restrictions to inspire something creative within the music itself. Instead, Sobule assures us she wants to "go all out" and get a string section, with her fans footing the bill. Blah. DeRo has the sense to a least point out that you can make a damn fine album on your computer for far less but Jill isn't having it. Look for "I Kissed a Girl (2008)" coming later this year.
Second, I find this method to be a little too much like begging and patently unfair. Performing and recording music is a privilege, not a right. Sobule sounds like a whiny kid who has been cut off from her parents. When I wanted to go to law school I didn't beg my friends to pony up the cash in exchange for free legal services later on (although maybe I should have). This is a novelty model that favours established artists: sure, I might pay Jeff Tweedy anything he wants to hear him hum the second verse of the Eagles' "Take It Easy" on his way to the drycleaners but would I pay for the Evangelicals to record? Perhap, except I wouldn't like them if I hadn't heard the album they recorded. Thus Bob Mould and Frank Black can use their classic indie rock status to help this model work but it still leaves most new talent behind.
This was followed by a lovely tribute to the recently deceased drummer, founder of Neu! and member of Kraftwerk, Klaus Dinger. They do a pretty good job giving some background on Neu! and I couldn't help but find myself smiling since I didn't have to hear about the Beatles this week.
Desert Island Jukebox: It's Greg Kot's turn to pick a tune this week and he chooses perenially rock critic fav (and excellent band) Pere Ubu . Unforunately, Kot loses me when he spends too much time trying to convince me how Pere Ubu "railed against the industry." As true as that might be, these guys spend an awful lot of time heralding these anti-industry types yet they can't seem to say no to writing for Rolling Stone, Spin, Blender, Entertainment Weekly, GQ, and Playboy. But they aren't into the "industry." Keep in mind: I'm not telling anyone how to make a living since I wouldn't mind having my harebrained opinions in print nationwide. But, with that said, after years of clearly working within the industry (and yes, Jim, we know about Hootie), perhaps the boys should rethink their outsider status.
Next week they will interview Ray Davies. Let the idol worship commence...
Second, I find this method to be a little too much like begging and patently unfair. Performing and recording music is a privilege, not a right. Sobule sounds like a whiny kid who has been cut off from her parents. When I wanted to go to law school I didn't beg my friends to pony up the cash in exchange for free legal services later on (although maybe I should have). This is a novelty model that favours established artists: sure, I might pay Jeff Tweedy anything he wants to hear him hum the second verse of the Eagles' "Take It Easy" on his way to the drycleaners but would I pay for the Evangelicals to record? Perhap, except I wouldn't like them if I hadn't heard the album they recorded. Thus Bob Mould and Frank Black can use their classic indie rock status to help this model work but it still leaves most new talent behind.
This was followed by a lovely tribute to the recently deceased drummer, founder of Neu! and member of Kraftwerk, Klaus Dinger. They do a pretty good job giving some background on Neu! and I couldn't help but find myself smiling since I didn't have to hear about the Beatles this week.
Tim Fite is another hip hopper folk indie rocker, much like Why?, who was reviewed on the Siblog a few weeks back. I spent the entire time wondering if Why? was unavailable and that was why they decided to invite Mr. Fite on down. Tim brought his bro down to play some tunes. His brother, whose name escapes me, actually spoke up to mention he will no longer be known by his god given moniker and is now referred to as Dr. Leisure. Note to Sound Opinions: I know you want to be kind of nice but you need to make fun of anyone who insists on being called Dr. Leisure. Perhaps for an extended period of time.
Our golden boys review the new Breeders album, "Mountain Battles" although they opt to play one of the two cover songs instead of say, one of the original songs people have waited 6 years to hear. The song is alright with the chugging bass and tinny guitar solo that the Breeders are known for. Many minutes are spent fawning over "Cannonball" which is fair, as I'd rather talk about that song than anything the Deals have done since. Maybe Kelley should stick to executive producing sub-par Pixies movies. I feel like DeRo saw the Pixies movie as well since he references the domesticated Deal sisters. He also name drops PopMatters which was cool, but come on, no love for the Siblog?
Desert Island Jukebox: It's Greg Kot's turn to pick a tune this week and he chooses perenially rock critic fav (and excellent band) Pere Ubu . Unforunately, Kot loses me when he spends too much time trying to convince me how Pere Ubu "railed against the industry." As true as that might be, these guys spend an awful lot of time heralding these anti-industry types yet they can't seem to say no to writing for Rolling Stone, Spin, Blender, Entertainment Weekly, GQ, and Playboy. But they aren't into the "industry." Keep in mind: I'm not telling anyone how to make a living since I wouldn't mind having my harebrained opinions in print nationwide. But, with that said, after years of clearly working within the industry (and yes, Jim, we know about Hootie), perhaps the boys should rethink their outsider status.
Next week they will interview Ray Davies. Let the idol worship commence...
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Concert Review: Man Man, Bowery Ballroom 4/11/08
Don't worry, be happy. Not the message you'd think you'd take away from a Man Man show but I couldn't help hum the feel good tune as I wearily trudged out the doors and onto Delancey Street. Thankfully, the message was delivered by Bobby McFerrin and not Man Man. While the band was setting up their playground (metaphoric playground, you never know with these guys) on the stage of the Bowery, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" was piped through the speakers. And then again. And around the third play through it was abundantly clear that the band had chosen to aurally waterboard the audience for their own sick pleasure. They laughed at the audience's reaction while I tried to keep conversation going to avoid a McFerrin fixation. It was pretty amusing to hear everyone cheer as the song would fade out and cheer louder when it played again. It seems they've been doing this every night.
But then, donned in white, Pow Pow, Honus Honus, Sergei Sogay, Critter Crat and Chang Wang scurried to their positions (Honus and Pow Pow face to face in front of the rest of the band) and started the incessant percussion of "Mister Jung Stuffed," the debut track from Rabbit Habits. This was an exceptionally energetic show: for a band that hit the stage at 11:30, it took them less than a minute to have the floor of the Bowery shakin' and things didn't really tone down significantly until set closer, "Gold Teeth." After opening with a trio of songs from their newly released album, they segued into the rollicking, scream-a-long intro to old school favourite, "Zebra" Both the band and the audience seemed invested in the new songs. I'm sure I'm not the only fan fan who saw the band play every single track from Six Demon Bag in the last few years. Still, when the band launched in "Banana Ghost" the kids seem to push a little harder to move around.
In interviews the band frequently points out that their live incarnation is a totally different beast from their records thus, it was interesting to see how the new tunes played out. "Big Trouble" with it's herky jerk horn line sounded beefy and full while "The Ballad of Butter Bean" wound up being a total barn burner with Honus hopping around the small portion of the stage that didn't contain a coo-ing, screeching member of the band. Album standout "Top Drawer" got the crowd moving but once again the Six Demon Bag numbers certainly took the energy up that extra notch: there were actually crowd surfers during "Black Mission Goggles."
They closed the set with Man in the Blue Turban highlight "Gold Teeth" which the crowd didn't seem familiar with and it sounded just as beautifully confusing as it does on record. When Honus returned to the stage for the encore he plopped down and belted out a spine-tingling version of "Doo Right" which provided the audience the chance to sing along (a mere two days after the "official release") which culminated in one huge incredible scream midway during the song. At that point, Man Man gave the audience exactly what they wanted: fan favourite/manifesto "Push the Eagle's Stomach" followed by "English Bwadd" and "Young Einstein on the Beach."
It is no secret that Man Man are far and away one of the best live bands in America. I've seen hundreds of shows in over a decade and I rarely feel as thrilled or as special as I do when watching Man Man. Besides making beautiful, dissonant noise and putting on a full on spectacle, they are truly one of the few unique bands coming out of the American underground. They are primal without being shallow, experimental without being exclusionary. Man Man is the best band in America right now so run down to the store (or hit up the torrents) and start forming your own Rabbit Habits.
But then, donned in white, Pow Pow, Honus Honus, Sergei Sogay, Critter Crat and Chang Wang scurried to their positions (Honus and Pow Pow face to face in front of the rest of the band) and started the incessant percussion of "Mister Jung Stuffed," the debut track from Rabbit Habits. This was an exceptionally energetic show: for a band that hit the stage at 11:30, it took them less than a minute to have the floor of the Bowery shakin' and things didn't really tone down significantly until set closer, "Gold Teeth." After opening with a trio of songs from their newly released album, they segued into the rollicking, scream-a-long intro to old school favourite, "Zebra" Both the band and the audience seemed invested in the new songs. I'm sure I'm not the only fan fan who saw the band play every single track from Six Demon Bag in the last few years. Still, when the band launched in "Banana Ghost" the kids seem to push a little harder to move around.
In interviews the band frequently points out that their live incarnation is a totally different beast from their records thus, it was interesting to see how the new tunes played out. "Big Trouble" with it's herky jerk horn line sounded beefy and full while "The Ballad of Butter Bean" wound up being a total barn burner with Honus hopping around the small portion of the stage that didn't contain a coo-ing, screeching member of the band. Album standout "Top Drawer" got the crowd moving but once again the Six Demon Bag numbers certainly took the energy up that extra notch: there were actually crowd surfers during "Black Mission Goggles."
They closed the set with Man in the Blue Turban highlight "Gold Teeth" which the crowd didn't seem familiar with and it sounded just as beautifully confusing as it does on record. When Honus returned to the stage for the encore he plopped down and belted out a spine-tingling version of "Doo Right" which provided the audience the chance to sing along (a mere two days after the "official release") which culminated in one huge incredible scream midway during the song. At that point, Man Man gave the audience exactly what they wanted: fan favourite/manifesto "Push the Eagle's Stomach" followed by "English Bwadd" and "Young Einstein on the Beach."
It is no secret that Man Man are far and away one of the best live bands in America. I've seen hundreds of shows in over a decade and I rarely feel as thrilled or as special as I do when watching Man Man. Besides making beautiful, dissonant noise and putting on a full on spectacle, they are truly one of the few unique bands coming out of the American underground. They are primal without being shallow, experimental without being exclusionary. Man Man is the best band in America right now so run down to the store (or hit up the torrents) and start forming your own Rabbit Habits.
Still here, man. Still here.
Hey kids! Did you know you can watch every single sketch of every single episode of the brilliant Human Giant television show right here?
Speaking of television, there is a pretty good little piece on sitcom snobbery, comparing NBC's Thursday night line up with CBS's Monday night line up. I point this out because television's most underrated television show, How I Met Your Mother is a CBS Monday night show. HIMYM delivers far more often than the Office lately (sorry kids, it's true) and is just as detail oriented as 30 Rock or Arrested Development. I actually give Neil Patrick Harris (who plays Barney on HIMYM) props for coming out and defending the content of his show and feeling cheapened using Britney Spears to drum up ratings. Too bad his publicist made him take it back.
Speaking of television, there is a pretty good little piece on sitcom snobbery, comparing NBC's Thursday night line up with CBS's Monday night line up. I point this out because television's most underrated television show, How I Met Your Mother is a CBS Monday night show. HIMYM delivers far more often than the Office lately (sorry kids, it's true) and is just as detail oriented as 30 Rock or Arrested Development. I actually give Neil Patrick Harris (who plays Barney on HIMYM) props for coming out and defending the content of his show and feeling cheapened using Britney Spears to drum up ratings. Too bad his publicist made him take it back.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Nervous Breakdown Review: Joanie Cunningham (or the actress that played her)
I don't repost the pathetic celebrity gossip I come across during my long days but this video has to be evidence that VH1 needs to be shut down or have it's offices padded with rubber. Not only is this not suitable for work, I'd advise you not to watch it if you ever want to enjoy sexual intercourse again.
Film Review: "Metropolitan" (dir. Whit Stillman) 1990
Before Noah Baumbach released his self indulgent, mentally masturbatory masterpiece Kicking and Screaming in 1995, Whit Stillman was self producing low budget movies about richer, classier, and better read young people. Metropolitan, is a phenomenal example of what a clear vision, excellent script and pleasantly unknown actors can add to a very basic premise.
The film's main character and entry point into the lives of the Upper East Side elite is Tom Townsend, a Fourier obsessed Princetonian who begrudgingly hangs out with a bunch of bourgie high school students during the Cotillion season. Thus, this show is about the kids on Gossip Girl who are spending their old money on vintage copies of classical philosophical novels and discussing it in the parlor instead of breaking into the school's pool to skinny dip.
Metropolitan has the same talky, self indulgent style of Baumbach and to a lesser extent, Wes Anderson. This style of film is also a precursor to the mumblecore films released in the last few years, although mostly in style and not in substance. Your enjoyment of this movie depends directly on your ability to watch young people talk about nothing but themselves, their impending futures and Jane Austen.
What most people remember about Metropolitan is Taylor Nichol's speech on the urban haute bourgeoisie, which is a rebranding of the more traditional term, WASP. It's clever but the real draw here is the ego maniacal charmer Chris Eigeman, also featured in Kicking and Screaming (oh and Maid in Manhattan). His character Nick Smith monopolizes the screen and the thick silence of the parlors and his flawed existence is a perfect foil for Tom Townsend's fear of the wealthy and Charlie Black's blind love of all things bourgie. It's easy to resent Charlie Black's adherence to his old money values but Taylor Nichol's performance makes Charlie as endearing as he can be. His adherence seems to come not only from fear of the unknown (or worse, being poor) but from a love of tradition.
The movie doesn't have the thickest of plots since it mostly takes place in the parlors and revolves around the incestuous romantic entanglements of four debutants and their suitors. The final third seems a bit ridiculous, especially tonally, where Stillman can't quite figure out where to place the characters at the end. Additionally, the female characters, especially Audrey, seem a bit one dimensional. Still, Metropolitan is a thrilling debut from Mr. Stillman and I look forward to seeing the next two films in his comedy of manners trilogy, Barcelona and The Last Days of Disco.
Additional reading on Metropolitan.
Oh and if you look at Taylor Nichol's IMDB page it says he played three different characters on Murder, She Wrote, two in the same season. If anyone has information on this, please alert the Siblog immediately.
The film's main character and entry point into the lives of the Upper East Side elite is Tom Townsend, a Fourier obsessed Princetonian who begrudgingly hangs out with a bunch of bourgie high school students during the Cotillion season. Thus, this show is about the kids on Gossip Girl who are spending their old money on vintage copies of classical philosophical novels and discussing it in the parlor instead of breaking into the school's pool to skinny dip.
Metropolitan has the same talky, self indulgent style of Baumbach and to a lesser extent, Wes Anderson. This style of film is also a precursor to the mumblecore films released in the last few years, although mostly in style and not in substance. Your enjoyment of this movie depends directly on your ability to watch young people talk about nothing but themselves, their impending futures and Jane Austen.
What most people remember about Metropolitan is Taylor Nichol's speech on the urban haute bourgeoisie, which is a rebranding of the more traditional term, WASP. It's clever but the real draw here is the ego maniacal charmer Chris Eigeman, also featured in Kicking and Screaming (oh and Maid in Manhattan). His character Nick Smith monopolizes the screen and the thick silence of the parlors and his flawed existence is a perfect foil for Tom Townsend's fear of the wealthy and Charlie Black's blind love of all things bourgie. It's easy to resent Charlie Black's adherence to his old money values but Taylor Nichol's performance makes Charlie as endearing as he can be. His adherence seems to come not only from fear of the unknown (or worse, being poor) but from a love of tradition.
The movie doesn't have the thickest of plots since it mostly takes place in the parlors and revolves around the incestuous romantic entanglements of four debutants and their suitors. The final third seems a bit ridiculous, especially tonally, where Stillman can't quite figure out where to place the characters at the end. Additionally, the female characters, especially Audrey, seem a bit one dimensional. Still, Metropolitan is a thrilling debut from Mr. Stillman and I look forward to seeing the next two films in his comedy of manners trilogy, Barcelona and The Last Days of Disco.
Additional reading on Metropolitan.
Oh and if you look at Taylor Nichol's IMDB page it says he played three different characters on Murder, She Wrote, two in the same season. If anyone has information on this, please alert the Siblog immediately.
I wanna spend my time around the record store right by your house.
Rejoice over the celebration of the physical music product and the diehards geeks who keep the remaining independent record stores in business. The New York Times has a lovely profile on one of my all time favourite record stores, the Princeton Record Exchange. It's a pretty good article, albeit surface level and it plays down the snarkyness of the staff. The store is too busy for those kids to be cultivating any criticism. Props for the Lehigh Valley Punk Scene mention!
Go to NJ and buy records!
Go to NJ and buy records!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Marketing Review: The Made/Maid Distinction
I had the pleasure of seeing this billboard on the side of a bus on the way to work this morning. Now, at first I was just taken aback by McDreamy's smooth transition back into movies. Dude is the Roy McEvoy of 80's heartthrobs. Then I realized the pun in the title of this (soon to be) critically panned romantic comedy is the inverse of another critically panned romantic comedy. To be fair, Maid In Manhattan's by the numbers trailer made me laugh plenty but J.Lo laughed last: it grossed $174 million worldwide.
So now, I propose a feud. A washed up singer turned actress versus a washed up movie star turned TV star trying to break back into movies. It's going to be a good one. I'll make sure to keep the Siblog readers updated with statistics. J.Lo nailed down a cool $18 million during MIM's opening weekend. Come May 2, we will see who comes out on top. In bizarre writing credit news: John Hughes wrote Maid in Manhattan under a pseudonym. Same goes for Drill Bit Taylor. Furthermore, in John Hughes unfortunate career move news: the last movie he directed was Jim Belushi's magnum opus Curly Sue.
Film Review: "loudQUIETloud: A documentary on the Pixies" (2006)
Bored at work and revelling in Pitchfork.tv, I couldn't help but check out the Pixies documentary and thus decided to live blog it.
Closing my eyelids!:
There is something so bizarre about seeing Kim Deal ask someone for an i-pod so she can re-learn "Hey!" Since the demise of the Pixies, the drummer became a magician. Magicians, apparently, make no money. He is very very happy that the Pixies reunited. Joey Santiago, the second guitarist, likes to play embarrassingly unattended instores... as a second guitarist for an unknown musician. He uses his wife's pregnancy as leverage to make the Pixies reunion happen. The passion! Watching the Deals (Kelley is along for the ride and some kind of associate producer of the movie) is like watching the most boring ever version of Keeping up with the Kardasians. Frank Black's pathetic-but-existent solo career, when viewed in tandem with the other member's post Pixies outfits, proves it only pays to be the singer/songwriter, no matter how hefty.
Mrs. Deal thinks Kim Deal needs something to do and hopes the Pixies will keep her off the streets (or at least, get out of bed). I think it's unfair that Kim Deal gets to drink non-alcoholic beer in front of the band but the band doesn't get to drink alcoholic beer in front of her. Does that make sense?They jump from first rehearsal to the first show in roughly ten minutes. This gives me the impression that practice didn't go smoothly. They also don't value their fans very much: when Kim is nervous before their first comeback show Frank assures her the audience won't care, it's "just a warm up show." Their first song back, "U-Mass" sounds good although from the look on Joey Santiago's face he misses the coffee shop in the back of the Virgin Mega Store.
Kim Deal seems genuinely surprised at the reception they receive which is nice, except that they obviously did this with money in mind (see above). When Frank Black talks about the shows selling out quickly and how quick sell outs quelled his nervousness you could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.
When Kelley Deal hits the streets outside a Pixie concert did they edit out everyone thinking it was Kim Deal or did no one actually know what she looks like? They are not kidding when they say they barely speak to each other either: their backstage hang outs look about as fun as sitting on a bike without a seat. Oh and there is Frank Black topless again. This time topless and spouting motivational sayings to himself.
The drummer's dad gets sick and dies and this leads to the movie's tension. It's presented with the subtlety of a football to the groin. The inexplicable montage of geysers gushing over "In Heaven" is unforgivable. The drummer pisses everyone off by being upset about his father. I don't blame the band, his emotional problems manifest in weird ways. For example, like playing the drums for a good minute after the rest of the band has put down their instruments in front of a bored sell out crowd.
Joey, the band's second guitarist wins the prize for sad sack band member. Watching him talk to his kids and wife on his MacBook makes me happy to be sitting in a basement, making fun of guitarists for seminal rock bands.
The chapter labeled "post show intervention" is marginally more exciting than dying. Kim Deal tells the drummer, who is so attached to his headphones I'm shocked he didn't get an iPod sponsorship deal, that Valium is really addictive. Frank Black tells him he should see a therapist and not just for the drugs. Moments later, the screen flashes some text about the drummer not using drugs for the sake of the band. Is it wrong to wish he kept doing drugs so I didn't have to watch Frank Black and his family going to the aquarium? This documentary has me questioning my deterioting moral values for the sake of being entertained.
No matter how ridiculous Kim Deal sounds, I always like her. The opposite goes for the rest of the band. They hover over the topic of a new Pixies album and the bottom line is clearly that Frank Black doesn't wanna share his boring Adult Contemporary jams with the band. It also seems like no one wants to speak up and organize the band. Maybe the weirdest band relationship ever. When they play their final show a brief montage of the vintage Pixies came up and I wondered why there wasn't more of such footage.
Admittedly, as someone who doesn't love the Pixies, I was impressed by how bland and easy to listen to their songs are, which definitely speaks to their influence. I also wondered why none of the band talked about the band, which is by far the most interesting part of these people's lives. Do they still love these songs? Why can't they just speak to each other? How awkward does it sound when Frank tells Joey to "rock it" before the solo in "Monkey Gone to Heaven"?
This documentary answers only one of the above questions.
Website Launch Review: Pitchfork.tv (Launched April 7, 2008)
On April 7th, 2008 that dastardly indie rock machine, Pitchforkmedia, churned out yet another way for the bored indie rock masses to entertain themselves: an on-demand internet music video website. Aside from music videos, both old and new (The Afghan Whigs' first ever video!), the channel has lots of live sets in lots of interesting places. For example: Liars in a basement! Today they posted an exhibilirating set from Portland's punk rock superstars, the Thermals. Perhaps it is the fact the Thermals are direct descendents of every band I listened to from the years 1995 to 1999 or perhaps it is the fact that the Thermals have become the quinessential modern punk rock band that makes me love them so. Regardless, they wail through "Returning to the Fold" and play some oldies such as, "Overgrown! Overblown!" before closing with a typically bodacious version of "Pillar of Salt."
Bitter, ill informed music critic Sasha Frere-Jones took a nice slag at the Fork and Radiohead on his blog yesterday. Not to say that the powers that be at Pitchfork aren't infuriating but it is still a relatively grass roots operation. Getting the biggest (and arguably best) band in the world to play an exclusive version of an unreleased song is a pretty amazing accomplishment and thus, appreciated. Pitchfork will be hosting it's music festival this summer in Chicago for the fourth straight year while Frere-Jones continues to write boring pieces on Kate Nash for the New Yorker.
Bitter, ill informed music critic Sasha Frere-Jones took a nice slag at the Fork and Radiohead on his blog yesterday. Not to say that the powers that be at Pitchfork aren't infuriating but it is still a relatively grass roots operation. Getting the biggest (and arguably best) band in the world to play an exclusive version of an unreleased song is a pretty amazing accomplishment and thus, appreciated. Pitchfork will be hosting it's music festival this summer in Chicago for the fourth straight year while Frere-Jones continues to write boring pieces on Kate Nash for the New Yorker.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Wedding Announcement Review: The Shipman/Trahan wedding
Usually in most spy movies there is a really cheesy sub-plot that is generally mocked as being wildly unrealistic. But perhaps not?
Thanks to Yanni for the tip.
Thanks to Yanni for the tip.
Podcast Review: Sound Opinions interviews Steve Earle (3/31/08)
For the unaware: Sound Opinions is a really fun, occasionally informative, often frustrating (the good kind) podcast by two of the only remaining traditional media rock critics: well spoken everyman Greg Kot and the blubbering Lester Bangs aping Jim DeRogatis. Both write for Chicago publications, the Tribune and the Sun-Times respectively, and both wield that pre-blog David Fricke trad rock critical spew fest (especially DeRo) but still wind up being affable and entertaining. The show, which is hosted by Chicago Public Radio, is extremely well edited and I always look forward to my Monday morning dose of rock talk radio (since it usually posts on Sunday night).
This review is a bit late but I still wanted to post it.
On this week's show, they review the new Gnarls Barkley and Raconteurs albums and interview Steve Earle and his special lady friend Allison Moorer.
They open the show with their four millionenth Beatles reference this year since apparently the four millionenth "5th Beatle" died recently. For someone who took Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band and 60's babyboomers to task in his own book, DeRo does not shut his mouth about the Beatles. This extended segment of these two babbling about the Beatles Anthology comes just a few weeks after they mutually climaxed on air over Revolver. One of my biggest criticisms of these guys is that they don't seem to know who their audience is: when Greg Kot starts saying "The only two other people that could be considered 5th Beatles are..." I cringe because anyone who'd go through the trouble of downloading such a podcast would have learned this stuff over a joint and/or from their Dad's Beatles coffee table book.
The next segment is a review of the new Gnarls Barkley record, The Odd Couple. I've yet to hear the album, but I think St. Elsewhere was good albeit spotty. I never came down too hard on the Gnarls: they put out great singles and at the very least they push the boundaries of Top 40 music. What made me a little wary is the fact that St. Elsewhere only sold 1.3 million copies. "Crazy" was one of the most ubitiquous songs of the last few years, like "Living La Vida Loca" all over again. But apparently, this did not translate into album sales. This furthers the constantly audible rumblings of a "song based" future of the music industry and invalidates radio to some degree. "Crazy" was the number 7 song on the Billboard charts for 2006 and number 4 on the iTunes best-seller list. Alternatively, St. Elsewhere wasn't even close to the top 10 best selling albums. Just saying, is all.
During the review DeRo name drops "northern soul" and Greg Kot makes the plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face observation that Danger Mouse is taking classic grooves and updating them for the 21st Century. Oh and they give the album a pretty good review while not really embarassing themselves with their rockist knowledge of hip hop music.
They interview Steve Earle. He was on the Wire (he plays Bubbles' sponsor). I love the Wire. He sings the theme from the Wire which is a Tom Waits song. He sings it terribly. He sings a terrible song he wrote himself called "Satellite Radio" about the end of radio, which he says, is like what Springsteen is doing, referring to the Boss' terrible song, "Radio Nowhere." He seems nice enough and tours with his wife, Allison Moorer which is cute, I guess. She is way better looking than he is. He reminds me of Ryan Adams, who once named his then girlfriend Parker Posey as exe-cute-ive producer of Rock and Roll. Steve and Allison sing some pretty ok songs that range from cliche and maudlin to cliche and pretty. Greg Kot seems to think it's really funny that Steve Earle and Chuck D talk music.
They review the Raconteurs album and both rip into it, particularly DeRo. This is my favourite part of the show for the week, thus I have the least to say about it. They make sure to load on the praise to the White Stripes. Yuck.
The final segment of most shows is the "Desert Island Jukebox" which takes bad High Fidelity cliches to a whole other level. Guess what the concept is! Every week one of the guys picks a tune that he would load onto a jukebox that would be on a desert island. Mmmhmm. This week Kot picks "Where is My Mind?" by the Pixies. DeRo apparently is not much of a Pixies fan and it angers me a little inside to know I also don't like them very much either. Kot also commits another cringeworthy faux pas: apparently, to Mr. Kot(ter) seeing the Pixies at Coachella with the sunset behind them made him glad to be alive. This bums me out since Kot is age appropriate to have seen the Pixies in small clubs the first time and I get the impression he did not. Also a bummer that the sight of the money obsessed Black Francis' bloated face makes him pleased to be alive. I wish he just would have focused more on the subtext of his love of the Pixies: he wants to do Kim Deal.
More next week when the boys talk about music fidelity. I promise I will make the review sound better than the show.
This review is a bit late but I still wanted to post it.
On this week's show, they review the new Gnarls Barkley and Raconteurs albums and interview Steve Earle and his special lady friend Allison Moorer.
They open the show with their four millionenth Beatles reference this year since apparently the four millionenth "5th Beatle" died recently. For someone who took Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band and 60's babyboomers to task in his own book, DeRo does not shut his mouth about the Beatles. This extended segment of these two babbling about the Beatles Anthology comes just a few weeks after they mutually climaxed on air over Revolver. One of my biggest criticisms of these guys is that they don't seem to know who their audience is: when Greg Kot starts saying "The only two other people that could be considered 5th Beatles are..." I cringe because anyone who'd go through the trouble of downloading such a podcast would have learned this stuff over a joint and/or from their Dad's Beatles coffee table book.
The next segment is a review of the new Gnarls Barkley record, The Odd Couple. I've yet to hear the album, but I think St. Elsewhere was good albeit spotty. I never came down too hard on the Gnarls: they put out great singles and at the very least they push the boundaries of Top 40 music. What made me a little wary is the fact that St. Elsewhere only sold 1.3 million copies. "Crazy" was one of the most ubitiquous songs of the last few years, like "Living La Vida Loca" all over again. But apparently, this did not translate into album sales. This furthers the constantly audible rumblings of a "song based" future of the music industry and invalidates radio to some degree. "Crazy" was the number 7 song on the Billboard charts for 2006 and number 4 on the iTunes best-seller list. Alternatively, St. Elsewhere wasn't even close to the top 10 best selling albums. Just saying, is all.
During the review DeRo name drops "northern soul" and Greg Kot makes the plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face observation that Danger Mouse is taking classic grooves and updating them for the 21st Century. Oh and they give the album a pretty good review while not really embarassing themselves with their rockist knowledge of hip hop music.
They interview Steve Earle. He was on the Wire (he plays Bubbles' sponsor). I love the Wire. He sings the theme from the Wire which is a Tom Waits song. He sings it terribly. He sings a terrible song he wrote himself called "Satellite Radio" about the end of radio, which he says, is like what Springsteen is doing, referring to the Boss' terrible song, "Radio Nowhere." He seems nice enough and tours with his wife, Allison Moorer which is cute, I guess. She is way better looking than he is. He reminds me of Ryan Adams, who once named his then girlfriend Parker Posey as exe-cute-ive producer of Rock and Roll. Steve and Allison sing some pretty ok songs that range from cliche and maudlin to cliche and pretty. Greg Kot seems to think it's really funny that Steve Earle and Chuck D talk music.
They review the Raconteurs album and both rip into it, particularly DeRo. This is my favourite part of the show for the week, thus I have the least to say about it. They make sure to load on the praise to the White Stripes. Yuck.
The final segment of most shows is the "Desert Island Jukebox" which takes bad High Fidelity cliches to a whole other level. Guess what the concept is! Every week one of the guys picks a tune that he would load onto a jukebox that would be on a desert island. Mmmhmm. This week Kot picks "Where is My Mind?" by the Pixies. DeRo apparently is not much of a Pixies fan and it angers me a little inside to know I also don't like them very much either. Kot also commits another cringeworthy faux pas: apparently, to Mr. Kot(ter) seeing the Pixies at Coachella with the sunset behind them made him glad to be alive. This bums me out since Kot is age appropriate to have seen the Pixies in small clubs the first time and I get the impression he did not. Also a bummer that the sight of the money obsessed Black Francis' bloated face makes him pleased to be alive. I wish he just would have focused more on the subtext of his love of the Pixies: he wants to do Kim Deal.
More next week when the boys talk about music fidelity. I promise I will make the review sound better than the show.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Yes, the New Yorker.
Richard Brody has a great audio companion piece to his New Yorker article on the 50th anniversary of French New Wave online right now. The 15 minute piece focuses on Godard and Truffaut's famous friendship and how it affected the New Wave movement. It also provides some very interesting facts about Breathless which was adored by the Thom Siblog and reviewed here.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Feud Review: Kim Deal vs. Stephen Malkmus
What with Clipse trying to start beef with Lil' Weezy and the 50 Cent/Kanye feud fizzled out, the 90's indie rock scene needs more petty arguments through second rate media outfits!
What is that you say? Hottie bassist legend Kim Deal (Pixies/Breeders) has lashed out against hottie guitarist legend Stephen Malkmus (Pavement, Silver Jews, Jicks) in an interview with Time Out New York?
According to K. Deal, "Malkmus is being a bit of a bitch in interviews recently," citing an interview Stephen did with Spin where he remarked that "Cut Your Hair" could have been one of the big 90's songs but people preferred "Cannonball." Ohhhhhh diss. I love a good Malk pull quote but this sounds like a misunderstanding. You see, the Thom Siblog has located the interview from Spin, which you can read here. It really sounds more like Stephen is relaying simple facts: The Offspring's "Come Out and Play" and "Cannonball" were more popular songs. I'm pretty sure a Dexter Holland/Stephen Malkmus feud would be far more humorous.
The best part of the TONY interview is that Kim Deal goes on to actually trash talk Malk-moose by saying that "Cannonball" is a better song than "Cut Your Hair." Low blow, but pretty dead on. Sorry to say you both lose.
What is that you say? Hottie bassist legend Kim Deal (Pixies/Breeders) has lashed out against hottie guitarist legend Stephen Malkmus (Pavement, Silver Jews, Jicks) in an interview with Time Out New York?
According to K. Deal, "Malkmus is being a bit of a bitch in interviews recently," citing an interview Stephen did with Spin where he remarked that "Cut Your Hair" could have been one of the big 90's songs but people preferred "Cannonball." Ohhhhhh diss. I love a good Malk pull quote but this sounds like a misunderstanding. You see, the Thom Siblog has located the interview from Spin, which you can read here. It really sounds more like Stephen is relaying simple facts: The Offspring's "Come Out and Play" and "Cannonball" were more popular songs. I'm pretty sure a Dexter Holland/Stephen Malkmus feud would be far more humorous.
The best part of the TONY interview is that Kim Deal goes on to actually trash talk Malk-moose by saying that "Cannonball" is a better song than "Cut Your Hair." Low blow, but pretty dead on. Sorry to say you both lose.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Film Review: "Breathless" (dir. Jean Luc Godard) 1960
For whatever reason, the phrase "French New Wave Cinema" conjures a certain level of disdain, especially from the casual movie goer. Which is unfortunate: for all their perceived pretentiousness, many of the French New Wave classics, especially The 400 Blows and Breathless have remarkably universal stories and themes. Furthermore, since most of these movies are almost fifty years old, some of the camera techniques and imagery are so ingrained in our movie going subconscious that they no longer seem as radical as they might have been at the time.
While some of the stylistic aspects have been dulled by time, the excitement that pulses through these films has not been. I attribute this zeal directly to these auteur's unabashed love of film, worn proudly on the (video) sleeve. Godard and Truffaut love film, especially American cinema (see: the Bogart references in Breathless, Truffaut's idolization of Hitchcock) and there is a certain amount of Hollywood romance in Michel and Patricia's dialogue that gives the film a classic feel.
I won't rehash the plot of Breathless. It will be enough to say that it is about a charmingly devious man named Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo) , a two-bit mobster (and a bad one, at that). He experiences an underwhelming amount of camaraderie and spends a great deal of the film obsessing over/stalking/lying to/seducing/pestering an American girl named Patricia (Jean Seberg) while on the run from the law in Paris, France.
What makes Breathless so engaging is the nervous, twitchy (handheld) camera work, a polarizing hallmark of early Godard films. In Breathless, this technique works to highlight the tension on screen, since the actors barely register any distinguishable emotions. Although Patricia is unaware of the rising action and thus her calm is expected, Michel, while squirrelly, never looks very stressed. In fact, he looks downright resigned, especially in his doomed final scenes.
The other highlight of Breathless is the lengthy apartment scene that abruptly pauses Michel's gangster story line to meander through Michel and Patricia's relationship. I found the pacing of film to be similar to Godard's most commercial film, Contempt, in which Godard sets up his story of art vs. commerce and decaying love, only to insert a 25 minute real time argument between the lovers before advancing the plot along again. While the scene in Contempt highlights the lovers failing communication, the apartment scene in Breathless serves to highlight that these two lovers never really communicated to begin with. Both scenes are marred with frustration and restlessness: the characters seem to move around endlessly, as if they are trying to run away but realize that there is no escape, at least yet.
And then there is the superficial cigarette smoking cool of Belmondo's Michel. His audacity seems infinite and he exudes a French indifference that has become a hallmark all it's own. Note: Belmondo is actually Sicilian! Apparently, Godard let Belmondo write a lot of his own dialogue (which, according to Belmondo, was usually written minutes before they were getting ready to shoot) and use phrases that felt the most comfortable to him. Belmondo manages to make his anti-hero both completely detestable and totally endearing. He is careful to balance Michel's willingness to selfishly deceive with an acute affability so that the tragic ending is focused more on one final miscommunication and not Michel's demise.
Interestingly enough, that final miscommunication is oft-disputed and worth reading about after you've seen the film.
A perfect introduction to 60's foreign film.
Further reading: a less favorale criticism of Breathless.
While some of the stylistic aspects have been dulled by time, the excitement that pulses through these films has not been. I attribute this zeal directly to these auteur's unabashed love of film, worn proudly on the (video) sleeve. Godard and Truffaut love film, especially American cinema (see: the Bogart references in Breathless, Truffaut's idolization of Hitchcock) and there is a certain amount of Hollywood romance in Michel and Patricia's dialogue that gives the film a classic feel.
I won't rehash the plot of Breathless. It will be enough to say that it is about a charmingly devious man named Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo) , a two-bit mobster (and a bad one, at that). He experiences an underwhelming amount of camaraderie and spends a great deal of the film obsessing over/stalking/lying to/seducing/pestering an American girl named Patricia (Jean Seberg) while on the run from the law in Paris, France.
What makes Breathless so engaging is the nervous, twitchy (handheld) camera work, a polarizing hallmark of early Godard films. In Breathless, this technique works to highlight the tension on screen, since the actors barely register any distinguishable emotions. Although Patricia is unaware of the rising action and thus her calm is expected, Michel, while squirrelly, never looks very stressed. In fact, he looks downright resigned, especially in his doomed final scenes.
The other highlight of Breathless is the lengthy apartment scene that abruptly pauses Michel's gangster story line to meander through Michel and Patricia's relationship. I found the pacing of film to be similar to Godard's most commercial film, Contempt, in which Godard sets up his story of art vs. commerce and decaying love, only to insert a 25 minute real time argument between the lovers before advancing the plot along again. While the scene in Contempt highlights the lovers failing communication, the apartment scene in Breathless serves to highlight that these two lovers never really communicated to begin with. Both scenes are marred with frustration and restlessness: the characters seem to move around endlessly, as if they are trying to run away but realize that there is no escape, at least yet.
And then there is the superficial cigarette smoking cool of Belmondo's Michel. His audacity seems infinite and he exudes a French indifference that has become a hallmark all it's own. Note: Belmondo is actually Sicilian! Apparently, Godard let Belmondo write a lot of his own dialogue (which, according to Belmondo, was usually written minutes before they were getting ready to shoot) and use phrases that felt the most comfortable to him. Belmondo manages to make his anti-hero both completely detestable and totally endearing. He is careful to balance Michel's willingness to selfishly deceive with an acute affability so that the tragic ending is focused more on one final miscommunication and not Michel's demise.
Interestingly enough, that final miscommunication is oft-disputed and worth reading about after you've seen the film.
A perfect introduction to 60's foreign film.
Further reading: a less favorale criticism of Breathless.
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