Plotbox

RIP Phillip Guilbeau

2011-12-22T08:40:00.000-08:00

It’s interesting as you get towards middle age and friends start to die. Recently I’ve had three friends pass away. All were involved in the art scene in a variety of ways. They all were instrumental in shaping people’s lives, but they were also artists whose careers never achieved household name recognition. It makes me sad thinking about the number of artists toiling away for years whose work never reached a large enough audience.

I just wanted to shed some light on one of those. I first met Phillip Guilbeau shortly after moving to SF in 1987. I have no idea where I first saw one of his films. At Club Kommotion? The Firehouse? The Artists’ Television Access? I don’t remember where it was, but I certainly remember what it was. The Psychosis of Tony Lambert was a bizarre, no-budget, super 8 blast of anger and aggression. The legendary Gary Floyd (of the Dicks and Sister Double Happiness) played both quack psychiatrist and patient Tony Lambert, driven to psychosis by society’s lack of understanding of his homosexuality. There was bad language, cross dressing, and wild gesticulations and facial contortions courtesy of Floyd. The film was nearly unwatchable at a technical level, but so full of life, energy and attitude that I was hooked and couldn’t wait to watch the film over and over. And it turned out Phillip had a trilogy of Lambert films under his belt. When I finally met Phillip, I found him to be one of the sweetest, quietest, kindest people I’d ever met. And his gentle Texas lilt was always so calming.

I immediately identified Phillip as a kindred spirit. A nice, quiet kid making insane films full of punk rock energy. We did lots of shows together. I put out one of the Lambert films on my first video compilation and screened his films countless times throughout the 80s and 90s.

As life does, we drifted apart. The number of times I talked to Phillip in the last ten years is miniscule. At some point, Phillip moved to Michigan to go to grad school at U of M (my alma mater). He reached out to me several weeks back, asking me to give him a call. We never spoke. I left a message. Phillip called back and left a message on my phone. The message was riddled with dropouts and bad reception and I heard almost nothing. I called back and left a message. And that’s it. Cancer. He passed away at his home in Texas with his family this week.

Not sure when the last time it was that he made a film. Not sure how many people will remember him as a filmmaker. His name likely won’t be included in film history books, but I know his work had impact. It certainly had an impact on me.

Rest In Peace - Phillip Guilbeau.

New 8tracks Mix

2011-09-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

RIP GEORGE KUCHAR

2011-09-09T08:41:00.000-07:00

I can’t begin to tell you how saddened I was to hear about the passing of underground film legend George Kuchar. George was a huge inspiration to me. I loved his films and routinely showed them to all my classes. Full of humor, joy and irreverence. And George was a great guy too. I loved seeing his gangling frame amble down Valencia Street. He always had kind words for me and always asked about my wife. Either a classy or lecherous move. But either way, endearing. The remembrances pouring out in the blogsphere and on facebook have been really heartening and touching. I was honored to be asked by fandor.com to write an obit. Here’s a link to that.

Who Needs The Internet? The Revenge of Print!!!!

2011-07-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

“Who needs the internet?” I ask. I recently have been included in 4 different print projects, which, I must admit, sends a delightful retro chill down my spine. I’ve had articles published in two fantastic zines—8 Track Mind and The Molten Rectangle, and have had my work dissected (or vivisected) in two new fantastic tomes, Destroy All Movies and Radical Light. Here’s the skinny.

8 Track Mind, hopefully won’t need an introduction to most, but since it’s been 10 years or so since it’s last issue, all bets are off. 8 Track Mind was/is a fantastic zine, put together by media archeologist and all around good guy Russ Forster. 8 Track Mind has been the foremost publication willing to dig deep into the 8 Track subculture. For purveyors of discarded and forgotten technology, the zine featured some of the finest reportage geared toward 8 Track collectors and cultural connoisseurs of media and concepts abandoned to the dust heap of history. As part of the Revenge of Print Challenge issued forth from Baltimore’s Atomic Books and Chicago’s Quimby’s Books, Russ is back with a print-only issue that abandons the 8 Track theme and focuses on the pros vs. cons of the blogs vs. zine universe that we live in today. Articles from Joe Carducci, Kim Cooper, V. Vale, Lance Laurie and other luminaries, including myself, grace the pages. Hop down to Tower Records or your local zine shoppe and pick one up. If that doesn't work, send Russ $4 via paypal to russelforster@hotmail.com.

The Molten Rectangle is a film lover’s mag that is the brainchild of Gene Booth. The latest issue (number 3) features heaps of good think pieces about film and film history. Pieces on The African Queen, Burn, Pleasantville, and Million Dollar Baby fill the mag. But the standout is the oral history of Chicago’s now abandoned Parkway Theater. As an awesome bonus, The Molten Rectangle comes with a bonus DVD. How’s that for old school! The 3 film DVD contains a film by yours truly (Dumbass From Dundas), Jet Evelth’s Our Last Session (a Maria Bamford-ish trip to the shrink piece) and Booth’s own absurdist collage Skillz, wherein a trio of urban dwellers head to a video arcade only to have their dialogue stripped away and reconstituted for comic purposes. You can pick up a copy here.

Destroy All Movies: The Complete Guide To Punks On Film (edited by Zack Carlson & Bryan Connolly).
Have you been hankering for a movie encyclopedia about punk rock movies? Well, if so, here you have it. Destroy All Movies is the real deal. It’s monstrous, it’s beautifully laid out, and it’s expertly written. The book covers it all, from the obvious like the Decline movies and Suburbia to the No Wave Films to The Cinema of Transgression to the no budget, sub-underground shenanigans of folks like Dave Markey, Jon Moritsugu, and myself. I had no idea I was even in the book until I saw a copy at the MOMA. Like the narcissist that I am, I thumbed through the index, found my name and quickly flipped to page 179 for the review of I’m Not Fascinating. Brutal and funny. Fascinating gets dubbed as “The least likely punk feature ever shot,” and labeled as a “self-loathing vanity project”. Backhanded compliments and outright disdain for the film ensue, but I must say this is one of the best/funniest reviews of the movie ever, so I’m down. But in all seriousness the book is fantastic. It is equal parts reverential and snarky. Amidst the onslaught of reviews, the book intersperses interviews and with players like Markey, Alan Arkush (Rock and Roll High School) and Slava Tsukerman (Liquid Sky). As for the reviews, every movie that ever featured a punk in passing comes under the microscope. No shit, Hannah and Her Sisters is in this thing. Now that’s punk!

Radical Light: Alternative Film & Video in the San Francisco Bay Area, 1945-2000 (edited by Steve Anker, Kathy Geritz, Steve Seid).
Could there be two film books more different in tone than Destroy All Movies and Radical Light? I don’t think so, but I do know that I and am proud to be in both. I always contended that my films were a mixture of highbrow and lowbrow art. Being included in both of these books makes me feel, that perhaps, I’m not full of hot air on that account. I just picked up Radical Light at the library and am not that deep in yet, but I am blown away. Radical Light looks at the history of Bay Area experimental cinema from its roots in the 40s through the early part of this century. It’s a loving homage to the city, to its artists, and to the institutions that fostered the creativity within the Bay Area art scene. Interviews, essays and ephemera fill the pages. Reminisces and insights delivered by curators, art historians and the filmmakers themselves give the book academic and cultural heft. The book also connects the dots between the various art and cultural movements at play in the Bay. San Francisco has always exhibited a distinctive brand of counterculture, subversion, and pranksterism. The Bay Area has always been a place where experimentalism has often trumped careerism. Radical Light does much to unearth how and why that spirit of adventure has come to be and developed such strong roots. Can’t wait to really dig in.

Super 8: The Movie, The Medium

2011-06-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

Just saw J.J. Abrams Super 8. I loved it. A group of kids making a super 8 movie witness a train wreck and then all sorts of paranormal hell breaks loose. The film is a loving tribute to early Spielberg classics, particularly Close Encounters and E.T. Having a 10 year old, we’ve actually watched those films a lot recently, so all the little references were hitting me just right. This is a great film and a great family film. Good filmmaking, good suspense, and sophisticated. Not enough of those types of films for the 10 year old set. So kudos for that.

Some random thoughts in the Super 8 afterglow.

* * * *
Two teens in the bathroom couldn’t figure out why the film was called super 8. I could only smile in bemusement.

* * * *

As the King of Super 8, I of course bring some baggage into a film called "super 8".

The irony of the weekend—I spent $120 just this week cleaning up audio hum from a botched super 8 transfer done 15 years ago by the very same lab that did the super 8 work on Super 8. It burns me up. That lab was always bragging about their work for Ollie Stone and Jimmy Jarmusch, yet whenever Danny Plotnick showed up they never seemed to properly know how to use their equipment. I’m still paying for their boobery to this day. Grrr….

* * * *

With my jaded eagle eye I was looking for some small gauge gaffes. One thought I had is that the Ektachrome we see throughout the film is the wrong Ektachrome for a late 70s period piece. I could be wrong about that. My super 8 knowledge is foggier than it used to be. But in the late 70s, wouldn’t the stock be Ektachrome G? Those certainly were not Ektachrome G boxes on display. Anyone have thoughts about that? I am actually curious.

* * * *
Lots of super 8 in the air this week. First Blank City extolling the no-budget, underground aesthetic of super 8, then Super 8 takes it to the big budget stratosphere with a look back at suburban teen home movie mayhem. All good stuff. Is there a new super 8 revival afoot?

* * * *

Let’s talk about Spielberg for a moment. As a kid I really liked him. Jaws, Close Encounters, ET, and Raiders are all films I saw and loved in the theaters when they came out. But I hit the college years sometime around the release of The Color Purple. I loathed that movie. Such a powerful, heavy, mind-blowing book, yet the film seemed so tame in comparison. Likewise I was shocked by how a book as harrowing as Empire of the Sun could be turned into a feel good Spielberg nostalgia trip. I felt Spielberg couldn’t handle anything with true grit. His world was all about 50s movie matinee escapism. At that point in my life I was diving deep into the world of underground and avant garde cinema. I was looking for some challenging Blank City type of material. I viewed Spielberg as a guy who was good at making greasy kid stuff. I saw that as a bad thing.

Now that I’m a parent and have a ten year old and have been revisiting some of those early works, the ones I liked in the first place, I absolutely have a renewed respect. Exciting fare for the whole family with much more emotional depth than I remember. Smart and well made. A world for kids and adults to share. Films like E.T. and Raiders are definitely aimed at the kid market, but are ones that adults can still be thrilled by. Films like Jaws and Close Encounters are aimed at adults, yet kids can still be fascinated and creeped out by them. That’s a nice balance. And I should say that Close Encounters is one of the all time greats. I’ve always thought that. So there. Steven Spielberg, I apologize for anything mean I’ve ever said about you. Hope you haven’t been waiting too long for that.

Source Code and Blank City

2011-06-09T11:40:00.000-07:00

Super fun double bill at the movies yesterday.

It’s summer. And as at teacher, that means some spare time and lazy summer afternoons. What better reason to start seeing a lot of movies. I started it with a foray downtown for Source Code, which is surprisingly still showing in one theater in town and followed it up with No Wave doc Blank City.

Source Code

I was a big fan of the Kubrick-esque solitude of Moon and was interested in Duncan Jones’ follow up. Got to say I dug it in a big way. Several years back I talked about a new generation of intelligent sci-fi films emerging out of Hollywood, and Source Code fits that bill. Jake Gyllenhaal plays a soldier on a mission, traveling to an alternate time-line to change future events. I will say there are some questionable moments from a logic perspective, but Jones does a great job constructing a foreboding universe. For all the apocalyptic trappings of his mission, the film is really about Gyllenhaal’s isolation and his personal journey of trying to find trustworthy characters in a landscape he has little control over. As with Moon, Jones wears his influences on his sleeve. Hitchcockian suspense, Kubrickian solitude, Johnny Got His Gun creepiness, with a little Run Lola Run thrown into the mix. But, as with Moon he makes it feel fresh and exciting and brings enough of his own ideas into the mix to make it all hum.

Blank City

Absolutely loved Blank City, Celine Danhier’s documentary on NYC No Wave filmmaking and the Cinema of Transgression. Set against the backdrop of a dangerous, decaying, and bankrupt NYC, No Wave filmmakers like Amos Poe, Eric Mitchell, Scott and Beth B, Charlie Ahearn, Jim Jarmusch, Steve Buscemi, and others set about making films that owe equal debt to punk rock nihilism, French New Wave filmmaking, Warhol/Morrissey Factory fair like Trash and Heat, as well as the lo-rent mania of John Waters. Mostly shot on super 8, the films are no budget, no frills, featuring no real actors, let loose on the streets of NYC and lower east side apartments. The films often have a loose hold on narrative at best. In reality many of these films are barely watchable in their entirety, but still have an impact as we see a group of artists trying to make sense of their universe on the margins. Blank City does a great job interviewing many of the folks at the center of the storm and does a fantastic job of culling great clips that capture the sense of urgency, desperation, and fearlessness that fuel these films. I’m reminded of a collection of super 8 films from Berlin released on a dvd called Berlin Super 80. The films themselves are not so interesting, but as a collection the films paint such a stark and distinctive picture of the time, the place, and the people. You’re left with a better impression of that era than any narrative film looking back at that era could provide. Blank City and the films of the No Wave operate in a similar sphere.

Also, by watching how this film scene grows and changes, the film does a great job looking at the development of NYC from it’s bankrupt state of menace in the mid-70s to the bustling, monied universe of the late Regan era. This is a nice bit of filmmaking, to tell the story of NYC through the story and the experience of these filmmakers.

The film also does a nice job looking at the crossover between the NYC art scenes at the time. Fine Art, CBGBs, Max’s, No Wave music, and the birth of hip hop all come into play as the players from these scenes cross over. I never realized that Wild Style, in fact, came out of the No Wave film scene. And finally, the No Wave films ultimately pave the way for the more abrasive Cinema of Transgression, populated by the likes of Nick Zedd, Richard Kern, and Lydia Lunch, a scene that I’m certainly more familiar with.

The film is going to want to make you seek out some of these films. It’s a mixed bag to be certain, and the shorter films tend to be more palatable. I certainly am a big fan of the Scott & Beth B shorts. Regardless, any fan of outsider movements, NYC, America in the 70s or punk ought to love this film.

Trailer for Blank City here.

More Mixes

2011-05-16T08:16:00.001-07:00

I swear I'll get back to writing real blog posts shortly. I've got some thoughts on tying together the jaded, cynical, politcal shenanigans of James Ellroy's American Tabloid/Cold Six Thousand/Blood's A Rover trilogy into the flooding on the Mississippi. But until then, enjoy these two recent mixes from 8 tracks.

The Exquisite DJ Project #1: Don't Choose The Wrong Song

2011-04-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

Hey Friends, welcome to The Exquisite DJ Project. This is the first installment in assembling a collaborative mix with a bunch of my favorite rock and roll aficionados. The mix is assembled exquisite corpse style—each DJ hears only the track that came before him.

This time through the crew features myself as well as:

Jim Granato, aka DJ Jim G. You can catch him DJ at The Cassanova and The Hemlock. Track him down and listen to his mixes on 8tracks at Jim_G.

Chris Xefos, aka DJ CRX. You can catch him DJ at the Lone Star. Next gig will be in May. It will be part of a VS. series. First installment, 80s vs. 90s. CRX has been archiving sets on 8tracks. Check those out here.

Russ Forster, aka The Rock’N’Roll Nurse, has a weekly internet radio show on FCC Free Radio called BACKSPINS (6-8PM PST).

Dan Buskirk. This guy has been making awesome mixes for years and years and djs on Princeton’s WPRB.

The mix is called Don’t Choose The Wrong Song. An appropriate enough title pulled from one of Russ’ selections. If you have a need to know who added what, the order was myself, Jim, Chris, Russ, and Dan.

Enjoy.

Impending DJ Paranoia

2011-03-30T14:00:00.000-07:00

The blog has taken a backseat lately as life has gotten too hectic. But I see a light at the end of the tunnel and some posts in the very near future. In the meantime, check out this mix I made on the 8tracks site. Click to ROCK. My buddy Ray is threatening to make me come DJ at The Edinburgh Castle and The Make Out Room. In that spirit, the mix is called Impending DJ Paranoia.

2010: Old Farts At Play

2011-01-09T16:19:00.000-08:00

When I was young and hip I always joked about being an old curmudgeon. I couldn’t wait to sit on my porch, eat some pickled eggs, and yell at the kids to keep off my lawn. Now that I’m older and increasingly bitter, I realize that, in fact, I want nothing to do with bitterness. I don’t mind being old, but I’ll pass on the bitter herbs. In that spirit, as I look back at the year from a cultural perspective, I think 2010 was a year to celebrate old codgers.

Let’s raise a toast to the folks aging gracefully.

Music

The number one record of the year for me was Roky Erickson’s True Love Cast Out All Evil. The Rok is someone who has spent his adult life not aging gracefully. Drugs, mental problems, and a spotty post-13^th Floor Elevators career were all encapsulated in the You’re Gonna Miss Me doc. That film came on the heels of a two cd retrospective release, I Have Always Been Here Before, which did a great job culling the nuggets from Erickson’s solo career. None of that prepared me for the beauty, the anguish, and the rock of the new record. On True Love, Erickson finally seems to have some perspective on the difficult road he has traveled. Instead of screaming about bloody hammers, Lucifer, and two-headed dogs, Erickson seems able to look back and comment on the difficult journey he has taken.

If you haven’t heard it, just listen to Please Judge, a particular moving piece where Erickson pleads with a Judge to not lock him away. Songs about finding salvation in family and friends abound and are set against the backdrop of a life derailed by incarceration and missteps. Given Erickson’s history, this is poignant and heavy stuff. True Love is a beautiful record, filled with beautiful songs. Hats off to the folks from Okervill River for helping Erickson channel these songs.

Best Live Shows

The number one highlight—seeing the GBV reunion at the Warfield. During the 90s I steered clear of all reunion shows. They seemed kind of sad to me. I didn’t want to be like a 50 year old Eagles’ fan shelling out big coin and reliving my youth. But now that I approach 50, I kind of get the appeal. It’s a pretty simple formula. Music that I love. Music that I know all the words to. All the while being surrounded by people like me. Hooray, I fit in. GBV ruled. My other favorite shows this year. Cheap Trick, Grinderman, and Sharon Jones. What do they all have in common? Old people.

Books

Best Book of the year. Patti Smith’s Just Kids. I wrote about it here. This book won a National Book Award and is deserving. Smith was always a women of the letters, loving poetry more than any other rock and roller you could name. It’s only fitting then that this book is such a triumph. Her best moment since Horses? Maybe not, but then again, maybe so. Regardless, the book is a fond look back and being in love with the world. The writing shows wisdom and insight that only someone who has lived a full life could obtain.

Movies

One of the Best Movies of the Year: Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work. I wrote about this one as well. Is there anyone older than Joan still kicking out the jams? I don’t think so. This doc does a great job questioning why someone of that age still needs to kick out the jams.

In short, 2010 was ruled by old farts at play, and that’s all right by me.

Other Records I Loved:

The Besnard Lakes Are The Roaring Night, Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings - I Learned The Hard Way, Grinderman II, Band Of Horses – Infinite Arms, Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan - Hawk

Other Records I Liked

Black Keys – Brothers, LCD Soundsystem – This is Happening, Dead Weather –Sea of Cowards

Other Movies I Really Liked

Exit Through The Gift Shop, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, The Social Network, Get Him To The Greek, The Town, Toy Story 3, DTour, It Came From Kuchar, Black Swan, Winnebago Man

The End of Kodachrome, Pt. II: Getting Lunar

2010-12-23T09:56:00.000-08:00

Another spectacular day in Bryce. We awoke to snow flurries, and as a bonus, we actually woke up in time for the complimentary breakfast. Yesterday we arrived late and got the dregs. Today, after loading up on eggs, French toast and oatmeal, we hit the road for a walk on The Navajo loop trail, which takes you to the Canyon floor for a walk through the hoodoos. Once again, there was majesty around every bend. The snow turned to rain, the walkways to red mud. Every step resulted in mounds of red mud sticking to your shoes. A light drizzle throughout, but no complaints. Too much beauty in all directions. Actually saw a handful of people on the trail. All wet, but all happy.

After leaving Bryce, we had planned on taking a quick trip to Kodachrome Basin State Park. Kodachrome is the guiding light of this trip, and wouldn’t you know it, just 30 minutes south of Bryce is a state park which honors the beloved film stock in its name. But the rains were coming down hard and we needed to haul butt to Monument Valley. Sad to say, we bailed on Kodachrome Basin.

Arrived at Monument Valley sometime after 8 pm. Our hotel was in the park. No street address, just GPS coordinates. Our room overlooked The Mittens and Merrick Butte. Unbelievable. An excited Mr. Granato was heard to exclaim, “Nature Boner!” We rolled into the hotel a mere two hours before the start of the lunar eclipse, which we could take in from our balcony. At the start of the evening, the buttes of Monument Valley glowed in the muted blue moonlight. By the end of the eclipse, total blackout. Quite a way to experience the heart of the West.

Jim G. is a time-lapse fanatic.We had two super 8s and one hd documenting the proceedings. I’ve attached the hd video, which I shot of the eclipse. The eclipse footage, as well as the footage of the valley floor that features The Mittens and Merrick Butte, were all taken from the balcony. That’s how unsane our view was.

Jim set the alarm for sunrise, which we could also view from our balcony, or in my case, from my bed. Granato manned the sunrise cameras in long johns and socks, taking the occasional nap for good measure. Talk about the life of leisure for a wildlife/nature photographer. Sheesh.

Next up was the 17 mile drive through the buttes. We made it as far as John Ford Point. Fitting for a bunch of film geeks. We probably only covered half the drive. What I’ve found interesting about this trip is that once you decide to spend a tremendous amount of time documenting the most beautiful vantages and uncovering hidden vistas, the distance you travel drops considerably. On every hike or drive we’ve taken, we’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on the trail, yet we’ve traded the amount of ground covered for a deeper look at the landscape. Sometimes that’s a trade worth taking.

Below is the attached view of the eclipse.Enjoy.

Lunar Eclipse, Monument Valley, Dec 20/21, 2010 from danny plotnick on Vimeo.

The End of Kodachrome, Pt. I: A Meandering Travelogue

2010-12-19T20:11:00.001-08:00

Absolutely spectacular day at Bryce Canyon. Rainy, windy, and slushy, but majestic overlooks none-the-less. Spent three hours in the canyon shooting film and video. Didn’t see one tourist. They were up top at the overlooks, but no one braved the trek down. Only my buddy Jim and I were so foolhardy. Every turn of the trail offered yet another breathtaking, one-of-a-kind view. The light drizzle had me worrying about my camera a little. I must have packed it up 10 times, promising myself no more shooting. Yet at every subsequent turn, I pulled it out again to get some more footage.

This is a funny trip. Only last week did Mr. Granato plant the seed to head to the Southwest to burn through some rolls of Kodachrome, which will no longer be processed as of two weeks from now. My desire to shoot Kodachrome, or super 8, is strangely nil. I guess I’ve shot enough of it over the years. Not really feeling the need for one last hurrah. But what a gloriously brilliant excuse for a trip. I’m excited about playing around with an hd camera. So Jim is shooting super 8, I’m rocking the hd, and we’re having a blast. Not sure what the end result will be. One film? Two films? Zero films? Doesn’t matter. We’re out here shooting stuff, documenting nature, experiencing the winter majesty.

Flew into Vegas. Stopped at the Neon Museum, the bone yard for discarded neon signage. Beautiful. They don’t let you shoot any film or video. Jim tried to sneak in the super 8. The unmistakable rattle of the super 8 motor alerted the hip young vixens that run the joint that mischief was afoot. I don’t think Jim shot more than 5 feet of film before being busted by the man...who was a woman.

Almost didn’t come on this trip. Money and winter were discouraging factors. I would never think of coming to a place like this in the winter. Alison and I once went to the Grand Canyon in November. All I remember is cold, cold, cold. Now that we’re here, I’m ecstatic we pulled the trigger. The snow is beautiful. It’s a whole other look to this area that I’ve never experienced and would likely never have experienced. I can't wait to come back with my son, whose mind will be blown.

The rest of the trip could be cold and miserable, but today’s hike makes the whole trip worth it regardless of what happens from here on out…unless of course we drive over a cliff edge. That would not be cool, nor is it out of the question.

On the way from Vegas to Bryce, we drove over route 14 through The Dixie National Forest. 10,000 feet, near whiteout conditions. Not from snow, but from fog or clouds. Much snow build-up on the road. A little slipping and sliding during the night time drive. But the rental Hyundai handled it sans chains. I have to imagine those were the worst of the conditions we’ll face…other than Jim’s snoring…which hasn’t been as bad as advertised.

Right now, I’m hanging in the lobby of our Best Western. Hundreds of rooms. Ten cars in the parking lot. It has some Shining potential.

Tomorrow, off to Kodachrome Basin State Park and Monument Valley. Lunar Eclipse on Tuesday night.

The Magic of Radio II: With The Radio On

2010-12-13T16:24:00.000-08:00

I never much listen to the radio anymore, but there is something inherently exciting about driving around in your car with the radio on. You may be alone, but if you’re listening to the radio, you’re having a shared experience. It’s exciting to think that while you’re singing along with the Temptations, at the top of your lungs, somebody else is doing the same. You’ll never meet them, you’ll never know them, but at that moment, you’re sharing the same mental space. I was reminded of that recently when I got a text from my wife to put on 103.7. Classic rock radio. Ah yeah. Burning For You by B.O.C. Awesome. She was listening, I was listening. We were both rocking. I was reminded of that again this past Saturday night when listening to my fave radio show, JJ On The Radio. KPOO. Saturday Night. Vintage soul sounds off of the original 45 rpm records. Scratches and all. JJ has been doing it for years. It’s always good. One of my favorite things about SF. Outta site.

It’s been awhile since I’ve seen it, but that feeling of the radio connecting us all lies at the heart of American Graffiti. Maybe it’s time to watch that again. I always did love Cindy Williams.

Guided By Voices-The Club Was Open & Elves Were Kicked. Live at the Warfield.

2010-10-06T14:36:00.000-07:00

Totally blown away by GBV last night at the Warfield. Unfrikkinbelievable. I could talk about what a kick ass live band they are. I could talk about Bob Pollard’s scissor kicks, mic twirls, and his various rock school moves. I could talk about the bad ass set list, almost exclusively culled from my 3 fave GBV records (Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, and Propeller). I could talk about the cavalcade of hits, starting with A Salty Salute, wrapping up almost two hour later with Weed King. But I won’t.

What I will say is that the crowd was going nuts. As my buddy Jimmy G said, “The club was indeed open and on fucking fire.” The balcony (usually pretty staid) was up in full-force. Everyone was singing every lyric to every song. I remember seeing the Blues Explosion, circa Orange, and being blown away by how the crowd erupted into a dance party, the whole audience shaking their tail feathers. In the “too-cool-for-school”, indie hipster rock universe, that outburst of emotion was something rarely witnessed. Last night’s GBV show transcended in a similar way. People unabashedly singing along at top volume, strangers hugging and high-fiving. It was like being a teen again, being supercharged by rock and roll, wanting to hear it loud, needing to share it with your friends, jumping around like fools and lunatics, fists pumping in the air. Wanting to shout to the world, “This is our music, man!” The club was open and the place was indeed on fire. GBV! GBV! GBV!

The photo is Jimmy Gs. I might have stolen his line about strangers hugging as well. The movie I pulled from youtube. It's a mess, but that probably makes it perfect!

Detroit Noir

2010-09-16T10:18:00.000-07:00

Detroit is very much in the news lately. Marginalized. A joke on late night television. It’s constantly viewed as a symbol of all that has gone wrong in the country. Its history and its present state can be read as cautionary tale. Detroit Noir is a collection of seemingly dark short stories by folks who have lived in this former boomtown.

Interestingly, even though it's a noir collection and death and decay are ever present, Detroit Noir reads like a melancholy love story. In so many stories, we see a once vibrant city; characters holding on to memories of the places they grew up, of friends and family that inhabited the city streets; characters playing out the string, because there are no other options. The stories harken back to a time of possibility. It’s a portrait of a city that is home. It may not be an idealized home, but it is home none-the-less.

There are some really great stories here. Gotta make a comment about Megan Abbott, my fave crime writer. She delivers an awesome coming of age story, about the fascination with the wrong side of the tracks.

For what it's worth, Detroit is my hometown. I haven't lived there for over 20 years, but people still ask me what I think of it. In a way, it's not for me to say, but the last couple of times I've been back, there seems to be a lot of energy around revitalizing the city. It seems like a city that is in a "now or never" situation and folks are waking up to the possibilites. There seems to be a lot of exciting and/or radical proposals on the table. Shrinking the city, creating urban farms and the like. Some bold proposals. Will the city have the money to pull any of these ideas off? Will politics as usual spoil what hope remains? Who knows? But my gut says that a vibrancy is ever present. A vibrancy that the outside world does not see or report on in all the ghost town stories told about Detroit in the media at large.

Detroit Noir serves as a more homespun view into the world of a city that has meaning to those who live there.

My Week At The Movies--Inception vs. Exit Through The Gift Shop

2010-08-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

Inception by Christopher Nolan
I can’t begin to express how much I disliked this movie. Unnecessarily confusing, incomprehensible, and ultimately boring. Two and a half hours of monotone acting. Every line uttered with an air of hushed-tone importance. 30-40 minutes of tedious explanatory sequences, meticulously detailing the rules of the dream world, all of which I couldn’t follow. The one rule I picked up, ‘If you die in the dream, you wake up,’ gets abandoned as soon as that rule hampers the plot. Oh well, I guess rules are made to be broken…if they become inconvenient. I felt pretty bad for all the poor souls on date nights, trying to make sense of this mess on the way out of the theater. If the writing, the direction, and the acting weren’t bad enough, I was pretty bothered by Leonardo DiCaprio’s mustache. I’ve seen 16 year olds with better upper lip coverage. And how come all the actors looked like they were in a neo-noir movie while Ellen Page looked like she was in a romantic comedy? Come on people. Yuck.

Exit Through The Gift Shop by Banksy
Just saw this last night and I’m still digesting it, but what an awesome movie. Exit Through The Gift Shop is a doc by street art hotshot Banksy detailing the street art scene from its roots in the 90s through its rise and acceptance by the fine art world in the 2000s. The movie is in parts fun, irreverent, insightful, and at the end of the day, perhaps a big hoax. The film follows the scene through the eyes of filmmaker Thierry Guetta, an affable Frenchman who tirelessly documents the likes of Banksy, Shepard Fairey (of Andre The Giant stickerdom fame), and other street art luminaries. Over the course of the film, we see Banksy and his cohorts move from quasi-legal artists playing cat and mouse with the fuzz while trying to avoid anti-graffiti laws, to highly sought after artists, selling their pieces for huge coin.

Over the course of the film Thierry moves from someone documenting the scene to someone who becomes a major artist (aka Mr. Brainwash) within the scene, much to the mystification of his peers. The film ultimately critiques the fine art world. Banksy seems to suggest that the curators snapping up street art at exorbitant prices don’t really understand the art, its value, and the quality of what they’re bidding on.

The success of the highly derivative Mr. Brainwash is at the core of this critique. But is Mr. Brainwash even real? He could be real. He could be a fabrication for viewers of the film. He could be an elaborate hoax played on the Los Angeles art world. I couldn’t figure it out, but regardless, it's brilliant.

Best film I saw this week!

The Ladies Are Bringing It!

2010-06-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work
Can’t rave enough about the Joan Rivers doc, Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work. It’s a truly revealing portrait of an artist at work. Honest, riveting, enervating, hysterical, and brutal, Rivers gives us a behind-the-scenes look at her life during a trying year. She’s 75, her career is on the downside, yet she keeps hustling. Why can’t she slow down? Why doesn’t she rest on her laurels? Why does she continue to subject herself to the trials and tribulations of the artist’s life when she’s 75? The film does a great job getting to the core of what makes Joan tick and why she’s so driven. The film deftly mixes the modern day neurosis with a look back at her seminal career, so those looking for a historical overview will not be disappointed. What’s most rewarding are the bits from her current show. Rivers is still side-splittingly hysterical. Sharp tongued, she remains current. She’s not hauling out material from 1979. She keeps it fresh and au courant. Go see this now.

Just Kids by Patti Smith
This book is awesome. It's inspiring and romantic. This is the kind of book you read when you’re fourteen that makes you want to be an artist. Smith beautifully recounts her years with Robert Mapplethorpe. Smith and Mapplethorpe are each other’s muses. They commit to a life of art and to each other. The book traces their time together, from nobodies who intensely believe in each other and what they each have to offer the world, to recognized artists. Mapplethorpe moves from collage to photography, looking to enter the Factory world and move beyond it. Smith does an amazing job tracing Mapplethorpe’s development as an artist and as a person grappling with his sexuality. She brings keen observations to his work and process and shines light on the beauty of Mapplethorpe’s “challenging” oeuvre. For her part, Smith has her beloved poetry. Watching her find a way to meld her love of Rimbaud with her love of rock and roll is truly fascinating. Over the course of the book you see the two find themselves, find their voice, and find a direction. Through it all, they have an unwavering commitment to each other, to push each other, to prod each other, to make sure their gifts find a place in the world. A beautiful story, beautifully written. Go Patti Smith.

Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings live at The Warfield, June 2010
It’s a party. It’s a throw down. Sharon Jones is on fire. The hardest working woman in showbiz. A non-stop, soul-shaking juggernaut. The band bills it as a soul revue, and they are not wrong. This is the second time I’ve seen Jones and she delivers full marks. Jones is a dynamo, bringing it full on for nearly two hours. Just goes to show, you don’t need to be young to know how to rock.

The Books On My Nightstand

2010-05-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted much in the last couple of months. Life has a way of kicking your butt sometimes. So here are some quick takes on the books I've been reading.

Striptease by Carl Hiaasen
Maybe I'm all Hiaasen-ed out, but Striptease is definitely not my fave by Hiaasen. I love this guy, but all the books have the same vague story lines and vaguely the same characters. Also, Erin, the leading lady/stripper, just seemed to be spouting Hiaasen's world view, rather than being a fully fleshed out character. Kind of reminded me of the ladies in Death Proof who, for the first 50 minutes of that movie, seemed nothing more than vehicles for Tarantino's witticism and world views.

More thoughts on Hiaasen can be found here. I hear the movie starring Demi Moore was a bit of a trainwreck. I may have to watch it anyway.

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Maybe it will surprise you, or maybe it won’t, but I’ve never read High Fidelity (even though my beloved Motrobooty made a magazine rack cameo in the film). I must say I’m thoroughly enjoying it, though I’m finding it quite depressing. The stunning revelation for me is that Rob, the lead guy in the book, is the prototype for the Mark character in Peep Show. Take out the rock and pop culture references and what your left with is a deeply flawed character, both sanctimonious and smug, yet someone who is a totally unfulfilled basket case teeming with neurosis and plagued by doubts, especially when it comes to the ladies. In other words, MARK. I’m sure no one can back me up on this since you all probably read this book years before ever seeing Peep Show. But go to a bookstore, pick up High Fidelity, go to any section from the middle of the book and tell me you don’t hear Mark’s voice. And for that matter, I suppose you could pencil Jez in as the Barry character.

The Last Picture Show & Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
I have a new favorite author and he is Larry McMurtry. I loved the movie of The Last Picture Show, and I can not begin to tell you how blown away I was by the book. Simply unbelievable. Simultaneously so sad, angsty, moody and full of life. Every character so fully realized. An incredible portrait of a place and a group of people aching for something more out of life. One of the greatest coming of age novels ever. And there's a lot of mid-life crisis happening as well. So it's a great read for the whole family. Interestingly, I watched the movie again after reading the book, and you know what, the book blows it out of the water. The movie is faithful, perhaps to a fault. It's just like the book, but with sections cut out. Read this book.

I was so energized, I decided to tackle the epic Lonesome Dove. A couple of Texas Rangers no longer needed as the West has already been settled. They head off on one last adventure--a brutal cattle drive from Texas to Montana. It's so cliched at it's core, yet unbelievable as it plays out. Captain Call and Augustus Mcrae are two fantastic characters. So different, yet totally co-dependent. 900+ pages, but page turners, all of them. Death comes quickly on the plains, so be prepared. Can't wait to watch the 6 hour mini-series.

The Sound & The Fury by William Faulkner
After Lonesome Dove, I wanted something classic and satisfying. A good piece of writing with epic scope and grandeur. I decided to revisit Faulkner whom I hadn't read since high school--with mixed feelings, I might add. Here's my facebook status update that was inspired by my feeble attempt at reading this classic. "Could someone explain The Sound and the Fury to me. Why do people like that thing? It's insufferable and seems needlessly confusing. Am I wrong? When it does make sense, I find the characters irritating. I bailed after 100 pages. Is that so wrong? Help me, people. I wanted to sink my teeth into a classic, but yukkie poo poo." Well there you have it. A modern American classic dismissed so callously on Facebook. I've sunk to new lows.

The Magic of Radio: RIP Ernie Harwell

2010-05-05T10:49:00.000-07:00

I never really listen to the radio anymore. As a kid I listened to it all the time. The AM oldies stations, the FM top 40 stations, the Canadian stations floating in from north of the boarder and, of course, Tigers’ baseball on WJR. If you were a sports fan in the 70s, you listened to the radio. Sports didn’t dominate tv like it does today. Maybe there were 1 or 2 games on tv a week, but if you were a fan, you got the skinny from the radio. And was there ever a better radio broadcaster than the great Ernie Harwell? I doubt it. Harwell passed away yesterday after a year-long battle with cancer.

Harwell’s southern tinged drawl was part of the fabric of childhood. Graceful and engaging, Harwell brought life to one of the most moribund teams in the 70s. The Tigers were perennial losers, but Harwell breathed life into guys like Tom Veryzer, Gary Sutherland, Ron Leflore, and Joe Coleman. And he made great calls. When watching a game today, if someone takes a called 3rd strike, I still hear Harwell’s classic call, “He stood there like a house by the side of the road and watched that one go by.” Whenever a fan would catch a foul ball, Harwell would offer up, “A young man from Muskegon takes home a souvenir.” Every foul ball featured a fan from a different city. As a 10 year old, I couldn’t wait for someone from Southfield (my town) to catch one. I was fascinated and wondered how Harwell could know where everyone was from. The 12 year old in me knew that he couldn’t know where everyone was from and that he had to be making it up. But to this day there’s that sliver of doubt. Maybe he did know. He had that magical voice coming out of the radio. He was at every Tiger game, the place you wanted to be as a kid. He was such a commanding and compassionate presence, someone who all fans were connected to, that perhaps he could know something so unknowable.

I never listen to the radio anymore. But were there any better childhood moments than being tucked into bed, listening to the West Coast games on my clock radio? Ten-thirty pm start times. Hiding under the covers. Trying to stay awake as long as possible. The crackle of the AM lulling you to sleep sometime in the 3rd or 4th inning.

When Jonathan Richman sings “With the radio on!” in Roadrunner, I think of the AM, I think of the lazy Midwest summertime, I think of listening to Tiger baseball on the radio. I hear the hum of the radio as the signal fades and then gets stronger.

RIP Ernie Harwell.

Confessions Of A Teenage Jesus Jerk by Tony Dushane

2010-03-09T13:11:00.000-08:00

Just finished my friend Tony Dushane’s Confessions Of A Teenage Jesus Jerk. What a great read. Funny, heartfelt, and pre-pubescently painful. The book immerses you into the teen years of a horny Jehovah Witness. If you think being a teen is tough, try being a teen as a Witness where every prurient thought, let alone action, is considered a sin. Armageddon is on the horizon and masturbating can get you disfellowed. Mine fields all around. The first half of the book is a real eye opener to the ways of the Jehovah’s, which I knew next to nothing about prior to this read. The second half gets painful as Gabe, DuShane’s main character, loses contact with his lifelong friends and begins to discover the world around him. Poetry and punk rock become Gabe’s salvation, but the need to return to the fold is strong. The tension between lusting after worldly desires, yet being true to your religious upbringing is at the heart of this book. The resultant inner-turmoil feels real, honest, and raw. If you’re a sucker for coming of age stories, check it out.

Dushane reads at Phoenix Books in SF on Thursday April 15, 6-8 pm, 3957 24th St., SF, CA 94114

RIP Andrew Koenig

2010-02-26T09:57:00.000-08:00

For the past week I’ve been following the story of the disappearance of Andrew J. Koenig. The story came to a tragic end, Koenig being found dead in Vancouver yesterday. His father, Walter Koenig (Chekov of Star Trek fame), reported that his son’s death was a suicide. Most people knew Andrew for his role as Boner on Growing Pains. I never watched that show and couldn’t pick Andrew out of line up based on that role. But for the past several years I’ve been an avid listener of the Never Not Funny Podcast, a great comedy podcast for which Andrew tweaked the knobs. Andrew often appeared on mic, sharing stories about his life. Given that his sister Danielle often appears on the show, and the show is hosted by his brother-in-law, Jimmy Pardo, I feel like I know a lot about the Koenig family.

Interestingly, Andrew also serves as the inspiration of one of my all-time favorite short stories, Jeffty Is Five by Harlan Ellison. Jeffty is a beautiful and tragic story about the loss of innocence and childish wonderment. Ellison is a great writer and for most of his short stories he writes evocative forwards talking about the given story’s inspiration. Jeffty is largely inspired by a brief chat Ellison had with the five year old Andrew at a party thrown by his parents. I’ve posted that intro here. In the light of this week’s events, Ellison’s words serve as a touching tribute to Andrew. Please note that Ellison refers to the child as Josh, which is Andrew’s given name. Also, if I've misinterpreted any of this, my apologies.

The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson

2010-02-12T10:50:00.001-08:00

189 pages of boredom followed by 314 pages of page-turning excitement. What’s up with that? Stieg Larsson appears to be quite the international writing sensation for his Millenium trilogy of crime books. At some level, I don’t entirely get it. On the one hand, I love certain aspects of his books, but on the other hand, some aspects of his books leave me cold. Punk rock, lesbian, Satanist, computer hacker Lisbeth Salander and publishing bad-boy Mikael Blomqvist are back in The Girl Who Played With Fire. This time they’re trying to get to the bottom of an international prostitution ring. But I swear, almost nothing of interest happens for 189 pages. I’ll give Larsson the benefit of the doubt and suggest that over the first third of the book he has effectively laid down the groundwork for the final acts, because on page 190 things turn on a dime and get damned exciting. I really hard a hard time putting the book down. Conversely, I had a pretty hard time picking it up until that point. I imagine I’ll read the third installment, but I’ll definitely be hoping that he has finally written a book that is scintillating throughout.

Here's what I had to say about the first installment.

Childhood, The Marx Brothers & Dick Cavett

2010-02-12T10:12:00.000-08:00

I loved the Marx Bros as a kid. I had a Duck Soup t-shirt (creamsicle orange, sporting the movie poster) and a Horse Feathers t-shirt (bright yellow, also sporting the movie poster). They were my favorite shirts. I wore them ragged. I religiously watched You Bet Your Life in syndication. I dragged my parents to whatever theaters would play their movies, and I believe I once made my dad drive me and friend through a snowstorm to a community center playing Animal Crackers. We were the only people in the audience and they played the film for us anyway. The show must go on, don’t you know. I even read a Groucho bio when I was in middle school. In all likelihood, it was the first celebrity bio I ever read.

Like many things from my childhood, it’s been ages since I’ve seen a Marx Bros. film. I showed my son Horse Feathers several years back, but he wasn’t biting. Too much language play for even a really verbal 5 year old. Several weeks back, Animal Crackers played at the Clay Theater as part of Sketchfest. The film was followed by a round table featuring Dick Cavett and Harpo’s son, Bill Marx. Cavett and Marx were fantastic, sharing 45 minutes of raunchy stories about the Marx Brothers, as well as providing some great insights into their careers. What a fun night. This time, my son, now 8, dug the proceedings. I think he really liked the absurd, strange interludes that fill the film. Harpo was his favorite--not surprising for a kid weaned on Buster Keaton. And I was laughing throughout. All the reasons why I loved these guys came flowing back. Sitting in the theater, I could see how much their brand of comedy has influenced me. And if that wasn’t enough, the soothing sound of Dick Cavett’s voice was a pleasant trip down memory lane as well.

Gimme Something Better

2010-01-19T11:34:00.000-08:00

Just finished devouring Jack Boulware & Silke Tudor’s Gimme Something Better: The Profound, Progressive and Occasionally Pointless History of Bay Area Punk. It’s a major tome and a great read. File it right next to Please Kill Me and Our Band Could Be Your Life as another great history of a seminal rock scene. Interestingly, even though I’ve lived in the Bay Area for over 20 years, I’m not steeped in the early punk rock lore of this town (Nuns/Avengers/Crime), nor was I ever invested in the Gilman scene (Green Day/Jawbreaker/Rancid/Operation Ivy). That said, I loved how this book was put together, the stories it told, and how it approached the music scene in a comprehensive way.

What sets Gimme Something Better apart from Please Kill Me or Our Band, is that the book moves beyond just the antics and the history of the bands involved. Yes, there are whole chapters devoted to The DKs, Green Day, Rancid, and plenty others. But much like the Bay Area scene itself, Gimme Something Better, focuses on the totality of the scene and the networks of people that brought us from the Mabuhay Gardens to world domination by Green Day. Gimme Something Better shines equal amounts of light on the mags and the zines; on the bars, clubs, warehouses, and house parties; on the roadies, the promoters, and the punk houses; on the radio shows, the labels, and the poster artists; on the politics, the politics, and the politics. All take center stage. As the scene moves deep into the East Bay, the scene itself becomes it’s own entity, as important as any one band. And Gimme Something Better does a great job reflecting that spirit. The book is very cool in that way. Highly recommended.

Rockin' The Car Stereo in 2009

2010-01-13T15:12:00.000-08:00

Not particularly enthusiastic about a best of list for 2009. I didn’t feel like I heard all that much great new stuff this year. It’s funny, because last year was stacked with great releases, or at least great songs.

My friend Andy always asks me to put together a list and I oblige, since he often gives me lots of music. So here ya go. In a vague order.

If your reading this on Facebook, be sure to check out the post in the actual blog, so you can see all the embedded video!

Dinosaur Jr.—Farm
For real. It’s 1989 all over again. This record is awesome. If it had been released right after Bug, we’d all be calling it a classic. Not really any new ground covered. Perhaps less angsty. Perhaps more fun. Regardless, the licks are sweet. Like an awesome time machine rolling you back to your younger days.

White Magic—Dark Stars
Ok, I fully realize that this record didn't come out this year. I don't think it even came out last year. So apparently I'm breaking the rules for a "Best Of" list. But frak it. It's my list and I'm gonna do what I want to. I first heard it this year and I probably listened to this e.p. more than any other record on this list, so it's staying. I caught White Magic at an early show at the Hemlock earlier this year. Maybe I was riding a Chai high from my pre-show meal at Shalimar, but I swear it was a great show. I picked up the Dark Stars e.p. Constant rotation on the iPod. Winds might be the song I listened to more than any other this year. A bit Cat Powerish, a bit Sea and Cakey, a bit Damon and Naomi, a bit trippy, a bit spooky. All good. You can sample a bit here.

Dave Rawlings Machine— A Friend of A Friend
Sick of waiting for a new Gillian Welch record? Forget it. Just pick up this one by her guitarist Dave Rawlings. Great songs. Great guitar playing. And, if you still care, Welch sings on a couple of tracks. A really great record. You know those moments on Time (The Revelator) where Rawlings appears to be channeling an acoustic version of Crazy Horse? Well, you get to hear an awesome cover of Cortez on this one.

Flaming Lips—Emrybonic
I already wrote about this one when it came out. I don’t listen to it a ton. But as a refreshing blast, you can’t lose.

Dan Auerbach—Keep It Hid
I dig the Black Keys. This solo record strips it down and channels the ragged blues in just the right way.

Wooden Shjips—Dos
Looking for a Suicide/Spacemen fix? Look no further. The stoned, cold groove is on.

Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros—Up From Below
Just came across this one. Dusty, 70’s, LA hippies. Not cloying, irritating or, pretentious. Good music for a weekend at Joshua Tree.

Girls—Album
Just picked this up last week. Not sure that it will have staying power, but I'm gonna put it on the list because I'm digging it right now. Poppy, girl-groupy, catchy. At times like The Raveonettes without the squalor. The Raveonettes unChained.

Chuck Prophet—Let Freedom Ring
Prophet goes to Mexico, records in a very old studio, doesn't die of the swine flu, and plays some rock and roll. What could be bad? I Just picked this up last week as well and it's sounding good. Love the production.

Califone—All My Friends Are Funeral Singers
Neko Case—Middle Cyclone
I like these people. Good records. Not their best. But I’ll pull these records on now and again and am glad when they crop up in the shuffle.

Time For Leaving

2010-01-06T10:15:00.000-08:00

Here’s the music video I just finished up for No Depression style rockers McCabe & Mrs. Miller. The bulk of the video was shot in and around Joshua Tree and Yucca Valley. Each year the band plays at the Camper/Cracker Campout the first week of September. We’ve always stayed at the Yucca Valley Inn, a quaint and comfortable old school desert motel. This year, however, things were far from quaint or comfortable. The hotel was in foreclosure or bankruptcy status and we were greeted with the option of a room with no air conditioning or a room with no hot water. We opted for the air over the hot water. We had to switch rooms after finding an army of dead frogs in our bathtub. The pool was drained, caution tape was everywhere, and a generally desolate vibe was in the air. In other words, what a perfect spot for a video shoot! Especially a melancholy song about life on the road.

We hadn’t really planned on a shooting a video that weekend, and given that Alison and Victor were playing in about 6 bands between the two of them, I wasn’t sure that they would have anytime to shoot anything as a band. But since we were all going to be in the same place at the same time for two days, I brought a camera with me, just in case. While others drank beer, slept, or watched college football, I was wandering around shooting. We actually found two hours to shoot the band performing in the hotel room. Unfortunately that footage was unusable. I didn’t bring any lights and the room was just too dark and dank to look good.

When we got back to the Bay Area, we set a new shoot date for the band footage for November. Alison and I desperately started scouring the Bay Area for a hotel with a seedy, worn down interior. And let me tell you, that is no easy task in this day and age. Green shag carpeting and wood paneling are a tough order to fill. Off-white porcelain and neutral colors are the order of the day. Even in the cheap hotels. If it’s been remodeled after 1985, there’s little sense of style. Things were looking grim but on our last day of scouting we came across the perfect spot in San Mateo, California. We couldn’t have set designed it better ourselves. It had the shag. It had the wood panel. And the furniture was so flimsy we could move stuff around at will. Always a plus on a film shoot. The beds were even on wheels. An added bonus was this hotel had clearly bought its furniture from the same hotel supply store that the Yucca had bought their furniture from. It was a perfect match. Check out the opening shot of the lobby of the Yucca. Then take a look at the interior shots of the hotel with the band playing. Same carpeting. Same patterns on bedspreads and couches. What luck.

Special thanks to Chris Xefos for helping out on all the shooting in Joshua Tree and KC Smith for doing the great job lighting the hotel interiors.

In any event, I hope you enjoy the video. It’s a great song.

I wrote about their album a few months back. You can read that post here and download a couple of songs from the album there as well.

Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott

2009-12-22T13:43:00.000-08:00

Simply put, Megan Abbott is my new favorite writer. Her run of The Song Is You (2007), Queenpin (2007), and Bury Me Deep (2009) is nothing short of utterly impressive. Fully steeped in the crime and pulp genres of the 50s, Abbott is knocking out deliciously rewarding page-turners, channeling Cain, Chandler, and Ellroy. Her work is pulpy, sexy, and gritty. Beyond that, she’s a great writer. Sentences roll off the pen, stories unfold, pages get turned.

Bury Me Deep is the latest, and damn is it good. It starts a bit slowly, but once it gets rolling, it’s a steamroller that can’t be put down. Loosely based on the Trunk Murderess/Blond Butcher scandal of the 30s, the book follows the travails of Marion Seeley, a wayward doctor’s wife. Due to a morphine addiction he can’t shake, the doctor has lost his medical license and heads to Mexico for work, leaving his wife behind to fend for herself in a small desert community in Arizona. Alone and forsaken by her husband, Marion falls in with two party girls—a nurse she meets at the clinic where she is working, and her sidekick who continues to party while battling t.b. Marion gets caught up in the thrill of it all—the parties, the flirtations, the sultry nights, and the men. She ultimately dives deep into an illicit affair with a respected businessman, who, as it turns out, is far from respectable.

But what makes Bury Me Deep so great is that lurking beneath the standard pulp plotline is a story resonating with emotional depth. Abbott offers up a world where good people, in moments of weakness, make bad choices that lead to disastrous results. The heart of the book lies within Marion as she battles with herself. Her inner-turmoil is profound. Why does she rush headlong into an affair she knows is wrong? Is it so wrong? Why can’t she stop? Is her betrayal due to loneliness or is her betrayal a sign of who she truly is? And when everything goes wrong, how do you figure out who your true friends are? How do you handle yourself when all your friends abandon you? And when you abandon them? And most importantly, how do you make amends? How do you take responsibility for your own actions? How do you live with yourself when the way you behave doesn’t jibe with who you think you are?

In this respect, Bury Me Deep resonates beyond the pulp milieu, mining emotional depths often lacking in much of the genre. Sure, it’s a town filled with party girls with shady pasts and uncertain futures; it’s a town run by men, driven by deceit, corruption, and privilege; it’s a town with questionable sexual mores, filled with addictions and unhealthy itches; a town filled with lung disease. But in Bury Me Deep, the stories do in fact run much deeper.

UH OH! It's The Best of The Decade

2009-12-13T17:28:00.000-08:00

Yikes! Has it already been 10 years since the Y2K scare? Mindboggling. In any event, I’m really not much of a list person and was in no way planning on doing a best of the decade list. But last night, my buddy Chris planted that seed in my brain and here we go. Let me assure you, this is by no means comprehensive or even well thought out. I’ve given it about 12 hours thought, and most of that time I was sleeping.

The 00s are a funny time frame for me when it comes to music consumption. My son was born in 2001 and that definitely changed the way I found out about and listened to music. Going to shows and discovering bands through the live experience decreased drastically. A lot of new music I heard came from friends burning me cds and sharing files. This was a big departure from the 80s and 90s, which was all about discovering music in the clubs. Also, with a newborn on hand, the amount of loud, clattery, in the red music listening dropped sharply as well. The house was a quieter, calmer place. 2001-2004 was all about the folk, country, blues trip. Old records that my young son could relate to were in heavy rotation. John Fahey, Burl Ives, Pete Seeger, Harry Smith’s Anthology of Folk Music, The Watson Family. That was the order of the day.

Not a lot of new material came my way in the early part of the decade, but looking back lots of good stuff came my way. This list features records that were in mighty heavy rotation. I’m sure I’ll kick myself tomorrow for leaving some things off this list, but I stand behind all that’s listed below.

Bevis Frond—Valedictory Songs, 2000
The mighty Frond. What would the 90s have been without you? Majestic Hendrix like leads. Fanclubbish pop sensibilities. Prog pretensions. Massive guitar freak outs. Endearing, plaintive vocals. Nick Solomon’s 90s output was unparalleled in my universe. Things cooled off in the 00s, but Valedictory Songs was as stellar as any of his great releases from the previous decade.

Neko Case—Furnace Room Lullaby, 2000
For 12 years, I’d spend my summers teaching in Valencia, CA. The burbs of LA. I’d venture into LA from time to time, but for the most part, I reveled in being holed up in my dorm room on the campus of Cal Arts, reading books, listening to music on a boom box. I’d usually spend one afternoon at the local Borders with the mission of buying one or two cds that I had heard about, but hadn’t heard. In 2000, that would have been Neko Case’s Furnace Room Lullaby. The hype surrounding Ms. Case has been thick ever since the release of this record. All subsequent records have gotten more hype and a growing fan base, but for me, this is the one. There is none better. The songs, the voice, the mood. Five star all the way. South Tacoma Way is easily in contention for song of the decade. I still remember listening to this record on the drive back to San Fran, stereo cranked, loving every second of it.

Dirty Three—Whatever You Love, You Are, 2000
No one sets a mood like The Dirty Three and this is one of their best. The tour for this was unbelievable. Who knew an instrumental band fronted by a violinist could rock so hard? As a bonus, this period Dirty Three featured Warren Ellis without facial hair. He had yet to grow that distracting mountain man beard. I don’t know why this should matter, but it just does.

New Pornographers—Mass Romantic, 2000
My wife had always championed Zumpano. I never fully got on board with them, but I was hooked when she bought this one. Strangely, she never fully got on board with the Pornographers. In any event, as the decade unfolded, I found myself more attracted to bands with a pop sensibility. The New Pornographers could be ground zero for that dalliance. I suppose any of their records could be included on this list, so I’m just going to go with the first one.

White Stripes—De Stijl, 2000,
White Stripes—White Blood Cells, 2001
Loved the debut record in 1999 and with a baby on the way in 2001, I always joked that the White Stripes were gonna be the last band I got in on the ground floor with. The back-to-back, one-two punch of these records took this band to another level. An amazing amalgamation of garage, dirty blues, and Zeppelin-like riffs.

Dirtbombs—Ultraglide in Black, 2001
Detroit Cobras—Life, Love and Leaving, 2001
What can I say? Two great covers records. R&B, soul, and rock and roll scorchers. I still listen to both of these records…a lot.

Damon & Naomi—With Ghost, 2000
Ghost—Hypnotic Underworld, 2005
Boris with Kurihara—Rainbow, 2007
I love all these bands and am a fan of most of their releases. Obviously the through line is Michio Kurihara, guitarist extraordinaire. Love that guy. Love these records. Damon and Naomi hadn’t gotten too precious yet, and throwing Ghost into the mix created a perfect compliment to their wispy, fruity, psychedelic sounds.

Hypnotic Underworld was monstrous, jazzy, Floydian, and choc-full of Eastern flourishes. It captures Ghost at their most focused and adventurous.

Boris meets Kurihara. Beautiful. Metal. Krautrock. Grooves.

Gillian Welch—Time (The Revelator), 2001
I loved this record to start with. But it soon became my son’s bedtime record for almost a year. And for that, it will always have a place in my heart. Beautiful on so many fronts.

Bardo Pond—Dilate, 2001
People laugh at me for liking this band as much as I do. But I do, so there! Dilate is my fave. I still pull it out from time to time. The slow build of Two Planes, the loping hook of Inside. Two of my fave tracks of the decade.

Mekons—OOOH!, 2002
Buying Mekons records in the 80s and 90s was a frequent occurrence. Sometime around Retreat From Memphis either I lost the thread or they did. A couple ho-hum records. A couple of records not purchased. I gave this one a try and it’s a great record. The 25th Anniversary shows around this time were also unbelievable. Long live The Mekons.

Fiery Furnaces—Gallowsbird's Bark, 2003
Plain and simple, a great, bristling rock record. Fiery, indeed! I had trouble sinking into their follow-up, Blueberry Boat. Too many twists and turns for my likes and I never really got back on the Fiery Furnace train. But Gallowsbird's Bark still sounds fresh whenever I listen to it.

Joanna Newsom—The Milk Eyed Mender, 2004
A harp. A weird voice. Yet captivating and catchy beyond belief. Revelatory, even. Remember Freak Folk? This was the best of that moment in time.

Bonnie Prince Billy & Matt Sweeney—Superwolf, 2005
Well, the Bonnie Prince keeps cranking them out. I See A Darkness is still his best of the last 11 years, but that came out in 1999, so I’m going with this one. The guitar interplay is pretty darn cool, and the songs are memorable. The weird cheesecloth, inner sleeve always made this difficult to put back in the case, so it was just as easy to leave it in the cd player and listen to it again.

Six Organs of Admittance—School Of The Flower, 2005
Comets On Fire—Avatar, 2006
Loved the School of The Flower record. At times noisy, at times spacey, at times droney, at times folksy. A great mix of the above elements from Ben Chasny. And speaking of Chasny, Avatar by the Comets sheds some of the frantic overdrive of earlier efforts for a more sprawling, dusty psych vibe, laced with some 70s muscle.

Califone—Roots and Crowns, 2006
Everything from the Red Red Meat family tree has been an instant buy in my book. Califone is a band that has hit dizzying heights on certain releases. Strangely, I almost didn’t buy this record. I liked their previous couple, but like many bands moving into their middle period, there was a sameness in sound creeping into their records that, while not bad, just failed to get the pulse racing. With Roots and Crowns, Califone may have released the album of their career. Moody and textured, filled with great songs. Dusty and forlorn, yet full of life. The cover of Psychic TVs' Orchids is unbelievable, as is the whole record.

Neil Young—Live At The Fillmore East, 2006
OK, this one is from the archive series. But it got released in 2006, so I’m counting it. Crazy Horse raging full on in 1970. Transcendent.

Grinderman, 2007
Nick Cave has had a pretty great second half of the decade as far as I’m concerned. This more stripped down rocking affair seemed to knock him out of his piano-based ballad, melodrama orbit. That wasn’t a bad place to be, mind you, but like Califone above, there was a bit of a been there, done that vibe to some of the early decade output. Grinderman and its follow up, Dig, Lazarus, Dig, showcase Cave with a refreshing, nastier edge.

Times New Viking—Present The Paisley Reich, 2007
Ah, the clatter. Ah, the caterwaul. Ah, the remote sense of song. This cd was a staple in the boombox in the summer of 2007.

Wilco—Sky Blue Sky, 2007
I always looked at Wilco somewhat skeptically. They always sounded good, but they wore their influences on their sleeves in such an obvious way. At times they sounded like the Replacements, Neil Young, Stereolab, etc… Sky Blue won me over though. Secret weapon Nels Cline finally took them to a new and unique place. Great tour as well. I crossed over into fandom.

Amy Winehouse—Back To Black, 2007
Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings—100 Days, 100 Nights, 2007
Richard Hawley—Lady’s Bridge, 2007
She & Him—Volume 1, 2008
Hey, it’s people with great pipes channeling other eras in a pretty unique, original or derivative but fun way. I say yes to all of them.

A Serious Man by The Coen Brothers

2009-11-18T13:04:00.000-08:00

As I’ve mentioned previously, I run hot and cold when it comes to the Brothers Coen. I think I surprised even myself by really loving last year’s Burn After Reading. The Coen’s are back with A Serious Man. Given that it’s set in a late 60s, Jewish suburban milieu, I was really psyched to see it. Finally, a movie about my people. And let me say this about that. It turns out, A Serious Man may be the most Jewish movie to hit the mainstream since Fiddler on The Roof. And for that, I loved it. So many great jokes that non-Jews may not even recognize as jokes abound. Conversations in Hebrew and Yiddish go by without the benefit of translation. Cultural and religious references fill the scenes and The Coens make no attempt to explain those moments to a broader audience. Again, I loved that. I loved that my culture just existed in a movie without having to pander or explain itself to the dominant culture. That said, I’m not surprised the film seems to be dying a slow box office death. I can’t see non-Jews digging this movie. And for that matter, I can’t see most Jews digging it either. It’s a pretty unsympathetic portrayal of the Jewish experience. The women are bitches, the men are nebbishes, the rabbis are fools, and the kids are narcissistic or drug-addled. In other words, the suburban Jews of the world will probably hate this movie. I’m sure much of the Jewish community is thinking, ‘Finally a movie about our people, by our people, and we still come across like a bunch of shmendricks.’ I’ll give The Coens a pass on that one. Coen Brothers’ movies are always filled with flawed, pathetic characters. A Serious Man is no different in that regard, but this time they turn their sites on their own upbringing. And that’s ok in my world.

Bowl Of Cherries by Millard Kaufman

2009-11-15T16:17:00.000-08:00

I’ve been curious about Millard Kaufman’s Bowl of Cherries since it was released. Kaufman penned the brilliant Bad Day At Black Rock, a movie whose language still sizzles. Catch it on TCM one of these nights and you’ll hang on every word. I had the good fortune of meeting Kaufman 10 years back. I booked him for a speaking gig at The Film Arts Foundation when I worked there. He was sharp, affable, and a delightful old guy. Bowl of Cherries is a beautifully packaged book courtesy of the McSweenys people. I grabbed it out of the library a couple weeks back and dug in.

The language is beautiful. It’s funny, clever, and playful. Kaufman has a wonderful way with words. His love of the English language and the written word is evident. Stylistically it was an interesting throwback to the kind of work I devoured during the college years. It’s steeped in the type of satire and world-view exhibited by the likes of Barthes, Pynchon, Vonnegut, Robbins, and Heller. Bowl of Cherries is inhabited by a world of thinkers, philosophers, and academics embracing life, puzzled by life, and trying to find answers in life. Like the works of those listed above, wackiness and whimsy are on full display. Strange circumstances get us from the Deep South to Yale to rural Colorado and then to prison in Iraq.

Unfortunately though, I can’t say I loved the book. Sadly, I was disinterested. The story itself was ultimately not that compelling. Broad and satirical, yet the satire never fully landed. Hundreds of pages in I wasn’t entirely sure where the story was going, or what the book was even about. All told, Bowl of Cherries was an odd read that was pleasurable from word-to-word, from sentence-to-sentence, but unfulfilling from pillar-to-post.

Ray Davies--Well Respected Man

2009-11-13T11:15:00.000-08:00

I tend to avoid re-union shows and seeing shows by rockers past their prime. But every now and then, I get an itch to see a rock icon who’s moving up in years. Growing up, people always used to ask questions like, “Who do you like better—The Stones or The Beatles?” Maybe I was just being difficult, but I always said, “The Kinks.” And truth be told, The Kinks have always meant more to me than The Stones or The Beatles. I never saw The Kinks play and I’ve never seen Ray Davies on a solo tour. Strangely, I did see Dave Davies on a solo tour, which was like seeing a Kinks cover band that happened to feature Dave Davies. In any event, last night, Ray Davies was playing in SF, backed by a 28-person choir, in support of his new record The Kinks Choral Collection. After some waffling over the ticket price and being egged on by a gaggle of Facebook friends, I decided I’d be a fool to miss one of my favorite rockers, musicians and songwriters, so off I went.

Interestingly the show perfectly exemplified why you both should and shouldn’t see a rock star past their prime. Davies was clearly energized, happy to be there and cheerfully playing hit after hit after hit. The number of amazing Kinks songs is staggering. And seeing 2 hours worth of gems played back to back puts one in total awe of Davies' accomplishments. The show's arrangement was a bonus as well. Davies played the first half hour or so on acoustic guitar, while being accompanied by another guitarist playing a hollow-bodied electric. Stripped down versions of I Need You, I’m Not Like Everybody Else, Autumn Almanac all were sounding good. He was then accompanied by a full band for about another half hour and the rock quotient went up. After a short break the band was back with a full 28-person choir adding the vocal chops. This section was the highlight of the set, as Davies and company dug deep into Arthur and The Village Green era songbook. Picture Book, Do You Remember Walter?, Village Green, Shangri-la, and Victoria all got the choral arrangement. At times the chorus got a bit drowned out by the rock band and at times Davies got a bit drowned out by the chorus, but as the set progressed, I was sucked in. The two stand out songs may have been a haunting acapella version of See My Friends, and the biting Celluloid Heroes. Set closers Waterloo Sunset and Days were nothing to scoff at either.

On the down side, and I hate to say it, Davies voice isn’t what it once was. It’s not bad, but he doesn’t have the range he once did. So many Kinks songs are packed with emotion or bite courtesy of great turns of phrase and the great command Davies had over his unique voice. He was definitely singing the songs, but he just didn’t seem to own them. The vocal delivery lacked the nuance so critical to the Kinks’ success. So yes, there was hit after hit, and yes the band sounded good, and yes the arrangements were cool, but there was that slight nagging sense that it could have been better and it was once better, but that ship has sailed. And maybe it’s an aging rocker thing, but the crowd sing-alongs were pretty out of control. Very 80s arena rock. Turning the mic on the crowd, encouraging audience participation, calls for hand clapping. Every now and again, why not? But almost every song?? Does Autumn Almanac really call for audience participation? Not in my book. All Day & All of The Night is a barnburner at two and a half minutes. Do we need a 1-minute break in the middle for some crowd call and response? That’s a buzz kill in my book. It’s been ages since I listened to the One For the Road live record, but I’m thinking a lot was stolen from that playbook, which I’m not feeling in 2009.

At the end of the day though, I’m glad I went, because today, Kinks songs are buzzing through my head. And that’s a good thing.

The Flaming Lips: Embryonic

2009-10-28T14:00:00.000-07:00

I’ve loved The Flaming Lips forever. They’re a band you can get behind. A feel good, indie rock success story. A band that got better as they aged and got rewarded for the effort. That said, I almost didn’t buy Embryonic, their new release. Maybe it’s Flaming Lips fatigue, but I just haven’t loved the last several records. While nice when they show up in shuffle, Yoshimi and War With the Mystics are two records that have had little staying power in my book. In the past several years the band seems to have set its sights on a sugary sweet brand of psychedelia. They’ve become a feel good party band. While their brand of sunshiny day, psychedelic optimism isn’t bad, I have to admit to liking my psych with a bit more of a psych ward edge.

I decided to take a chance on the new one based on a couple of factors. The fine folks at Aquarius Records were raving about the record on their list. Their review led me to believe that perhaps the Lips had found a new musical vein to mine. Also, a quick look at the reviews in the iTunes store caught my eye. People raving about how bad it was and how horrid the production sounded piqued my interest. A couple of one-star reviews from people downloading MP3s, then complaining about the album’s sound quality was enough to convince me that, perhaps, purchasing the cd was in order.

I’ve only listened to the record once, but I’m tempted to say this is their best record in ages. Possibly one of their best ever. Embryonic is a refreshing blast. Propulsive bass-lines abound and creepy vibes pervade. Embryonic is a soundtrack, not for the summer festival circuit, but for someone trapped watching Christmas on Mars ’til the end of time. It’s got edge. It’s got grit. It’s got ice in its veins. It’s a late night record for a late night that might turn sour. The Flaming Lips have always been a band that has thrived when they’ve taken artistic chances, be it performance art trips like the Boom Box Experiments or Zaireeka, be it shedding guitars on The Soft Bulletin, be it turning to a more pop sensibility with Transmissions From The Satellite Heart. Embryonic finds them taking a move away from the pop and finding inspiration elsewhere. I’m hearing more Can than Beatles this time through and that’s a move I can get behind.

Crime by Irvine Welsh

2009-10-26T14:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been a big Irvine Welsh fan, but I must admit to being severely bummed out by last year’s If You Liked School, You’ll Love Work. I had to put it down ¼ of the way through and had a sinking feeling that either he had totally lost it, or I had been wrong for liking him in the first place. My wife got me Crime for Father’s Day this year and I’ve been avoiding it for fear of not liking it. I finally picked it up and let me say, I couldn’t be more pleased. I loved this book.

The book exhibits a refreshing maturity. So many of Welsh’s early works are steeped in a youthful exuberance--a headlong dash into youth culture. And that’s fine. But Welsh is older now, as is much of his audience. Crime is steeped with middle-aged fragility. I loved that. It seems honest. Rather than re-living a storied, debauched past, Crime addresses concerns one faces when the party is over.

Crime focuses on Ray Lennox, an Edinburgh cop, obsessed with tracking down pedophiles. Lennox has gone off the rails following a case that has gone bad. In classic Welsh form, drug and drinking binges abound. Lennox heads to Miami to detox with his bride-to-be. Their hope for r & r in the Sunshine State quickly goes South. After a pre-marital quarrel, Lennox takes off on a bender and gets hooked up with an unsavory batch of characters. Lennox can’t leave well enough alone and, mercenary-style, tries to solve the problems of these shady people he barely knows. Full of good intentions but rife with horrid judgments, things go from bad to worse and the shit thickens frighteningly as Lennox gets immersed in the dirt and grime he tried to leave back in Edinburgh.

But the guts and gore aside, Lennox takes a journey deep inside himself--a journey where he needs to face all the misgivings, shame, and self-loathing in his own life. On the outside, he’s a tough Scottish cop, in control of all that he sees. On the inside, he’s falling apart. He’s too much of a tough guy to admit it or to seek out the help he so desperately needs. Will he sink into the same old patterns, or will he emerge a stronger, better, more fully realized person?

Like most of Welsh’s material there’s a lot of degradation, but as the grit falls away, you’re left with characters in the throes of mid-life growing pains. Crime is filled with people navigating the world in the best way they can. Not always with grace, but with heart.

McCabe & Mrs. Miller

2009-10-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

Got to give a shout out to my wife, Alison. She’s been working with Camper Van Beethoven bassist, Victor Krummenacher, on an awesome music project called McCabe & Mrs. Miller. Their first CD Time For Leaving has just been released and you should check it out. They’re definitely shooting for a Richard and Linda Thompson vibe. It’s an invigorating amalgamation of English folk, roadhouse blues, country stylings, and somber introspection. Any fan of roots music, blues, and No Depression style Americana should take a listen. If you’re in San Francisco, be sure to check out some upcoming live shows. Live, the band has transformed into a different beast altogether. Dropping any pretense of quiet solitude, the live show is a barn-burning, tear-it-up throwdown. They’ve recently added Doug Hilsinger, my favorite San Francisco guitarist, to the line-up. Doug's addition has amped up the show in a great way. You’ve got to dig a band that brings a different vibe in the live set from the studio set.

• You can check out upcoming show dates on their MySpace Page.

• You can download Time For Leaving from iTunes. You can buy the physical product from CD Baby. The cd is packaged in a snazzy letterpress package that I designed.

For your listening pleasure I’ve posted two songs. Time For Leaving is a stunning beauty. We’re working on a video for that one. Fare Thee Well is crackling, dirty blues at its best. I’ve included a YouTube video of the latter and if you watch that after listening to the studio track, you can hear the transformation from tight studio band to live behemoth.

Revisiting Monty Python

2009-10-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

I love comedy, yet I constantly bemoan the state of comedy as it plays out on tv and in the movies. There’s definitely a lot of good stuff out there, but more often than not, I’m left feeling a little disappointed with the majority of it. This week, I’ve been knee deep in the 6-part Monty Python doc on IFC, Monty Python: Almost The Truth. I can’t tell you how much I’m digging it. I loved Python to death when I discovered it back in the 5th or 6th grade. I used to show up to school and drive my friends crazy with my horrid reenactments of the show, faux British accent and all. It’s been years since I’ve paid much attention to Python and I’m usually pretty disheartened when I see John Cleese or Eric Idle in anything contemporary. But that said, I’m loving revisiting such an early influence on my life. I won’t get into much detail here, but the thing that I’m most blown away by is how damn smart the show was. The troupe’s love of language is paramount. Nothing is dumbed down. Art, culture, and literature references abound. Some skits revolve solely around playing with language. It’s not a passive viewing experience. The viewer is expected to keep up.

Python were a huge success and a prime example that you don’t have to play to the lowest common denominator. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of dumb, absurdist, and downright silly bits. The Fish Slapping Dance for example, and perhaps my fave Python sketch, Upplerclass Twit of The Year. Nothing too erudite there. But Python was willing to mix highbrow and lowbrow. Perhaps nobody did it better. So much comedy now plays straight to the lowest common denominator and is neutered of anything smart. Too bad. Comedy can be this good. I've thrown in the Argument Clinic sketch below. A beautiful example of a skit that plays with language while being utterly silly at the same time. Enjoy.

The Jesus Lizard-Show Review In Haiku Form

2009-10-18T00:58:00.000-07:00

Old men kicking ass
Audience members pass gas
Rocking drum solo

Let's Talk About Hockey

2009-09-30T20:43:00.001-07:00

I don’t think I’ll be inundating the blogsphere with much hockey reportage this year, but the season is upon us, so what the hell. Here are my two bit opinions about the Sharks.

On Being A Sharks Fan
The Sharks and their fans seem to have become the butt of many jokes on the hockey boards. The Sharks, thanks to their ability to tank in the playoffs, and the fans, for having to watch brilliant regular seasons end in humiliating playoff losses. No offense to the perennially underfunded (Edmonton), the perennially mismanaged (Rangers), the perennially one-dimensional (Calgary), or the perennially unimportant (Atlanta, Florida, Isles), but I’ll gladly root for a team that is regularly competitive and a threat to win it all. Sure, a handful of the above teams have made it to the cup finals in recent years, but sorry Oilers, that was a fluke and you probably didn’t make the playoffs the next year.

On Dany Heatley
I for one am psyched Dany Heatley is now a Shark. I know he comes with baggage. Can’t get along with coaches, doesn’t hustle when he’s not happy, doesn’t back check, and then there are those nagging rumors of partying, not to mention the manslaughter charges. All I know is the guy is a pure goal scorer. No offense to Jonathan Cheechoo, Patrick Marleau, Pat Falloon, Kelly Kisio, or Owen Nolan, but the Sharks have never, ever, ever had a pure goal scorer. With the addition of Heatley, the Sharks top line now has the NHL’s best playmaker teamed up with a top scorer. That spells danger and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Heatley take the Rocket Richard trophy for top goal scorer this year. I know. You’re thinking, who cares about the regular season. Fair enough. But I think Heatley’s addition in the playoffs will be huge. Thornton certainly has his post-season detractors, mostly former Boston fans. Don’t get me started on Boston fans. Here’s my take. Thornton is a playmaker. A playmaker can’t carry a team through the playoffs if his line mates are stiffs. If the line mates are stiffs, the defense can key on Thornton and it all gets shut down. In his first several playoff campaigns, Thornton was solid. Maybe not amazing, but solid. He stunk it up last year, but look at what surrounded him. Setoguchi was horrid. He couldn’t get across the blue line without setting someone offside. And Marleau, apparently, was playing on one leg. A healthy Heatley and Thornton will create major headaches for Western Conference defenses. And you know what, Western Conference defenses aren’t gonna be as stellar this year as last. Pronger is gone, Zubov is gone, Lidstrom is older.

On Marleau
A lot of hate was heaped Patrick Marleau’s way in the off-season. I’m glad they finally took the “C“ away from Patty. The guy’s a solid player but he may be the world’s most boring sports interview, and that’s saying a lot. I just can’t see that guy rallying the troops. But that said, I’m glad he’s still on the team. He’s never more than a 70-point guy, but that’s ok if he’s anchoring your second line. With Heatley on board, Marleau doesn’t have to be the dominant offensive threat anymore.

On Nabakov
A lot of people have been hating on Nabby in the off-season. I can’t help but think these are the same people who were saying he was ripped off when he didn’t win the Vezina two years back. I’ve always been a Nabby supporter. He didn’t have a great playoffs last year, but I’ll cut him slack. The team lost because they couldn’t score. Plus their defense was sloppy. And he was also coming back off of injury. Maybe he wasn’t 100%. In any event, before he gets run out of town, I still think he’s in the top echelon of NHL goaltenders. Plus, I don’t think the Sharks have much in their system right now. And ask the good people of Philly and Ottawa who have had Cup contending teams wrecked by substandard goaltending. You need a quality goaltender to win it all and the Sharks do. The Blackhawks are a cup favorite this year, but you know what, I don’t trust that Huet fellow. It could all fall apart for them there. Philly and Washington might be in the same boat as well. I’ll take Nabby over the netminders on all those teams.

So What Does It All Mean?
I’m not going to make any predictions, cause that’s just cause for heartache, but the Western Conference, which used to be a beast, ain’t so fearsome right now. The Wings didn’t get better and I think Anaheim got worse with the loss of Pronger. The Hawks got better, but they have a big question mark in goal. Calgary’s defense got better, but they have a lot of questions on offense. Vancouver, maybe they’re as good as the were. So who knows? As always, the Sharks are looking good on paper.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

2009-09-05T15:16:00.001-07:00

When I started reading Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, I couldn’t help but notice the number of reviews on the book jacket that compared Tattoo to the work of Ingmar Bergman. It’s as if Bergman is the only point of cultural reference a non-Swede could make. Strikes me as lazy, because after downing six hundred pages of this modern crime novel, I can’t think of anything even remotely Bergman-esque about Dragon Tattoo. Dark, brooding, and artsy this book is not. Interestingly within the book itself, Larsson name drops IKEA several times, and for me, if you need to compare the book to something Swedish, IKEA works pretty well. The writing of the book is clean-lined, well put together, crisp and easy to read. It’s a far cry from the murky, confused depths of Persona. It’s a page-turner that goes down smoothly.

Dragon Tattoo focuses on Mikael Blomkvist, a journalist taking aim at the corporate world and Lisbeth Salander , a tattooed, computer-hacker punk , who team up to uncover a decades-old murder mystery, and along the way, set their sites on taking down one of Sweden’s most corrupt CEOs. I suppose I should be turned on by the notion of a tattooed, punk rock chick righting social wrongs and living by her own moral code. Hell, I am the target for just such a character. But honestly, I felt the college-educated, urban sophisticate Blomkvist character resonated with a lot more truth than the fringe-dwelling Salander. That said, I liked the book a lot and will probably read the follow up. But I’m not running out to the bookstore or library to track it down just yet. If you have to read only one crime novel featuring a female protagonist this year, I’d give the nod to Megan Abbott’s Queenpin. It’s a different beast than Dragon Tattoo, more murky, dark, and depraved, but isn’t that what crime is all about?

Inglorious Basterds

2009-08-30T17:54:00.000-07:00

I’m a huge Tarantino fan. Been counting the days to Inglorious Basterds. Tarantino. A World War II Movie. Jews on the warpath. Nazis getting scalped. A plot to kill Hitler. All sounds good to me, especially given the recent slew of “Good German” movies. Interestingly, over the past month, I’ve run into a lot of Quentin backlash. A lot of conversations along the lines of, “He always just misses the mark,” or “Do you really think this is going to be good?” Huh? Whatever. Can’t concern myself with the thoughts of others. That said, finally got to see the film this weekend. Saturday night, 8 pm, nice size house and…wait for it…disappointment. I’ve got say, Basterds is a bit long in the tooth. Scenes that go on for way too long, conversations that lack tension, flabby editing. It’s a shame. The story itself is genius. The ending? Fantastic. Were there moments of brilliance? Absolutely. Tons of them scattered throughout. Acting? A-ok. But at the end of the day, any number of long-winded scenes going nowhere brought down the proceedings and derailed what could have and should have been an action-packed juggernaut. I don’t want to be too harsh, because I enjoyed a lot of the film, plus it was a pretty fun way to spend a Saturday night, and as I said, the film is filled with plenty of memorable bits. I’m not going to begrudge the guy too much. But unlike the Bear Jew, Quentin didn’t hit this one out of the park.

A New Golden Age of Sci-Fi?

2009-08-21T09:41:00.000-07:00

A couple years back, there were a lot of think pieces on how we were entering a new golden age of television. That was fueled by a bumper crop of HBO programming (Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm), as well as some interesting strides on the network side of life. Just having watched District 9, which I loved, I’m wondering (and hoping) that we’re entering a new golden age of sci-fi. Two of my fave pics of the year would be the new Star Trek and District 9. Battlestar Galactica was the best show on tv over the past several years, and for all its cheeseball madness, I’m sucked into Lost. The 70s offered up some great sci-fi (Demon Seed, Andromeda Strain), but with a handful of exceptions, as the 80s and 90s wore on, I kind of felt that sci-fi devolved into nothing more than action films in space. The content was sucked dry and there was very little reflection on modern day problems as seen through the lens of the future. District 9 firmly has it foot planted on this latter path and it’s the number one picture in America. It’s a strange film to be in that spot. And that makes me happy.

In The Style Of...

2009-08-20T12:20:00.000-07:00

Several weeks back, I blogged about photographer Edward Burtynsky. This week, while vacationing in Northern California, I snapped several photos that, I daresay, seem inspired by his work. Here they are. Some silt floating on the waters of Lake Britton. Enjoy!

Summer On The Couch

2009-08-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

First run movies, dvds, tv shows, oh my. It’s the vacation that keeps on giving.

Joan Rivers Comedy Roast. I don’t think I’ve watched any of these roasts on Comedy Central. I was actually looking forward to this one, being a fan of Joan Rivers. The weird thing is, if you didn’t know anything about Joan Rivers before the show, all you would know after the show is that she has had a lot of plastic surgery and that she has a dried out pussy. Honestly, it was 90 wall-to-wall minutes of plastic surgery and dried out pussy jokes. Were they funny jokes? Yes, but after 90 minutes, you want a little something more.

Funny People. Judd Apatow’s movie career has been a bit hit or miss for my likes. But I got to say I thought this movie was awesome. Funny, melancholy, crass, and dare I say it, mature. Adam Sandler plays the lonely famous guy with a life full of regrets and Seth Rogen is the up-and-coming sidekick filled with wonder and awe of the world opening up around him. Both are fantastic and Rogen, whose face and shtick I’m getting sick of, took his game up a notch and started to show some range.

G Force. Ok, let’s be frank. This wasn’t great. BUT, as far as kids movies go, it wasn’t a great action movie, as opposed to not being a great comedy. In other words, its transgressions were of a slightly different variety from the usual kid fare, which made it more tolerable than if it were a mediocre comedy. Does that make any sense? And I will say it was nice to take my son to a g-rated action movie. He dug the explosions and pyrotechnics. So that was cool.

Into Thin Air. Like I mentioned in my last post, I really dug this movie. Alexander Supertramp comes across much more sympathetic than in the book, his motivations firmly spurred on by his dysfunctional family. The film is beautifully shot and really captures Supertramp’s love of nature. Sean Penn gets big points for how well the film is adapted and structured. There are lots of stories in the book and Penn does a great job weaving them all together to make a cohesive, impactful film. It’s a great companion piece to the book.

Summer Reading

2009-08-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

Don’t you love it when all the books you read are awesome? That’s the book-zone I’ve been in lately. Maybe it has something to do with being a teacher and being on summer vacation. As a teacher, this is the first year I’ve taken the entire summer off. I haven’t worked any odd-jobs and haven’t been embroiled in any personal projects (well a little of that, but not much). In other words, I’ve gone on vacation, slept late, ate well, and read. So here’s a brief round up. In keeping with a summer vacation state of mind, a couple of sentences at most. I mean why struggle over whole paragraphs when school’s not in session?

Queenpin by Megan Abbott. I was raving about her second novel, The Song Is You several weeks back. Her latest is Queenpin and it ups the ante in a huge way. Bristling with lust and crime, it’s the dirtiest, sexiest noir I've read since The Postman Always Rings Twice. Check it out immediately.

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay. This was an impulse purchase in the airport in Sydney, found in the “Australiana” section. Read it on the plane ride home. Mysterious disappearances at a girls boarding school in the Outback. Formal, studied, creepy. Loved it. I’ve never seen the movie, but I hear it’s good.

Native Tongue by Carl Hiaasen. Love Carl Hiaasen. Can’t believe I haven’t written about him yet on this blog. Former Miami crime reporter turned novelist. Biting social critiques of the Miami politico and real estate world. Forever bemoaning the loss of his beloved Everglades to ruthless real estate developers in bed with state and county politicians. In a sense all his books are kind of the same, but they all ring strong with grand satire. If you like Terry Southern, you have to read Hiaasen. Native Tongue involves a 70 year old grandma, extremist environmental activist, some bumbling, two-bit burglars and a corrupt theme park. Skink, the rogue former ex-governor living in the Glades surviving on road kill, gets involved as well.

Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer. A great, if not creepy read. A young idealist tries to survive in the wild and things don’t work out to well. I loved the idealism but still found Alexander Supertramp unsympathetic and it all made me sad. The movie, which I just watched is great and makes Supertramp a lot more sympathetic than in the book. Though I imagine people’s reactions to Supertramp in the book really range. Curious as to what other’s thought.

Man In the High Castle by Phillip K. Dick. Got 20 PK Dick novels on the shelf, yet somehow have never read this one, considered one of his best. As always, he rules. What if the Nazis and Japanese won the war? Filled with sadness, longing, religion, spirituality, and the importance of artistic expression. Isn’t there a British film from the 60s with the same premise? I know there is. Name escapes me.

Mekons

2009-07-29T10:38:00.000-07:00

The Mekons played last night in SF. Not sure why they’re here. No new record. Low key show that I found out about only two days ago. I was pretty on the fence about going. I was tired. It was Tuesday. I’ve seen ‘em a million times. I rallied, made it to the show and pretty early on I thought to myself, “Why was I even considering not coming to this show? I love this band.” I’ve loved the Mekons since purchasing a scratched, over-priced import of The Edge of The World back in 1986. $14.99 for a sealed, yet scratched record! Had to take it back to the record store, have them ship it back to England and get another copy, which arrived 60-90 days later. But hey, the band crossed my doorstep just as I was discovering country, blues and non-rock material. They came into my life at just the right time. And while not every track on every record is amazing, I probably have more of their records than any other band. And last night, they delivered in a big way. In a classic Mekons-of-old style, there were plenty of broken strings, broken accordion straps, and missing 9 volt batteries plaguing the opening half hour of the set. But no worries, the comedy team of Timms and Langford were as tight as ever and as good as anybody I saw at Sketchfest this year. Once they got their gear in order, the band ripped into a fantastic set. I remember seeing the Rolling Stones about ten years ago. It was a time when I wasn’t listening to the Stones that much. I remember being blown away by the sheer volume of hits. They’d pull out a song like It’s Only Rock and Roll, and I’d think, “Holy crap. I forgot all about this song.” Hit after hit just kept coming. That was going through my mind yesterday as the Mekons rolled through lots of choice selections from the back catalogue. Staples such as Hard To Be Human, Wild and Blue, Beaten and Broken, Hole In The Ground, Fantastic Voyage, Last Dance delivered as usual. But there were moments of “Oblivion! Abernant! Have I ever heard them play these live?” The answer is probably, but hell, that was a long time ago and it all sounded so damn good last night. Even with Tom Greenhalgh missing in action, Lu Edmonds and Rico Bell filled in nicely on vocals. And the new material focused heavily on last year’s Natural, a record I like enough, but don't think their best. But live that material sounded great and will definitely make me take another listen. Moral of the story. If one of you’re favorite bands are playing, don’t be a fool. Just go to the damn show.

Welcome To Australia, Pt. IV: The Great Ocean Road

2009-07-20T03:20:00.000-07:00

Before heading to Australia, I definitely had my eye on the Great Ocean Road, a 200 km road along the ocean in Southern Victoria. What photos I had seen looked spectacular, and my Melbournian friend Martyn had highly recommended it as well. I was still a bit on the fence given the two day chunk it would take out of my stay in Melbourne, not to mention the transport issue. To travel the road my options were a) rent a car and drive on the wrong side road, b) borrow Martyn’s car and contend not only with the wrong side of the road, but also with a manual shift on the wrong side of my body or c) get on a tour bus with a bunch of tourists. Ultimately I chose not to deal with humans or risk wrecking Martyn’s auto. I rented a car and went on down the road. Hands down the GOR was the highlight of my Australian trip. Absolutely breathtaking. Though it’s winter down here, I was accompanied by blue skies, white billowy clouds, giant rainbows, and the golden glow of a sparkling, sunny day. The day was crisp and spring-like, the evening offered an autumnal chill descending into winter. The road offered up beautiful vista after beautiful vista. Sandy beaches, rugged, rough hewn orangey cliffs, rolling green pasturelands dotted with cows and sheep, rain forests, and the postcard perfect 12 Apostles—a series of 12 monolithic rock structures off the coast near Port Campbell. Truly stunning. If you’re ever in Australia, you’ve got to do this drive. And the wrong side of the road thing…kind of fun.

Welcome To Australia, Pt. III: Minescapes

2009-07-19T23:58:00.000-07:00

Since being in Australia, I've learned a lot about Aussie history, culture and economics. From what I gather, the economy of Western Australia (home to Perth) is all about mineral wealth, with mining playing a central role in the region's development. Had the pleasure of seeing an amazing photo exhibit by Canadian photographer Edward Burtynsky at the Australian Centre For Photography. Burtynsky's photos are absolutely magnificent. They're large format, large scale (appx. 5' x 5') aerial photographs of mining sites. They stunningly showcase the impact of industry on the landscape. Additionally, the formal structure of the photos creates a world that is simultaneously concrete and abstract. Worth seeking out.

Welcome To Australia, Pt. II: Wake In Fright

2009-07-19T23:46:00.000-07:00

Since having touched down in Australia two weeks ago, the hype surrounding the re-release of Ted Kotcheff’s 1971 film Wake In Fright has been thick. I had the opportunity to see the film at the Revelation Film Fest in Perth and the film lives up to the hype and then some. Wake In Fright stars Gary Bond as a teacher stuck in a one-room schoolhouse in the outback. Due to the intricacies of the Aussie school system, he’s trapped there until he can buy out his $1,000 teaching contract. Given that he’s an erudite city-slicker, this prospect does not go down smoothly. For winter holiday, he’s planning to head to Sydney, but he has a one night lay over in “The Yabba”, an outback mining town. Bond quickly takes a condescending tone to the beer-swilling denizens of the Yabba. It’s a world of redneck machismo, a world which he clearly disdains. But the townsfolk pour beer after beer down his throat. He drinks to be hospitable and in a moment of drunken clarity, he realizes he might be able to raise $1,000 by entering an epic game of “two-up”, a rudimentary gambling game that all the men seem transfixed by. Things go south quickly and he ends up flat broke with no way out of the Yabba. He’s forced to rely on the kindness of strangers and what follows is the lost weekend to end all lost weekends. Bond descends headlong into a world he clearly has trouble navigating. Drinking, gambling, fighting, hunting and awkward sexual dalliances follow. The film’s grim centerpiece is an utterly brutal, drunken kangaroo hunt filled with bloodlust, a high marsupial body count and, believe it or not, hand-to-paw combat with the plucky roos.

Ultimately the film is a critical look at the culture of machismo in Australia, as well as an exploration of the cultural divide between rural and urban lifestyles and attitudes—a divide that exists in more places than Australia.

One of the fascinating things about seeing the film in Australia is the debate about weather Australia has left this culture of masculine posturing behind. The film is almost 40 years old, but many still seem to question how far Australian culture has evolved in that time span, especially in light of recent debauched footballer escapades in both Sydney and Melbourne. I’m just a tourist, so I can’t weigh in on that debate, but I definitely recommend seeking out this movie. Not sure if will appear in reparatory in America, but I imagine a dvd release can’t be far behind.

Oh, and Donald Pleasance is brilliant in the film as well.

Welcome To Australia-Let's Talk About Nick Cave

2009-07-11T19:02:00.000-07:00

Having spent four days in Australia so far, there’s no question that Nick Cave is considered a national hero. You can’t go five minutes without someone mentioning him. He’s as big as Bob Seger is in Detroit. Fortunately, that’s ok by me. And not only are people constantly talking about him, but as it turns out, he even has an exhibit at the Western Australian Museum here in Perth, where I’ve spent the last few days. The show is pretty cool. It’s essentially Nick Cave ephemera mania. Three or four rooms filled with journals, folios, sketch books, studio notes, curios from Cave’s house, bookshelves filled with books from his Sussex home, artwork that inspired him, and original photos spanning his career, many of which you’re all familiar with. There are lots of Birthday Party and Bad Seeds videos, as well as Nick Cave docs screening on monitors spread throughout the exhibit. There are also some very cool curio cabinets hung on the wall. They contain little speakers and when you open them, you hear Cave wax rhapsodic about love and life. For some reason, all the 10-year-old kids at the museum were immediately drawn to those. There was something perverse about that.

And if that wasn’t enough Nick Cave for the day, later that evening, I caught a Nick Cave doc at the Revelation Film Festival (the reason why I’m in Perth in the first place). Do You Love Me Like I Love You, Part 5: Tender Prey is a 30 minute doc by Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard on the making and the meaning of Tender Prey. Apparently, they’ve made 14 of these films, interviewing over 300 people in the process. They’ve made one film for each Bad Seeds’ record and the films appear as bonus material on re-issued collectors’ editions of each record. The film is pretty awesome. 30 minutes of beautifully shot talking head interviews with the people involved and influenced by the record in question. It is a thorough analysis of all things Tender Prey. Dissected are the songs, the lyrics, the emotion, the smuttiness, the meaning, the images, the photography, the recording, the mixing. Weighing in are the likes of Blixa, Mick Harvey, Alan Vega, Kid Congo, Mark Arm, Noah Taylor, Flood and many, many more both male and female. At times, the film yearns for a little music or a little live footage, but the interviews are so good that’s all forgiven, especially considering these are ultimately part of a cd package where you can pop on whatever song you want to hear.

Heck, I even debased myself before the screening, crooning a little bit of Lover Man in order to win a giveaway of From Her To Eternity.

Now I’m off to hunt down Bon Scott’s grave.

Public Enemies, Moon, The Song Is You. Book and Movie Round Up

2009-07-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

Moon
Awesome. Sam Rockwell is diligently at work in solitude on a lunar station. Two weeks left to go on a three year stint. There’s an accident. Things go wrong. He’s starting to lose his marbles. Is he seeing things? Are there clones? What’s going on? Creepy, sci-fi quietude channeling 2001, Silent Running and Demon Seed. Is the computer good or bad? What about the corporation behind it all? A grim 70s view of the evil corporation and the sci-fi world in general. And it was shot in Shepperton. Right on!

Public Enemies
Not down with this at all. The film was pretty much a compilation of prison breaks (apparently very easy to do), bank robberies (apparently very easy to do) and shootouts with the cops featuring lots of tommy guns and dead people. But honestly, where was the story? If you’re gonna make a movie about Dillinger, you should at least give some insight into the inner-psyche of the character, what makes him tick, blah blah blah. Did I miss something? Depp could have been any gangster. Pretty generic at the story, back story and inner story level. I was also irritated by the camera work (oooh, low angles all the time, how ominous) and the music. I guess I didn’t like it. Marion Cotillard was purty to look at, but not so sure about the acting chops. There were moments where the film addressed the changing nature of crime during the depression and shifts taking place within the FBI and the world of crime fighting. I liked those moments, but those were fleeting at best.

The Song Is You by Megan Abbott
Fantastic neo-noir. Channels Ellroy and Chandler in a delicious way. Great story about the underbelly of Hollywood in the 40s. Desperate, wanna-be actresses, willing to do anything for a role. The stars and the studios willing to prey on these star struck girls from the Midwest. The jaded hangers on in the system undercutting their morals for a taste of fame and money. Expertly written.

Skate & Destroy

2009-07-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

It’s a weird world to be sure. Back in 1986, over the course of one day, I made a short film called Skate Witches. Tonight it appears on MTV. Never in a million years would I have predicted that.

The film was inspired by my friend Dana. She had skated a bit and wanted to bring her board to Ann Arbor as a way to get around town. But since she was a girl, she figured she’d get hassled by the boy skateboarders. Jokingly, I suggested she start a female skateboard gang as a way to address that problem. Within minutes our friend Karen, who claimed to be a good skater, joined up, as did our friend Jenny, who openly admitted to never having skated. A gang was formed, a movie script was plotted, and the back of a leather jacket was emblazoned with SKATE WITCHES in white spray paint.

When we started shooting, Karen, for some reason, refused to skate. We worked that into the script. During the shoot, we found a couple of friends skating. They were recruited to be hapless boy victims, being shoved off their skateboards and having their boards stolen by Jenny. I think because she was the most novice skater, it was decided that she would be the tough. All of our pet rats appeared as well. Mr. Ig Wigg, Maggie, and a rat whose name I can not remember.

The film was shot in an afternoon and one evening. We shot a night scene where Karen skated at night, backing up her claim in the film that she “only skates at midnight.” That was lit by the car lights of a 1982 brown Horizon. That footage was unusable.

We finished the film and essentially no one cared. It did screen at the Ann Arbor Super 8 Fest in 1986 or 1987. I remember being irritated because they had a prize for best Michigan Film. I’m not saying I deserved to win, but they did give that award to a filmmaker from Ohio that year.

Underground films like this were a tough sell in 1986 and not until the 90s with the founding of NY and Chicago Underground Film Fests did this kind of work even gain traction. Skate Witches got a couple of nice screenings throughout the 90s as Skate Film Festivals (esp. Cut & Paste) started coming to the fore.

But then the internet. Skate Witches has been a hit with the youth on YouTube. It’s funny. And now MTV.

The film, “discovered on YouTube”, is going to be featured, and I believe made fun of, on a show called DJ and The Fro. Kind of like Bevis and Butthead, but featuring guys in cubicles sharing viral videos. We’ll see. It appears on an episode called Substitute Boss. It’s set to air Friday, July 3, 12:30 am. Set your TIVOS and check your local listings for repeat airings.

And for what it’s worth, Dana still has the jacket. Let the eBay bidding wars commence!

Watch it below with out the smarmy MTV comments. Also, it's available on my Warts & All DVD.

Moby Dick--The Book, Not The Song

2009-06-29T21:16:00.000-07:00

Never read Moby Dick. It’s been on the to-do list for years. Just finished it up. But I can’t think of anything more pathetic than a blogger in 2009 reviewing such a classic tome. So I won’t. I will quote one passage however.

“At such times, under an abated sun; afloat all day upon smooth, slow heaving swells; seated in his boat, light as a birch canoe; and so sociably mixing with the soft waves themselves, that like hearth-stone cats they purr against the gunwale; these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean’s skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang.”

Now that’s some good writing.

Plotbox Turns 1

2009-06-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

This week marks the 1st anniversary of the Plotbox blog. 69 posts in all. Titter...Titter. I’m celebrating by heading to the mountains of Northern California and attempting to read Moby Dick. There will be no internet and no posts for at least a week. What better time to read some posts you might have missed the first time around.

Chuck Barris
Don Rickles
Roky Erickson
Raveonettes vs. The Polyphonic Spree
Slapshot
Palahniuk
Fatty Arbuckle
Anvil
Jonathan Lethem
Sheman Alexie
Las Vegas
Roman Polanski
Clint Eastwood
Hair Metal
Boris
Klosterman on Metal
Sara Palin vs. The NHL
Mark The Bird Fidrych
The Dream Syndicate (full show audio for download)
Flaming Lips
Ibis Attack
Motley Crue
Crime Novels
Cometbus
Scott Walker

It Came From Kuchar

2009-06-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

I love the brothers Kuchar. Mike and George, have been making weird, offbeat, underground films since the early 60s. In an era where most experimental filmmakers were dabbling in formal exercises, the Kuchars were pounding out bizarre melodramas, starring elderly women with insane eyebrow make up, putting turds in toilet bowls years before John Waters, and cornering the market on amazing film titles—The Devil’s Cleavage, Sins of The Fleshapoids, I Was A Teenage Rumpot, to name a few. They’ve continued putting out several films a year, embracing digital video after years of shooting on 8mm and 16mm. They are awesome. They are the real deal. They ooze the strangest energy. They are twins. They have strange speech patterns, and their Bronx accents are thick and delicious. It Came From Kuchar is an awesome doc that captures the beauty, the hilarity, the sadness and the energy of the world of the Kuchars. Kudos to director Jennifer Kroot for pulling this one off in great form. I love the Kuchars and was naturally apprehensive going in that the film wouldn’t do them justice. It does, and then some. It’s a great look at the NYC underground film world of the 60s, the SF underground film world of the 70s and does a great job focusing in on the creative process, how these guys work, how they are driven to work, and why making art is so damn important to them. The film mixes amazing clips of their films, lots of screen time for George and Mike, and lots of top notch interviews with the likes of John Waters, Buck Henry, Bill Griffith, Guy Maddin, Wayne Wang, Jack Stevenson and more. If it’s showing at a festival near you, go see it.

If you’re in SF this Tuesday, Curt McDowell’s Thundercrack, penned by George and starring George is playing at the Victoria. It’s the greatest underground film of all time. It’s a porn, it’s a comedy, there's a gorrilla involved, it’s one of a kind. It’s not available on video.

Here's a bit of Mike's The Craven Sluck

The Girlfriend Experience by Steven Soderbergh

2009-06-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

I’m reminded of an episode of Barney Miller where, as part of a sting operation, the Ron Glass character has to make a porn with precinct money. What he makes is so boring, arty and pretentious that the sting operation fails. That episode sheds a lot of light on this film.

Black Swan Green by David Mitchell

2009-06-10T11:06:00.001-07:00

As I’ve mentioned previously, a lot of new literature leaves me cold. I approach new authors with a hint of trepidation. I’ve been disappointed too many times. But I yearn for new, exciting writing. Fresh voices. Fresh stories. So I always come back for more. A workmate, who I’ve shared a lot of sandwiches and Chinese food with this year, recommended David Mitchell’s Black Swan Green. Why not, I figured? It’s always good to find a new person to recommend books. And I loved it. Black Swan is an awesome coming of age story. Set in England in the mid-80s, the book follows a stuttering 13 year old, Jason Taylor as he navigates the middle school years. Jayce is a kid who so desperately wants to fit in and to be liked, even though he clearly recognizes he doesn’t share the same values of his classmates, whose approval he so desperately seeks. Given his disabling stutter and his secret love of poetry, there’s no question the coming years are going to be tough. The book hits all the right chords. Beautifully written. Breezy, fun, melancholy, and deep. The book contains a lot of fragmented incidents that take place over a year, yet they all tie up in a resplendently satisfying way at the end. I also love Jason’s relationship to his parents. It’s spot on for a 13 year old. Clearly his parents are having troubles, possibly heading for the big D, but all the melodramas in his own life, blind him to the problems at home. Too good.

Hit It & Quit It: Movie Week: Star Trek, Up

2009-06-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

Star Trek
Can’t rave enough about the new Star Trek. I’ve always been a fan of the original series, but have had only passing interests in any of the franchise’s other incarnations. This movie has been talked about to death, so I won’t say much other than I was truly blown away. I’ve been watching the original series with my son over the past month, so I was up on my Star Trek lore. One thing I loved about the film was that the filmmakers clearly have a tremendous reverence for the original series, but managed to not become a slave to the past. The opening sound you hear in the film is a classic ping, so familiar from the bridge of the original Enterprise. But that ping quickly fades into a thoroughly modern score and sound design. The character traits that we know so well of Kirk, Spock, Bones, Uhura and Scotty are clearly at the heart of the film, but by delving into these characters’ formative years and their maiden voyage, the filmmakers manage to imbue each character with fresh traits. The movie is an amazing achievement of taking something classic and energizing it with an absolutely fresh and modern sensibility. And it’s non-stop action, action, action!

Up
Several weeks back I saw Wall-E producer Lindsey Collins speak. In discussing Up, she promised a return to a more classically kid friendly universe after the rather sophisticated Wall-E. I got to say, I really loved Up, but was surprised by the film’s melancholy tone. The first 20 minutes are full of loss, longing and sadness. Heady stuff for a kids’ movie. The movie gets more conventional as it progresses, but there’s some emotional weight to it throughout. There’s a sequence early on, where we see the lead character, Karl, age from a young boy to an old man. It’s one of those sublime sequences that set Pixar beyond all other animation studios. It’s a moment where you forget your watching a kid’s movie and realize your watching a classic movie. Another thing that I love about the more recent Pixar offerings is their clear love of classic cinema. Up pays homage to the Lost World from 1925. I only know this having recently saw the Lost World (with live musical accompaniment by Dengue Fever at the SF International Film Fest last month). Rather than situate themselves in any pop culture trend, Pixar orients itself around more classic points of reference, which I think is going to give many of their films a much greater shelf life in the long run.

It Ain't Easy Being Celine: Conversations With Professor Y

2009-06-03T00:50:00.000-07:00

I’m a huge Louis Ferdinand Celine fan. Sometimes a tough position to defend due to his anti-semitism. But there’s no questioning the brilliance, the passion, and the importance of his writing. Biting satire, pitch black comedy, explosive language, passionate misanthropy, and those damn dots…rewriting the book on ellipses. Most folks, if they’ve read Celine, have gone for the early classics. The brilliant Journey To The End of The Night and the great coming of age story Death on The Installment Plan. I’d venture to say that his final trilogy, consisting of Castle To Castle, North and Rigadoon…which he finished the day before he died, may in fact be his best works. Those three novels are an absolute phantasmagorical and singular look into the fall of the Third Reich, chronicling Celine, his wife and their cat Bebert’s journey from France, through war-torn Germany and on toward Denmark.

Why bring all of this up now? Well, I just finished reading Conversations with Professor Y. In a sense, this is his come back novel. Celine, certainly according to Celine, was public enemy number one in France post WWII. Rather than take the chance of being tried for war crimes or being lynched by an angry mob, Celine headed for Denmark, ultimately spending a couple years in jail while the Danes figured out what to do with him. When he returned to France, he was a forgotten man, his books were out of print and he still was politically tainted. His publishers suggested he write a new novel to re-introduce the French to Celine. What he came up with was Professor Y…a faux interview, where Celine, in the guise of the bumbling Professor Y, interviews himself. It’s Celine at his crankiest and most embittered. Publishers, the movies, the reading public all come under Celine’s withering gaze. It’s a manic laundry list of complaints, all the while, Celine arguing for his place in history, as the man who brought the passion of the spoken word to the written page. He’s right of course, and the list of authors he went on to influence is impressive. But it’s a strange and bold maneuver for a comeback.

Not sure that this is a place where the uninitiated should start, but it’s a great read and a must for any Celine fan. Professor Y fits in nicely alongside Castle to Castle, a novel where Celine spends an awful lot of time not talking about WWII, but instead complaining and chronicling his aggravations as an aging, penniless country doctor. It’s hard being Celine.

RIP JG Ballard

2009-05-22T11:22:00.000-07:00

I love JG Ballard and was very sad to learn of his passing several weeks back. It did make me pick up and read The Kindness of Women, a book I’ve been meaning to read for years. I can’t recommend the book enough. Like his brilliantly harrowing bio, Empire of the Sun, which chronicles his childhood years in a Japanese internment camp in Shanghai during World WWII, The Kindness of Women is another semi-autobiographical novel. The Kindness of Women revisits his Shanghai years, and then follows his life through his years in Cambridge, Saskatchewan and his beloved Shepperton, where he finds salvation in family life and his children. The book also does a great job exploring the tumultuous sixties. That’s a scene that’s been done to death, but I’m tempted to say Ballard has done it best. He has a unique window into that world. Free spirits are attracted to him and he’s willing to dabble and explore but with the distance of a family man a little too old for that sort of thing. In a clever bit of symmetry, the book culminates with Ballard revisiting a fabricated Shanghai on the studio lot in Shepperton during the filming of Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Empire of the Sun. One of the things I loved about Empire of the Sun (the book) was that though it is completely different in style and tone to all of Ballard’s fiction, it manages to lay down the blueprint for all his fiction work. Ballard’s sci-fi work and dystopian future worlds are filled with mass-psychosis, sleep deprivation, and fractured societies. It’s a world that can be cold, confusing and off-putting to some, but makes total sense once you learn about his childhood experiences. The Kindness of Women functions in much the same way with a hint more emphasis on Ballard’s psycho-sexual explorations. The seeds of Crash are laid out in detail in the latter portions of The Kindness of Women. Also, the book really shows how his experiences in Shanghai shape him, for better or worse, throughout his entire adult life. Best of all it reads like a great, classic novel.

D Tour

2009-05-02T03:24:00.000-07:00

It’s been a rock doc week. Just saw D Tour at the SF Film Fest. It’s a doc by my good buddy, Jim Granato. It follows Pat Spurgeon, drummer of indie rock rising stars the Rogue Wave. It’s a great doc and not your typical one at that. The film chronicles Spurgeon’s search for a new kidney and follows him on tour while he copes with dialysis. Not your everyday tour scenario. The film takes some pretty intense and emotional twists along the way. It’s 3 in the morning, so I’m not gonna say much other than that. But I wanted to get a quick post up here to let you know that if you live in SF, you should try to see it at the fest this week.

The film screens again Monday, May 4 and Thursday, May 7 at the Kabuki. Go here for more info.

D Tour Trailer from dtour on Vimeo.

Patti Smith: Dream of Life

2009-05-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

Wow. This film was pretty intolerable. Let me first say that I’m a huge Patti Smith fan. Horses is one of the greatest records ever. And though I haven’t paid that much attention to her late career output, Gone Again, the one record I have heard, is fantastic.

Clearly, what I was hoping for with Patti Smith: Dream of Life, was a rock doc about one of the truly unique spirits in rock and roll. However, the film does not even attempt to be a conventional, career-spanning doc. There are maybe 3 minutes of archival footage, no live footage from back in the day, almost no classic Patti Smith songs on the soundtrack, and the live performances that we do see are from a later tour, and even with those, you are only treated to snippets of song. Ultimately, the film is a cinéma vértié look at the recent incarnation of rock poetess, Patti Smith. The film is clearly attempting to be her Don’t Look Back. It’s a choice that is a strange one. Don’t Look Back has the fortune of capturing Dylan at a critical transformative point in his career, plus he’s at the height of his powers and he’s meeting and mingling with rock legends. Who wouldn’t want a window into that world? Would I have liked to see a cinema vértié portrait of Patti Smith in 1975? Hell yeah. In 2005, that tactic is a little less compelling. Is she still a strong, outspoken artists with a lot left to give her fans, her friends, and the world? Well...yes. But let’s face it, Patti Smith, circa 1999-2009 (the years over which the movie were made), doesn’t have the compelling storyline that Patti Smith, circa 1975 does. If you’re like me, you’re aching to see the formative years, hear about the formative years, experience the formative years. This is not that film in any way, shape or form.

The grainy b&w cinematography is beautiful, but like many vértié films, it feels cold. Also, much of Smith’s voice-over feels like a poetry reading, like she’s on stage, performing for us. While I like much of what she says, it feels more like a performance and less from the heart and therefore takes on an air of pretension. Smith talks a lot about her inspiration to be an artist, the connection to Rimbaud, Burroughs and Blake. She clearly tries to make a connection between those who have influenced her and her hope that she can serve as an influence to others. All noble, but the coldness and the pretension of the film dilute the message.

One of the awesome things about Patti Smith has been her ability to transcend the rock world, the poetry world, the political world and the art world. But for me, her foot that was firmly planted in the rock world was the element that gave her voice that undeniable fire. This film, unfortunately, is almost completely planted in the art and poetry world, and the fiery breath of rock and roll is sadly missing.

Here's a clip you won't see in the movie.

Anvil: The Story of Anvil

2009-04-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post to say if Anvil: The Story of Anvil is playing in your town, run out and see it. It’s awesome. In the early 80’s Anvil had 15 minutes of fame thanks to their hit Metal on Metal. It was influential enough to get folks like Lemmy and Slash singing their praises in the film. But ten or eleven poorly produced records later, flailing about with no management, these nice Jewish boys from Toronto continue to soldier on, well into their 50s, still hoping for their next hit. Their rock and roll dream hasn’t died even though their fan-base has atrophied and the industry is not interested in signing a 50-something metal band. The doc follows the band on a dodgy European tour and during the recording of their 13th album, cleverly entitled, This Is Thirteen. The outlook is never rosy, but the band loves playing music and the main members have been buddies since childhood. Anvil is who they are, what they know and what they love. Even if no one else cares, they’re still finding joy in playing shows, be they to 10 people in Prague, 170 people in Transylvania or thousands of people in Japan. And that’s why the film is completely inspiring. No one in the band is drug damaged, schizophrenic, or an egomaniacal boob. The band is charming and they are equal parts hopeless dreamers and down to earth pragmatists. And therein lies the charm.

Apparently the band will be performing during one of the screenings this weekend at the Bridge Theater in SF. If you have the time, check it out.

I, Fatty by Jerry Stahl

2009-04-21T14:16:00.000-07:00

I, Fatty is Jerry Stahl’s faux bio/novelization of the life and times of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle. Arbuckle’s is a classic rags-to-riches-to-pariah story. Rising from the wreckage of a broken home and abusive father, Arbuckle finds solace on the stage. He’s the fat, funny man that people can laugh at and with. To earn some quick bucks, he gets involved with the movies, a step down from his true and noble calling, the theater. Arbuckle is an instant smash at Keystone and rockets to fame with a string of one and two reelers before tackling and becoming an international success in features. Arbuckle was comedian numero uno, rising to fame before Chaplin and before Keaton, who he takes under his wing. Ultimately Keaton would remain one of his true friends to Arbuckle’s bitter end. As luck would have it, things go horribly wrong for Arbuckle. A wild weekend in San Francisco, a party turns sour, a woman found dead, Arbuckle accused of rape and murder. Prior to Arbuckle’s wild weekend, there was already a gathering storm swirling around the immorality on display in Hollywood. Arbuckle becomes the poster boy for all of Hollywood’s sins and the nation turns on him, his formerly adoring fans deeming him nothing more than a fat, uncouth monster. The studios, in need of a fall guy, feed him to the fire and Hollywood abandons him to his fate against a bloodthirsty public and a corrupt legal system.

Ultimately, this is a really good read that I’d highly recommend. The book starts slow and I must say I wasn’t that into the handling of Fatty’s childhood. At times the writing is a little glib, with Arbuckle coming across equal parts crass, matter of fact and self-deprecating. The early years’ portion of the book lacks the emotional depth of hard knock coming-of-age stories, be they novels (Edward Bunker’s Little Boy Blue, John Fante’s Wait Until Spring Bandini) or memoirs (Mary Karr’s Liars’ Club, Michelle Tea’s Chelsea Whistle) or bios gone wrong (Mötley Crüe’s The Dirt, The Elvis books by Peter Guralnick). Also, once Arbuckle’s star begins to rise, success and fame comes at him fast and furious, but I never get the sense of being caught up in the whirlwind of that ascendancy. Even with these flaws, the book is a page-turner and really comes to life and strikes the proper chord once the scandal breaks. Stahl does a fantastic job capturing the confusion and the despondency that Arbuckle undergoes as his life crumbles around him. The studios cowardice, the newspaper’s scandal-mongering, the dodgy judicial system and the public’s turncoat behavior are all taken to task. You can’t help but feel for the big guy.

I, Fatty is a unique look at one of Hollywood’s great scandals and also a pretty nice glimpse into the early years of cinema. Definitely a must for film buffs and anyone looking for a read about a good scandal.

More Birds: RIP "The Bird"

2009-04-14T21:18:00.001-07:00

While we’re on the subject of birds, I have to say I was bummed to learn of the passing of Mark “The Bird” Fidrych. As an eleven-year-old Tigers’ fan, I was at ground zero for the Bird-mania that swept the nation in 1976. Fidrych was a rookie Tigers’ pitcher, who, out of nowhere, won 19 games, was rookie of the year and runner up for the Cy Young award. But more than just winning a bunch of games, his on-the-mound antics were utterly weird, bizarre and down right charming. He would talk to the ball, pace the mound nervously, smooth the dirt on the mound until things were to his liking, and then he’d throw strikes. Fidrych was a light on an otherwise bleak sports landscape in the mid-70s Motor City. The Tigers were a year removed from a league-worst 100 loss season, the Wings were settling into their “Dead Wings” era and the Lions were a guaranteed 7-7 or 6-8 team. The Pistons were the only team likely to be playoff bound, anchored by Bob Lanier and current Detroit Mayoral candidate Dave Bing, but you could count on them getting bounced in the first round by Lew Alcindor’s Milwaukee Bucks. So for an eleven year old who only knew from crappy sports teams, the Bird was a godsend. Whenever he pitched you turned on the radio and listened to Ernie Harwell do the play-by-play and after a called third strike (likely when Fidrych was pitching) he’d say stuff like “He stood there like a house by the side of the road and watched that one go by.” The Tigers were probably averaging 10,000 a game in ’74 and ‘75, but when Bird pitched, Tiger Stadium was filled to its 40,000 + capacity. When Bird pitched, the Tigers were national news, being regularly featured on the national games of the week. All of that was novel and exciting for an eleven year old. When we’d play ball at each other’s houses we all pretended to be Mark Fidrych. It beat pretending to be Joe Coleman, Aurelio Rodriguez or Tom Veryzer.

Fidrych was one of those guys that everyone seemed to love. Not just Tigers’ fans. Everyone in the game loved the guy. There was something about his charm, his innocence and his down hominess that clicked. There was no affectation, no put on. He was just this fun, lovable weirdo who did his job really, really well. Better than anyone could have imagined. In a day and age when no one comes out of nowhere, where athletes are groomed from high school to be superstars, where rookies command millions and have image consultants, it’s nice to be reminded of an era when someone could take the world by storm just by being themselves.

"Hold That Ibis" or "How I Shoulda Coulda Woulda Appeared on America's Funniest Home Videos"

2009-04-11T23:05:00.000-07:00

When I was a mid-90s hipster I decried America’s Funniest Home Videos as crap. Fat people breaking diving boards, falling off bikes and getting hit in the nuts by baseball bat wielding toddlers. Har Har. What sent me over the edge was the stupid cartoon “sproinging” sounds that got added to each video. It’s like we weren’t smart enough to know when to laugh without the force-fed sound effects. Now, that I’m the parent of a seven year old, I see the error of my ways. AFV is brilliant, especially when you’re watching with a 7 year old. Sorry America, I was wrong. From the vantage point of my middle age, fat people breaking diving boards, falling off bikes and getting hit in the nuts by baseball bat wielding toddlers are actually really frakking funny. Cats and dogs juggling beach balls, hurling themselves into pools and stealing the wigs off the heads of old ladies. Funny. I can’t deny it.

As a filmmaker with a kid who’s a bit of a ham, I’ve always wondered if we could manufacture a video to crash the AFV party. Ultimately I’ve never bothered, because there is something about the spontaneity of the good ones that can’t be beat. Well, we blew our chance for a spot on the show and the $10,000 prize money the other day. While visiting the San Diego Zoo, we ventured into one of the zoo’s many awesome aviaries. Upon entry we stumbled upon a Madagascar Crested Ibis, one of those low-to-the-ground, waddling birds. Kind of like a flightless, undersized turkey. He quickly started stalking my child and then in a burst of avian bravado whacked my son upside the head with his massive wing. A quick shot to my son’s chest followed and bam bam, the bird had landed two quick blows. The family was in retreat and the bird kept coming. We scurried off humbled…and without a video. Damn.

There are more imposing pictures of an ibis to be found, but the one pictured above comes from the San Diego Zoo. So this could be the culprit.

Mötley Crüe: The Dirt

2009-04-11T09:08:00.000-07:00

It seems like every two months I write a post about 80s hair metal. It’s funny, because I paid no attention to this stuff when it was going down in the 80s and still don’t find it particularly interesting from a musical perspective. Yet, it’s clearly fascinating from a cultural perspective. I just finished reading the Mötley Crüe bio, The Dirt. And it is awesome. I couldn’t put it down. It was consumed on a literary bender. Honestly, this is one of the best rock and roll bios I’ve read. It’s not as important from a musical perspective as Legs McNeil’s Please Kill Me. Nor does it read like the great American novel like Last Train to Memphis and Careless Love by Peter Guralnik. But still, I’d rank it up there with those books. Mötley Crüe…who knew? Outside of Girls, Girls, Girls and Kickstart My Heart, I doubt I could hum any of their songs, but boy what a story. Egotistical, selfish, drug-addled, crybaby man boys on a 15-year bender. The book is debased, debauched, and filled with lots of fighting and a whole lot of fucking. Manslaughter, prison sentences, overdoses and lots of depraved sex with strippers, porn stars and cock-eyed groupies. Tommy Lee plays the over-eager romantic, Vince Neil the strutting peacock, Nikki Sixx stars as the tortured artist with the harrowing childhood and Mick Mars plays the weird, philosophical old guy in the band with the degenerative bone disease. Clearly Mick was my favorite. Will I pick up a Mötley Crüe greatest hit cd in the near future? Probably not. But I might spend a little time on YouTube seeing what all the fuss was about.

Suspects by David Thomson

2009-04-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

The premise of film critic David Thomson’s novel, Suspects (1985), is brilliant. He takes the characters from hundreds of classic Hollywood films and creates bios for them that extend beyond their lives in the movies. We learn of Jake Gittes’ (Jack Nicholson from Chinatown) childhood and his life after the botched case featured in the movie. Additionally, the lives of these classic characters begin to intersect. Noah Cross (John Huston from Chinatown) has an affair with and buys Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson from Sunset Boulevard) her swank mansion that is the setting for Sunset Boulevard. Desmond and Joe Gillis (William Holden from Sunset Boulevard) have a son who turns out to be Julian Kay (Richard Gere from American Gigolo). It’s all very cool…in theory. In actuality, I found it a pretty tough, slow going read. The interconnectedness between characters is great, but there’s not enough of that to be truly engaging. Also, there’s an overarching narrative that pushes the book forward (at least that’s what the dust jacket says), but after 60 pages, I was having trouble finding it. Ultimately what you’re left with is tons of very short bios (3-4 pages) about almost a hundred characters. The writing is good and engaging, and Thomson definitely channels the spirit of noir, of which he clearly is a fan. Unfortunately, the book is in need of a greater narrative through line. Without that, it reads like a fleshed out encyclopedia of short biographies. To be fair, Thomson’s knowledge of the movies is encyclopedic (hell, he writes encyclopedias for a living). There may be a lot more subtleties and narrative going on here than I was aware of simply because my knowledge of film and the characters contained in the book is not as robust as Thomson’s. Had I known all the characters going in, perhaps I’d be getting more out of the book. I certainly enjoyed the bios of the characters I was familiar with more than the ones I didn’t. I’d love to hear some other opinions on this book, because I love the theory behind it, but had to abandon ship 60 pages in.

Psychically Stoned--The Art of Enjoying Knowing

2009-03-27T10:02:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was the curiously strong chai, maybe it was the guilty pleasure of seeing a movie at 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, but whatever the case may have been, I thoroughly enjoyed Knowing. To be fair, you might not want to trust me on this one, because not only did I like Knowing, but I also loved all the trailers that preceded it...and I usually hate trailers. Inglorious Basterds, Public Enemies, Star Trek, Sorority Row, The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3--based on the trailers I want to see them all. And that makes no sense. Was I stoned? No I wasn’t. But it sure felt like I was. I’ve had it with Nazis and WWII movies, but damn it, Brad Pitt was chewing the scenery in the Inglorious Basterds trailer and it’s a new Tarntino movie. I’m there. I’ve also had it with new gangster movies, yet the lush period scenery and Johnny Depp disappearing into the role of John Dillinger in the dubiously titled Public Enemies seemed pretty enticing. I’m in. I also hate it when they remake great movies like Pelham One Two Three. Can’t they leave well enough alone? Plus it looks like Mr. Brown, Mr. Blue, Mr. Green and Mr. Grey have been morphed into one character played by John Travolta. Whatever, I’m along for the ride. And finally, Sorority Girls toss a dead body down a well and then a hooded figure starts tracking them down and killing them on Sorority Row—Looks fantastic. Can’t wait.

As for Knowing, I should say I had no desire to see it, expected it to be terrible but went anyway when a friend put out the offer. I think the key to enjoying these bombastic Hollywood offerings is to have no expectations. If you expect the worse, can you really be disappointed? As for the film, it has a pretty great premise. It opens in 1959 with a group of 2nd graders putting items in a time capsule. A freaky girl--think a tripped out Wednesday Adams--furiously scribbles down a series of numbers, urged on by the demonic voices in her head. That missive is unearthed 50 years later by Nick Cage’s son. After a bout of drinking bourbon, Cage starts recognizing a pattern to the numbers. They seem to be a code that has predicted the dates, locations and death counts of every major disaster in the last 50 years. A handful of the numbers suggest disasters to imminently unfold in the coming weeks. The film has a pervasive creepiness to it. Reminiscent of the creep factor of some 70s horror films like Audrey Rose. Factor in the cloaked men that are stalking Cage’s son and the specter of 70s Satanist films comes to the fore. Incubus, The Devil’s Rain, and even Coven come to mind. Sure there is some wretched overacting and some convenient and incomprehensible plot developments, but I was enjoying the apocalyptic fanfare. Interestingly, the end of the film turns creepy in a religious way. All of a sudden we seem to get transported to a Mormon educational film or a Unarius video and you realize that perhaps you’ve been watching a multi-million dollar religious propaganda film. Spoiler alert forthcoming: As the apocalypse bears down on planet earth, keep this in mind. There are chosen ones who will be spirited away to the heavens, their earthly bodies intact. As for everyone else, as long as you believe and have faith, you will find comfort, and perhaps, salvation. This message should have enraged me? Didn't I hate Forrest Gump for a similar faith-based world view? But like I say, perhaps, I was psychically stoned, cause yesterday at the movies, it was all good.

Quick Thoughts About Crime

2009-03-21T23:24:00.000-07:00

Been reading a lot of crime novels as of late. It seems to be my “go-to” genre when I’m at a loss for what to read, when I need a page-turner to kick start my reading jones, or when I want respite from writers getting all post-modern and collegiate on my ass. Here are some quick reviews of what I’ve read in recent months.

My Gun Is Quick by Mickey Spillane
I do love Mickey Spillane. Maybe it has something to do with the Colt 45 ads from my youth, who knows? But he has now taken the place of Steinbeck as a go to guy when I need to be re-energized. It used to be that after having read a couple of clunkers, I'd pick up a Steinbeck novel because they were always engaging, always entertaining, and an easy read. Guaranteed to get me back in the reading groove. Now I go for the Mick. My Gun is Quick is a goodie. It seems foolish doing an in depth review, because in a way, they're all kind of the same. But the writing is so good, it doesn't matter. It's a fun ride, down back alleys, into seedy bars, into ritzy bars, Mike Hammer rushing headlong into the fray. The alleys are always a little different, the frays a little different, the drinks always strong, and the women always curvy. I will say that the final "tragedy" in this one was painfully predictable, but there's always a moment or two of cheeseball, predictability in these affairs. What are you going to do?

Cropper’s Cabin by Jim Thompson
I had been mired in some "arty" books (Savage Detectives, Blood Meridian) that spent a lot of time meandering around the story. I decide a little Jim Thompson might be the antidote. To be fair, I’m not the huge Thompson fan that others are. I’ve read a handful and always like, but with the exception of After Dark, My Sweet, I never love. Cropper’s Cabin seems par for the course between Mr. Thompson and me. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but it wouldn’t be the first thing I’d recommend to someone. Certainly served as the antidote I was looking for though. Sharp as nails writing, with action and dialogue always on point. And given that the story centers around a dirt-poor sharecropping family and the Indian family whose land they live on, the book dovetailed nicely with all the Native American literature I’ve been reading this year. All told, a goodie, though I kind of felt that the lead character's heart turns dark and desperate in a way that didn't jive with his character as established early in the novel. Still, I dug it.

Whoreson by Donald Goines
Knowing my fondness for Iceberg Slim novels, my buddy Kit has been on me to sample some Donald Goines’ novels. Goines was a Detroiter who, while doing a stint at Jackson St. Penitentiary, discovered Slim and started writing gritty, ghetto-centric novels in the 1970s. Whoreson was his first book and it doesn't get anymore cold-blooded than this. Ruthless and unrepentant. Much like Iceberg Slim, but even darker and without Slim’s humor. The book’s hero, Whoreson, is the son of a prostitute who enters the pimping game at the young age of 16. He’s heartless. The blurb on the dust jacket promises "bitter humor." There was certainly lots of bitter, but not so much humor. I’ll be honest, it’s a tough read, but compelling in its way. I’m sure to read some more, especially since all his books seem to be on remainder for $2.98 these days.

Lush Life by Richard Price
I love vintage crime (Chandler, Hammett, Spillane), but really haven't read any modern crime writing. This was great. Totally sucked me in. Lush Life takes place in New York’s Lower East Side where the lives of the kids from the projects intersect with the boho types gentrifying the neighborhood. The main boho character, Eric Cash, is an awesome character. He’s the artist who never made it, who’s still waiting tables. He’s getting older, his dream is passing him by and he’s getting increasingly irritated by the young hipsters whose lives seem to have a greater upside than his. He gets embroiled in a late night con gone wrong and the book takes off from there. The book weighs about 10 pounds, so you’ll want to read it quickly.

25 Records That Shaped My Life

2009-03-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

It’s been a pretty busy couple weeks, so I haven’t had much time to generate any new posts, so expect a couple of re-prints from other places in the coming weeks. Here’s my take on that 25 Records That Shaped My Life meme that was running around Facebook.

In picking 25 records, I tended to go with records that opened my eyes to new ways of thinking about music and records that really served as portals to new genres and new sounds. In other words, these aren’t necessarily my favorite records or my favorite records by the artists I’ve listed. And in some cases, they may even be records I haven’t listened to in years. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I listened to Blow Your Face Out by J. Geils. And obviously it’s hard to encapsulate these type of things into such a small list. As I look back over this list, which I created a couple of weeks ago, I’m surprised by certain omissions. I imagine Horses by Patti Smith should be on here. I’m shocked that no Mott The Hoople or Ian Hunter is on here. And honestly, The Temptations Greatest Hits Volume II should probably take the place of the Stax box. Oh well, it’s not perfect, but here ya go.

Sweet Desolation Boulevard
Hey it’s the first record I ever bought. I’ve got thousands of them now, but this is where it started. Bought it at Korvettes for 3.99. And I still love this record. Ballroom Blitz (a karaoke staple of mine) and Fox on the Run were huge radio hits but I loved it all. I remember calling up the radio station and requesting A.C.D.C from this record. I remember the dj telling me that it was too progressive and he wouldn’t play it. I had no idea what that meant.

Cheap Trick Live at Budokan
Perhaps the first record I was really obsessed with. I used to quote lyrics from this in conversation in the hallways in middle school. Dad would later drive us to the “Joe” on the Dream Police Tour.

J Geils Band Live-We’re Gonna Blow Your Face Out
Being from Detroit you had to pretty much love J. Geils and I did. Their live show was amazing, better than the records. Once I got to college and started getting into alternative music, the concept of being blown away by a band in a small club was unbelievable. The greatest bands in the world, in a teeny club, and you were standing at the foot of the stage. Tremendous. But love of the live show really started with J. Geils.

Neil Young Rust Never Sleeps
Neil’s my favorite. And this was the first record of his I ever bought. I think I was in 8th grade. The riff on Hey Hey, My My may be the greatest riff ever. Powderfinger is one of his best songs. I once dated a Welfare Mother and I was excited (because she was hot and because I loved this song). Thrasher is my fave acoustic song of his. And the backing vocals on Sail Away are fantastic. I need say no more.

The Clash Sandinista/Joe Jackson Beat Crazy/Talking Heads Remain In Light
These are probably the 3 most important records in my life in a weird way. And they’re three records that are inextricably linked. All of their previous records (London Calling, I’m The Man, Fear of Music) got a lot of play on rock radio in Detroit. Songs from those records were nestled right up against Van Halen, Aldo Nova and .38 Special. At the time, in my mind, there were really only 3 kinds of music—Disco, Oldies and Rock. I was not really aware of any other subtle subdivisions of genre. When these bands new records came out, I couldn’t wait to hear them. I was a cheapskate, so I always waited to hear stuff on the radio before I’d go out and buy them. But lo and behold, the radio wasn’t playing any tracks from any of these records. What was up? I had no idea, but something seemed pretty rotten in Denmark. But this opened me up to the concept that the radio didn’t necessarily have my best interests in mind. That their play lists weren’t necessarily based on what the people wanted to hear. That if you wanted to hear certain kinds of music you would have to search elsewhere. That you’d have to go underground or left of the dial. Trying to hear tracks from these records led me to alternative music shows on Public Radio, college stations and by ferreting out information from record store clerks. Once I found those alternatives I never looked back and said goodbye to rock radio.

Sex Pistols Never Mind The Bollocks
I think I read about this in Time Magazine and bought it on a trip to visit my sister who was at College in Ann Arbor. Bought it at Discount records on State Street. I think the fact that I bought it on a college visit added to its mystique for me. And you know what. I still like this record.

Ramones End of The Century
Maybe this is an odd Ramones record to have on the list, but it’s the first one I bought. And I love the Spector production. It channels their love of the 50s in a great way and changes up the delivery in a great way. I remember my dad taking me to buy this one on a snow day from school. Any record that gets purchased in a snowstorm on a snow day deserves to make the list.

X Los Angeles
A friend read about this in the LA Times. I overheard her talking about it on a field trip and decided I had to own it. At the time I owned records by the Ramones, The Sex Pistols and the Clash so I thought I understood “punk rock”, but this one blew the doors off. This was an entirely different beast. Snarlier, dirtier, more discordant. Nauseau was like nothing I ever heard before. This was a real gateway record.

Leadbelly Midnight Special
Did South Quad, my dorm at college, have a library? If it did, that’s where I checked out this record. After discovering the alternative radio show on Detroit’s public radio station, WDET, I would occasionally come across a show called “Blues From the Lowlands.” I was interested. So I picked up this Leadbelly record. And was blown away. This was my gateway record to the Delta Blues.

Velvet Underground & Nico
What can I say that hasn’t already been said about this?

Rain Parade Third Rail Emergency Power Trip
Not sure if the Paisley Underground lead me to the Velvets or the other way around, but I loved the Paisley Underground in a huge way. Rain Parade, The Three O’Clock, Dream Syndicate, Green On Red. Early on in the college years I saw all these bands at a tiny bar in Ann Arbor, Joe’s Star Lounge. At the front of the stage for all the shows. They all blew me away, I bought all the records and all those bands lead me back to the 60s to unearth a lot of brilliant music that I knew very little about at the time.

Replacements Hootenanny
The shambolic glory of seeing this band live was something else. Saw amazing shows, saw disastrous shows, but they were always good. Saw them 3 times in the same week once. That was a highlight. In Ann Arbor, they even inspired a knock-off band called the Substitutes. I still like Hootenany more than Let It Be. I might be in the minority here, but I’m sure I’m right.

Hank Williams Moanin’ The Blues
Patsy Cline The Patsy Cline Story
Fueled by my interest in the Blues, Green On Red’s country turn and the Knitters record, I started getting interested in country music. These are the first two records I picked up. And they are awesome. I got to say I love Hank William’s lyrics. So simple, but so good.

Mekons Edge of the World
A 14.99 import if memory serves me right. Purchased right at the time I was discovering country music. So it was the perfect fit. I still think this is their best record. So gloriously all over the map. At times their songwriting doesn’t live up to their ideas and concepts, but it sure does on this record.

Big Black Atomizer
For years I loved Touch & Go records. More than Homestead, more than SST. Maybe it was a Midwest thing. Maybe it was because I saw all the bands on a regular basis. But I loved that nasty, scuzzy, confrontational sound. Was there a band better at this than Big Black? Not for my money. If memory serves, the release of this record was delayed and delayed or if not delayed, hotly anticipated. And it delivered. Does it hold up? Not sure. But I loved it at the time.

Sonic Youth Evol
Had heard the hype, but hadn’t heard the band until I caught the Richard Kern directed Death Valley 69 video on a late night cable show. I was hooked and went out and bought Evol the next day. Spooky, sexy, sultry, weird sounding and it had a locked groove! I think I thought it was scratched and took it back to the record store only to be mocked by the clerk. “It’s a locked groove, moron.”

Butthole Surfers Locust Abortion Technician
The best live band since J. Geils? Just maybe. Was there a mightier band than the Buttholes in this era? Not so likely. And the live shows. If you were there, you know of what I speak.

Dinosaur You’re Living All Over Me
I was obsessed with Cheap Trick. I was obsessed with the Replacements. Then I was obsessed with Dinosaur.

Soundgaden Badmotorfinger
I loved me the grunge. I thought FOPP was amazing when it came out. I still love this record. Whenever it comes up on shuffle, I am very very happy.

The Stooges Raw Power
I’m from Detroit. Perhaps it’s in my DNA to love the Stooges. I know it’s James Williamson on guitar and not Ron Asheton, but it was the first one I bought, so it has a special place in my heart.

Funkadelic Maggot Brain
Parliament was on the radio growing up. Flashlight and all. So when I heard this, I was blown away. Did not expect something so heavy from a funk band. Some of the best guitar playing ever…in a funk band. Did not compute. But so good.

Elvis The Sun Sessions
Obviously you couldn’t escape Elvis on the radio growing up. And I loved oldies radio. But hearing this record in its entirety in college was something else. So rockin’ and so delicate at the same time. And that voice. I stopped to listen and I was hooked.

Can Cannibalism
My tastes in recent years have moved toward the outré, psychedelic, experimental zone. And Can would be ground zero for me on that front. And this is the first Can record I heard. Not the best and all the long songs are edited down, but hey, this was the wellspring for me.

Stax Box Set, volume 1.
OK, it’s 9 cds, so that’s not fair. But this stuff is amazing. And I love the soul and r&b template laid down here.

Helvetica: Did Someone Really Make A Feature-Length Movie About A Font?!

2009-03-13T12:18:00.000-07:00

My wife fell asleep 15 minutes into watching Helvetica. When she woke up the next morning she turned to me and said, “A 90 minute movie featuring a bunch of Dutch guys talking about typography? Was that the worst movie ever?!” Absolutely not, I loved it. To be fair, I’m a bit obsessed with design these days, but I loved this movie. Helvetica is ostensibly a brief history of design from post-WWII to the present, looking at how design infiltrates every day life. Art movements, culture movements, advertising movements and corporate culture get viewed through the lens of design, particularly typography. The movie is beautifully shot, with lots of poetic urban landscapes, featuring the ubiquitous Helvetica appearing on signs, busses, subway maps, billboards, backpacks, etc. Helvetica, a font designed by the Swiss (not the Dutch, honey) shortly after World War II, became the torch bearing font of the modernist design movement. The movie explores the appeal of Helvetica from a design, cultural and corporate perspective. It also becomes the fulcrum with which the film explores subsequent movements in design. I loved most of the interviews. Obsessive wingnuts, waxing rhapsodically about type faces. Is this any different than all the obsessives I’ve heard talk about comics and record collecting over the years? Not really, except they were all really clean cut, metrosexual and they had really nice apartments and workspaces with clean lines. But ultimately just as weird. I liked it.

Hold Me In Your Sleazy Arms: An Ode To UHF

2009-02-27T11:15:00.000-08:00

No question that in the past 5 years or so we’ve entered a new golden age of television. The number of great programs (Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Mad Men, Battlestar, Curb, Peep Show, and yes, even Lost) attests to that. But classic local programming has gone away. I was reminded of that in full the other night when I happened upon a rerun of KOFY’s Dance Party. KOFY was located at channel 20 on the UHF dial in San Francisco and was owned by local millionaire James Gabbert. Channel 20 featured plenty of syndicated reruns, a staple of UHF programming, but also featured some classic, bizarre local programming as well. My favorite was Sunday All Night Movies From The Sleazy Arms. Gabbert created a dive bar on the channel 20 stage, invited local bands to play, had a resident bartender, got a beer company to sponsor the show, and then invited the public to come down to the set and party. During this melee, Gabbert served as host and presented the Sunday night movie (usually a second rate 70s drama featuring Ben Gazzara). The show alternated between the movie and hanging out with the denizens of the Sleazy Arms. It was television programming at it’s finest. It took upwards of 3 hours to get through any movie, with the bar patrons getting more and more wasted as the evening progressed. Here’s a description from the set that I pulled from the I Love This World Blog.

"Before I was allowed into the studios, I had to sign a waver saying that if I got into a drunken car wreck on my way home that it wasn't KOFY's fault. The rest of the evening was a blur. For about an hour, they handed out free beer after free beer. I drank them happily while watching a local asian mummenshanz/comedy group perform. To give you an idea: most of their "skits" involved a skinny guy wearing a giant barrel. I endured this by staring off-camera at the KOFY Kids Club set that was right next to the bar set. I also almost vomited on the fat old tramp in the spandex catsuit that Gabbert had on there every week (Dirty Carol or something?)".

KOFY became the Bay Area’s WB affiliate in 1995 and Gabbert sold KOFY in 1998 and the good times were over. The WB pulled out in 2006 and KOFY is starting to get funky again, re-running some classic KOFY program including Dance Party, a weekly dance show that ran from the mid-80s to the mid-90s. The episode I caught the other night was amazing. It was from 1992 and the people were just delightfully bizarre. They were normal people on tv. They were fat and skinny. Some were balding, some had feathered hair. Some were good looking, some were downright fugly. And clearly they had been told to “dress up.” Not sure what the dress up instructions were, but it looked like there was a run on the Salvation Army. And we’re not talking “Salvation Army-chic.” This was off the rack. Almost like a Salvation Army shopping spree where you had 5 minutes to enter the store, pick your clothes and dress yourself for your tv appearance. While watching the show it was impossible to guess if the show was from 1992 or 1982. It was just off-kilter.

At the end of the day, I guess I’m happy with all the good shows tv has to offer these days, but local personality has all but been eradicated from the tv spectrum. Maybe we should all rent UHF this weekend or watch some SCTV.

Hit It & Quit It: More Movies: Gran Torino, Fanboys, Academy Thoughts

2009-02-19T20:30:00.000-08:00

Gran Torino
Outside of the conceptually cool, but kind of boring Flags of Our Fathers, I don’t think I’ve seen a Clint Eastwood directed-movie of the last 20 years. They’ve never appealed to me. I’ve always shied away from what I expected to be self-important films filled with Hollywood bombast. Not really sure why, but with the release of Gran Torino, I was feeling that I needed to check one of these out, particularly one with Eastwood in the starring role. The fact that the film was shot in Detroit, my hometown, sealed the deal. And I’ve got to say I loved Gran Torino. It had me buzzing and blabbing about it to anyone who would listen.

Now to be fair, there’s an excellent chance I loved it for all the wrong reasons. The acting is pretty shoddy, there’s not a degree of subtlety, the script strikes me like a Sam Fuller-penned B Movie, and Eastwood seems to be channeling his inner-Sleestack. While most of the cast seems to be acting like they’re in a well-intentioned, but poorly acted Indiewood film circa 1998, Eastwood seems like he’s on the set of Showgirls, The Terminator, or Dirty Harry.

Eastwood plays the surliest of cranky old men. He hates everyone. He hates his kids, his grandkids, his pastor, and he hates the church. To the chagrin of his kids, he refuses to leave his home in the inner city and take flight to the suburbs. Problem is that his inner city neighborhood is crime ridden, and full of blacks and Hmongs, both of whom he hates. As the film progresses, Eastwood forges an unlikely and unexpected alliance with his Hmong next door neighbors, who are trying to keep their sensitive son out of the Hmong gang scene. Eastwood, meanwhile, has become a neighborhood folk hero. He’s trigger-happy and single-handedly cleaning up the neighborhood crime scene.

The film lacks any subtlety. Throughout the film, Eastwood’s eyes are shooting daggers at all those he’s contemptuous of. But it’s not enough for him to glare menacingly. He also groans audibly. It’s a bizarre sound mix choice. It’s as subtle as Lurch in the Addams’ Family groaning while he rolls his eyes. In fact, it’s the exact same deal.

Every scene, every conversation and every action hammers home one of the film’s themes. The grandkids play video games in Church. Eastwood glares. Eastwood groans. Eastwood’s son sells Japanese cars. Eastwood glares. Eastwood groans. A white kid walks around in baggy jeans and a backwards baseball cap. Eastwood glares. Eastwood groans.

When Eastwood isn’t chewing up the scenery, the film has an indie sensibility. Perhaps this is aided by The Hmong neighbors who are dodgy actors. But the film does take an indie-like look at the American Dream. It questions the suburban values of those who have achieved the dream and questions whether those on the wrong side of the economic divide can ever achieve that dream. And this gentle probing into the nature of America butts right up against Eastwood’s acting in the most deliciously, bizarre way.

Throughout the movie, Eastwood is delivering Dirty Harry and Terminator-like zingers with a monosyllabic, whispered certitude. To a bunch of thugs, Eastwood challenges, “I'll blow a hole in your face then go inside and sleep like a baby.” Fantastic stuff. Even as he enters the Hmong world, he continually calls them zipperheads, gooks, questions if they’re eating dogs and drops lines like, “Get me another beer, Dragon Lady! This one's running on empty.” It’s like a B movie extravaganza.

Again, I’m not familiar with much of what Eastwood has done in the last 20 years. But it’s like some indie director had the best intentioned debut film ready to go and somehow got Clint Eastwood to act in it, but once Eastwood was on set, he went off the rails, hijacked the movie and in so doing, made it a brilliant, cult classic. I can’t rave enough about this one.

Fanboys
I should start by saying I could take or leave Star Wars. I like all the original ones and never saw any of the new ones. I also had no idea this movie existed until the night before I saw it. In other words, no expectations, no vested interest. And, you know what? I liked it. Fanboys is set in a pre-Phantom Menace universe and follows a group of Ohio twenty somethings on a cross-country road trip to break into Skywalker Ranch and steal a rough cut of The Phantom Menace. It’s not earth shattering, but it was fun. It’s a comedy in the Clerks II, Apatow vein. Charming, sweet, and raunchy all at the same time. The actors seemed like they were having a blast while making it, and that goes a long way sometimes. There are some clichéd and underdone moments and the film suffers from “Good Looking Geek Syndrome,” but hey, I had a good time.

Your Acadmey
Each year I never manage to see more than 2 or 3 of the nominated films for the Academy Awards. Even though I saw a ton of big Hollywood movies this year, I still only saw two of the films nominated. Go figure. But I thought I’d weigh in on the best actor debate. If you believe the hype, it’s coming down to Mickey Rourke vs. Sean Penn. And what do you know? I saw both those films. And while both performances were great, I got to come down on the side of Mickey Rourke. Randy 'The Ram' Robinson was a one-of a kind character, played expertly by Rourke. And while Penn did a great job as Harvey Milk, I’ve complained loudly over the last several years about how the best actor and actress awards go to actors doing impersonations. I’m looking at you Ray Charles guy and June Carter Cash lady. No offense to them or to Sean Penn this year, but I’d rather give the nod to an actor who crafts a unique, original, never-before seen character. And that’s Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson as portrayed by Mickey Rourke.

Heaven Forfend! They're Remaking Slap Shot

2009-02-06T11:01:00.000-08:00

It’s funny. I watched Slap Shot over the summer and at the time it occurred to me that if the NHL brass were smart (which they are not), they would commission a remake of Slap Shot. The NHL barely hangs on to its status as a top 4 sport and the only time the league enters the national conversation is when someone nearly gets killed on the ice. Historically, the only time hockey has really entered the cultural zeitgeist was when Team USA took gold in Lake Placid in 1980 and when Slap Shot burst onto movie screens across the country in 1977. Not that I’m advocating for a remake of a classic sport’s film, but lets face it, the only people who still care about Slap Shot are hockey fans or people no younger than 42. The youth of today don’t know from Slap Shot. From a marketing perspective, it would be a good idea to remake the one movie that might bolster interest in the sport. Right?

Well, now someone is doing it. Will this be a good thing? Probably not. It rarely pays to tamper with a classic. When I watched the movie this summer it occurred to me that if the film were made today it would be transformed for the worst.

If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s set in a failing, Midwest industrial city in the 70s (read Pittsburgh, Cleveland or Detroit). The people of the town have little cheer in their life and their minor league hockey franchise, The Charlestown Chiefs, starring Paul Newman as their player coach, brings them some cheer. But for the most part the team sucks. The team brings in some bespectacled, semi-moronic goons named the Hanson Brothers, who are brawling, idiot-savant hockey players and the team rebounds in a big way with every game devolving into a massive scrum of cheap shots and brass-knuckled brawl fests. The team starts winning and ticket sales soar. But the team’s fate has already been sealed. Because of the failing economy, team owners are planning on shutting the Chiefs down at season’s end. A failing Midwest city with a huge unemployed populous will never make the team a viable business entity. The other major plot point revolves around Newman’s personal life. He’s an aging athlete, semi-lothario, trying to desperately get his ex-wife to reconcile. Mid-life crisis kind of stuff.

As much as the film is a foul-mouthed comedy with heaps of juvenile humor and slapstick hockey fight antics that appeal to the pubescent boy demographic, the film is also infused with that gritty, down and out dourness so pervasive in 70s cinema. A hint of political grim reality mixed with a very adult (not sexy adult, but adult demographic) love story throws a little salt peter on the comedy. In a bizarre way it’s the perfect father/son movie. Undoubtedly the sons were probably bored by the adult relationship mumbo jumbo and political machinations, but couldn’t wait to see the Hansons, the fights, and the bad language. Slap Shot was the kind of movie that made you feel adult if you saw it when you were thirteen. It was an "R" rated movie, but you’d do anything to sneak into the theaters to see it. Comedy tempered by realism is not always a great mix, but seeing something that is clearly verboten is awesome and just heightens the experience.

I hope I’m wrong, but there’s no way in the world the remake is going to be “R” or as dour. I’ve got to imagine this is going to be a no-holds barred "PG-13" comedy aimed straight at the heart of Will Ferrell fans everywhere. How many times is someone going to get hit in the nuts with pucks, sticks, or fists? Place your bets now. Down and out, grim reality won’t be on display, even though we're entering an era of industrial decay similar to that which the Midwest was facing in the mid-70s.

The other thing that maybe a challenge for the filmmakers and the NHL is that in the 70s pro hockey and minor league hockey was riding a wave of on-ice fisticuffs. This was an era when the Broad Street Bullies reigned supreme. This is the era that fueled jokes like “I went to a boxing match and a hockey game broke out.” Har Har. As preposterous as the fighting was, most folks watching the movie then saw some relation to the game as it was played. Well hockey in the ’00s is a different beast. Fighting still exists but it is way down compared to the salad days of the 70s. Will it matter if the movie’s hockey style bares no relation to the on-ice version today? We’ll see.

Finally, I wonder what the NHL will think. Certainly, if the movie is a success, that won’t be a bad thing for the NHL. But the NHL may end up between a rock and a hard place with this one. For years the NHL brass have been very focused on distancing themselves from the goonish brand of hockey played in the 70s. But if there’s one thing that Slap Shot succeeds in doing is glorifying the fighting and violence in the sport. Not sure how pleased The NHL will be if there’s a hit hockey movie out there that reinforces all the old stereotypes of their sport to the casual viewer and potential customer. I mean I can’t imagine they’re gonna take the fighting out of Slap Shot. They wouldn’t dare.

RIP Lux Interior

2009-02-04T20:38:00.000-08:00

I could go on and on about how awesome the Cramps were, but given what a fantastic live band they were, maybe the best thing to do is watch some film and remind yourself what a force this band was. If you haven't seen any footage from the Napa State Mental Hospital show or from Urgh! A Music War recently, well here ya go.

Cometbus #51: The Loneliness of the Electric Menorah

2009-01-27T20:48:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been a huge fan of Cometbus and I must admit that one of my prouder moments was realizing that my verbiage from an Aaron Cometbus interview I did for Snipehunt magazine in the 90s ended up gracing the back cover of Despite Everything, the Cometbus Omnibus. That said, the last several issues of the zine haven’t captivated me as much as the output from the 90s and early 00s. In more recent issues, Aaron has been expanding his stylistic palette, playing more with both the novelette and various cultural study and journalistic forms. Enjoyable, but not as strong as the diaristic/personal rumination bent he developed throughout the 90s.

That said, I can’t rave enough about Cometbus #51 entitled The Loneliness of the Electric Menorah. #51 is a full-on, cultural history of the booksellers of Telegraph Ave. Moe’s, Cody’s, Shakespeare and Co. take center stage, as do many of the businesses that spring up in their wake such as Rasputin's, Amoeba, Black Oak, Shambala and others. The issue, chock full of Berkeley history and lore from the late 50s to the present, is more than a straight, journalistic investigation. Aaron leaves himself on the page in a big way. This issue is his own ode to books, bookstores, and his beloved Berkeley. A landscape filled not with businessmen, but with larger than life characters and impossible dreamers, petty feuds and gestures of goodwill. The bookstores, their owners and their employees are equal parts intimidating, irritating, and beautiful. Cometbus #51 tries to uncover what drives a person, a place, and an era. At the end of the day, it’s full of reverence, nostalgia, hope, and sadness.

In one review I read of the issue, I saw someone complain that not being from Berkeley and not being familiar with the stores, he just didn’t care about the characters that much. I’ve only been to those stores a handful of times in my life and know nothing about their owners, but I don’t think that matters. I think the writing hits on more universal themes about community—how they’re formed, how they’re maintained, and how they can unravel. Cometbus #51 should connect with anyone who has been part of a scene or who has been trying desperately to break into a scene or is simply trying to make sense of the city around them.

Scott Walker: 30th Century Man

2009-01-27T10:13:00.000-08:00

Just had the pleasure of taking in the new Scott Walker doc, Scott Walker: 30th Century Man. I can’t recommend it enough. Lots of great moments, but for music heads out there, the biggest complement I can give is that it’s a music film that is all about the music. Did Scott drink? Don’t know. Did petty rivalries fuel The Walker Brothers break up? Don’t know. The film steers clear of the personality crises, the tales of drink and drug debauchery and focuses solely on the music. Each incarnation of Scott is given a thorough examination—The pop wunderkid of chart toppers The Walker Brothers; The first four solo records with their ornate 60’s production and Jacques Brel-fueled lush melancholia; The Walker's comeback and the re-emergence of Scott as a solo artist; and finally, the newer, darker Scott Walker.

Walker, who has been fairly reclusive for much of the last 20 years, comes across as charming, affable and well spoken in the interview which serves as the spine of the movie. Additionally, the film is filled with incredibly articulate interviews from musicians who were Walker’s peers or who have been influenced by his singing and songwriting. Eno, Bowie, Julian Cope, Marc Almond, Jarvis Cocker, Radiohead and Lulu all weigh in. There are great moments in the film where the music just plays, accompanied by some iTunes visualizer-like effects. It may sound cheesy, but rarely in these kind of docs do you just get to listen to the music. Similarly, there are some nice moments where we see some of the above musicians just sit and listen to Scott Walker records. 15-20 seconds will go by while they listen, enthralled by the sounds, before dissecting the track in question and analyzing the songwriting, the production, or the vocal arrangements. It’s a really nice touch.

The last ½ hour is a bit long for my likes as the film delves deep into Walker’s most recent offerings Tilt and The Drift. These two records are blacker than black, gothic, and melody-free albums that I personally find unlistenable. Their sound is claustrophobic and as a result the film follows suit. Unfortunately, the only time Walker let film cameras into the studio during his solo career was during the recording of The Drift, so it’s no surprise we spend a lot of time there. And to be fair, the recording process is a trip. Percussionists punching sides of beef and lots of weird set-ups to record sounds. Walker seems giddy during these sessions, a far cry from the persona he puts forth on these records. But that said, I’m more of a fan of what Julian Cope refers to as the Walker Brothers “MOR slop”. I’ll take it over the odes to Mussolini’s, strung up, dead lover any day.

But I highly recommend.

NOTE: Great review of the film and a thorough overview of the Walker career at my friend Val's blog Beyond Asiaphilia. And for what it's worth, we saw the movie together.

Inauguration Mania

2009-01-21T11:03:00.000-08:00

As someone who came of age in the 70s, whose first political memories revolve around Richard Nixon, and who has ultimately lived in an era defined by cynicism toward politicians and politics in general, the election and inauguration of Barack Obama has been nothing short of energizing, exciting, and revelatory. When boomers talk about the promise and hope offered by JFK, RFK, and MLK and the tragedies of their deaths, those are things I’ve understood in theory, but never really felt. The hope offered by Obama, the hope Obama has offered to so many has finally made me see the legacy of those other figures in a new light.

Watching the inauguration and the festivities surrounding the inauguration has been a blast. The campaigning done, the nerves around the election in the rear view mirror, the inauguration has been a time to kick back and revel in the wonder of it all. Do I care about inaugural balls? Not really, but it’s just exciting to watch so many people excited about politics and bask in the glow at the victory party.

I even watched We Are One – The Obama Inaugural Celebration at the Lincoln Memorial. Though I’m about to say a couple of critical things about that event, I don’t want to be perceived as the little black cloud that rains on the parade. Let it be said, I’m digging the parade. I’m glad this event happened, I dug watching it, but I got to throw my two cents in the ring.

If you didn’t see the event, it took place under the steely gaze of Abe Lincoln and essentially alternated music acts and little history lessons delivered by A List actors. The history imparted conjured up the ghosts of Lincoln, FDR, Teddy Roosevelt, JFK, and MLK.

My only beef with the event was that in channeling the spirit of great American leaders, thinkers, and policy makers, the message was delivered by celebrities. I’ve never understood or related to America’s feverish worship of celebrity, but was somewhat disappointed that an event that served to usher in a transformative moment in American politics had the feel and guest list of an awards show. If you turned the sound off, it would have been hard to tell if you were watching an inaugural celebration or the Academy Awards, Grammys, MTV Music or Movie Awards, Golden Globes, etcetera, etcetera.

As Obama clearly recognized in his inaugural address, this country is in crisis. We’re at a crossroads. The path out of our predicament is not clear. The country will need its leaders, its top thinkers, politicians, innovators, and scientists to help pull us out of this mess. It would have been exciting if people who actually embody the intelligence, the spirit, and the fortitude of JFK, FDR, Lincoln, and MLK had been chosen to deliver the historical message surrounding those great leaders.

No offense to the guy who played a talking panda, the women who played the pole dancing love interest of a washed-up wrestler, the guy who does a good impersonation of Ray Charles, or the guy who got the motherfuckin’ snakes off the motherfuckin’ plane, but they’re not going to be the people that pull us out of our national quagmire. They’re actors. They act in movies. They’ll distract us from our problems. And that’s great. Escapism isn’t so bad. And I’m sure we’ll need it.

At least the musicians got it right. They shut up and played their songs. They understood their role and the role of music and did it right. Well, everyone except Bono of course. Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Wonder, Pete Seeger—did any of these guys use this stage as a platform for their own agenda? No. It’s called class. Bono on the other hand wasn’t content to let the music do the talking. Ego outshines class with this guy. Shout outs to his Irish heritage, to the Israelis and to the Palestinians. Dude. Not the time, not the place. Take a lesson from Little Stevie, From the Boss, from Pete Seeger. A little humility can be a good thing.

Those Clowns in Washington...er...San Francisco Are At It Again

2009-01-09T17:52:00.000-08:00

Like many Americans, I was particularly energized by this year’s presidential campaign and overall politicized climate. But rather than just focus on national political issues, I took a little more time exploring local politics. My neighborhood is a working class neighborhood with a lagging commercial corridor filled with 99 cent stores and crime has been a hot button issue with a high profile murder dominating the news earlier in the year. Our supervisor was up for election and I took in my first-ever supervisorial debate back in October. My candidate won, and since I know him in passing, I’m excited to have the ear of someone at City Hall. I had the day off this past Thursday and was therefore excited to go to City Hall for the swearing-in of the new slate of city supervisors.

Boy, did that experience bum my high.

After each of the supes was sworn in, there was a public election of the President of the Board of Supervisors. But before the supervisors could vote on their new President, the floor was open to the public to weigh in on the choice. Now, San Francisco politics often get made fun of on the national stage but I think for all the wrong reasons. I guarantee you that most of those who laugh at our city's political reputation have never been to a supervisors’ meeting. Any topic up for vote is met with a parade of public Joes and Janes weighing in on the topic at hand. First off, let me say, I am glad this is the case. Public debate over civic decisions is a great component of democracy. At these meetings there is always lots of intelligent discussion. That said, there’s always a level of lunatic fringe on display as well—some guy or gal getting up to blow hard and pontificate about the state of things, yet wildly off-topic. You stare at your feet and wonder when their two minutes will be up. That’s a classic SF political moment and ripe for ridicule.

In any event, the public got to weigh in on this election…for about 30 minutes. Glad I brought my book. Not only was it long in the tooth, it really seemed like a waste of time. I honestly couldn’t believe that any supervisor was going to be swayed by what was being said. Come on. They all had to have made up their minds. Right? I’ve seen Milk. I know how SF supervisors handle their business. I know the “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” mode of politics. This had to be a done deal.

But boy was I wrong. The actual election was one of the most bizarre and depressing things I’ve seen in a long time. Currently SF has a good method of electing supervisors. Supervisors need to win a majority of the vote in their district to win the election, but because 7-8 people run for each seat, very rarely does a supervisor win the majority on the first ballot. Runoffs are needed and in the past, people have had to head back out to the polls to cast their ballots for the top two vote getters. SF has moved to ranked-choice voting, where you put down your top three candidates on the initial ballot. Once the top two qualifiers are identified, the board of elections can conduct the runoff through the ranked-choice tallies. Simple, yet brilliant.

You would think that voting for the President of the Supervisors would run the same way, but that’s not the case. I’m not sure I can do this justice, but I’ll give it a shot.

In the first round of voting, Sophie Maxwell received 5 votes, and a smattering of supervisors got a couple of votes a piece. You need a majority of 6 votes to win. Nobody got six, so a revote was needed.

In round 2, the roll was called, and Sophie Maxwell got 5 votes and John Avalos (my supe) got 4 votes, and Ross Mirkarimi received 2 votes. No winner. Let’s do it again. People with only a few votes (Ross Mirkarimi, we’re looking at you) were asked to withdraw their candidacy. This request was declined.

In round 3, the supervisors voted the exact same way. Maxwell 5, Avalos 4, Mirkarimi 2.

In round 4, the supervisors voted the exact same way. WTF I was thinking to myself. How long does this go on for?

After round 4, Michela Alioto-Pier makes a passionate plea on behalf of Sophie Maxwell. Fair enough. Let’s try to move out of deadlock with some straight talk and campaigning. Eric Mar of District 1 gets up and makes a passionate plea for considering the candidacy of David Chiu. David Chiu? What? Huh? Did I hear that right? You mean the guy who got no votes through four rounds of voting? (Now to be fair he might have gotten 1 vote in the first round, I can’t be sure). But regardless, What The Fuck? Two candidates have almost enough votes to win, and now we make a plea for someone who hasn’t gotten one vote. What kind of ridiculous political theater is going on here?

It all gets hazy after this. In round 5 Maxwell holds onto her 5 votes and Chiu picks up a couple of votes. In round 6 Avalos votes for Chiu, but other people keep voting for Avalos. Does that make any sense whatsoever? Not to me, especially because Avalos voted 2nd, given his name is at the top of the alphabet. He votes for Chiu and other people are still supporting him? WTF?

In round 6, it moves into a 5 to 5 tie between Maxwell and Chiu. Strangely, the other vote does not go to Avalos. Gadfly extreme Chris Daly casts this rogue vote. Who does Daly vote for? Why that would be himself of course . WTF? Now I don’t know many people who like Chris Daly. This guy seems like the ultimate grandstander. I saw in the paper last week how he bragged about always voting for the winning board president. Well I can see why you can’t lose when you’re playing some dirty pool like that.

In round 8 David Chiu won. You remember him. The guy no one voted for the first 4 times around. Well that guy is your new Board President. I repeat, What The Fuck?

Now keep in mind I didn’t keep copious notes on this, and some of my info might not be totally accurate, but this is a pretty good snapshot of what went down. Now let me also say I know that politics is about alliances and deal making and what not, but this sort of political theater was disheartening. At an event where the city should be celebrating moving forward, where the city should be celebrating the new blood that will run the city, it’s frustrating to see such a blatant display of backroom politics on public display.

And don’t ask me what was proven, what alliances were made, and what factions were formed? I don’t know. I couldn’t figure that out. But it all smacked of politics as usual. The kind of politics that have made Americans so distrustful of their elected leaders. The hope that the Obama election has provided has made it feel like we could be at the dawning of a new era in American politics. With the coming Obama inauguration as a backdrop, I found it particularly disheartening to witness such a public display of politics as usual, especially in a town like San Francisco.

If my take on this is too skewed, jaded, or cynical, please let me know. For another view of the event, one that is more positive and hopeful, check out my good friend Valerie Soe’s thoughts on Beyond Asiaphilia.

Hit It And Quit It: More Movies

2009-01-07T10:27:00.000-08:00

The Wrestler directed by Darren Aronofsky
Believe the hype. Mickey Rourke plays aging wrestler Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson who refuses to give up the game even though some serious medical conditions combined with the punishing brutality of the ring suggest that he should pick a new career path. In the wrong hands this could have been a melodramatic mess. Kudos to Darren Aronofsky for playing it downbeat, thoughtful, and introspective. It’s grainy and the quietude is powerful. What do you do when your dream is dying? Heavy stuff man. Great job by Rourke as well. He doesn’t ham it up and doesn’t chew the scenery. Plus the first scene where he serves up deli slices at the grocery store is one of the great comedy scenes of the year. Moments of levity, moments of sincerity, and moments of wrestle-mania mania break up the bleakness at all the right moments. Sure there are a couple of cheesy moments. The over emo blowout with the “I hate you, you were never there for me, get out of my life,” daughter and the “I’m a stripper, you’re a customer, I can’t do this, it’s not right,” love interest are a little cringe-inducing. But those moments are few and far between and those characters have some great scenes of their own to counterbalance the schmaltz. One of the movies of the year.

Revolutionary Road by Sam Mendes
Newsflash. The 50s weren’t all Happy Days and Jan and Dean moments. If this is news to you, you’ll love this film, think it deep and powerful. If you already had a clue to the creeping malaise infesting suburbia and its denizens, then you will like this film, but find a lot of clichéd or “I’ve already seen this" moments. Snark aside, this is a really good film. Leo and Kate play a couple with artistic dreams, but settle down into a Mad Men-like relationship. She’s going quietly insane in the burbs and he’s unwilling to make changes. The film gets really interesting when they hatch a plan to chuck it all, move to Paris and live out there dreams. This ½ hour section in the movie is great and adds a unique dimension to the story and to this story that we’ve all seen before. I won’t play spoiler too much, but the plan doesn’t come to fruition, and all the obstacles in their way, that subsume the last 1/3 of the film, are all the 50s clichés piling up toward a tragic end. Great final scene though, strangely reminiscent of Harold & Maude. And I’ll take my hat off to Leo, he was great. I’ve never felt all that strongly about him either way, but he was fantastic. At the end of the day, this is a good movie. It looks great, evokes a mood, but it could have been a bit more. As a side note, I think Kate Winslet's lips are a bit out of control. They’re kind of a character in their own right. Distracting.

R.I.P. Ron Asheton

2009-01-07T09:52:00.001-08:00

All I can say is, take 5:30 minutes today, listen to No Fun, and pay a lot of attention right when Iggy says, "Come on Ron, let me hear you tell 'em how I feel."

Putting Your Presents to Good Use

2008-12-23T09:38:00.001-08:00

Maybe the best film ever showcasing what you can do with your Christmas Presents!

The Year In Music

2008-12-22T21:06:00.000-08:00

From my vantage it was a better year for songs than for albums, so here are my fave songs of the year. Listed in a vague order.

Statement by Boris
Absolute Stooge-worthy, string-shredding riffage from Japanese psych/stoner/metal overlords. The remix of this song, Message, is mighty strong as well. Tense, taught and bringing out the kraut.
Watch & Listen here.

Better Get To Livin’ by Dolly Parton
Over the past several years, people have been psyched by Dolly’s return to her bluegrass roots. But honestly, I got to say Dolly is at her best when she hauls out the pop gloss. Don’t deny it. You love Here You Come Again as much as any other song in her catalogue. Better Get to Livin’ may be one of her all time greats. I know her first tv show didn’t do well, but if they’re looking for an Oprah replacement or a new regular on The View, this song ought to serve as her job interview.
Watch & Listen here.

We Call Upon The Author by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
It’s a late career renaissance. The rock quotient is up and the growl and bite are back. This song is an erudite scorcher. Geez. An “erudite scorcher”. Not many acts can pull off that combo.
Watch & Listen here.

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? by She & Him
Sounds so old and so new at the same time. Killer combination of girl groupieness, country pop, and folk.
Watch & Listen here.

La Fin Du Monde by The Dirtbombs
Have Mick Collins and crew been spending time watching French Canadian tv on Detroit’s UHF channels? Not sure, but this French language entry steals the show on their latest We Have You Surrounded. It’s a hit in any language. The track surprisingly veers heavily into pop territory for these primitive rockers.

All I Wanna Do (Is Be With You) by Paul Weller
Paul Weller, where have you been for the last 30 years? His latest, 22 Dreams is one of the best of the year. It’s got the all the Weller stylings from Mayfield-soul to mod rockers. But damn it’s good.
Watch & Listen here.

The Cock Crows at Sunrise by Victor Krummenacher
Speaking of late career renaissance, former Camper Van man Victor K is on a roll. His latest album, Patriarch’s Blues, showcases this old salt getting a little feistier. Full disclosure coming. This tune features some killer vocals by my wife, Alison Faith Levy, and is a monster on cd and in their live set. They have a record forthcoming under the name McCabe & Mrs. Miller due out next year that's gonna be hot.
Listen Here.

Always A Friend by Alejandro Escovedo
Escovedo performed this one with the Boss. Check it out on YouTube. Pretty cool. And it makes sense. Real Animal is a roots rock record that moves a hint toward MOR/AOR territory, but I love it. I might add that local hot shot Chuck Prophet co-penned a lot of this stuff.
Watch & Listen here.

I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab For Cutie
Their set at the Bridge show and my son’s obsession with this band has won me over. Plus this song is just awesome.
Watch & Listen here.

Nothing Ever Happened by Deerhunter
Just picked this record up. Lots of indie rock influences all over the place. Sebadoh, Sonic Youth, Yo La. But somehow I’m not irritated. They bring a lot of their own to the mix. This track is simply classic expansive indie rock with lots of texture.
Listen Here.

Alligator Skin by Tilly and The Wall
Just got turned onto this band of oddballs from Nebraska. Fun Fun Fun. Channeling tap dancing, girl groups,The Mamas and the Papas, Katrina & The Wave, and The Go-Gos. It’s a party.
Watch & Listen here.

Aly, Walk With Me by The Raveonettes
Not such a scintillating record, but this song is sultry and sexy.
Watch & Listen here.

My Head by Times New Viking
When was the last time I counted down the days until a Tuesday release of a new record? Why that would be Times New Viking’s Rip It Off which came out this past February if memory serves me right. While I like this record a lot, it never called to me to put it on over and over like last year’s Paisley Reich record. But that said, lots of choice cuts like this one.
Watch & Listen here.

Senses On Fire by Mercury Rev
Was there a worse record made by a band I loved this year? If so, I never heard it. Overly precious, psychedelic, lite-rock. Yeesh. But this song approaches something called rock and roll and is well worth downloading.
Listen Here.

Dolly Hands Out the advice with help from Amy Sedaris!

Christmas on Mars by The Flaming Lips

2008-12-20T23:10:00.000-08:00

Christmas on Mars is a bit like Eraserhead in space or Vegas In Space on downers. Great sets, bizarre soundscapes, but scant on story or characters you might care about for most of the movie. The film pulls it together in a somewhat sweet way in the final 15 minutes, but until then, mood trumps story. And the mood is cold and lonely, just like space.

If you’re itching to see this, I recommend watching Cory McAbee’s The American Astronaut (2001) instead. American Astronaut is a black and white, low-budget, inventive-looking, sci-fi epic made by a musician. Same deal, but really good. And if people tell you, “But Christmas on Mars has an amazing scene with a marching band with vaginas for heads,” don’t worry. American Astronaut counters with a beautiful musical number called The Girl With The Vagina Made of Glass. Like I say, same deal.

Optimal viewing experience for Christmas On Mars is to see it unwittingly on a tv monitor at a bar with the sound off. You’ll stare transfixed thinking it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. You’ll ask the bartender, “What is this? It looks amazing.” If you’re lucky, she’ll say, I’m not sure. And it will stick in your mind as a beautiful memory.

The Books On My Night Stand And Other Literary Ramblings

2008-12-19T10:09:00.000-08:00

Get Up: A 12-Step Guide To Recovery For Misfits, Freaks & Weirdos by Bucky Sinister
Poet, and good friend, Bucky Sinister sets his sites on recovery in this self-help book for outsiders, misfits and artists who need to get their act together and embrace the 12 Steps. Anyone who has read Sinsiter before knows that this isn’t going to be be a new age self-help affair. It retains Sinister’s wit, irreverence, sharp insights, and pop culture references. Need help setting and reaching your goals? Just look to Lee Marvin in Point Blank for help. Need to figure out what kind of recovering addict you are? Just take inventory of the characters on the A Team and you’ll figure it out. All kidding aside, this is a heartfelt book that digs deep emotionally and philosophically. I’d recommend Get Up even if you don’t need help in recovery. There’s a lot to be gleaned here for folks just trying to reassess where they are in their life, for folks who feel they are at a crossroads, and for folks who feel they aren’t living the life they hoped they would. A good read to start the year.

Porchlight Storytelling Series
For those of you not from SF, Porchlight is a storytelling series put on by local author Beth Lisick and literary impresario Arline Klatte. The event has been going on monthly for the last 7 years. I attended the other night and had a little epiphany. Porchlight is the ultimate who’s who of the art scene. Writers, musicians, filmmakers, tv personalities, artists and scenesters step to the mic to share their stories, grouped around a monthly theme. It’s cool. It’s not just literary types stepping to the mic. Sometimes the stories fire on all cylinders, sometimes they ramble and wobble around. Regardless, it’s great to see people step out of their comfort zone and lay it out there.

This month, guest Chuck Prophet brought along a friend from Nashville, Jace Everett. Jace is a good ol’ Southern boy from a red state. Offhandedly he said, “Wow, this is just like walking onto the set of NPR.” Not exactly, but in a way he was right. Certainly not as stuffy and East Coast, but the more utopian, S.F. version of NPR. Porchlight is full of erudite charm, boho swagger, with a hint of self-deprecation. It’s the good kind of institution.

Sherman Alexie Live at Herbst Theater
I’ve been obsessed with Sherman Alexie this year. Read several books and a collection of poetry. Had the good pleasure of seeing him read at SF’s esteemed City Arts and Lecture Series last month. It was a great event. Essentially, Alexie opened with a 20 minute comedy set full of observations about people on airplanes and the like. Not what I expected, but pretty brilliant in its way. From there he did a short set of poetry. Great, narrative-based, easy to follow pieces, filled with grit, humor, and humanism. Given that I had just finished a poetry section with my high school students, I couldn't have been more delighted. The event was co-sponsored by a S.F. poetry program for teens called The WritersCorps. The Corps sent out three teens to follow Alexie’s set. Pretty daunting, but the youth handled it with aplomb. Currently an exhibit of the WritersCorps work is on display at SF Arts Commission Gallery. It’s a great exhibit. How do you showcase written work in a gallery setting? Go to the show and find out. Expertly laid out. The exhibit is on until January 24, 2009. I highly recommend wandering over and checking it out.

Blood Meridian: Or the Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy
A fever dream of brutality spreading across Mexico and the Southwest. At times the journey unfolds like a beautiful silent film. Vast impressionistic landscapes, with heaps and heaps of description and details of the debased journey. It crawls with filth. A little long in the tooth however. When the action and dialogue kicks in, Blood Meridian is marvelous. But some overly long descriptive passages combined with the phantasmagorical narrative made me a little antsy and distracted.

Little Big Man by Thomas Berger
If you're like me, you don't like to bail on a book, but unfortunately, that's exactly what I did here. 2 weeks and only 90 pages worth of progress I decided to cut my losses. Not sure if I wasn't digging the book or the book had the misfortune of dropping into my life when I was crazed, frantic, and busy. Not sure if any book would have stood a chance. But that said, after a summer of Sherman Alexie, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee and an intertribal Pow Wow, I just wasn't feeling this. It seemed like a glimpse into Native culture from an outsider. Granted the early portions of the book are told from the standpoint of a 12 year old boy with a lot of negative pre-conceptions about native culture who is thrown into that world in a severe way. So maybe that's the stylistic of the first chapters and the book would have born fruit had I stuck it out. Maybe I'll revisit.

Omen On My Shoulder

2008-12-18T10:37:00.000-08:00

My good friend Becky Haycox has an awesome blog called Hamblog. You should check it out. This month she has a groovy Advent Calendar going with holiday-ish offerings from all her friends. She posted a story from me today. If you have a minute check it out. If you have two minutes, check out all the offerings. Good stuff.

Here's how my offering is described. "Today’s Hambox Advent Calendar Window: December 18, 2008 — Avian Omen! Danny Plotnick recounts the fateful day that a New Year’s miracle flew into his family’s life, and out just as fast. Not to mention an appearance by the ever-trembling Hanukah Guinea Pig!"

To get to my post, go to the advent calendar and click on the number 18 (since my entry occurred on the 18th). Here's the link.