2009 Awards: Album*

"That is the great power of the artist ... to paint something which we ordinary people feel but cannot reveal."
- Eleanor Roosevelt

In a pretty strong year for albums it seems strange to give a made-up award to something that technically qualifies as an EP, but I think this EP so completely adheres to my musical checklist that I cannot overlook it.

Ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 "Album of the Year":

Bon Iver, Blood Bank

Blood Bank is, in many ways, a simple project: it's only four songs, it runs barely over 15 minutes, and the whole EP basically consists of one musician, Justin Vernon, writing and performing everything. And yet, the results are remarkable--intensely personal, raw, haunting, uninhibited, candid. Each song speaks a volume, each distinct from the one before it, its own season in its hazy, mellifluous year.

Like I mentioned earlier in my Sigur Rós post, I have respect for and am drawn to those musicians which I feel (perhaps justified or not) are allowing themselves no privacy in their music. That is, not to just unambiguously share lyrically the worst things that have happened to them, but to identify a precise feeling they have, some small or large slice of their human experience, and somehow translate that into music that recreates that feeling for the listener.

Music that accomplishes this controls the situation. One might think it's easy to create a fun song to dance to, and, in some ways, relatively, it is; but, what it is far more challenging to do is write a song that makes people dance, one that compels and commands them, and gets even the wettest of blankets out of their chairs. Similarly, it's easy for artists to write music for the listener to pity himself to, one that the listener plays when he's lonely. It's another thing entirely to write a song that makes the listener lonely or, at least, conveys so devastatingly the loneliness of the singer/musicians that the listener cannot help but feel empathy and be thankful that the listener might not be lonely himself.

It is here that Blood Bank succeeds so wildly.* Here is a crop of songs that is vulnerable and truthful from the opening bar, every song building its own ethereal, complete atmosphere. They are as follows:

*In the interest of full disclosure, I will state that I obtained Bon Iver's Blood Bank (2009) and the even more staggering For Emma, Forever Ago (2008) at the same time and inextricably linked the two, such that my love for both cannot be fully divided into discrete chambers. As this is the case, my fondness for Blood Bank may be artificially augmented and I cannot say that one unfamiliar with Bon Iver can go buy Blood Bank and be able to replicate my experience (of course, this is always the case). If you don't have either, get both; if you have one, get the other; if you have both, congratulations, have a cookie.

"Well, I met you at the blood bank. We were looking at the bags. Wondering if any of the colors, matched any of the names we knew on the tags."

Track 1, "Blood Bank"*: This song begins with a rolling in of ghostly backing voices, melting over a solo electric guitar. The lyrics come in, double tracked (at least) with a clear tenor and a wistful falsetto combining to create this eerie yet beautiful delay-type effect. The choruses break in this beautiful way that opens the song up, at first slightly abandoning the pulse of the song, before the pulse returns to ground the song from seemingly floating away.

At points it seems a very standard love song ("I'm in love with your honor, I'm in love with your cheeks") but the mood of the song is so intense (not a loud, aggressive intense, an unadulterated, pure intense) that some acknowledgment of love seems the only subject strong enough to warrant the passion. The lyrics skirt along the edge of interpretability, giving us tangible scenes of considering mortality while gazing at their literal lifeblood or a late night in a cold, parked car, feeling like the only two people on earth; but also touching on larger yet more abstract concepts like the magnetic pull of familial ties, the surreal passage of time, knowing that the newness of your experience is not in the slightest way also new to humanity yet still feeling that you own this "secret" and know about some corner of existence that others do not. Maybe I'm extrapolating too much, but each of those slivers is in there somewhere much in this same way this night that Vernon paints was/is in reality/fiction an amalgam of emotion and wondering.

* None of these links are to official music videos, but you can at least hear (most of) the songs.

"But don't you lock when you're fleeing, I'd like not to hear keys."

Track 2, "Beach Baby": This song is the most delicate and easily the shortest--just a fragile acoustic guitar and soft, falsetto vocals (still double tracked?), eventually giving way to a sublime pedal guitar melody before fading out. This feels like the kind of song that could only be appreciated in dead silence, maybe by a lone candle in a cabin. Lyrically, it's in some sense the bleakest of the bunch, a gentle yet painful acceptance of an inevitable end. Where the title track is sweeping and grand, "Beach Baby" is small in scale but laser-like in its focus; it's a break-up song, but it's so forgiving, asking only to be left with this one, wonderful memory on some unnamed beach. The pedal guitar at the end is gorgeous, sliding on some notes and pulling off of the others. I imagine a camera rising slowly off of him, as he recalls this encounter that no one can touch, into a shot of the array of stars over a dense, dark forest.

"Summer comes to multiply. To multiply."

Track 3, "Babys": This song, while still sparse like the others, is the fullest in regard to instrumentation. It begins with an almost arrythmic piano figure, drifting into the now familiar falsetto vocals, this time present with a sense of renewal and optimism (e.g. the new summer). I feel the title must relate back to the previous track, indicating some ability to move-on and refresh (i.e. there are other fish/babies in the sea). The chorus (if one can identify it as that, it happens just once) is perhaps the most stunning moment on the whole EP, when the declaration (though it's almost impossible to hear what he's saying) of "My woman and I, my woman and I, know what we're for," lands perfectly with a bass note and chord on the piano. This amazing crash is given a moment to echo and stretch out, before the tinkling of the piano figure returns and the song moves on its way again.

"I'm up in the woods. I'm down on my mind."

Track 4, "Woods": This is the big surprise of the album, devoid of instruments and suddenly including auto-tune and probably other voice modulators. It repeats the same phrase over and over, adding new voices, including some nearly screeching falsetto. This is my least favorite of the tracks, though when examining the EP as a whole it provides some counterpoint as well as finality to the project. That is, it has to go at the end and a song in the vein of the previous three would be isolated were it to follow this one. It reminds me more of a "Fitter, Happier" or "Revolution 9" type song, though more inherently musical than either of those two. I suppose it's a testament to Bon Iver that a fourth of the EP is this song and I still tossed it my prestigious "Album of the Year" honor.

In conclusion...

It was a close race and I wanted to get into how great I thought Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavillion was but this post ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated and I think maybe they deserve their own dissection, maybe as 2009's "Band of the Year" as they also released a great EP, Fall Be Kind, and jumped a few levels in the public eye. Ultimately though, as incredible as that Animal Collective record was, I wanted to recognize/discuss how poignant I found Blood Bank to be. Of all the albums that came out this year, I listened to Blood Bank the most, perhaps the simplest and truest test of a record's effectiveness, and I imagine I'll still be listening to it next year, in ten years, and in twenty.

Happy New Year. I'll be back in 2010 with (probably) some posts on Animal Collective, why I didn't really like Avatar, why I was pleasantly surprised by Julie and Julia, why Billy Corgan is allegedly (i.e. Jessica Simpson) sullying his reputation as an artist, and so on.

Cheers.

2009 Awards: TV Season

"You come at the king, you best not miss."
- Omar, The Wire

Admittedly, that quote has nothing to do with the rest of this post*, other than the fact that Omar is awesome, The Wire remains the gold standard of television and that now that its run is over it opens the door for another show to claim "Season of the Year" honors.* Granted I never had a blog before a month ago, but it's safe to say The Wire would have been the five-time defending champ.

* Or does it?
**Any show that either began or finished its season in 2009 is eligible for this award that I just made up.

Also note, it is internet law that bloggers must give out at least two end of year/decade awards so, like it or not, I have to do this. So, in that case...

HONORABLE MENTION:

Friday Night Lights: Seasons 3 & 4 - I'd give the slight nod to three right now, but four (as I've already detailed) has a shot to surpass it. Props to the writers for so gracefully incorporating new but still great characters like JD McCoy in Season 3 and Luke Cafferty in 4 (though JD has gotten considerably worse in four). I've said plenty on FNL and will say plenty more in the future so let's just move on.

30 Rock: Season 3 - I already wrote about how I think this current season has lost its way a bit , but Season 3 was comedy gold. What I like about 30 Rock is the way it can still manage to really surprise the viewer, especially one who is aware of tropes and likes to think he's really smart and can predict what's going to happen (sound likea anyone you know?). It's great at setting you up for a joke, then giving a completely different joke that you didn't see coming. It's smart, clever, well-acted--all those things that people gush about when describing it. Until Liz actually has some sort of overarching need or want it will continue to rely completely on joke-telling, but if you just want to laugh, there wasn't a better season this year.

Parks and Recreation: Season 2 - If you want my full take on this one, follow the link above in the 30 Rock section. Its one episode since that post hasn't changed my mind. It's a endearing show, is much more than an Office quasi spin-off, and has a fantastic cast and great writers. Plus it's fairly new so easy to catch-up on.

Breaking Bad: Season 2 - Hey, look, it's a show I haven't written about! The Wire really hurts this show for me as all the drug lords and criminals come off as extremely goofy instead of scary. Regardless, Bryan Cranston (the lead) is outstanding and the show does a great job not sugarcoating the various repulsions of the drug trade. All the characters are well-designed, appealing mixes of good and bad that make the viewer oscillate between rooting for them and yelling at them.

Which leads us to our winner...

And if you've read this blog before you've probably already guessed it...

Here's a hint...

Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis from Between Two Ferns

That's right! It's G-Force: The Series!

I'll be here all week, folks.

THE WINNER:

Mad Men: Season 3 - I'll admit that I like FNL and Mad Men about the same, but Mad Men's third season was just a little better than FNL's Season 3. Mad Men is an almost flawless show; the logic and plotting is impeccably designed, virtually never suffering from continuity errors or inconsistent characterization. The only real complaint viewers can log is the breakdown of where the show spends its time, as, for example, I would have preferred just a little less focus on Betty Draper this season as Don's office offers more varied types of tension and a more colorful, rich assortment of personalities. But, that is a relatively minor qualm and, as this old post details, the best episode/scene of the season was, in fact, a Betty/Don storyline. No show I've ever seen, with the exception of The Wire, is as precise as Mad Men. It's a show that's thought of everything. Some call it a little slow (though no one I've talked to about it) but its character-based pace is what gives the big, dramatic moments their true explosiveness. An absolute gem of a season and the best that the world of television had to offer this year.

Back tomorrow with the album of the year.

Not Just A Game

While online, tracking the late NFL games of what turned out to be a financially prosperous Sunday for me*, I came across this video on ESPN.com, a segment from their Outside the Lines program. The video focuses on a class action lawsuit being brought against the NCAA for the way that EA Sports' NCAA video games so clearly portray the specific athletes, yet the athletes themselves gain nothing from their likenesses being used.

*Fantasy football, not betting on the actual games.

Now, it is a slippery slope to try and decipher the issue of whether college athletes should actually be paid to play. On the one hand, athletes are given a free education, yet the demands and time constraints of playing a Division I college sport (or even a DIII college sport) are usually such that only the most driven and organized athletes can actually get the same education that his* peers receive. Take a glance at the abysmal graduation rates of big-time college football programs and you'll see that it's a fallacy that all these players, from the star QB to the back-up offensive tackle, are "paid" with an education. The best players** use their schools to get to the professional ranks and all the players are certainly privileged to certain perks (take, for example, this crazy video of the LSU football facilities), but for the most part, the schools just use their athletes to rake in boatloads of cash (from TV contracts, boosters, and bowl games) and to raise the school's profile.

* Yes, obviously there are female college athletes, but I am, for the moment, only focused on the two big money-makers: men's college basketball and football.
**Which also reminds me of the big "one and dones" in college hoops. What exactly is the relationship between John Wall, Tyreke Evans, and Derrick Rose and their respective schools? There's no education there. The only reason the go to college is because an NBA rule mandates it--what are they really getting out of that?

The NCAA is unyielding when it comes to athletes gaining anything tangible from their stature. Take, for example, star Oklahoma State receiver Dez Bryant who was suspended for getting some help/attention from Deion Sanders, or even Ohio State benchwarmer and internet celebrity Mark Titus who had to jump through endless loopholes to get readers of his blog simple t-shirts, of which, obviously, Mark can't make a dime from.

Clearly, I take issue with a lot of this, but there is a lot gray area here and maybe I'll sort these out further some other time, today I'd just like to "focus" (yes, I realize I've already been blabbing for a while) about the EA Sports snafu. Many viewers in the comments section (and in the video) rail lawsuit poster boy and former NCAA QB, Sam Keller*, for being a money-grabber; I don't think he really is, though he doesn't exactly remind me of Mark Madsen, but I feel his own intentions are beside the point. What we have, is the NCAA and EA Sports blatantly using likenesses of players to enhance the gaming experience and therefore sell more copies of their game with the players seeing absolutely no financial benefit. The give and take of schools and their players is a problem already, but I must say that I am complete agreement with Sam Keller and his attorney over the fact that this is basically stealing from the athletes.

* Keller is actually the perfect fit for this lawsuit in that he isn't a Michael Crabtree/Knoshown Moreno type player who has obvious money coming to them in the NFL, nor is he the anonymous small school lineman who is probably just stoked to be in the game, but Keller is significant enough that he is one of the athletes whose likeness gamers demand. That said, it would be nice if Keller were a little more articulate and worked at, say, a hospital, instead of a bar.

The video games are shameless money grabs, which would be fine if the stars of the games were the ones grabbing some money. This is like making movies and having George Clooney work for free. For the NCAA to justify this partnership with the technicality that the games don't include the players' names--even though the game is built to download rosters online to name the players previously identified by position and number only--is embarrassing. Such a loophole allowing the NCAA to benefit, only further confirms it as one of the most hypocritical organizations around.

Hopefully, Keller (and therefore all NCAA basketball/football players) will be successful and see their fair share. Not that long ago, retired NFL players won a similar case, so it seems quite likely that EA and the NCAA will have to dole out some sort of reparations, if not because of this particular case, then surely soon.

More Reasons to Love Sigur Rós

Despite my long-time worship of Sigur Rós, I managed to miss the limited theatrical run of their 2007 documentary Heima (which apparently translates to at home). There was, if I recall correctly, even a one-night showing at a theater nearby where I used to live in Baltimore, but, alas, even that convenience couldn't prove enough to actually get me out of whatever else I had had to do that night. But, nevertheless, I finally got around to watching this beautiful, amazing documentary* and have to immediately rank it among the best music films I've ever seen.

*It's on youtube, though I recommend (nay, demand) one watch it with a higher quality to fully appreciate the landscape footage.

Now, keep in mind, I am a huge fan of Sigur Rós. I love their music and they have probably continuously been one of my five favorite bands since I was back in high school. I have no idea how this film would strike someone unfamiliar with their music, though I imagine there would still be a tremendous amount to enjoy about it.

This premise of the film is simple: After a worldwide tour, Sigur Rós returned to their home country of Iceland to play a series of free, unannounced concerts in cities, small towns, and countrysides alike. The film blends both performance footage, band interviews, and Icelandic scenery to simultaneously convey ideas of sharing music, connecting to a place, and preservation. It is not overt or condescending, trying to paint Sigur Rós as magnanimous music heroes or attempting to color progress and technology as unstoppable evils, it is instead an honest, uncomplicated chronicling of a band who wants to share their music with the people* and places that inspire them.

* Seeing the faces of the little, Icelandic children listening to Sigur Rós is one of the best details in the film.

Sigur Rós does, however, come off exceptionally well in this film. They are humble and unpretentious, good-natured and bashful. One of the qualities that I admire in musical artists--and one that is hard to define and relies often on hunches and feelings--is an unadulterated love of music and an innate desire to share that with other people. Sigur Rós is a band that, from all I have been able to discern, could do without the pageantry and attention of being rock stars, content instead to simply have people come listen to them and enable them to continue making music.

"I think on stage, when everything is how it should be, like good sound, and like when everything feels right, you just kind of float. And then it's just like the best feeling ever, to sing for people. And you actually don't know you're singing, you're totally empty-headed, you're just like kind of floating there."
- Jón Þór "Jónsi”" Birgisson, from Heima


Similarly, this film enforces that their approach to writing and composing is of a similar ilk, as while their music is quite different and their presentation of it often intentionally unorthodox, is also comes off as natural and unselfconscious. This quality is displayed by the way their music seems to represent so perfectly the Icelandic landscape and lifestyle. So perfectly, in fact, that there are times when it seems the music must have been written to score the shots on the screen. It reveals a deep connection with the land they grew up in and still call home. It voices not only the majestic beauty of it--the sweeping plains and foggy mountains--but also the desolation and the way it is threatened.*

* Numerous times in the film, the band speaks about how development and tourism has changed their homeland.

This leads me too, to another elusive quality that I seek to ascribe to the bands that I love--that I am listening to the songs that truly must be mined from deep within the beings of the musicians. Again, this is perhaps an abstract idea and difficult to defend, but I don't want to hear songs that are designed, I want to hear songs that are born. I want to hear songs that speak truths about the lives of their performers. I want to hear songs that the performers must work to find somewhere within themselves, something that only they could write.* Some bands make this evident through profound lyrics, speaking against oppressors or to the human condition, yet Sigur Rós still accomplishes this without words as their focus (some of their songs are in Icelandic** and others consist only of syllables). Their songwriting is preternatural, their song-forms taken more from the classical playbook than the pop vernacular. Ultimately though, their songs are utterly beautiful--ranging from ethereal masterpieces to fierce explosions of feeling. No emotion is absent from their lexicon.

* This will again be a theme when I reveal my album of the year.
** I also usually enjoy the English translations of their lyrics as quasi-poems.

Heima is a film that, I feel, speaks to this requirement I have. It allows me to understand Sigur Rós in a way I never was able to before. To see the places they choose to play, to hear them talk about the experience, is enlightening, confirming the feelings that their music already gives: that these are creators worthy of my attention and admiration. In this film, their personalities are so intertwined with the music and the land, it is, in a figurative way, difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.


I cannot say what anyone else's reaction will be, especially since I was prepared so fully for this film by both spending years with the Sigur Rós catalog as well as having a romantic, idealization of my own cold, gorgeous landscapes (Maine), but Heima is, at worst, a beautifully filmed movie a wonderful soundtrack. At it's best though, it captures everything that is good about music. It shows what is possible from the desire to create and share, especially when removed from the distractions of posing and self-aggrandizment. It is a simple movie, straight-forward, but its two stars (Sigur Rós and Iceland itself) allow for an epic that is among the greatest unions of music and film.

Lazy "Journalism"

Today I clicked over to some webisite called BuzzFeed, which had compiled a list of "The 50 Funniest Celebrity Quotes Of The 2000s." It was enjoyable. People say some stupid things. No, Arnold Schwarzenegger, gay marriage can't be between a man and woman, that's just regular marriage. Oh, Sarah Palin, that's like saying you don't read any newspapers. Walls at Wal-Mart? Nice try, Paris Hilton.

As you can see, all fun and games, until I got to this one:

#19 - Coldplay's Chris Martin, on charity work (2006): “Can we get on with this? I've got to do AIDS and Alzheimer's and land mines this afternoon, and I want to get back for Deal or No Deal. Plus, Gwyneth's making drumsticks.”

Yeah. That one was funny. You know why?

Because he said it on Extras! A scripted Ricky Gervais BBC comedy in which every episode features a celebrity playing an overblown, ridiculous caricature of themselves!

Here are clips from Chris' appearance. The quote is lifted from about the 1:39 mark:



Now, I realize it's also my fault for getting worked up about misinformation on the internet as it comes with the territory. But, still, seriously? You thought this was real, BuzzFeed? If he had actually said this it would have exposed him as a complete and utter fraud in regard to his charity work and vegetarianism. Didn't the folks about BuzzFeed think they should have heard about this revelation before?

Pretty embarrassing stuff for BuzzFeed, but also for Chris Martin* as anyone who reads that stupid list will have a completely different idea of him. Well, assuming that reader doesn't suspect foul play and do two seconds of research and, I don't know, google the quote. That was apparently too much to ask BuzzFeed to do, so I don't know why they would expect that from their readers.

* I'm sure he'll cry himself to bed on his pile of money next to Gwyneth Paltrow tonight.

Hopefully, BuzzFeed will take this down soon, I noticed people calling foul in the comments at the bottom so maybe a correction will be posted by the time you follow the link.

Until then, some absolutely brilliant appearances on Extras by Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen. Hysterical stuff.

How's the Water?

I was recently frustrated at the frustrating Beverly Hills Library searching frustratedly for some books that frustratingly weren't available. After previous trips there, looking in vain for a specific book, I this time had come armed with a list of no fewer than ten books that I hoped to locate and read. One of said books was David Foster Wallace's Consider the Lobster, which--shock of shocks--they did not have available. After declining to pay the fee to have them hold it for me, I browsed the catalog to see which of his books they did in fact have for check-out. Perhaps unsurprisingly, of the eight books or so that could potentially have been available, exactly one wasn't checked out.

I sought this lonesome book out, only to discover that it was an adaptation of the commencement speech that Wallace gave to Kenyon College in 2005. This immediately rang a bell with me as my friend, Colin, had once told me that he had read the speech online and found it worthwhile, poignant, observant, and so on. Despite that recommendation, it had slipped my mind until now and I jumped at the chance to finally take it in.

I read the graduation speech--it was of reasonable graduation speech length--and was very taken with the original, distinct message Wallace seeks to convey to the Kenyon class of 2005. From the speech:

"I have come gradually to understand that the liberal-arts cliché about "teaching you how to think" is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: "Learning how to think" really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed."

I'm not sure how clear this is as a solitary quote, so if you want to understand it better, the full address is here.

Much of this speech, I feel, is simultaneously about the mindset of a writer--though the two mindsets (intelligent college grad v. writer) are of course not mutually exclusive. Wallace articulates the potential to find worth everywhere in the world, just as every experience and every person can be observed and used as inspiration and written about. This connection fails to encompass all of what he is saying in that writers must inherently make judgments about these observations--is the situation dramatic enough? This character interesting enough? Instead, his proposed view is only that of a human being, one who looks at other human beings from the center of his or her universe. For me to paraphrase the eloquent way he describes this quest would be to do it a disservice. Again, read the whole thing.

This entry was originally going to be just about trying to apply this idea to real life--something I will certainly try to do--but then I remembered that Wallace died by committing suicide. Which makes the following lines from the speech all the more vivid:

"It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in the head. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger. And I submit that this is what the real, no-bull- value of your liberal-arts education is supposed to be about: How to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default-setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone, day in and day out."

And...

"None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions of life after death. The capital-T Truth is about life before death. It is about making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head."

Now, like most all of these posts, I'm not the first person to talk about the prophetic nature of this speech, but maybe I'm the first person you've heard talk about it. So...

1. How does this change the effectiveness of this speech? How does it change the way that someone--let's say me--should take this advice? It had been my plan to try and reread this often, to refocus myself, but it seems strange to talk advice about being happy from someone who was clinically depressed to the point of suicide...OR, does that mean that he is, in fact, the best person to take advice from? Someone who is naturally happy knows nothing of how to be happy, they only are what they are, without effort. Wallace, a profoundly unhappy person apparently, would seem to know far more about the methods and approaches of finding happiness, even if ultimately he couldn't win that battle.

2. Was Wallace, as he says, "dead before [he] pulled the trigger"? Wallace didn't literally pull a trigger, instead hanging himself, and didn't make it to 50. Did he always know he was destined to kill himself? Were these methods he employed only a way to prolong the inevitable? Perhaps he felt/knew that he was a great thinker and writer with much to offer the world and that he owed it to those outside of himself (the ones he mentions so often in his speech) to generate as much as possible for those people to enjoy and digest. This was the only commencement speech he ever gave, which may be an illuminating detail in that he only needed to get this message out once and that he was not concerned with the money or prestige that being a graduation speaker brings. I wonder if he looked out on the unsuspecting, hopeful faces of the class when he read these lines about death and felt that he was in on a great secret, that he was actually one of the people that failed to live by these very words and that he would be dead long before they even understood the monotony he spoke of.

I was happy to have had Bill Nye* usher me from the collegiate to "real" world, but I can't say the Science Guy offered this kind of rumination on living life.

* On a lighter but related note, props to my friend Raffi for being the only person in a group of over 1000 supposedly smart graduates to have the idea/guts to walk over and shake Bill's hand after receiving his diploma.

More on DFW after I manage to get my hands on a copy of Consider the Lobster or Oblivion.

R&RHOF25AC Bonus

Some videos from the aforementioned concert (discussed in detail as the focus of this blog's first-ever two part entry) have been uploaded onto youtube. I doubt they are there legally, but I thought I might as well link to them while they're still up.

More legitimate entries coming up in the next few days. Until then, enjoy.

Simon and Garfunkel: (these are all great)
- The Boxer
- The Sound of Silence
- Bridge Over Troubled Water

Jeff Beck
- A Day in the Life -- Like I said earlier: a tasteful, understated, well-done rendition.

U2 and Bruce Springsteen:
- I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

U2, Mick Jagger, Assorted Lame Pop Stars:
- Gimme Shelter

Bruce Springsteen and Sam Moore:
- Hold On/Soul Man -- When Bruce's intro is over and Max and the horns kick in it's really, really good. This one is pretty great all around.

Bruce and Billy:
- Born to Run

You may notice most of these videos are from the same user. You have my permission to watch the ones that I didn't link to. You're welcome.

Comforting Sounds

On Monday I was lucky enough to catch one of my favorite bands, Danish alt-prog rockers Mew, at the Henry Fonda Theater in Hollywood. Already quite excited for the show, Mew unleashed a precise, monstrous, elaborate performance, exceeding even my expectations.

The first thing I'll speak to is how impressive of a vocalist lead singer Jonas Bjerre (above) is. His voice is incredibly versatile, both in terms of range and timbre--it is soaring and majestic when it needs to be, then ethereal, then robust. He didn't miss a note all night long and his voice may have cracked one time, but even that was hardly noticeable. Bjerre was also experienced enough to always know the position of his microphone in relation to his face, knowing how close to bring it for the falsetto and how far to bring it away for the louder parts. This may sound elementary, but I've seen enough singers suffer through being too quiet or far too loud to not appreciate his appropriately-leveled vocals. I have heard some fantastic vocalists live--Sharon Jones comes to mind right away--but I don't think I have heard a rock vocalist perform with the talents of Bjerre.

The musicianship of the whole group was similarly excellent. While none of the musicians--with the possible exception of lead guitarist Bo Madsen--are required to play anything that requires virtuosic abilities, they play exceedingly well together, moving deftly through the non-traditional song structures and rhythms. Not only do they frequent unusual time signatures, but even when playing in 4/4, the drummer, uber-Danish named Silas Utke Graae Jørgensen, often plays atypical patterns. There were numerous times when I started counting along with a beat because I was curious to figure out the time signature, only to discover the song was in standard meter. They are, in general, much more rhythmically interesting live than on their recordings, as seeing the drummer draws a lot more attention to it.

The big surprise of the night was the videos, imagery, and lights that were playing behind the band. The production quality of the show was closer to a stadium event than the mid-sized theater it was actually in. The show began with a multi-colored light display, pulsing and exploding in sync with the music, but turned into a video of five people, in robes, dancing in a line with deer skeleton heads instead of their regular human heads. That imagery would prove to be indicative for the rest of the show, as future animations included dirty orphan children with puppet mouths singing along to the music, human-cat creatures playing violins, ravenous dogs lunging at the screen, and stampeding giraffes. There were also shots of soaring through space, other dimensions, and flying over snowy nordic landscapes. I learned later that Bjerre creates and animates these videos himself.

This video gives a decent idea of what some of the scenes were like--particularly once it gets past the minute mark:



The only show-accompaniment that proved too much was at the very end, when a teddy bear with blinding white light shooting out from behind him came to tell the audience--in a booming, impossibly low voice--that we would always be friends. Pretty bizarre, especially since the band stopped playing music to let him talk. But aside from that, their occasionally clunky lyrics (they do sing in English), and some pushy high school kids* near me, not much to complain about.

* I remember being young and frustrated that not all shows were all ages. For example, my friends and I once got turned away from a Maceo Parker show that we assumed was lax in its 21+ rules. Now that I'm over 21 though, I'm always annoyed when I see a group of awkward, emo-looking high schoolers that like the same music I do. It's probably mean (okay, not "probably") but I could've done without these fellow concert-goers on this night.

All in all, a glorious night of music. I had often heard Mew referred to as "the world's only indie stadium band." It was a tag that I could imagine by listening to their records, but was fully realized when seeing them live. They closed with one of my favorite songs, "Louise Louisa" which was surprise to me, as I was under the impression that all their shows ended with "Comforting Sounds," which my friend David (who introduced me to Mew) has aptly called their "Hey Jude." For those who haven't heard Mew but are interested, I would recommend Frengers as the album to listen to, though David would probably suggest And the Glass Handed Kites. They released a new album recently, literally titled No More Stories are Told Today I'm Sorry they Washed Away No More Stories the World is Grey I'm Tired Let's Wash Away, but I've only listened to it a handful of times and don't know it well enough to rank it against the previous two--it is good though.

"What a day I have had
What a day I have had
Now it's over, isn't it?"
- Mew

(The Eagerly Anticipated) R&RHOF25AC, Part 2

Like any good concert, the big guns come out last. That doesn't mean my favorite guns went last--but come out they did.

Let's go to the tape.

- Jeff Beck may have actually gone before Metallica, but I can't remember and, for the purposes of this blog, it doesn't really matter. Anyway, Jeff Beck provided two of my favorite moments of the whole night: an absolutely rocking rendition of Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady" with Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top (who I once saw walk by while I was eating Mexican food in Portland) and his awesome beard on guitar; and a tasteful, instrumental version of The Beatles' "A Day in the Life" (one of the greatest songs ever written).

- Gibbons annihilated "Foxy Lady." He and Beck (I don't like writing that because I think of the Guero Beck first) predictably traded solos and they both just killed it. It was also an interesting juxtaposition of the masculine, grungy Gibbons with the skinny, black-sleeveless-teed Beck, especially with Beck's absence of sleeves showing that he shaves in places he probably didn't shave back in the 70s. I know you're Jeff Beck, but come on, dude. You're a rock and roller! Fight the power! Weak sauce.

- A quick thought on Hendrix while he's on the brain: my good friend Will and I once had a discussion--and we're surely the millionth people to have this, there's probably a book on it for all I know--about how Hendrix's death basically killed black rock and roll instead of, potentially, if he hadn't died, launching the genre into the mainstream. Now, clearly, there have been plenty of amazing black guitarists since Hendrix died (I've heard many people argue, for example that Prince deserves to be in the conversation of best ever, this famous video is usually reason #1 why) but they're typically in groups that can't be classified as rock and roll. This isn't taking away anything from Slash, Prince, Lenny Kravitz, Kyp Malone or anyone, but black rock and roll, like Jimi Hendrix played it, basically died with him. Now obviously I've opened a can of worms here, you could certainly argue rock and roll doesn't have a color and it's stupid to assign color-based labels to genres, but as someone who has played music at a pretty high level with black and white groups, there are differences in approach and sound and had the black rock and roll genre been carried to a new generation by Hendrix we could be in a slightly different place musically.

- The "Day in the Life" cover was superb. It started quiet and understated, with Beck climbing an octave depending on the verse. In the bridge, there was some great interweaving between the bass and the guitar and the transition back into the A-section (like in the original) was wonderful. Unfortunately, like music tends to do, there isn't much I can say about it other than, "check it out yourself." Graham Nash, thankfully, did not run out on stage and yell, "That was for the Beatles! John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and George Harrison!" afterward. And, if you don't know what I mean, go read part one again.

- As for Jeff Beck, how about the historical significance of the Yardbirds? This was a band with (though not all at once) Beck, Eric Clapton, and Jimmy Page. Good god. I feel like the Yardbirds aren't that famous or well-known anymore, I'll admit I'd never heard much of them other than "For Your Love" until I got to college, but, geez, what a lineup.

- Next up, the favorite band of people 10 years older than me, U2. U2 is a divisive band these days, most people can't get past Bono's outspoken (or ostentatious) personality and they have basically become the corporate, mainstream music that they opposed when they started out. Nevertheless, they know how to work a stage.

- In the HBO version of this show, it seems odd that Springsteen comes out and then does his set later, but, in reality, they each closed the two nights. Oops, spoiler alert, I guess. I'm sure you were on the edge of your set to find out who the finale was. Which reminds me, where was Sir Paul for all this? He was inducted as a solo artist in 1999 so he was certainly eligible. I mean, Springsteen is all right and all, but McCartney is in a class by himself. Anyway, Bruce comes on with U2 and they all bust out “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For." Even for someone who doesn't swear by either of these artists, this was a pretty amazing moment. Just to see Bono and Springsteen share a stage, two people who are that famous, looking like they're having the time of their lives singing with each other...I think that was what this show was all about. It seemed genuinely enjoyable for the rock and roll royalty to come together for these concerts.

- Then, once Springsteen left, they raised the bar with Mick Jagger. Jagger is pretty goddamn old, but he's still got the moves and energy that I saw from back in the Gimme Shelter days. His entrance was pretty exciting as well, as The Edge started with his rendition of the opening of "Gimme Shelter" to create on of those, "is he here? is he about to come out?" type moments. Of course, they also had Fergie and will.i.am on stage...so, you win some you lose some. Fergie proceeded to be better than I thought she would be, though I was expecting her to completely ruin the song. She sang the female vocal part (obviously) and had most of the necessary power, though repeated words over and over and threw in about three dozen too many "baby"s for my taste. Will.i.am* did nothing, which may have been because he was a hologram designed by CNN. "Gimme Shelter" is probably my favorite Stones song, but it never quite comes works live the way it does on that original recording. Oh well. The song ended with the stars embracing and Bono inexplicably hugging Fergie by putting his head on the side of her stomach. Weird stuff, folks. Weird stuff.

* I really don't approve of will.i.am being the modern version of Dylan in those stupid Pepsi commercials where he does his remix of "Forever Young" and the implication is that he is the voice of this generation. Hey, will.i.am, you know who your 60s counterpart is? Davy Jones. Leave me alone.

- Mick and Bono then did their part for Prop 8, singing “Stuck in a Moment” literally to each other. Want to see Bono tell Mick Jagger, "I am still enchanted by the light you brought to me. I listen through your ears, and through your eyes I can see"? Well, here's your chance. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

- Mick Jagger left and U2 launched into "Beautiful Day." Again, I'll admit it, it was pretty great. Say what you want about U2, but that's a good song and Bono can really sing it. Bono also didn't disappoint his detractors as--somewhere in this set, I don't remember where--he rattled off some convoluted, pretentious nonsense about music and coming together. Even Springsteen (I think it was Springsteen) seemed baffled by this one. Classic.

- Which leads us to our last act...drumroll...it's Bruce Springsteen! Is that the drummer from Conan? It is! Is that Danny DeVito? Oh...Stevie Van who? I suppose the Boss was a fitting end, though I started flipping to the game even more once he came out, but not before I got to see Sam Moore (of Sam and Dave) come on for his two big hits: "Hold On, I'm Coming" and "Soul Man." Sam seemed stoked to be there, he can still sing, and the backing band really nailed it. Again, Bruce looked like he was having a ball, which was pretty fun to watch and provided us with a little comedy hearing him sing those soul numbers.

- John Fogerty joined Springsteen for an All-American mini-set, hitting Creedence standards like "Fortunate Son" and "Proud Mary." It sure made me want to buy some jeans. Fogerty sounded good and Springsteen fit in with the songs much better than he just had with Sam Moore.

- And for the final special guest...Billy Joel. People often get mad at me for saying I'm not a Billy Joel fan but, well, I'm not a Billy Joel fan. The man knows his way around a piano, but his songs are just too silly for me. Maybe "silly" is harsh, but it's usually too schmaltzy or melodramatic for my tastes. Sorry, Bill, you don't need my approval anyway. So, unfortunately, the ending to this HBO show was anticlimactic, but it was still entertaining to see titans like Springsteen and Joel on the stage, especially since they were pulling a Brett Favre and, "just having fun out there!" I would have rather seen Paul McCartney joined by Jimmy Page, but maybe in another five or ten years. They closed with "Born to Run," which even I thought was cool, and then Jackson Browne and a few others came out for a massive cover of "(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher." It was no "I Shall Be Released" but it wasn't bad.

All in all, a great to show to be able to flip to. It made me think a lot about what makes musicians famous, how they stay that way, and how they age, but more on that some other time.

Until then, in the words of Neil Young (who also would've been awesome to see), "Hey, hey, my, my. Rock and roll will never die."

R&RHOF25AC, Part 1

Unintentional Comedy + Rock Legends = The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary Concert

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame recently payed tribute to itself and the music it honors at Madison Square Garden with a veritable "who's who" of pop music legends. HBO broadcast much of the proceedings (the actual concert spanned two nights), in both a four-hour version and a condensed two-hour cut. I'm not going to claim to have watched every second, but I did see most of it when it debuted (opposite the Steeler/Ravens game) and it's been replayed often and I've tuned in occasionally to those as well.

The show proved highly, highly entertaining as it was simultaneously hilarious and awesome. It was funny to see many of these creaky legends, devoid of any sense of cool. At the same time, watching these combinations of rock gods and demigods bust through their classic numbers provided more than a few goosebumps-type moments. I would recommend getting to see some of this show for both reasons.

Here are my thoughts on the concert in chronological order:

- Tom Hanks kicked it off with a rousing monologue about the romanticism and importance of rock and roll. He was a great choice (he was also the producer I believe) to deliver the opening remarks--an American everyman* praising the music of the American everyman.

* Well, among billionaire Hollywood celebrities. He at least plays a lot of everymen.

- Jerry Lee Lewis comes out and absolutely kills all the momentum from Hanks' speech. Yikes. I've got nothing against JLL. He's tremendously important, an icon...but...wow. He can't even keep time anymore. It was awkward how old and uninspiring he was. He luckily didn't play too long. Let's just move on.

- Crosby, Stills, and Nash took the stage next and were periodically joined by such contemporaries as Bonnie Raitt, James Taylor, and Jackson Browne. Raitt's "Love Has No Pride" was the highlight of the set.

- David Crosby was one of the few performers who looks like he's transitioned well with his age. He's enormous and is mostly bald with a long white ponytail, but still manages to look cool because he looks like an old hippie should look in 2009. He sounded great too, which didn't hurt. Graham Nash sounded great too, but is so ridiculously over-the-top with his facial expressions and arm movements that he looks like he's trying to spoof an enthusiastic singer. Good grief.

- Speaking of singers who have no idea how to look when they're singing, Paul Simon was up next. Paul Simon is one of my all-time favorites and has written some of the best songs ever, but if there isn't a guitar occupying his hands...holy crap. Is there a more awkward performer than Paul Simon? His moves (pointing, half-dancing) during "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" were so distracting and goofy. He sounded fine, but he is utterly clueless as a performer. I suspected as much after watching the Graceland concert DVD a couple years ago, but he's only gotten worse with age.

- Thankfully, once Paul got a guitar in his hands it was smooth sailing. Which I could've predicted knowing that he is responsible for one of the all-time best live music performances on TV: A stunning rendition of "The Boxer" on SNL after 9/11 with Giuliani and NYC firefighters and police on stage. What a moment. I wish I could link to it but apparently it's been taken off Youtube. This is about the 5th time (on this blog) I've wanted to link to a video I know I've seen online but doesn't exist there anymore. Anyway, now that Simon had his hands busy with a guitar, I was able to become genuinely hooked into the set.

- Crosby and Nash came back on stage and joined Simon for a pretty, acoustic rendition of "Here Comes the Sun", which Graham Nash clumsily closed with a, "That was for George!" Pretty silly and already pretty obvious. Maybe we can get him to come out after every Michael Jackson cover and remind the audience, "That was for Michael!"

- Art Garfunkel (who still sounds amazing) joined Paul Simon on the stage and they played beautiful renditions of "The Boxer" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water," among a few others. As someone who listened to a lot of Paul Simon (both with and sans Garfunkel) when I was younger, it made me feel good to see that they've still got some magic left. The audience really loved them too, as I think they may have been the only act to earn an encore--but I could be wrong, again I didn't see 100% of this.

- Next up: Stevie Wonder! Good times. While Wonder obviously has his infamous later work from the 80s and 90s to sully his resume, I will argue that his peak was superior to all but a select handful of artists. I would rank Wonder's peak even above Michael Jackson's (this might deserve its own entry later). Anyway, on this night, Wonder was in high spirits and sounded fantastic, hitting old favorites like "Uptight," "For Once in My Life," and "Signed, Sealed, Delivered," to start off.

- Smokey Robinson--who looks downright crazy these days, both in a dazed, drugged out kind of way and in a plastic surgery kind of way--came on for what I think is one of the best songs ever written: "Tracks of My Tears." From the opening guitar part, the beautiful harmonies, the great horn line under the vocals on the chorus, and even the simple but powerful lyrics, I think this song is tremendously underrated. Unfortunately, this performance of it didn't help its reputation as they played it too slow and way, way, way too schmaltzy. While searching to see if youtube had a good version I instead stumbling upon Adam Lambert's rendition of this song ... sigh. This song has seen better days.

- Stevie's set closed out strong though, first with Sting coming on for a "Higher Ground"/"Roxanne" medley and then with Jeff Beck coming on for "Superstition," home of the funkiest horn line ever. Sting held his own with Wonder, playing some bass and rocking a pretty excellent bushy beard. The last number in particular was a goosebumps moment as that song is just too good for it not to be. It's easy to take songs like that for granted but thinking that once upon a time he actually wrote that, made that horn line out of nothing, that's tough to top.

- Aretha Franklin was next (though in reality was on the second night while Wonder was on the first) and belted out her numbers with her predictable bravado. I didn't catch all of her set (I missed "Respect" for example) but I would be remiss if I didn't mention the Queen of Soul. She was briefly joined by Annie Lennox, who sounded fine but I will mostly remember for her "HIV POSITIVE" t-shirt--which I thought clashed inappropriately with the suits/dresses that everyone else on stage was wearing.

- Metallica and their "look-how-badass-we-are" music followed and I skipped most of this set as I do not find them "badass" at all and instead lean towards "goofy." I did catch a bit of "Enter Sandman" and was disappointed they couldn't get Mariano Rivera to run out on stage for that one (it was in NYC after all). I, unfortunately, missed the great Lou Reed joining them but did catch an embarrassingly past-his-prime Ray Davies (of Kinks fame) stumble through "All Day and All of the Night." It's a shame to see a singer not be able to pull off a song that he wrote and made famous. Davies also didn't look too happy to have been paired with Metallica, though I may have just misread him and he was instead upset about his own performance. Either way, probably not Davies' favorite night. I had to go listen to "Waterloo Sunset" just so I didn't feel bad for him.

I'll be back for Part 2--U2, The Boss, Jeff Beck, Mick Jagger--in a couple of days. Until then...

Leopold Canal

Not much time for a real entry today, so I'll just share with you my current musical obsession.

Canadian neo-folk band The Deep Dark Woods recently did a live studio session for the Hearya.com website.

"The Banks of the Leopold Canal" is the highlight of that session and one of the best songs I've heard in a long time. It's just over eight minutes long but earns every second. It's beautiful, haunting, and rich. But, in the words of my childhood buddy LeVar Burton, don't take my word for it.

The Saddest Friday Night

We have this expression on the show, where we say, "We’ll ‘FNL’ it." We take stories that have the potential to be very cheesy and melodramatic and we play them not that way. That’s a testament to [the] way the stories are written, to the filmmakers, to the actors. It’s just the way we’ve been doing the show.
- Zach Gilford, Matt Saracen on Friday Night Lights (FNL)

Since I took the time earlier to praise Mad Men for, what I felt, was its most exceptional episode, it only makes sense that I do a little bit of gushing about Friday Night Lights' recent tour-de-force, "The Son".

I've often thought about all the different factors involved in liking something, in this case, liking a television show. There is always a feeling of privilege, like you know a great secret, when there is a show (or anything) that isn't widely watched. Mad Men, for example, is just about the hottest show around, so good luck making any claim of "finding" that one. Friday Night Lights, however, despite how fantastic it is, is still a show flying under the radar. Maybe it's the sports thing, maybe it's because it's actually on on Friday nights, I don't know. But I do know it is excellent.

It is currently airing its fourth season on DirecTV and after two strong initial episodes, I thought the following two started swimming in some murky waters in terms of continuity and direction. The fifth episode, however, staked its claim as one of the all time great FNL episodes.

I've noticed there is pressure as a blogger or a critic to make superlative judgements. In order to make a review memorable or worthwhile, it can feel like you have to find out the specific way in which your focus is the best or worst at something. As a result, the titles assigned can be forced, strained, and even downright incorrect. So, whether it's the best at it or not, I will say this: FNL makes you care about its characters.

Nobody on the show exemplifies this as well as Matt Saracen*. Matt is the emotional heart of the show. He is the one that viewers (most of them anyway) identify with. They might wish they were more like Tim Riggins, but they know they're a lot more like Matt Saracen. Matt is a good kid, not a perfect kid, but he is selfless, kind, and generous. He gets dealt the worst hand, over and over again (well, aside from becoming the QB1 on a state championship football team) but he keeps on going, shrugging off obstacles and doing what he knows he has to do to support himself and his grandmother. That's why, I think, "The Son" reaches a height that it can only achieve with Matt as its center.

* See? Here come the superlatives again.

To recap, at the end of episode four, we find that Matt's dad has been killed in Iraq. Episode five (the one I'm talking about) then proceeds to take us as close as a television show can to the hurt that a character can feel. In a world where we are so conditioned to try and get lost in TV and movies and books, it very rarely happens that we actually forget we're processing fictional events. There is no Matt Saracen, but it sure doesn't feel that way. Chalk much of this up to the absolutely amazing performance from Zach Gilford in this particular episode.

Matt has shown his pain in many ways throughout the series, but it has rarely been pure sadness. Matt has been angry and depressed and lonely, but he's never been so lost and vulnerable as we see him here. Furthermore, his hurt keeps getting closer and closer: first we see him confess to struggling with the eulogy and express his lack of fulfillment with his own life; then the devastating scene where he just gazes at his father in what should be a closed casket; and, finally, at his lowest point, not being able to eat and breaking down in front of his girlfriend and his parents. This last scene is heartbreaking. The Taylor family is wonderful in this episode, knowing the line between when they can help him and, in the case of Eric following him out the door, when they cannot.

It is peculiar that human beings can become so emotionally involved with stories and characters they know for certain to be make believe. It is, I suppose, this phenomenon that is the essence of storytelling. We want to care about people outside of ourselves and even outside of our world. When we are truly rewarded for such a faculty, it is an experience that stays with us. My thoughts often wandered to Matt Saracen over the last week. I even watched the episode a second time only a few days later--something which I rarely do. It'll be a shame to see Zach Gilford make his inevitable move from the show, but I'm at least glad we got to see his crowning achievement before he left.

And if you still haven't seen Friday Night Lights? Do yourself a favor and get on it.

In the words of good ol' Tim Riggins, Texas forever.

Mismanaged Lists

I'm going to do my best to keep my complaining to a minimum since (1.) that's not why I wanted to create this blog and (2.) there is far too much of that in blogland already.

So let's just say I thought this was funny...

Time Magazine has made lots of lists about the best things of the year. I love lists. I always get sucked in to reading them and I've certainly made a list or two in my day as well. Naturally, one of the first things I clicked on was Time's Albums of the Year. This is their top 10:

1. American Saturday Night by Brad Paisley
2. Bitte Orca by Dirty Projectors
3. Crack the Skye by Mastodon
4. Revolution by Miranda Lambert
5. Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix by Phoenix
6. Love vs. Money by The-Dream
7. Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, Pt 2 by Raekwon
8. Veckatimest by Grizzly Bear
9. I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers
10. The Fame Monster by Lady Gaga

Some albums I really like (Veckatimest and Bitte Orca to be exact) and some...other ones. Now, I'm not going to complain that Brad Paisley is #1 (though from the little I've heard of his music it's pretty lame, standard, predictable country) but I just think it's weird that with Brad Paisley #1 that Dirty Projectors are #2. Who in America would really list that as their #1 and 2? Then, if that's not enough, let's get some epic metal in at #3. A female country singer for #4? Sure, bring her on in.

What? Does anybody in the world actually like Mastodon AND Miranda Lambert?

As a cohesive list, this doesn't make an ounce of sense*. And not just because it mixes genres, but because it also mixes good and bad. It's like someone just picked 10 random albums. I realize this is probably the result of different critics with disparate tastes voting, but it still makes for a bizarre collection. If a single person made this list (and not a publication) I would think he had no real opinions about music at all and just wanted to cover his bases and not offend anyone.

* Yes, sense is measured by weight.

Instead of saying something about the music in 2009, Time said nothing. Or, at least, nothing other than "here are 10 albums that some people--but not the same people--liked." Awesome.

That's all for today. Not much to say about this obviously. A big post about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's 25th Anniversary Concert should be up within the next few days.

Rob: Liking both Marvin Gaye and Art Garfunkel is like supporting both the Israelis and the Palestinians.
Laura: No, it's really not, Rob. You know why? Because Marvin Gaye and Art Garfunkel make pop records.
Rob: Made. Made. Marvin Gaye is dead. His father shot him.
- High Fidelity

A New Kind of BCS Blunder

Bashing the BCS has become terribly trite. Hell, even in the midst of a presidential race Obama found a little time to wax poetic on the injustices of the BCS system. So I'm not going to criticize the BCS for its usual ills but instead I'll just wonder why it has erred in a choice that easily could've been avoided.

Why is TCU playing Boise State?

Now, for those who don't follow college football, TCU and Boise St. both reside out of the major (i.e. BCS) conferences and rolled through their regular seasons without a loss. Until Texas and Cincinnati escaped Nebraska and Pitt respectively in their last pre-bowl weekend, there was even a legitimate chance that TCU could meet the Alabama-Florida winner for the national title.

One of the things I absolutely love about college football (or any sport for that matter) is seeing an underdog take their best shot at the champ. Call them Davids or Rockys or Cinderellas, it's one of the elements that makes sports great. I was lucky enough to watch Boise St. defeat an Adrian Peterson led Oklahoma team in the Fiesta Bowl back in 2007 and the stunning win coupled with the gutsy play calling of the Broncos made for one of the most memorable games I've ever seen in any sport. I remember standing up and falling to my knees as Boise executed that hook and ladder to tie the game. Outside of a Friday Night Lights episode a game never ends like that. It was unbelievable. Furthermore, it didn't even end like that. We still had a halfback option on 4th and goal and then a Statue of Liberty play on a two-point conversion. I've never been so shocked watching a sporting event.

But, I digress. So, this season gave us the gift of not one but two potential giant-slayers: TCU and Boise State. However, instead of letting them prove their mettle against, say Iowa or Georgia Tech or even Florida (i.e programs that already have respect) for some unexplainable, moronic reason the BCS decided that TCU and Boise State should play each other.

For shame.

We see these mid-major schools play each other all the time. We saw TCU take down Utah and BYU this season. Boise St. sharpened its skills against Nevada and even has an opening weekend win over Oregon to highlight its resume. But, why oh why oh why do we need to see them just do the same thing again? These programs are fighting to be in the public eye, to prove they can take down schools with intimidating reputations. At the very least, we can put all debates and conjecture aside and see how these teams stack up against known quantities.

Some might argue that we already know Boise St. and TCU are good, even great, teams. But nobody can say we know exactly how good they are. If the BCS gave us the chance to see TCU go toe-to-toe against Tebow and the Gators we would know just what we were dealing with when the game was over. No excuses. No ifs, ands, or buts. We'd either know they were good but not great or that they deserve a shot at Alabama/Texas. Georgia's dismantling of undefeated Hawaii a couple seasons ago proves, at least to me, that until we see these peripheral teams play the big boys we might as well not even see them play at all.

Whoever wins this year's Fiesta Bowl (which by the way is a rematch of last year's Poinsettia Bowl which TCU won 17-16) will be proud of their W and end the season with a lofty ranking, but will anyone on that team really be satisfied? Knowing that they could've played with Florida? I doubt it.

The BCS robbed each of these teams of the chance they deserved. They shouldn't have to play to be champions of each other, they've been doing that for decades. Two great bowl games got turned into one poor one.

Thanks again, BCS.

I'll have to cheer myself up with this...



And, yes, that's right: That is the star RB, Ian Johnson, proposing to his cheerleader girlfriend after the game-winning score. You can't make this stuff up, people. Well, you could, but then it would be lame.

The Book of Basketball

I recently finished the "first"* book of my favorite sportswriter, one Bill "The Sports Guy" Simmons. At 700 pages, it was a substantial undertaking--especially for a sports book--but it was one I enjoyed very much.

* His real first book, Now I Can Die in Peace, was a collection of his previously published columns chronicling the first Red Sox championship.

I've been reading Simmons since I was back in high school and his heavy Boston slant virtually guaranteed a relevant read every time I clicked on one of his essays. Soon enough, between his laugh-out-loud sense of humor and his conversational, relaxed style of writing, I really felt like I was reading what a friend had to say. At first, as the Red Sox were mired in heartbreaking losses, his articles were cathartic. Having someone around who could encapsulate, for example, the Aaron Boone home run, made the hurt easier to handle. Then, with the slew of Boston successes (with the occasional rough patch) his narrative on the experience became an essential part of my fandom. I developed a fierce loyalty toward him, not in that I swore by every statement he ever made (though usually I'm in the ballpark) but I never missed a column, listened to every second of every podcast*, and now, read every word in his mammoth book.

* The podcasts are especially excellent. They cover a lot of pop culture as well and he gets some fantastic guests. Favorites of mine include Chuck Klosterman, Patton Oswalt, Simmons' college friend JackO, Seth Meyers, and Chris Connelly.

Not that it was a labor; I thought the book was great. I wish my background in basketball history (pre-1980 specifically) had been stronger going in, as I basically had to take his word when it came to George Mikan or even Dave Cowens. Had it been a baseball book it would have been right in my wheel house, but as it was not, I struggled through certain sections. But, again, that's my fault and not Bill's. I loved his plan to redo the Hall of Fame according to levels (even Cooperstown should do this, I think) and I particularly liked when he assembled what he thought would be the greatest team ever (player by player) in case a group of space aliens challenged the human race (equipped with a time machine) to a game of basketball for the fate of the world.

As much as anything though, I enjoyed the book as I felt like one of my own friends had accomplished something great. I feel like Bill Simmons reciprocates the loyalty that he gets from his readers. He genuinely seems to care about them, devoting mailbags to their questions for example. In his section on Paul Pierce (the 54th best player ever by his calculations) he wrote a passage about watching Pierce evolve from a young gun full of potential into one of the game's truly great players. With a few tweaks (represented by ellipses) I felt like I may as well have written that passage about him:

"We watched that guy grow up. We watched him become a man. We believed in him...I don't mean to sound like the old man in Pretty Woman, but part of me wanted to...just tell [him], "It's hard for me to say this without sounding condescending, but I'm proud of you." We spend so much time complaining about sports and being disappointed that our favorite players never end up being who we wanted them to be, but in [his] case, he became everything we wanted him to be."

It isn't of a stretch to say I feel this way about Simmons. Everyone of his podcasts is like getting to talk to an old friend again. Like Simmons about Pierce, I felt proud that he wrote this monster book and that it became a #1 NY Times bestseller. I read him when he first got to ESPN and watched him turn into a sports-personality superstar. It was a wonderful journey and one that I hope is far from over.

Congrats, Bill.

ps - I also wanted to wish my buddy Colin, all the way over in Cambodia, a happy birthday. He is the JackO to my Sports Guy (or perhaps the other way around) and we bonded over basketball back when we were little middle schoolers, creating fake NCAA Sweet 16s and then playing one-on-one for all the games to determine the winner. Happy birthday, Colin.

A Night at the Opera

Thanks to some fortuitous circumstances, I was the recipient of a complimentary ticket to LA Opera's staging of "The Barber of Seville" last night. It was my first ever opera and turned out to be a splendid way to be introduced to the genre.

The production was impressive in all facets. The physical stage it was on was larger than I expected and was very deep. Different pieces, about 25 feet high, that began as house fronts were wheeled around as the story progressed, becoming interior walls and balconies. The lighting was precise, aptly replicating moonbeams, a setting sunlight through a window, and even lightning. The hall itself was grand, towering upward, with subtle black screens in the periphery for translation.

Musically, it was superb, though as an opera novice I'm hardly in a place to critique. What I did enjoy and thought a lot about is how opera, especially to one who can't understand Italian, showcases the voice more as an instrument rather than a narrative tool. Obviously, they were advancing the plot while singing, but for me it was more like an orchestral suite built around a theme that supposedly told a story. I also wondered (there is a great deal of time to think while at the opera) about whether opera music is the most demanding music to sing--I feel it must be. While nothing about the lines struck me as particularly atonal, it is far less predictable than popular music, any figure can cascade or fall at seemingly anytime. It was not in a random Sun Ra-type way, more that it was almost foreign to my musical sensibilities.

The staging was fairly modern and creative, though some of my companions took issue with how conspicuous the movement of the chorus of actors was, as well as how ostentatious the set and wardrobe became. To me, who had nothing to compare it to and was merely trying to take it all in, I didn't take offense to either but was well aware of the constant tumbling, dancing, and synchronized movement of the background actors and certainly of the explosion of colors that ended the play--pink and red suits abound, rainbow confetti, soldiers with neon gloves, striped kites.

It was at the end of the play that I began to wonder if this staging was inspired by or was drawing comparisons to The Wizard of Oz.* The play begins in black and white and ends in a flurry of color which first reminded me of Dorothy's travels, but when a waving Rosina and Almaviva departed for their honeymoon in a hot air balloon, to a crowd of jovial denizens no less, I began to try and force the two stories to become mirrors of each other. There are no ruby slippers, though Figaro is dressed all in red (I believe the only character to wear red) and it's mostly his plan and matchmaking that gets them together. I doubt the stories themselves have much in common, though I did try to strain the characters in "Barber" to be helpful or overcome via courage, heart, or brains. I was mildly successful though I imagine my connections had all the makings of a C- English lit paper.

* For more on that, see this earlier post.

In conclusion, a very worthwhile night out and one I hope to repeat soon, so long as my wallet doesn't get too much lighter as a result. The first act was longer than I was expecting (over an hour and a half) though the whole production wrapped up in just over three hours, which gave me plenty of time to get home to catch the future Mrs. Ethan Ogilby hosting SNL, though let's just say that she didn't exactly propel herself to the Steve Martin/Alec Baldwin class yet.

Ciao.