Fawns & Owls

Went to the Echo last week to see Megafaun...really excellent show. Even better than I was expecting.

I wish I'd brought my camera so that I could have captured the bearded trio all wearing their Lakers jerseys (Worthy, Kareem, and, strangely enough, Eddie Jones) but, alas, I did not and I grabbed this non-event-specific photo from the internet instead. Oh well.

But, anyway, Megafaun killed it. I learned later that the members of Megafaun were former bandmates of one of my absolute faves, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and while their music now isn't identical, they share a lot of aesthetic preferences. The core of Meganfaun is their beautiful singing and harmonies. They employ the kind of co-frontman thing with their two singers, brothers Brad and Phil, each taking the lead at different times but usually just singing together.

The concert started out with the airy, haunting "Kaufman's Ballad," which they nailed and which clearly established them as a cut above their opener, Breathe Owl Breathe (more on them later). Playing without a bass for the first song, the music floated over the audience, as if cutting through some forest fog. The set after that had a lot of sonic variance, as switches in instruments (guitars to basses, banjos to guitars) let them incorporate elements of rock and psychedelia into some numbers as well as more rootsy bluegrass into others.

Aside from playing a wonderful set, Megafaun also won over the audience with their hysterical, endearing banter. The two leads played effortlessly and naturally off of each other (they do know each other quite well) and they made jokes about Phil's (or was it Brad's?) misuse of sports metaphors and the wafts of dancehall music coming through the floor/walls. They even ended the set like a little league game with the band members leading two lines of audience members to congratulate everyone on a "good game." While so much silliness might usually strike me as distracting, their comments in no way lessened the seriousness of the actual music nor their focus during it. Plus, they were so genuine and funny, and so thankful for a respectful, moderately large crowd, that they were impossible to dislike.

Check out plenty of samples of Megafaun on their official site.

Breathe Owl Breathe also wrote pretty good songs and performed them adequately, but wasn't so successful in separating their "having fun" personas from the "we're serious musicians" personas. The songs often had unusual lyrics (about werewolves and swimming and such) but those mostly worked -- what hurt them, in my opinion, was their inability to just let the music speak for itself. Instead, the donned capes and snorkel gear and childish dance moves and hid behind this "we're zany!" schtick that was unnecessary and made the rest of their act seem disingenuous. As an concert-goer I can't believe that a musician is totally consumed and moved by their music (as they often acted like they were) when ten seconds ago they were joking around and being immature. Maybe the two mindsets exist simultaneously for them, but, for me, you're not in your music when you're constantly taking yourself out of it to semi-mock yourselves. They're a good band musically, they've just made some bad choices in the way they choose to present it.

They could take a lesson or two from Megafaun, but, then again, most bands could. One of my friends bought Megafaun's most recent album and, though I haven't listened to it much yet, so far so good. Maybe I'll follow-up on it later.

How to Sort of Make It in America

Cool is a strange thing. We all know people who are ostensibly cool but without an obvious reason as to exactly why. These people might not be funny or smart or interesting or even that fun, but they still manage to be cool...mostly. Is it just confidence? Some kind of shallow charisma? Just looks? Whatever it is, HBO's How to Make it in America is their television equivalent.

Recently finishing up its first season, HTMIIA is a show that's all style and no substance -- but that style can take it farther you'd think it should be able to. It starts with an admittedly awesome title sequence, set to Aloe Blacc's "I Need a Dollar," and progresses to successfully glamorize the dreamer-class of young, good-looking urbanites. And, to that extent, it works, don't get me wrong. I watched all eight episodes and was happy to do so, but I can't praise it much more than that.

The show centers around Ben Epstein (played by Bryan Greenburg) and his best friend Cam (Victor Rasuk) and their attempts to start a clothing brand. Ben is likable and fun to root for and Cam is a classic "easier to ask for forgiveness than permission" kind of guy, but they aren't exploring any new ground nor or they remotely complex individuals. They're not particularly well-acted, but they don't make you wince either, which I suppose is something.

These characters, were they given better storylines, would be more than just the serviceable that they are, but, alas, the plotting is adequate at its best and lazy at its worst. For example, on two separate occasions, the pair happen to run into powerful fashion moguls that they somehow convince to help them out. One of the meetings, at a party, is okay on its own, but as the next is literally catching a glimpse of some designer on the street, it weakens both instances considerably. Granted, they do serve as good chances for Cam to be proactive and work his charm, but it's pretty far removed from the "surprising but inevitable" mantra. Similarly, in another episode, when Ben and Cam are looking for 300 "50/50s" (t-shirts that are 50% polyester and 50% cotton if I remember correctly), Ben befriends/flirts with a girl who works at a thrift store who then is able to take them to a secret warehouse full of such t-shirts. There is an effort to make Ben and Cam's journey difficult and full of obstacles, but when the solutions are just lucky and not creative/interesting it kind of defeats the purpose. Knowhatimsayin?

My other issue with the show is the B-stories that deal with Cam's older cousin, Rene, an ex-convict. While Rene is very well played by famous character actor Luis Guzman, his story doesn't really fit in with the average-NYC-life vibe established elsewhere. That is, if the show is supposed to be about trying to make it in America, like normal 20-somethings do, why do we need a mobster from whom the guys borrow money from and are afraid of? I feel like it shows a lack of confidence from the writers that they can't make the standard trials and tribulations weighty enough and want to add this dramatic, supposedly exciting element. Which is unfortunate sine Rene's criminal persona makes the show worse instead of better. I have the same issue with Friday Night Lights, as much as I love it, in that when they get away from the small town stories and involve murder and guns it makes everything seem less realistic. The extraordinary isn't always necessary to tell an extraordinary story.

And, yet, all those complaints aside, I did enjoy watching the episodes, because the show is still cool. Ben is pretty cool, his ex-girlfriend is pretty cool (until the last episode anyway), they eat at cool places, have cool friends, have cool parties, and so on and so on. That might not be enough to get me to watch next season, if there is a next season, and it's not enough to make it a good show, but it's still enough to make it a not a bad show.

Gettin' the Party Started

All right, no more excuses. I've been out of town a bit but mostly just lazy, and I have plenty of new music and TV to write about...

A couple months ago I'd never really even heard of Party Down, nor was I aware that the Starz network had any original programming. As you can probably guess, I've now made my way through the first season of Party Down and, had I gotten to it in time, it would have made my Best of 09 TV Shows list.

The premise of Party Down is pretty simple: each episode is a different event/location that needs to be worked by the band of eccentric characters that make up the Party Down catering company. The show centers around a thirty-something named Henry (Adam Scott) who has recently given up on his acting career and has resigned himself to making nearly minimum wage at his old job, run by his "friend" Ken.

The tone of PD is similar to its premium-cable comedy brethren, Curb Your Enthusiasm, though the smaller scope, very play-like in it's nature, limits the customary Seinfeldian coincidences and tie-ins. But the darkness is there, as is the more adult comedy that network and basic cable shows can't touch. It's a sitcom, yes, but it isn't too sitcomy.

As all the episodes exist within the context of the a particularly party/event, the characters carry most of the show's comedic weight. While Henry is sort of the de facto straight-man, he's clever and self-loathing enough to generate his fair share of laughs. While Adam Scott is usually better known to play jerks* he's perfectly likable in this show and his chemistry with Lizzy Caplan's character, as they explore a romance in their recently turned-upside-lives (him because of abandoning acting, her fresh off a divorce), is excellent and provides a strong emotional core that can carry the show dramatically and create a serialization that ties the episodes together. Their romance is, in fact, one of the stronger elements of the show (and this from someone [me] who doesn't usually require a love story) and doesn't feel forced or manufactured in the way, for example, Community** has used Jeff and Britta or crappy shows on CBS and such have surely wasted their time doing.

* Apparently, I haven't seen him in much else myself.
** Though this show has really grown on me. More on it soon.

The supporting cast of PD is also great, with recognizable comedic actors like Freaks and Geeks alum Martin Starr as an aspiring sci-fi screenwriter and Jane Lynch as a washed up actress -- though she'll be replaced by Will and Grace's Megan Mullally for the upcoming second season due to Lynch's success on Glee. Starr is intentionally unlikeable at times, pretentious and arrogant, but he provides a hilarious counterpoint to actor/model/musician/handsome guy Kyle, who, though not a Rhodes scholar, actually turns out to be a genuinely endearing character.

For me personally, the show is extra engaging because I can easily relate to struggling LA folk biding their time while waiting to break into show business. Obviously that wouldn't be enough on its own, but this element makes me feel like my life is a little more interesting, since I myself might as well be scraping by at a catering company.

All in all, a very funny, well-written show and one that I'm glad I discovered. I hope it can keep it up when it starts its second season this Friday.

Sooooo Close

What a heartbreaker...

Man oh man.

I haven't been so emotionally wrapped up in a college basketball game* in a long time. Had Hayward's desperation three banked in -- and it was so, so close -- that becomes arguably the most famous play in sports history. Obviously, time would be the ultimate judge of that, but one of the biggest upsets ever? On one of the craziest shots ever? Over the biggest, baddest, most hated program in the land? It almost happened. That game will still endure pretty well. A real classic.

* Financially wrapped up in a game perhaps, but not purely emotionally.

As good as Brad Stevens was this tournament, I don't think he necessarily made the right call in having Hayward go one-on-one to try and win the game. Granted, Hayward is a great player and he got a makeable though difficult shot, and hindsight is 20/20, but Butler had actually gotten a couple of easy looks recently thanks to some nice passing. That said, it would have been even worse had they taken too much time and the 5th option hucked up a bad shot as the time expired. I guess I can live with Hayward trying to win it on his own, but, I don't know, it didn't exactly strike me as "The Butler Way" that we'd heard so much about. It was tough to see Hayward come up short. He seems like a good kid and he really carried that team for long stretches this tournament. He hopefully has some more big games ahead of him in college and then a successful NBA career.

Butler, though they lost, did prove something in that game. Because they don't play a pretty, fluid style it's easy to look at their games and view them as getting lucky, but they're a tough team that makes the other team work for everything. Barely losing to the nation's best team (and I'll give Duke their due, just ask West Virginia or Baylor) I think solidified that Butler was every bit as good as their tournament finish suggests. Their scoring droughts were excruciating to watch at times; they were probably just one playmaker, an athletic big man perhaps, away from being the kind of team that looked as good as they actually were.

As much as it's fun to rag on Duke, I don't have anything against any of the big three (Smith, Scheyer, Singler) especially after that story at halftime about Smith's dad dying. On the other hand, Zoubek is easy to root against and he made me think to myself multiple times, "He's just big! He's not even that good! Arrghh!" as he grabbed another clutch rebound or tapped the ball back out to the guards. Coach K is a tough one because I don't like him for the most part (not that he did anything wrong, politics aside) but he is the coach of Team USA. Duke may not be the Yankees but they sure seem like it when they're playing Hickory High.

I would have absolutely loved for Butler to win that game, though maybe their moment is just beginning, Butler only loses two of it's important players, and keeps Hayward, Mack, Howard, and Nored. Rematch in the 2011 Final Four?

Paradise Lost

All right, so admittedly, March wasn't the best month for blogging. I'm not gonna make excuses, but feel free to make them for me. Unfortunately (or not, depending on your point of view) April doesn't look a whole lot better, so expect another month with an entry total closer to 10 than to 20.

Anyway...

"But I guess where I was originally going is that nobody wants to write endings in television. They want to sustain the franchise. But if you don’t write an ending for a story, you know what you are? You’re a hack. You’re not a storyteller. It may not be that you have the skills of a hack. You might be a hell of a writer, but you’re taking a hack’s road. You’re on the road to hackdom and there’s no stopping you because stories have a beginning, a middle, and an end." - David Simon (read the full interview here)

When I read this quote, the first thing it made me think of was Lost. Specificially, how hard it's going to be to create a satisfying ending. I guess we're about halfway through the final season, and, to this point, I'm cautiously optimistic that the ending is going to work well.

I wonder, on the one hand, if we basically have all the necessary information with the exception of what this alternate reality is about -- which, granted, is a pretty big exception. I suppose the the good vs. evil thing is the only thing grand enough for the ending to a show as epic as Lost, but part of me actually kind of longs for the mystery of wondering about the Others and Dharma and about who's good and bad and in-between. Also, keep in mind, I was never really one to complain about not knowing what was going on, isn't that the fun of a mystery?

So it seems, to me, that there are three competing powers: Jacob wants a successor to keep up the good fight/defeat the Man in Black; the Man in Black wants to get off the island, which will either destroy the world or destroy everyone who's involved with the island; and Widmore wants, possibly, to just blow the island up and end the whole fiasco.

My Widmore theory is possibly unsubstantiated, and I'm not sure why he would want to blow up the island, but his motives have been all over the place from the POV of the viewer, so I'm just guessing here. Also, perhaps tying into this possibility, as we've seen, blowing the island up doesn't necessarily blow the island up in all realities, so maybe Widmore knows this and his plan is much more complicated than I think. Especially since it seems like he wants Desmond to guard the island or something.

As for Jacob's plan, I'm curious as to whether it makes sense that Jack will be the New Jacob. Jack was, initially, the single main character of the show, though his role has kind of lessened as the show's gone on. It would be fitting on the one hand, completing his full-arc as a man of science to a man of faith, but I could see it being just as fitting for a resurrected Locke (the real Locke that is) or even Sawyer. Or, maybe, as some have suggested, it's Aaron or Sun and Jin's baby that will be the successor (or at least provide some loophole). Maybe that's why Desmond is back? We'll see.

Speaking of Desmond being back, I'm glad he's around again. I remember at one point (after "The Constant" one of my favorite episodes, the one where Desmond calls Penny on Christmas Eve) feeling like he was, in the grand scheme of things, the most important character. Of course, then we didn't see him for about a season and a half (maybe not that long) and I was proven wrong, but his episodes are always great and I find his romance is the most engaging. He's also gotten a raw deal so many times (from Widmore and from the sacrifice he had to make for the island) that he's easy to empathize with.

Anyway, as you can see, it's hard to write about Lost without being a super-hardcore fan, but now you at least know that I have indeed been watching it and that I haven't completely forgotten about my blog.

Back tomorrow or Monday.

Catching Up the Ears

If I were a truly good blogger, I'd have given each of these albums/artists their own entires...but...well...you know.

First things first, stolen straight from a couple of my favorite music blogs, Soul Sides and HearYa respectively:

Listen to this awesome Aretha Franklin cover of Sam Cooke's "You Send Me." Initially, when the piano started up, I was a little confused about how the timing was going to work, but then these relaxed, sublime vocals come in and the rest is history. This is one of the better examples I've heard of doing an amazing cover of an already amazing song, yet having the new version be entirely different while still respectful.

I don't know much about Joe Pug (pictured above), but the guy knows how to write lyrics. His music isn't completely my style, but check out this little verse from "Not So Sure" (link from the Hearya.com live session):

I bummed expensive cigarettes,
I wrote John Steinbeck's books,
I undressed someone's daughter,
Then complained about her looks.

Damn. As R Kelly might say, that's real talk.

Owen Pallett - Heartland: I'm sure that someone has done an album kind of like this before, but I haven't heard it. Pallett (who used to go by Final Fantasy, and it's probably better he had to drop that moniker) has made a very cool, interesting indie pop album ... except he used an orchestra instead of a regular band. What results is kind of reminiscent of Andrew Bird in some ways, except many of the songs feel like a new-vocaled remix of numbers from a lost, melancholy Sondheim musical. It is a little odd at first, and some of the songs ("Flare Gun" especially) can be too showtuney, but overall the album works really well and is rewardingly well-crafted. Definitely work a listen; even if you don't like the album you'll appreciate the intention. Final Grade: B+/A-

This video doesn't include the full-orchestra, but you can kind of get the idea.



Surfer Blood - Astro Coast: This debut album reminds me a lot of the Real Estate LP from last year. It's definitely more of a rock album, and it lacks some of the charm and sophistication of the Real Estate album, but it's still pretty darn good. It's interesting, and this is something I've noticed in the music scene recently, that there seem to be a fair number of bands that are playing music that isn't exactly new or original, and in fact it sounds like music that was more popular a a few years ago, but it's been influenced by all the music that has come out in those few years and therefore does seem to be fresh, even if only slightly. For example, and this is why I bring it up, Surfer Blood sounds a lot like Weezer, but captures just enough details from the post-Weezer debut landscape to not be a worthless Weezer knockoff -- of which there were plenty when Weezer was at their apex. Bottom line, Astro Coast isn't exactly breaking new ground, but they're doing enough of their own thing, and doing it well. Final Grade: B+

Here's an in-studio version of "Floating Vibes." God, they're so young! I'm not going to pretend I'm not jealous.



Other Lives - Self Titled: When I heard the track "Paper Cities" I really, really loved it. I thought it was melancholy but mature and it gave this feeling that everything should be moving in slow motion when it was playing. And I still like this song, but, unfortunately, the rest of the album isn't quite as good. Most of the songs are too soft and poppy for my tastes and they're quick to welcome the melodrama. Clearly they have some potential as there are at least two other songs, "Don't Let Them" and "It Was the Night," that are more than decent, but I'm not going to be tracking their career waiting for them to make the jump. Final Grade: B-

This song is still great though. And it's from Hearya.com, so I guess I heard of this band through them too. Watching this video makes me wonder how I didn't like this album more.



Back soon with, likely, a full review of the new Gorillaz album, though maybe not, as I still want to give that a few more listens. Back soon with something.

Breaking It Down

Most of this post is also over at Pop Culture Nerd.

“You either run from things, or you face them,” Jesse tells Walt in the Season 3 premiere of Breaking Bad, unwittingly nailing Walt’s current shortcoming. While, at least for today, Walt may be ready to choose family over meth dealing, he’s far from ready to face anything or anyone. Despite the glimpses of his solitary self-loathing, Walt never makes any sort of acknowledgement of his wrongs. He thinks that getting out of the meth game should fix everything, but in this episode he learns (even if he refuses to accept it) how far from the truth that notion is.

In the premiere, Walt has entered even more severe stages of justification and denial, as though his meth obsession has led to him likely losing his family, he’s still not quite capable of really leveling with Skylar. He admits that he has manufactured drugs, but he doesn’t get near an apology and is indignant when Skylar hands him the divorce papers. Walt has hidden the truth from Skylar for so long that he thinks revealing the basics to her should be enough to make her forgive him, but he can’t even understand that their problems run much deeper than the logistics of what Walt’s been up to. And, on top of that, when Skylar first accuses him of being a drug dealer he briefly denies it, even though he probably had no other story to explain anything, because lying to her has become so ingrained in him.

In addition, Walt also now has to find a way to ignore the guilt of more blood on his hands than ever before. Even if the crash was due to Butterfly Effect type circumstances, Walt can piece together, just as Jesse does, that whoever’s fault Jane’s death was (undeniably Walt’s, though Jesse has no idea) is ultimately responsible. But Walt is running away from this tragedy just as quickly, whether it’s by making painful assembly speeches about moving on (though the logic seemed a bit strained that Walt would be asked to say something, even if the payoff worked well) or by trying to convince Jesse that the crash was due to a mechanical problem and lack of government oversight. Walt knows that he’s done wrong, but he wants so desperately to believe otherwise that he’ll try and sell his fantasy to anyone who will listen. And so, we wonder, if these catastrophic circumstances can’t snap Walt into reality, then what can?

Well, perhaps unfortunately, probably more gangsters. Now, over the fantastic final episodes of Season 2, Vince Gilligan and Co. earned my trust, deftly intersecting their various story lines into a gripping, crazy, and even poetic finale. But, that being said, the rise in the quality in Breaking Bad also coincided with the extinction of over-the-top, cartoonish drug dealers (Tuco being the worst offender). Maybe I’ve just been spoiled by The Wire, but all the supposed “thugs” in Breaking Bad didn’t convince me as serious villains. I’m holding out hope that these silent brothers (though they may not be brothers, I’m just assuming) match the realism of the rest of the current state of the show, but if their shooting rampage and Nick Cage movie style walkaway from the exploding truck are any indication, perhaps I should prepare myself for more cringe-inducing bad guys.

Though, initially, I sort of felt the same hesitation for Jesse, who has turned into the best non-Walt element of the show. While Jesse didn’t dominate the screen today (not that I expected him to) we did get some excellent scenes with him, as well as some solid, seemingly permanent character development. The campfire scene in particular really resonated, when the audience was as blindsided as Jesse to find that this seemingly by-the-book square running the discussion had actually done something as unforgivable as anyone there, we could believe that such a revelation might be a wake up call for Jesse. Unfortunately, in classic, tragic Breaking Bad fashion, Jesse doesn’t come to the conclusion he probably should have, instead accepting and embracing his criminal persona. Even if he’ll theoretically refrain from using drugs himself, it was sad because once again we find Jesse, who is at heart more moral than Walt, falling victim to circumstance and taking the easy way out.

Which leads us to both of our main characters getting about halfway to where they need to be, then abandoning the course. Walt agrees to some facts, but he’s not getting at the truth, certainly not about himself. And while Jesse more or less makes peace with what happened, it’s only because he seems ready to carry the blame of Jane’s death with him indefinitely. With the pair now at least temporarily living together, it’s probably only a matter of time before their self-hatred boils over into more bad decisions.

Some other (exclusive) observations…

- I wonder if Walt remembers meeting Jane’s dad in the bar.

- We’ve seen Walt light matches and watch them go out. When he was tossing them into the pool I wonder if he was thinking of them as tiny planes crashing.

- I was glad to see Walt change his mind once he started burning all that money. I think that would’ve made the previous season feel less important if he’d just let it burn. Plus we got to him fish it all out.

- I liked seeing Hank misinterpret Walt’s honesty as a joke. This isn’t the first time this has happened. What will Hank’s reaction be when he inevitably finds out what Walt’s been up to?

- I’ve sort of been back and forth on Walter Jr.’s mental handicap thing, but in this episode I really liked the way it enables his character to ask the obvious, blunt questions. Such as, what the hell is going on? Why are my parents separated?

- The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was a great example to show how difficult it will be for Walt to live alone…though I do love a good PB&J myself.

- I mentioned this earlier, briefly, but what was the deal with that assembly? Do only like eight teachers work at this massive school? Why would that principal ask Walt, a teacher who has been away for so long and, from what she knows and we’ve seen, has been going through a lot, is not great with people, and hasn’t prepared anything, to say something to the whole school? It didn’t make any sense, though aside from the logic of it, it was a good scene.

- I wonder if Walt’s refusal of the $3 million job is a safe one. I assume that Chickenman has set things up so that nothing could ever be traced back to him, but for someone so careful and professional I wonder if he’s at all afraid of Walt ratting him out.

- Along those lines, Walt is definitely taking that job soon. He’s not out of the game for long, especially with what Jesse’s said about being the bad guy.

That's all for now.

Everyone Loves a Good Mystery

One thing I like about music is that money and renown and advertising doesn't do a thing for quality. Four twenty year olds in their basement can make a better album than the world's most famous band. They probably won't make anywhere close to as much money with that album, but in terms of quality, it's a totally equally playing field.

The same can be said of comedy, to an extent. Sure, a movie might have Vince Vaughn (Wedding Crashers), a $35 million dollar budget (The Hangover), a solid-gold comedy director/writer (Funny People)...but that's no guarantee that those movies are going to be any funnier than a low-budget movie shot by NYC comedy sketch group in New Hampshire. Because they aren't. Money don't buy funny.

Derrick Comedy's Mystery Team has been playing in limited release (from what I can tell, one city at a time) since September or so. It got to Los Angeles recently and I was lucky enough to catch it at the Nuart Theater.

I wasn't sure what to expect going in, the trailer didn't have me convinced I was going to love it, and while it may not be a perfect movie, it sure made me laugh. A lot.

Mystery Team is the story of three friends (pictured above) who started The Mystery Team when they were little kids. They took cases about missing pies and pencils and wet-willys (or something like that) and it was all pretty normal and cute. The thing is, however, The Mystery Team never stopped. Now the three founding members are 18 year old high school seniors, a laughing stock, and looking for a way to earn some credibility. I won't give too much away, but once a little girl comes to their roadside stand and asks if they can help figure out who murdered her parents, hilarity ensues (though I guess it actually continues to ensue as it was funny before this as well).

What makes Mystery Team work so well is that they absolutely nail the necessary absurdist tone. Sure, you have to suspend your disbelief at times, but it knows what kind of movie it's trying to be and finds the perfect balance between silly and too silly, as well as realistic and too realistic. The writing, from a joke standpoint, is consistently excellent. Very clever, and often very unexpected. The actually plot could be a little tighter, and I personally could have had some of the gross-out humor scaled back, but since I never stopped laughing, those complaints seem more minor.

The movie was shot a couple years ago now, and in since then, there are many actors who have since made their way onto TV, coincidentally all on NBC. Donald Glover (Troy on Community) is the main character (center, above) and Aubrey Plaza (April from Parks and Recreation) is the other daughter of the murdered parents. Bobby Moynihan from SNL is also there, as are Dotcom and Lutz from 30 Rock, as well as Erin from The Office. For any Upright Citizen's Brigade fans, comedy genius Matt Walsh also makes a scene-stealing appearance.

I don't know if it's in theaters anymore, but get Mystery Team on those Netflix queues for when it's released in May.

"We're men, right?"
"We're drinking chocolate milk, aren't we?"

Escape from the Planet of DFW

Wait...what's this? A new blog entry? Sac me bleu!

All right, so March hasn't been the best blogging month. Due to visitors and four full days of NCAA March Madness* my blog has been neglected though I'll try and finish the month strong, especially since I'll be hopefully going to a couple concerts this week. Stay tuned.

* Which was awesome by the way, one of the better tournament opening weekends I've seen, which makes me wish I'd followed the season more closely as it probably would've been even crazier. Especially loved the KU-NIU game, the Cornell games, and the St. Mary's-Nova game. The Murray State upset was pretty great as well.

Anyway, for now, my third* installment in catalogued my newfound affection for David Foster Wallace. A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again is a compilation of non-fiction essays published in the 90s. I finished most of the book a couple of months ago, but one of the essays (more on it soon) dealt with the films of David Lynch and I felt I had to educate myself on the relevant films before reading that one. Thus, I only formally completed the book last week.

* Part one was about his incredible commencement speech and part two was his equally awesome short story collection Oblivion.

So, naturally, I liked some of the essays more than others. Some were not as culturally relevant two decades after their writing and some were too dense for me to get out of them what he likely intended, but others still resonated and were a joy to read.

My favorite was the title essay, one that was a lengthy (100 pages) first-hand account of DFW's trip on a luxury cruise at the expense of Harper's, the magazine he was writing for at the time. What I appreciate the most about his writing is the way he looks at society in a specific way. He often writes essays more broadly (more on those momentarily) but I like hearing of him interacting with individuals and groups and then drawing interesting conclusions about human nature. Never having been on a cruise myself, it was fascinating to have the experience explored by someone so observant and literate in that he could really convey to me the cruise culture: the kind of people that go on the cruises, the kind of people that work on the cruises, what the intentions of the cruise line company are, how the cruise is marketed, what kind of activities they are, how one passes time on the cruise, and so on and so on. Like most good writers, Wallace thinks about everything when he's in a place. He wonders about the parts of things (cruises in this case) that go mostly unseen, he likes to examine all sides of things, which I as the reader really appreciate. I also like it when he's at the center of the essay as I'm always curious about how someone as smart as him fits into normal situations, especially knowing that he was privately very depressed and, eventually, sadly, took his own life.

He treads similar ground in Getting Away from Already Being Pretty Much Away from It All in which he visits the Illinois State Fair near where he grew up. In this one he strictly adheres to kind of a log-type structure (e.g. starting each section w. something like 08/05/0905h) which sometimes works against him as certain parts of his visit were far less engaging than others -- in contrast to the cruise essay, with a generally chronological structure but still able to jump around for the benefit of the narrative. Nevertheless, the bits about discovering where in fact all those strange people buy those full-of-attitude shirts that say things like (and I'm quoting from the essay), "We'd Get Along Better...If You Were A BEER!" and "What Part of NO Don't You Understand?" were funny but also enlightening as such observations led to some pretty excellent ruminations on the difference slices of American society and geography and so on. I imagine I could someday write a similar essay that's about half as good on the Common Ground Fair back in Maine.

The more difficult essays to crack are the more broad ones in which, to put in bluntly, he talks about things I can't quite understand. For example, E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction lost me in some points, due sometimes to the fact that (as it was written in 1990 or so) most of his TV examples were ones that I was not even vaguely familiar with. Now, to be clear, since I'm a writer myself and furthermore a writer who watches and wants to write TV, some parts of the essay were right in my wheelhouse. But, even then, with some of them, like a discussion of TV as low-art vs. high-art, I had to ignore the fact that, thanks to HBO and a shift in TV that happened about a decade ago, some of the programs on TV now are as good as anything being produced in films or novels*, which wasn't really the case in 1990. What was really tricky though, was the way he referenced other essays and repeatedly referred to things as being "postmodern" when I didn't quite see how they were. I'm not exactly describing my difficulties with it the way I want, but I'll just leave it at that it was too dense at times and he's quick to coin terms and then use them frequently, often to the detriment of the average reader (i.e. me). This was also the problem in the short essay, Greatly Exaggerated which dealt with literary criticism instead of TV and begins with the alienating, "In the 1960s the poststructuralist metacritics came along..." and then goes onto to discuss Foucault and Derrida, people I know very little about. I can barely even tell you what that essay was about.

* I could name those shows, but if you've read this blog before you know what I think they are.

His two essays on tennis were interesting, and worked well with each other. The first, Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley, telling how his smarts and strategy as a young tennis player, especially in contrast to other immature opponents, led him to a lot of success, though he was eventually derailed by a lack of athleticism. Though, like most Wallace essays, it's about far more than that. So, by the time we got to an essay about mid-level ATP pro Michael Joyce (the essay has a long name and I don't want to type it) Wallace's credibility and background were established and he was able to, like in the cruise line essay, delve into a world (mid-level and low-level tennis pros) that most people know little about. And not just what it's like to be such a tennis pro, but the childhood and life decisions it takes to get there and some other really good stuff.

The last essay, as I've now mentioned all the others, was the previously alluded to David Lynch Keeps His Head. It was written before Lost Highway came out (one of the movies I watched before reading) and DFW talks eloquently about Lynch's status in the film world, his influence on writers with Blue Velvet, and conjecture on how, if really at all, Lynch judges and thinks about himself. What I really respect about DFW is that he does his homework (though I imagine for someone as wicked smaht as him it's more just living and learning instead of homework) and can expertly discuss film and Lynch's career in this essay, and then come back with a seemingly endless knowledge of literature and TV and tennis and anything under the sun. The Lynch essay worked on that level, though I don't think his movies have the same effect they have now, though as Wallace would surely argue that's because he's so influential that elements of his style are present in the movies of so many directors that, in retrospect, his films don't seem as revolutionary*.

* I kind of talked about this in this entry when analyzing Vonnegut.

Though more up and down for me than Oblivion (my hunch is that I prefer Wallace's fiction to his non-fiction, which may put me in the minority) I still thoroughly enjoyed the collection. In the same way it's fun to talk to someone who is really smart and has a lot of theories about the world, it's fun to read that kind of writer. While my next few books will probably be catching up on some heavyweight 20th century writers that I've missed along the way, I'm sure I'll be checking out more DFW in the next few months, though I'm torn on whether to tackle on his novels or another collection of fiction/non-fiction. Time will tell I suppose.

Back tomorrow with probably something about a movie or movies I've seen recently.

Adventures in Postmodernism

Let's be clear, The Marriage Ref is a terrible show. There's really no two ways around it. The host is unlikeable and unfunny, it's rushed, the connubial quarrels are only chosen for their ridiculousness rather than their ability to be debated (i.e. the notion that there are "sides" to choose in these situations is only the case about half the time), and so on and so on. I caught a little of the premiere (I didn't turn the TV off in time after 30 Rock) and I witnessed Jerry Seinfeld play along and embarrass himself and try and sell it the way NBC was trying to sell it. It was kind of a disaster.

And yet, last night, I couldn't help but at least give it a chance to win my attention, as two of my favorite comedians/personalities, Larry David and Ricky Gervais were on the show. It didn't disappoint, but not for the reason I would have necessarily predicted (i.e. them being plain ol' funny).

Instead of embracing the format of the show, the quippy hamminess of it, they called a spade a spade. They brazenly acknowledged how weird the show was, how uncomfortable it was to be there, how fatuous it was that the two of them (with the uber-famous Madonna) were doling out relationship judgment, and how screwed up the couples were. It was awesome.

Here's what Ricky Gervais said after they finished with the first segment:

"What is going on? [pause, laughter] What is going on? This is a strange program. I feel like someone's put crack in my drink. What is going on? This is the weirdest show I've ever been on."

And he was right! The Marriage Ref is wildly bizarre. But what made the rest of the episode so fascinating was that Larry David and Ricky Gervais didn't pretend to try and fit in with the celebrity-on-TV nonsense that we've normalized.

For example, Dancing With the Stars, Celebrity Apprentice, The Surreal Life, are all shows in which supposed "celebrities" (and though I put that in quotes they are technically celebrities, we kind of know who they are ... usually) go on TV and take some inane competition with absolute seriousness* and the network and the celebrities and the audience (hereafter referred to as Audience A) enter into this strange pact of acceptance in which nobody seems willing to point out how goddamn ridiculous it is.

* Well, as far as I can tell. I don't actually watch these shows.

Which is why last night was something really crazy and enjoyable. In the middle of one of these shows, one in which the rules of artificiality and disingenuousness have been clearly established by a neutered Jerry Seinfeld and Eva Longoria and whoever else, two of the all-time hilarious cynics somehow found themselves in the middle of it and wouldn't or couldn't play along.

It was like the scene in Into the Woods where the characters notice the narrator on stage and bring him into the story. In this case we (the cynical Audience B, separate from Audience A established in the previous paragraph who like to indulge in these programs) were like Sondheim's ITW narrator pre-involvement, and then our exact sentiments and criticisms were voiced by David/Gervais in the show as they fulfilled the role of the post-involvement ITW narrator. The sarcastic and judgmental remarks that would normally only exist in my Audience B living room with my equally sarcastic and judgmental friends now existed within the program itself.

But, even more interestingly, this didn't destroy the established, "normal" procedure of The Marriage Ref. The host* continued his dopey shtick, and now juxtaposed to the realism that David/Gervais were bringing to this ludicrous venture, he became even dopier, goofier, and more awkward. But he was unrelenting in his inveterate hosting personality and the pre-chosen couples were just as surreal and outlandish and Madonna oscillated between the David/Gervais camp (as she's been a pretty outspoken celebrity guest for years) and the celebrities-as-themselves-on-TV status quo.

* If you haven't realized by now, I don't even care enough about him to google his name. I think they call him "Poppy" or "Tommy" or something. I don't know.

So, what resulted from this was this odd "two-shows-in-one" arrangement in which people on the show were both selling it and mocking it simultaneously. For many viewers (though I'm not sure TMR even has many viewers) it probably seemed like David/Gervais (and especially David) were just being cantankerous, but it was actually a self-awareness rarely seem under the reality TV umbrella. Kind of the way shows like Jersey Shore or The Two Coreys present themselves as serious for the enjoyment of Audience A, but are probably meant more to be laughed at and watched ironically by Audience B. But these shows do not acknowledge their popularity within Audience B. There is no voice of Audience B present in the shows, only the voice of Audience A. Last night's TMR, thanks to David/Gervais, directly appealed to Audience A and Audience B concurrently, seemingly without even the awareness of A-type personalities appearing on that show at the same time (viz. the host, the couples).

Of course, with a cast of celebrities for the future weeks who will be all too happy to be on TV and will no doubt do their best to banter with the host and make lame jokes*, I fear we've seen TMR's Haley's Comet. But, for that one night, it was one of the most delightful clashes of intent I've seen on TV.

* Next week: Cedric the Entertainer, Martha Stewart, and Jason Alexander! Oh boy.

Watch it here, if you dare.

Probably no more entires for about a week. Hopefully this will tide y'all over.

Paranoid Android

My daily rounds on google reader led me to this crazy article about a scientist/programmer named David Cope who has created software that writes music. He is about to unveil his newest software model, Emmy Howell, an update from his original Emmy, a program that "produced thousands of scores in the style of classical heavyweights, scores so impressive that classical music scholars failed to identify them as computer-created."

Whoa.

What the original Emmy did (as far as I can tell) was use an algorithm perfected through Cope's intense analyzation of famous composers' tendencies and methods. Emmy could then generate her own compositions based in the style of a given composer. And that was all the way back in the 80s! The original Emmy is, in her own right, a pretty crazy invention.

"If a machine could write a Mozart sonata every bit as good as the originals, then what was so special about Mozart? And was there really any soul behind the great works, or were Beethoven and his ilk just clever mathematical manipulators of notes? Cope’s answers — not much, and yes — made some people very angry. "

So, if that weren't enough, now the new Emmy Howell can apparently write wholly original classical music. I'm not going to just recount the article, but the implications of this development are quite interesting. I didn't have any idea that such a thing was possible at all, much less right now. What could be possible in the future?

To me, it seems that classical music is the most mathematic of the major styles, and therefore the most easily imitated by computers, but perhaps all genres (lyrics aside) are equally penetrable. Jazz music, especially improvisation, is somewhat mathematical as well, manipulating scales and patterns. With in-depth cataloging of what certain jazz greats tend to play over specific changes, couldn't a program solo like Dave Brubeck? Or, for example, pop music has generally straight-forward chord progressions. Why couldn't a computer churn out some Top 40 hits? I find it hard to believe that a computer could create music that could blend the unpredictability and cohesion of say, Abbey Road. But, as Emmy and her daughter have suggested, maybe that's just my wishful thinking.

(Here come the rhetorical questions.)

Even beyond music, could a computer write a story? It seems impossible on the one hand, but aren't words essentially just little building blocks themselves? Though the programming would seem insurmountable, maybe the rules of word assembly to create meaning are not as advanced as we like to tell ourselves.

Or, could a computer paint a picture? We could give it a photograph and then it would analyze the pixels and use a robotic arm to paint a replica. Do we already have that? Furthermore, if we have a painting done by a computer, an exact, beautiful transcription of a real thing, does that mean it's good? Or is art something more than that? How can we tell? What if we didn't know the painting was done by a computer? Is Emmy's classical sonata better than Bach if it sounds better?

If nothing else, Cope's programs remind us that the same elements exist for everyone, people or computers. We all have access to the same notes, the same words, and the same colors. It's only in putting these elements together that we get anywhere. Wild stuff. I feel like we may be hearing more about Mr. Cope and Miss Howell soon.

In the meantime, here's an awesome song (from the Soul Sides blog) that no program could write...at least not yet.

The Dramatics: Whatcha See is Whatcha Get

End transmission.

Small Trades

This entry is way, way overdue since I saw this exhibit over a month ago, but I made a note to write about it later and, dangnumit, I'm gonna write about it.

Though I'm not a real Losangelophile, I do have a crude sense of the city and The Getty certainly qualifies for the short list of my favorite places to go and show -- though perhaps more for the view and atmosphere than for the actual art ... more on this later*.

* That's right, a dash and ellipsis in the same sentence.

So, on this last trip there, I was particularly taken with the headlining exhibit, a large collection of Irving Penn photographs entitled "Small Trades." (Check it out here.) Now, what I really found striking about the show was how my perception of it as a whole evolved the more people/jobs/photos I saw.

That is, at first, the idea didn't seem all that exciting. It was a simple looking man holding a broom. Big deal. But then it was the street sweeper next to the milkman, and the milkman next to the busboy, and then the busboy next to the mechanic, and so on and so on. Soon, I felt very much connected to this collage of mid-century life. I felt like I almost understood how the identified cities (NY, London, Paris) functioned with all of these inhabitants working together to create a interchanging machine of industry, commerce, and just plain ol' livin'. It was, in some sense, a grand equation that revealed how society endures; all the variables and components were represented.

The people Penn chose seemed so apt too, their faces conveying such humanity. I could not help but imagine the lives of these people, those who possessed these small trades, who went to work such unglamorous jobs, every morning, day after day, year after year. Each snapshot was like its own window into an unwritten and unread novel, though some of these novels more engaging than others. The monotony of life, not as a condemnation but merely as a fact, was carefully expressed through these photographs.

Along with this, came the idea of definition, of being known through occupation. To themselves and maybe a few others, these workers were full, complete people, but to the viewer and to the other workers, they were, except in moments of reflection, only the longshoreman, or only the butcher. The exhibit does provide this necessary pause to examine the notion that we are all equally complete beings, living the same seconds and decades, but through its quantity it also mirrors the necessity of not giving everyone due time. Some must be forgotten. Some must be passed over. To consider the replete private lives of all these professionals is too overwhelming. It is literally beyond our ability to comprehend the magnitude of all these lives and this exhibit is, in some ways, as close as we can get.

On a lighter note, it was also just fun to see some of these bizarre professions. Some were entertaining in their specificity (I think watermelon man [or something like that] may have been one of them) or in their classicism (chimney sweep, for example). Had I been planning on writing about the show or taking notes (or not waited so long to recount the trip) I could've shared some of the best ones, but, alas, I fear you'll just have to imagine them.

It was both intellectually stimulating and emotionally moving. An excellent case of a simple subject matter (i.e. pictures of ordinary people) executed in such a way as to be significant. It has since left The Getty, unfortunately, but I believe there is a book that has most, if not all, of these photographs.

As for The Getty itself, as much as I love it, it's not the best place to actually go and experience art. While the Penn exhibit gained my full attention, the views of the city and beautiful architecture and gardens are almost too much to focus on anything else. The trip of The Getty is great, but the art is secondary, as opposed to, for example, LACMA, where the main course is the art. But maybe that's just my problem. Whatever balance one strikes at The Getty, it's not to be missed.

Fake Mailbag #3

Nothing to break a blog slump like a bonafide, 100% fake mailbag...

As always, these are completely fake emails definitely not written by actual readers...

So the Oscars last night...zzzzzzz.... - Everybody, Everywhere

Good grief. I'm not going waste much time ragging on how bad the Oscars were, especially since nobody forced me to watch them (though since I live in LA I'm basically legally obligated to do so) but here are some quick thoughts...

- Just painfully unfunny. Maybe I'd expect such gaffs from Ben Stiller, but who wrote those jokes for Baldwin and Martin? Those are two of the funniest guys around and it hurt me to watch them for almost the whole show. Talk about your obvious jokes. Their joke for Woody Harrelson was, "Is he high?" That's not only the single most obvious joke/comment to make but it's the least creative phrasing of it. Martin/Baldwin would have, in all seriousness, been better improvising the whole show. Martin's best comment, after all, did come after Precious screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher's less-than-eloquent acceptance speech, when Martin quipped, "I helped him write that speech," or something like that.

- I am glad Avatar didn't win but, as my movie list made clear, it's not like I thought The Hurt Locker was as good as the night made it seem. Best picture/director I'm fine with, I realize Tarantino didn't have much of a shot, but I really think/suspect Inglourious Basterds deserved best original screenplay. Though, to be fair, I haven't read either of them, though I will within the week. I'll take it back if the HL script blows me away.

- I thought (okay, someone I was watching it with pointed this out first) that it was amusing that Chris Pine (Cpt. Kirk in the new Star Trek) introduced District 9, given that were it not for D9, Star Trek would have likely* been nominated.

* Source: nothing.

- This ceremony was so poorly planned I can't even begin to understand what they were thinking. Couldn't they have guessed that they might be short on time? The Best Picture announcement was so anticlimactic. I want more Hanks! I want some suspense! Maybe we skip the tribute to "horror" films (Twilight?) in case the show runs long. Right? The Hurt Locker dancers? Really? No example shots for best cinematography? Kind of a mess. The bar is already low for awards shows but this was one of the worst, most boring ones I've seen.

Enough of that. I don't like to complain so let's move on.

One of your favorite shows wrapped up its season and you haven't talked about it at all? Where's the FNL love? - Connie, Austin

Is that really true? Let me just check my new handy-dandy search bar...and...wow. That is true!

I loved Season 4 of Friday Night Lights. But, then again, I just love Friday Night Lights in general. FNL is at its best when it deals with normal, everyday life-type storylines, and though it veered into a few outlandish areas this season, it was mostly strong. I rewatched S3 recently, and though I was reminded of how much I miss the old JD McCoy, I think S4 is probably even slightly better than S3, though they are very similar.

They each have an all-time great episode (Smash's farewell of "Hello, Goodbye" in S3 and "The Son" in S4) and then finish really strongly. They differ in their flaws, S4's being continuity/logic, especially in relation to the past seasons, and S3 having some storylines that tie up too easily and don't really go anywhere. But all in all, great TV and I'll probably write some more about S4 as it re-airs on NBC next month.

Did you catch Zach Galifianakis on SNL last night? - Seth, NYC

I skipped around on Hulu. I thought his opening monologue was funny and I really liked the digital short of him wandering into the different sets of NBC shows.

But...

What I was really taken with on SNL though, was how well Vampire Weekend played. They sounded great, were loose and confident, and they seemed to be having a lot of fun. Not to sound too much like Malcolm Gladwell, but I think VW has performed enough now that they've trimmed the rough edges from their live act. I think this is a common occurrence for young bands in that at some point within the first year or two, they make a big jump and go from an average live band to a really good. I noticed the same thing with Fleet Foxes over the last two summers, although in their case they went from a really good live act to a great one.

Speaking of which...

Hey, how about this internet thing? Found any good stuff on there recently? - Al, Washington DC

Yes. Yes, I have.

First, my favorite singer Robin Pecknold (of Fleet Foxes) recently released a video of him covering a Joanna Newsom song. I'm really, really bummed that I'm not going to get to see him open for her on this tour. At least I have this awesome video...



This is the best thing that came out of last night...



This has been all over the internet, but I've still gotta post it in case some people still haven't seen it. I'm not a huge fan of OK Go, nor do I dislike them, but this video is crazy...



Is this blog going downhill? - Lex, Juniper

Hopefully not, but that's a fair question. With so many recent visitors and this weird thing called "work" that most people apparently do everyday, I've had less time for blogging, but I'll try and learn to overcome such petty obstacles.

Until then...

Baltimore Dreamin'

Phew. Not a lot of time for blogging recently, as has been evident.

Anyway...

Back when I lived in Baltimore, I caught dream-pop duo Beach House a handful of times at various intimate locales around the city. The first time, I was pretty blown away. I loved how ethereal and enchanting their music was. I thought singer/keyboard Victoria Legrand had the perfect voice for the music. I thought the lead guitar lines of Alex Scally were elegant and beautifully crafted. And I still think all that. But by about the third time I'd seen them, there weren't any surprises left.

Beach House does one thing: pretty, mid-tempo, indie quasi-ballads. They do that one thing very well, granted, but they basically do one thing. They're kind of like the Michael Cera* of indie music. And I like Michael Cera and I like Beach House, but you know what you're gonna get.

* Though I hear he has some upcoming roles that may break his mold. So let's just be clear that it's Michael Cera circa March 2009. And, in case MC ever reads this, I really do like his work and think he's hilarious.

Teen Dream, which came out at the end of January, is full of good but not amazing songs that are all relatively similar and reminiscent of Beach House's past work. Beach House is at their best when an atmospheric, gliding guitar line is driving the song (like their previous "hit" "Gila") and on tracks like "Better Times" and "Zebra," that's just what happens. But, aside from those two and a few others ... I don't know. For someone who knows BH well, there isn't much truly memorable about this record.

It's a fine line between consistent and monotonous and BH doesn't tread on the latter, but it's close. I mentioned a little in my discussions of Vampire Weekend's Contra how VW tried really hard, and perhaps a little too hard, to create a record that was a different direction from their debut. And, as I said, I liked it and though I think they were too deliberate, I respect their efforts not to rest on their laurels. Teen Dream, as good as it is on its own, doesn't make me excited about Beach House. Only when I'm in a very specific mood am I going to put this record on and I don't think that's going to be too often. Good album? Sure. Their best yet? Yeah, definitely. Anything new on the table? Not really.

However, Teen Dream does work a little better in the context of the complete music scene.

That is...

Teen Dream in the BH catalog < Teen Dream alone < Teen Dream in the grand scheme of things

For as predictable as I might find BH compared to BH, there still isn't a lot of other music that sounds like BH. So, one could argue, if they are still distinct and unique, why change? If it ain't broke...

That said, if I want to hear the BH sound, I can still listen to Devotion. It's not like album doesn't exist anymore, even if if Teen Dream is better, it's basically a better version of Devotion.

I think I'm gonna cut this entry short, as I think I'm a little rusty and this post (ironically) is becoming somewhat redundant itself. Also, I think I resisted writing about this album for so long because my feelings on it were pretty simple: I like it, but I've heard it before.

Back this weekend with some more noise.

Leader in the Clubhouse

Well, the marathon Top 10 movies mini-series is over. As a segue back into regular blog content, I think I'll go from my favorite movie from '09 to my favorite album (so far) of 2010*.

* Does anyone else agree that '08 or '09 looks fine but '10 seems weird? I feel like I have to write out 2010 for it to look all right.

My most anticipated album of 2010 was probably Vampire Weekend's Contra, but close behind was Local Natives' debut Gorilla Manor, which I had been really excited for, thanks to a couple preview tracks over at HearYa.com. The album was, for some reason, released in the UK in December or something, even though the band is from Silver Lake. Nevertheless, it is now available without being an import.

And I was not disappointed. Gorilla Manor is a really, really good album. I don't quite put it up with my favorite indie-folk-pop-harmony-hybirds of the last few years (Fleet Foxes' Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago and Blood Bank) but it's in the next tier perhaps, probably better than any of the My Morning Jacket or Band of Horses albums.

Gorilla Manor starts with probably its best song, "Wide Eyes," one which encapsulates most of what's so great about this album. It has a very melodic, folksy feel, but has a a kind of dark, mature mood to it. The guitar parts, no strangers to reverb, are both excellent, the lead line really setting the tone for the whole song. The percussion, as it is for much of the album, uses a lot of drum rims and clicks and, on this particular track, is rather intense. The song structure is unpredictable and effortlessly weaves in and out of sparse, open sections and driving ones. All their song forms, not just "Wide Eyes," are great.

When Local Natives are at their best, their songs incorporate the gorgeous neo-folk vocals and harmonies reminiscent of Fleet Foxes, with their own distinct rhythms and somewhat ominous atmosphere. However, this isn't what they do all the time. Most of their lighter songs work pretty well, but occasionally they tread into the pop domain just a tad too much for my liking. They never linger there too long, but I would rather they skip the sentimental, Gavin Degraw* sound entirely. The opening of "Who Knows Who Cares" is probably the worst offender, but once the band kicks in, it actually gets really quite good and showcases some of the best harmonies on the whole LP.

* Is he still around? For someone who likes to think he knows a lot about music, I don't know much about the pop scene these days.

My only other complaint, and it's fairly minor, is that they don't possess the lyrical grace of some of my other favorite bands. It's not just that some of their lyrics border on trite, but they sometimes try and fit too many words or syllables in, resulting in a rushed vocal melody. "World News" is probably the worst of them in that sense, though it's still more than passable, as we hear a sort of hackneyed bit about radio stations and NPR, while they kind of strain to give us all the supposedly necessary info about this story. It really is a tiny flaw though. Their sound in general is very mature, just the words don't always match the sleekness or precision of their music.

But, I hate to nitpick an A/A- album that really grabbed me from the first listen and hasn't let go since. Their songwriting is excellent in terms of not only the writing but thoughtful arrangement. I really look forward to seeing them live, since they are an LA band, but because of Coachella they won't end up playing their hometown on this tour. Someday soon though, no doubt. Until then, I'll just have to be satisfied with their wonderful LP.

Here's them playing "Cecilia" in their backyard from about a year ago...



No entries till likely the middle of next week. Get this album in the meantime. And/or check out the new search bar I've added since I now have a lot of entries, many of which have confusing names. Au revoir.

The Best (But Maybe Worst) Movie of the Year, Part 2

#1. Inglourious Basterds. Part 2: Offense

First and foremost, I judge movies on their writing. There are other elements that can enhance and detract from my experience, but without good writing, chances are I'm not going to like it and with good writing, chances are that I am. I really believe that everything ultimately comes down to the writing, though I suppose I'm a bit biased in that sense.

So, it should be no coincidence that the #1 movie of the year as determined by me, is also the best written* movie of the year.

* Also, no surprise, I think Up and A Serious Man were the next best written movies of the year.

Tarantino takes a lot of heat, probably rightfully so, for his apparent glorification of violence. And I won't pretend otherwise, Inglourious Basterds has its share of excessive and unnecessary violence. But, honestly, I could take it or leave it. While many people love Tarantino's style and his slick trademarks, what I like about Tarantino is how razor sharp his writing his. The plotting of Basterds is brilliant, even in its slightly unorthodox five (?) chapter format; the dialogue is meticulous, memorable, and (when appropriate) hilarious; and, make no mistake, the man knows how to write a scene.

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

As such, a perfect example of this is the movie's opening, in which the devious Col. Hans Landa (Oscar-fav Christopher Waltz) talks to the owner of a farm and convinces him to betray the Jews that he's hiding. Landa comes in and asks for a glass of milk, which he downs completely in one raising of his glass. Then, at first, when Landa asks the farmer to speak in English, we think that it's just Tarantino making it easier for the audience, but it's then revealed that it's a calculated move by Landa to disguise his conversation from the Jews that he knows are probably listening in...it's pretty good stuff. Landa gradually chips away at the farmer's resistance, bringing him to tears only with his words. It's a very powerful and fantastically written scene.

But, Tarantino later reminds us of this scene when Landa meets Shoshanna (Melanie Laurent) the only survivor from that fateful day, and Landa orders a glass of milk again, this simple act sending terror into both Shoshanna and the audience. Does he remember? Is he toying with her? It's an excruciating scene. The further detail of Landa playfully scolding Shoshanna to wait for the cream as well before she can eat her strudel is a great example of the kind of thought and detail Tarantino puts in his writing.

Another of the most impressive scenes comes when Landa realizes who the double-agent is. It all starts when Tarantino makes the decision to have the double-agent be the beautiful actress Bridgett von Hammersmark (Diane Kruger). The whole scene in the bar when she meets up with the Americans is excellent overall, but the path of one of the Nazis asking for autograph (which had to happen) on the napkin and then Landa finding that napkin in the remains after the meeting goes south is seemingly inevitable, but the previous steps are so effortlessly and naturally occurring that the audience forgets that she left it. It's all so perfectly planned.

While I could recount the genius in so many of these scenes (which, when all put together make for an amazing tapestry) I would be remiss if I didn't mention the general humor that Tarantino injects this script with. Pitt's Lt. Aldo in particular has such distinct, amusing lines that almost all of his scenes are laugh-out-loud funny. While occasionally Tarantino goes for overt humor (Aldo and a couple of the Basterds trying to pose as Italians) most of it is just creating a great character whose normal way of speaking is wildly entertaining. Landa's strength of character is the same way, though what is comedy for Aldo is replaced by shrewdness for Landa.

Also of note are the many interesting parallels Tarantino creates between his movie itself and what goes on in it. As I briefly mentioned yesterday, there is sharing of attitude between Tarantino and Aldo in regard to the treatment of Nazis, but there is more. For example, Tarantino creates a film that kills Hitler and defeats Nazi Germany and, in the film, Shoshanna and her beau literally kill the Nazis with reels of film by burning them alive in a movie theater. Furthermore, the Nazis cheer for a violent propaganda film in which soldiers are gunned down, just as the real audience is/is about to cheer for a violent propaganda-like scene in which soldiers/officials are gunned down. This, to me, is evidence that (as discussed in Pt. 1) Tarantino fully understands the kind of movie he is making, and he tries to leave clues for the viewer to convey this.

Some call Tarantino's long scenes and overly-clever dialogue self-indulgent, but I think it's self-indulgent in the way John Bonham's solo in "Moby Dick" is self-indulgent or Seinfeld's "The Chinese Restaurant" is. That is, it is, but sometimes you just have let the masters do their thing.

And Tarantino knows this. He may be a weird dude (at least from I can glean from interviews, etc.) but he can write a movie. And, so it's only fitting that Basterds ends with Tarantino-proxy Aldo looking into the camera at his last "artistic" endeavor and saying...

"I think this might just be my masterpiece."

The Best (But Maybe Worst) Movie of the Year, Part 1

#1 - Inglourious Basterds. Part I: Defense

"Comedy is tragedy plus time." - Woody Allen*

* Though I believe Mark Twain said, "Humor is tragedy plus time," well before Allen ever wrote that.

Hmmmm.

Hmmmmmm.

I'm going to acknowledge that Inglourious Basterds [sic] could be argued by some to be the worst (worst as in most tasteless, damaging, offensive) movie of the year. The reasons for such a claim are no secret: writer/director Quentin Tarantino made a violent, comedic, factually-inaccurate, possibly exploitative movie about one of the most infamous, darkest, and serious chapters in all of human history. This much is pretty clear.

In the film, we have the Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) led Inglourious Basterds, a special group of soldiers created for the sole purpose of haunting* and killing Nazis. The Basterds strike fear into the cold, stone hearts of the Nazis and derive pleasure from terrorizing them. This is a group that is so utterly convinced of the complete and unforgivable wickedness of the Nazis that they view them as subhuman and undeserving of sympathy and respect.

* Not a typo, though I guess they do "hunt" them as well.

This is the crux of the entire film.

Tarantino chooses to view Hitler and the Nazis as, quite simply, less than human. Like his character Aldo, he refuses to give respect to the Nazis. They are evil, awful people that deserve only death and embarrassment. Tarantino says as much in Aldo's opening monologue, detailing the founding principles of the Basterds:

"I sure as hell didn't come down from the goddamn Smoky Mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half of Sicily and jump out of a fuckin' aeroplane to teach the Nazis lessons in humanity. Nazi ain't got no humanity. They're the foot soldiers of a Jew-hatin', mass murderin' maniac and they need to be destroyed. [...] We will be cruel to the Germans, and through our cruelty they will know who we are. And they will find the evidence of our cruelty in the disemboweled, dismembered, and disfigured bodies of their brothers we leave behind us. And the German won't not be able to help themselves but to imagine the cruelty their brothers endured at our hands, and our boot heels, and the edge of our knives. And the German will be sickened by us, and the German will talk about us, and the German will fear us. And when the German closes their eyes at night and they're tortured by their subconscious for the evil they have done, it will be with thoughts of us they are tortured with."

This is the human instinct. This is why the death penalty exists. This is an extension of revenge. Now, I don't agree with all this--the death penalty, for example, is idiotic-- but I will still watch and possibly enjoy a film that explores the nature of this atavistic reaction and the concept of: Nazis are bad, bad people deserve bad things, therefore, Nazis deserve bad things.

To be clear, Basterds is not a Holocaust film, it is a WWII film. None of it takes place in Germany (save for a few quick, non-Holocaust related flashbacks) and except for the opening scene (which is tastefully and terrifyingly done) no Jewish civilians are ever killed on screen, and even in this scene we don't actually see them die, we only see machine guns fired into the floor. Were Basterds Tarantino's take on the Holocaust, I might have a very different opinion, but it isn't; it's what Tarantino thinks of the world's most famous bad guys.

In an interview that my fav sportswriter Bill Simmons did with South Park co-creator Matt Stone, Stone talked about their similar take on Osama Bin Laden after 9/11 (which, in reference to our opening equation, obviously had a smaller tragedy, but a lot less time). Though I didn't really like this episode much when I saw it, I think it's pertinent to the discussion of Basterds:

"What better, more empowering thing than to take this Hitler or Tojo or something that's just so frightening, or Osama Bin Laden was in September, you know, October 2001, and just...fart in his face and make fun of him? [...] You have to get a psychological edge. [...] Let's go turn him into a cartoon character and, you know, beat him up." [emphasis added]

And I think there's something to this. There is something to the idea of looking at an enemy and just giving a giant middle-finger or farting in his face or saying, "We do not respect you. We will not legitimize you. You don't deserve anything more than to be laughed at." And this is what Tarantino does, at least to some extent.

Because of, in reality, the Nazi's ruthlessness and effectiveness and body count, it's difficult to succeed doing only this, so Tarantino even goes a step farther and places his narrative in a sort of parallel reality. His highly stylized, sleek, sharp filmmaking already doesn't strive for exact realism, but Tarantino makes no bones about rewriting history in his film. He doesn't ignore the Holocaust and Nazi success so much as he revises it. It is a fantasy in which virtually all the evil people get what they deserve: a fitting, poetic, ironic death (more on this in Part 2).

Some have criticized the Basterds for this lack of subtlety and moral depth, but I wonder, harkening back to the earlier points, do the Nazis really deserve to be humanized? Should we see why they're so wicked? How they were forced into their cruel roles? The moral depth of Basterds lies in how we view the Basterds, who are unmistakably sadistic in their own right. As much as many of us might hate the idea of Nazis, we couldn't bring ourselves anywhere close to inflicting the close-quartered pain we see in the film. Even our "good" characters in Basterds do things that (at least in times of non-war) are wrong and barbaric. But this too is the nature of war in that it can bring out our best and most heroic in some ways, but also our worst. Basically, do we have to turn into that which we hate to defeat it? The answer in real life is probably yes and no. In Basterds, it's probably just yes.

This criticism of Basterds also requires examining the context in which it exists. People can point out other films that better portray the complexities of the Holocaust & WWII, but (a.) are those films really so different?; and (b.) does Basterds have to try and do what other films have already done?

If one wants to compare Basterds to the (a.) other popular films of the last few decades, it's probably not any worse than Life is Beautiful, which, lest you forget, is mostly a lighthearted comedy (though it does get serious toward to end) about a father and a son in a concentration camp. As the title suggests, there are some "beautiful," heartfelt aspects to the story, but is that any less exploitative or, perhaps, disrespectful than Basterds? Granted, "cool" and "violent" are words that don't come up to describe Life is Beautiful, but, again, Basterds is a WW2 film and and LIB is a Holocaust one. Though, if you want to talk violence, the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan is more gruesome than all of Basterds. Or, to move more into the pop realm, the villains in Raiders of the Lost Ark are Nazis too. Why? As Indy says two movies later, "Nazis. I hate these guys." Yeah. We all do. How about the funniest moment in The Producers in which we laugh at a performance of "Springtime for Hitler"? Hogan's Heroes anyone? Tarantino is far from the first person to take, shall we say, advantage, of WWII and the Nazis.

Even Schindler's List, considered by most to not only one of the greatest WWII/Holocaust movies ever but one of the greatest movies ever period, does that not exploit the real life suffering of the Jews in some sense? To make such a film, that makes money, wins awards, and is at least generally consumed for entertainment...can that film be given a completely free pass?

Though to condemn Schindler's List probably means that no movie should ever be made about the Holocaust, as it is just too horrible and catastrophic to be dealt with. This is, of course, probably not the right path to take, as we must learn from history and keep such tragedies in our collective consciousness. Which (b.) in that so many films have been made about WWII/Holocaust that it's almost its own genre, it's not fair to ask each filmmaker (since we have established that such subject matter is fair game) to approach the process in the same way. Therefore, since Schindler's List and films of that ilk still exist, isn't it reasonable that Tarantino, one of the most distinct filmmakers around, should examine what hasn't already been done? Basterds is, if nothing else, thought-provoking (see: above essay) and that really counts for something. To make the viewer consider, "Is this okay?" means that the viewer is thinking not only about this film and its place among other films, but about the real events, how we treat those events, and, in a smaller, specific sense, about the rules and purposes of storytelling/historical fiction.

With all that being said, if someone finds Basterds wildly offensive, I can't exactly tell him he's wrong. If something offends you, it offends you. I can maybe ask some questions and discuss some ideas (again, see: above essay), but I can't exactly say, "No. This does not offend you." Tarantino, in general, is already wildly offensive in his depictions of violence and resulting (what some call) immorality, so teaming Tarantino with such fragile subject matter is like throwing a lit match into a pool of gasoline*.

* The Big Book of American Cliches, Vol. 8. Harper-Collins, New York. 2007.

But, for me, Basterds, though toeing the line of appropriateness, doesn't cross it as I think it really does provide meaningful commentary on morality, dealing with evil, the role of art/film in regard to those, all while being careful not to tread on the weightiest, most sacrosanct elements of WWII (i.e. attempted genocide).

Back soon with why I think Inglourious Basterds was actually the single best movie of the year, instead of just not the worst.

"Naw, I don't think so. More like I'll be chewed out. I've been chewed out before." - Aldo Raine