Today -- I hate people, but I love music. So I'm gonna post a whole smattering of great bubblegum and teenybop music. This stuff -- remember it was mostly critically reviled in its own era, but in retrospect how much better does "Yummy Yummy Yummy" sound than some of the more "serious" (i.e. ponderous, boring) efforts of the era, huh?
I've decided that there's two kinds of music: "Broccoli Music" and "Ice Cream Music." Me? I like to eat my dessert first. Even if it's not good for you, and rots your teeth.
Not technically bubblegum, but man, does this rock:
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Review: The Jonas Brothers, "Lines, Vines and Trying Times"
There are three utterly fantastic songs on the new Jonas Brothers album. That is not to say the rest of the record is crap, or that there's anything particularly unusual about good songs on a Jonas Brothers album -- their last LP "A Little Bit Longer" was sort of remarkable, and better than this one, and was a better and more convincing try at power-pop than anything that's come out of International Pop Overthrow, possibly ever. It's just to say that there are three songs on the record that oughta knock you out if you're open to such things. They are these: "Paranoid," which is maybe my favorite song this year so far, and has a hook as big as the wide open spaces, "Much Better" which is as good a take on the 80s as anything M83 is doing (seriously), and "Don't Speak" which is called out in the liner notes as the group's try at a Muse song and is better than anything on the last Muse LP, easily and handily.
What is kinda remarkable, though, is that these songs, and most of the other songs on the record, are written by the group. Didn't know that? S'true. There's a couple co-writes from local producer John "Strawberry" Fields, who has become the sound of Teen Pop America, but you can hear an actual *songwriting voice* from these kids, who aren't even out of high school, mostly. You can mock 'em if you want, and you will, but let me know when you come up with something as good as the hook on "Much Better," okay? Good luck on that front.
I mean, though, is this a great record? No, it isn't, but it sure as hell has its strengths. As I mentioned, their last one, "A Little Bit Longer," actually was a great record, filled to bursting with some utterly bubblegum punk-pop and a few magnificent ballads. This one's a try at a more "serious" sound, which for some odd reason means mentioning Neil Diamond a lot in the liner notes (!) and adding a Chicago-ish horn section to most of the songs (!!) and a little bit of misguided funk that brings the record grinding to a halt (!!! -- Common appearance FAIL). I usually hate "serious sound tries" -- especially from bubblegum groups, that's the kind of wrong-thinking that leads to records like "7 And The Ragged Tiger" (sorry, Jess, that's their worst album).
But even though there's a few monumental stumbles, and more than its share of okay-to-awesome filler (I'm quite fond of "What Did I Do To Your Heart" which sounds oddly like a Shania Twain choon by way of Mutt Lange, which is never a bad thing, and the Miley duet on "Before The Storm" is pretty good too) the mere fact that there are three songs on here -- hit singles all of 'em, I betcha ten bucks -- which actually knock me on my ass and make me wanna play 'em multiple times says something. Or other. About the nature of bubblegum music, probably, and how it's usually more important/more interesting/a better gague for where music is going/should go than so-called "indie rock" which is too apt to disappear up its own ass most of the time to do anything interesting. Gimme a good HUGE SINGABLE HOOK ANY GOD DAMN DAY over, y'know, a Modest Mouse song or something. Or something about how "Red Light, Green Light" is better than CSN. I dunno. You know what I'm getting at, I don't wanna spell it out, I'm way to under a sugar-high from listening to this stuff.
It's immaterial, really. What's important is that there are three unbelievably killer songs on this record, and even if you're not a thirteen-year-old girl, you might like 'em. Why the hell not? Closest correlate: the Osmonds, and you'd do well to check THAT stuff out too.
(addendum: I'm pretty sure the ballad "Black Keys" is awesome too. It's a slower burn than the others, but upon second/third listen, its kinda kicking my ass.)
What is kinda remarkable, though, is that these songs, and most of the other songs on the record, are written by the group. Didn't know that? S'true. There's a couple co-writes from local producer John "Strawberry" Fields, who has become the sound of Teen Pop America, but you can hear an actual *songwriting voice* from these kids, who aren't even out of high school, mostly. You can mock 'em if you want, and you will, but let me know when you come up with something as good as the hook on "Much Better," okay? Good luck on that front.
I mean, though, is this a great record? No, it isn't, but it sure as hell has its strengths. As I mentioned, their last one, "A Little Bit Longer," actually was a great record, filled to bursting with some utterly bubblegum punk-pop and a few magnificent ballads. This one's a try at a more "serious" sound, which for some odd reason means mentioning Neil Diamond a lot in the liner notes (!) and adding a Chicago-ish horn section to most of the songs (!!) and a little bit of misguided funk that brings the record grinding to a halt (!!! -- Common appearance FAIL). I usually hate "serious sound tries" -- especially from bubblegum groups, that's the kind of wrong-thinking that leads to records like "7 And The Ragged Tiger" (sorry, Jess, that's their worst album).
But even though there's a few monumental stumbles, and more than its share of okay-to-awesome filler (I'm quite fond of "What Did I Do To Your Heart" which sounds oddly like a Shania Twain choon by way of Mutt Lange, which is never a bad thing, and the Miley duet on "Before The Storm" is pretty good too) the mere fact that there are three songs on here -- hit singles all of 'em, I betcha ten bucks -- which actually knock me on my ass and make me wanna play 'em multiple times says something. Or other. About the nature of bubblegum music, probably, and how it's usually more important/more interesting/a better gague for where music is going/should go than so-called "indie rock" which is too apt to disappear up its own ass most of the time to do anything interesting. Gimme a good HUGE SINGABLE HOOK ANY GOD DAMN DAY over, y'know, a Modest Mouse song or something. Or something about how "Red Light, Green Light" is better than CSN. I dunno. You know what I'm getting at, I don't wanna spell it out, I'm way to under a sugar-high from listening to this stuff.
It's immaterial, really. What's important is that there are three unbelievably killer songs on this record, and even if you're not a thirteen-year-old girl, you might like 'em. Why the hell not? Closest correlate: the Osmonds, and you'd do well to check THAT stuff out too.
(addendum: I'm pretty sure the ballad "Black Keys" is awesome too. It's a slower burn than the others, but upon second/third listen, its kinda kicking my ass.)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Star Trek
I have this friend who -- rightfully, I think -- fears and despises all things remade, reinvented and rejiggered. Too often, that path leads to dismal failure. Witness, please, every horror film made in the last, oh, three or four years -- they're all awful, unnecessary remakes of *better films*, lacking the original's style, wit and verve in every sense.
Star Trek itself has been the victim of the reimagining/remaking syndrome over the years, and just about every attempt to retool the creaky old vessel has been met with resounding, painful failure. "Next Generation" started good but ended up in the realm of new-age fol-de-rol. "Deep Space Nine" was nifty, but got bogged down with political metaphor and over-seriousness. The less said about "Voyager" the better, and "Enterprise" was only interesting to the geekiest of fangeeks. That's not even to mention the movies -- there's a few ("Khan," of course, and "Undiscovered Country" surprisingly) that still hold up ten, twenty, thirty years down the line, but the rest seem dated, corny, ironic, and at worst, extremely stupid.
That's because along the way over-intellectualizing nerds missed the point of what the show was actually about. "It's about complex geopolitical metaphor," they'd say, or "it's wonderful how in the future, everybody gets along." As a result, there were far too many flakey plots about Big Wars, or Deanna Troi's feelings or how sad it was that Data couldn't express emotion. Meh. The truth is much simpler: the original Star Trek, though it was most certainly awash with metaphor (usually silly ones -- the "Yangs" and the "Komes?" Oh, Yankees and Communists, I get it!), was about two things: the awesome characters (mostly, though not confined to, Kirk, Spock and McCoy) and whipass, plain-and-simple fun. The latter is what's been sorely missing from every Trek movie since forever -- did you have any fun with "Insurrection?" It was more like dental surgery than anything else.
Which is why J.J. Abrams' new Trek film is such a wonder. Despite the fact that his studio, Paramount, hasn't made a decent movie in two hundred years, and is well known for colossally missing the fucking point just about every effort out of the gate, he's managed to distill Trek down to its basic essence. We get the characters -- mostly, though not confined to, Kirk, Spock and McCoy -- and they are, for the first time since Khan, vital, interesting, alive and REAL. And most importantly, we get pure, unmitigated, smile-all-the-way-through-the-film FUN.
The main reason this film works so well is that Abrams took his god-damn sweet ol' time casting this sucker, making sure every single character was not only adequately represented, they were the best possible actor for the role. Which, thankfully, meant that stunt casting was chucked out the window (did anybody really want to see Matt Damon as Kirk? Me neither) and a youthful, vigorous cast of relative unknowns were put in place, all of which somehow managed to drill straight to the heart of each character.
The movie really belongs to two of 'em -- Chris Pine, who plays Kirk the way you've always wanted to see him, as a rules-are-for-pussies maverick that likes to bed green women, and Heroes' Zachary Quinto, who correctly plays Spock as a man in torment, stuck between his feelings and his people. The film's main arc throws the two, intially, into conflict, then into a sort of forced alliance that evolves into a friendship, and it feels, oddly, real -- we've all been there, no? At work or whatever? That person you hate at first but reluctantly have to admit does a damn good job and eventually becomes your friend? Every beat of this feels right and non-forced, and it's really the heart of the Trek films, that Kirk/Spock fanslash friendship.
Of course, the troika wouldn't be complete without the good Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy, and a youthful DeForest Kelley plays him marvelously. Wait -- I mean Lord of the Rings' Karl Urban, who freakin' channels De Kelley from the grave. Seriously. He's not just doing an SNL impression, either -- he clearly gets the character, but he looks and sounds so much like De that you'll positively swoon when, at a crucial moment, he bellows at Spock, "are you out of your Vulcan mind?" in that gritty southern accent. Trixi and I agreed: Star Trek II better have a hell of a lot more Bones in it.
The other actors are damn fine, too -- special mention must be made of Zoe Saldana's Uhura, who is a) properly gorgeous, b) totally strong, and c) is deservedly a larger part of the plot than she ever was in maybe the entire series. Simon Pegg plays Scotty, as has been mentioned elsewhere, as a Scottish Simon Pegg, which is pretty much what you want to see (if you like Simon Pegg, that is -- I love the guy, and he's hilarious here). John Cho's Sulu swordfights, which rules, and Anton Yelchin's youthful Chekov is the boy genius that Walter Koenig's was supposed to be but wasn't. And there's been mixed emotions on the web about Eric Bana's workingman's villain, Nero -- I dug him, and I liked his "Hello, there, hi" greeting to the bridge crew, it felt like a miner who'd gone off his nut, and that's about what he was supposed to be.
And was it fun? Holy crap, yeah. It was more fun than I remember ever having at the Star Trek Cinema, and that includes "Wrath of Khan" which was good and thrilling but such a downer in the end that it didn't really feel like the kind of pure, unmitigated fun the best episodes of the O.G. Series were. This one's no downer -- it's thrilling from the git-go, completely optimistic in the end, and never, ever dull, not even for a moment. Does the plot make sense? I mean, yeah, if you kind of let them doubletalk you about the time-travel-ness and just accept that such things are possible, the rest of it makes a linear kind of three-act sense, if you view it more as a movie about Kirk's ascendancy and Spock's self-actualization than a Plot About Big Ideas.
I mean, and much like "Spiderman" or "Iron Man," there's a lot of setup involved here -- I can't wait for #2, when we'll get to see Actual Captain Kirk and Actual First Officer Spock in their familiar roles and uniforms kicking ass against someone, but for now, the "origin story" actually works because Abrams never lets the film get bogged down in overexplanation or mawkishness or maudlinity or whatever -- and he never lets it get stupid, either. Any fears about how dumb "Baby Kirk" or "Baby Spock" might be can be erased by the young Spock's snide remark to his Vulcan classmates: "I imagine that you have a new batch of insults for me today," or by Cadet Kirk calmly eating an apple during the Kobayashi Maru test (spoiler: he cheats, and beats the system. Big surprise, eh?)
This could have gone so wrong. I mean, so many people worried that it could become "pretty people in space" or "Trek 90210," and it so easily could have, in the wrong hands. This could have been shallow, hollow and extremely stupid, a reboot designed to draw in the teens but completely alienating anybody who actually gave a shit about Trek in the last forty years. But somehow, magically, Abrams has not only pulled it off but has made an actual good movie for people who dig exciting summer popcorn action films, maybe the best one since "Raiders of the Lost Ark," honestly. Let go your fears. Join with me. Become one. Go check it out. You won't regret it for even a moment.
Star Trek itself has been the victim of the reimagining/remaking syndrome over the years, and just about every attempt to retool the creaky old vessel has been met with resounding, painful failure. "Next Generation" started good but ended up in the realm of new-age fol-de-rol. "Deep Space Nine" was nifty, but got bogged down with political metaphor and over-seriousness. The less said about "Voyager" the better, and "Enterprise" was only interesting to the geekiest of fangeeks. That's not even to mention the movies -- there's a few ("Khan," of course, and "Undiscovered Country" surprisingly) that still hold up ten, twenty, thirty years down the line, but the rest seem dated, corny, ironic, and at worst, extremely stupid.
That's because along the way over-intellectualizing nerds missed the point of what the show was actually about. "It's about complex geopolitical metaphor," they'd say, or "it's wonderful how in the future, everybody gets along." As a result, there were far too many flakey plots about Big Wars, or Deanna Troi's feelings or how sad it was that Data couldn't express emotion. Meh. The truth is much simpler: the original Star Trek, though it was most certainly awash with metaphor (usually silly ones -- the "Yangs" and the "Komes?" Oh, Yankees and Communists, I get it!), was about two things: the awesome characters (mostly, though not confined to, Kirk, Spock and McCoy) and whipass, plain-and-simple fun. The latter is what's been sorely missing from every Trek movie since forever -- did you have any fun with "Insurrection?" It was more like dental surgery than anything else.
Which is why J.J. Abrams' new Trek film is such a wonder. Despite the fact that his studio, Paramount, hasn't made a decent movie in two hundred years, and is well known for colossally missing the fucking point just about every effort out of the gate, he's managed to distill Trek down to its basic essence. We get the characters -- mostly, though not confined to, Kirk, Spock and McCoy -- and they are, for the first time since Khan, vital, interesting, alive and REAL. And most importantly, we get pure, unmitigated, smile-all-the-way-through-the-film FUN.
The main reason this film works so well is that Abrams took his god-damn sweet ol' time casting this sucker, making sure every single character was not only adequately represented, they were the best possible actor for the role. Which, thankfully, meant that stunt casting was chucked out the window (did anybody really want to see Matt Damon as Kirk? Me neither) and a youthful, vigorous cast of relative unknowns were put in place, all of which somehow managed to drill straight to the heart of each character.
The movie really belongs to two of 'em -- Chris Pine, who plays Kirk the way you've always wanted to see him, as a rules-are-for-pussies maverick that likes to bed green women, and Heroes' Zachary Quinto, who correctly plays Spock as a man in torment, stuck between his feelings and his people. The film's main arc throws the two, intially, into conflict, then into a sort of forced alliance that evolves into a friendship, and it feels, oddly, real -- we've all been there, no? At work or whatever? That person you hate at first but reluctantly have to admit does a damn good job and eventually becomes your friend? Every beat of this feels right and non-forced, and it's really the heart of the Trek films, that Kirk/Spock fanslash friendship.
Of course, the troika wouldn't be complete without the good Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy, and a youthful DeForest Kelley plays him marvelously. Wait -- I mean Lord of the Rings' Karl Urban, who freakin' channels De Kelley from the grave. Seriously. He's not just doing an SNL impression, either -- he clearly gets the character, but he looks and sounds so much like De that you'll positively swoon when, at a crucial moment, he bellows at Spock, "are you out of your Vulcan mind?" in that gritty southern accent. Trixi and I agreed: Star Trek II better have a hell of a lot more Bones in it.
The other actors are damn fine, too -- special mention must be made of Zoe Saldana's Uhura, who is a) properly gorgeous, b) totally strong, and c) is deservedly a larger part of the plot than she ever was in maybe the entire series. Simon Pegg plays Scotty, as has been mentioned elsewhere, as a Scottish Simon Pegg, which is pretty much what you want to see (if you like Simon Pegg, that is -- I love the guy, and he's hilarious here). John Cho's Sulu swordfights, which rules, and Anton Yelchin's youthful Chekov is the boy genius that Walter Koenig's was supposed to be but wasn't. And there's been mixed emotions on the web about Eric Bana's workingman's villain, Nero -- I dug him, and I liked his "Hello, there, hi" greeting to the bridge crew, it felt like a miner who'd gone off his nut, and that's about what he was supposed to be.
And was it fun? Holy crap, yeah. It was more fun than I remember ever having at the Star Trek Cinema, and that includes "Wrath of Khan" which was good and thrilling but such a downer in the end that it didn't really feel like the kind of pure, unmitigated fun the best episodes of the O.G. Series were. This one's no downer -- it's thrilling from the git-go, completely optimistic in the end, and never, ever dull, not even for a moment. Does the plot make sense? I mean, yeah, if you kind of let them doubletalk you about the time-travel-ness and just accept that such things are possible, the rest of it makes a linear kind of three-act sense, if you view it more as a movie about Kirk's ascendancy and Spock's self-actualization than a Plot About Big Ideas.
I mean, and much like "Spiderman" or "Iron Man," there's a lot of setup involved here -- I can't wait for #2, when we'll get to see Actual Captain Kirk and Actual First Officer Spock in their familiar roles and uniforms kicking ass against someone, but for now, the "origin story" actually works because Abrams never lets the film get bogged down in overexplanation or mawkishness or maudlinity or whatever -- and he never lets it get stupid, either. Any fears about how dumb "Baby Kirk" or "Baby Spock" might be can be erased by the young Spock's snide remark to his Vulcan classmates: "I imagine that you have a new batch of insults for me today," or by Cadet Kirk calmly eating an apple during the Kobayashi Maru test (spoiler: he cheats, and beats the system. Big surprise, eh?)
This could have gone so wrong. I mean, so many people worried that it could become "pretty people in space" or "Trek 90210," and it so easily could have, in the wrong hands. This could have been shallow, hollow and extremely stupid, a reboot designed to draw in the teens but completely alienating anybody who actually gave a shit about Trek in the last forty years. But somehow, magically, Abrams has not only pulled it off but has made an actual good movie for people who dig exciting summer popcorn action films, maybe the best one since "Raiders of the Lost Ark," honestly. Let go your fears. Join with me. Become one. Go check it out. You won't regret it for even a moment.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Back to where you once belonged
Well, it can finally be officially announced: We are moving back to Minnesota next month.
See, it's like this: when I moved out here, I had stars in my eyes and a head fulla stupid dreams. I had this mental picture of LA life that was a composite of what I'd seen on television and what I knew from my *very, very few* visits out here -- I figured it would consist mostly of sitting around a pool with a tropical drink in my hand and my laptop on my lap, doing very important artistic things while enjoying a life of stress-free, peaceful contemplation. In stunning contrast to my life before I left Minneapolis, which basically was comprised of a shitty job that made me want to bash my own skull in, a lot of drama from mah baby mama, and a lotta cold weather -- a lotta cold weather -- it sounded like something close to heaven.
But then a funny thing happened on the way to the forum: I got my heart broken. In a million, billion pieces. It's like -- you're gonna run a long-distance race. You're at the starting line. The guy's got the gun up in the air, he's ready to fire. And then some guy comes rushing out of the crowd and KICKS YOU IN THE NUTS, REALLY HARD. BANG! GO! RUN! It sets you waythehellback, y'know? I can honestly say, with no reservation: the worst pain I've ever felt in my entire life. Bar none.
But in the midst of all that Trixi and I fell in love, and you know the rest of the story. We were two people with our hearts broken in a billion pieces. And as I'm fond of saying it doesn't make it all better -- you still gotta heal on your own terms. You gotta find your own way to peace. It takes time. It ain't magic. But it does help when you do it together. It helps a lot.
So we rebuilt, right? And this next point is an important one to get across to a few people, especially the person who thinks I "blew it, famously" and the one who thinks I'm not quite smart or clever enough to cut it, or the one who thinks Trixi's, like, some dippy airhead, or the dorks from Trixi's last job in Minneapolis -- guess what? We DID fucking make it out here. If I'd stayed, I woulda been a Creative Director at my company, which by the way is the best job I've yet had (holla to my work peeps, esp. Andrew -- keep fightin' the man, brotha!). And if Trixi'd stayed, she woulda had a career either in the costume department of a Major Television Show or as a producer, 'cause she got actual OFFERS to do that stuff, and like twenty go-to people in the industry said that's what she *should* be doing. And I found a band out here made up of three of the most talented people I've ever met, and the kindest too -- if somebody doesn't give a band featuring Patrick Cleary and Cheryl Caddick a record deal in the next few years there is no justice in the world. And we made good, good, GOOD friends out here -- I reconnected with a friend from the "olden days" who is now one of my best friends ever. And our homeys Loren, Prince, Gabe, Donovan, Joanne -- I love them like I love my own family. And props to mah homegirl Ash too -- we'll miss her!
So, look, that's not it, okay? Important point to stress. Not moving because we "couldn't hack LA." Although if I never EVER have to drive on an LA freeway again, it'll be too soon. And yeah, as beautiful as LA is, there's stuff here that drives me batty. Like: the crazy people. There's just lots of 'em. It's like I'm working at Ralph and Jerry's in Dinkytown 24-7, and that'll make sense to the three people (Marcy, Beques, Trevor etc) who read this from that era.
No, we're moving back for other, extremely compelling reasons. Like: my daughter. That's numero frickin' UNO. I miss her. Lots. The original intention, just so nobody thinks I'm the type of guy who just galavants out to Los Angeles without ever considering my own daughter, was to get her mom to move out here with her. That simply is never gonna happen. Plus: originally, it wasn't terribly cost-prohibitive to fly back and forth to see her. Now, with airline ticket prices as high as they are, and with two people to go back and forth -- it IS. LOTS.
Another reason is: money. We go to the local supermarket to get food every night, right? And guess how much that costs, just for two people to get, like, VERY CHEAP FOOD to eat? That's more than 30 bucks a night. Seriously. And I have a house back in Minneapolis, too, which is gonna foreclose if I don't get back to it. It's just sitting there. It ain't gonna sell, not in this market, and so why not frickin' live in it?
AND I got a totally great job at a tremendous company as an ASSOCIATE CREATIVE DIRECTOR. Woo hoo! I'm psyched beyond words.
But of course, the main reason (besides the kiddo!) is our dear friends. We miss you. I didn't know how much I'd miss everybody, but I sure as hell do. Like: I miss my Musical Brothers In Arms like Chris (and Belsum!) and Marc and Jay and Ed and Mykl and Brandon and Mike Grey and all the other people I've dug or hung out with and gotten drunk with. And I miss the Karaoke Crew from the American Legion, one of the best groups of friends I've ever had. And I miss my family, my mom and dad, and my other NEW family that I just met a couple years ago (Gigi, Frank, Brett, Charisse, and everybody else!!).
And I miss the TOWN too! I miss trees! And green! I miss the stupid Crystal Shopping Center, and the Legion in Robbinsdale (my local pub!) and I miss Northeast! And I miss THE DALES! And the warehouse district! And Uptown! I miss the comic book store on 36th and Winnetka and Cheapo records where I can get used vinyl for ACTUAL CHEAP and Down in the Valley! I just miss all that stuff.
I guess it's a combination of practical good sense and homesickness that's drawing us back. Either way: we couldn't be more happy. I'm gonna toss my hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore. You can have a town, why don't you take it? You're gonna make it after all.
See, it's like this: when I moved out here, I had stars in my eyes and a head fulla stupid dreams. I had this mental picture of LA life that was a composite of what I'd seen on television and what I knew from my *very, very few* visits out here -- I figured it would consist mostly of sitting around a pool with a tropical drink in my hand and my laptop on my lap, doing very important artistic things while enjoying a life of stress-free, peaceful contemplation. In stunning contrast to my life before I left Minneapolis, which basically was comprised of a shitty job that made me want to bash my own skull in, a lot of drama from mah baby mama, and a lotta cold weather -- a lotta cold weather -- it sounded like something close to heaven.
But then a funny thing happened on the way to the forum: I got my heart broken. In a million, billion pieces. It's like -- you're gonna run a long-distance race. You're at the starting line. The guy's got the gun up in the air, he's ready to fire. And then some guy comes rushing out of the crowd and KICKS YOU IN THE NUTS, REALLY HARD. BANG! GO! RUN! It sets you waythehellback, y'know? I can honestly say, with no reservation: the worst pain I've ever felt in my entire life. Bar none.
But in the midst of all that Trixi and I fell in love, and you know the rest of the story. We were two people with our hearts broken in a billion pieces. And as I'm fond of saying it doesn't make it all better -- you still gotta heal on your own terms. You gotta find your own way to peace. It takes time. It ain't magic. But it does help when you do it together. It helps a lot.
So we rebuilt, right? And this next point is an important one to get across to a few people, especially the person who thinks I "blew it, famously" and the one who thinks I'm not quite smart or clever enough to cut it, or the one who thinks Trixi's, like, some dippy airhead, or the dorks from Trixi's last job in Minneapolis -- guess what? We DID fucking make it out here. If I'd stayed, I woulda been a Creative Director at my company, which by the way is the best job I've yet had (holla to my work peeps, esp. Andrew -- keep fightin' the man, brotha!). And if Trixi'd stayed, she woulda had a career either in the costume department of a Major Television Show or as a producer, 'cause she got actual OFFERS to do that stuff, and like twenty go-to people in the industry said that's what she *should* be doing. And I found a band out here made up of three of the most talented people I've ever met, and the kindest too -- if somebody doesn't give a band featuring Patrick Cleary and Cheryl Caddick a record deal in the next few years there is no justice in the world. And we made good, good, GOOD friends out here -- I reconnected with a friend from the "olden days" who is now one of my best friends ever. And our homeys Loren, Prince, Gabe, Donovan, Joanne -- I love them like I love my own family. And props to mah homegirl Ash too -- we'll miss her!
So, look, that's not it, okay? Important point to stress. Not moving because we "couldn't hack LA." Although if I never EVER have to drive on an LA freeway again, it'll be too soon. And yeah, as beautiful as LA is, there's stuff here that drives me batty. Like: the crazy people. There's just lots of 'em. It's like I'm working at Ralph and Jerry's in Dinkytown 24-7, and that'll make sense to the three people (Marcy, Beques, Trevor etc) who read this from that era.
No, we're moving back for other, extremely compelling reasons. Like: my daughter. That's numero frickin' UNO. I miss her. Lots. The original intention, just so nobody thinks I'm the type of guy who just galavants out to Los Angeles without ever considering my own daughter, was to get her mom to move out here with her. That simply is never gonna happen. Plus: originally, it wasn't terribly cost-prohibitive to fly back and forth to see her. Now, with airline ticket prices as high as they are, and with two people to go back and forth -- it IS. LOTS.
Another reason is: money. We go to the local supermarket to get food every night, right? And guess how much that costs, just for two people to get, like, VERY CHEAP FOOD to eat? That's more than 30 bucks a night. Seriously. And I have a house back in Minneapolis, too, which is gonna foreclose if I don't get back to it. It's just sitting there. It ain't gonna sell, not in this market, and so why not frickin' live in it?
AND I got a totally great job at a tremendous company as an ASSOCIATE CREATIVE DIRECTOR. Woo hoo! I'm psyched beyond words.
But of course, the main reason (besides the kiddo!) is our dear friends. We miss you. I didn't know how much I'd miss everybody, but I sure as hell do. Like: I miss my Musical Brothers In Arms like Chris (and Belsum!) and Marc and Jay and Ed and Mykl and Brandon and Mike Grey and all the other people I've dug or hung out with and gotten drunk with. And I miss the Karaoke Crew from the American Legion, one of the best groups of friends I've ever had. And I miss my family, my mom and dad, and my other NEW family that I just met a couple years ago (Gigi, Frank, Brett, Charisse, and everybody else!!).
And I miss the TOWN too! I miss trees! And green! I miss the stupid Crystal Shopping Center, and the Legion in Robbinsdale (my local pub!) and I miss Northeast! And I miss THE DALES! And the warehouse district! And Uptown! I miss the comic book store on 36th and Winnetka and Cheapo records where I can get used vinyl for ACTUAL CHEAP and Down in the Valley! I just miss all that stuff.
I guess it's a combination of practical good sense and homesickness that's drawing us back. Either way: we couldn't be more happy. I'm gonna toss my hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore. You can have a town, why don't you take it? You're gonna make it after all.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Bruce Springsteen, "Working On A Dream"
Sometimes I hate record critics.
Seriously: go out and google the reviews of Bruce Springsteen's latest, Working on a Dream. Almost to a one*, the reviews lead with mention of Obama's election, saddling Bruce with the impossible-to-live-up-to title of BAROMETER OF OUR TIMES. And almost to a one, they decide that since the nation's mood is optimistic (Is it? Was it when he recorded the thing? Shit, everybody I know just got laid off!), Bruce has made a happy and therefore "slight" album, since he apparently can only reflect the mood of the nation. And then they dismiss it based entirely upon the expectation that Bruce should only make ominous, elegiac albums.
That's such goddamn lazy, half-assed criticism. First off -- why does Springsteen have to reflect the political tenor of the times? Why is he so damn special/unspecial that he's not allowed to just make a record about what he wants to make a record about, i.e. who he's in love with or what happened to him yesterday or what he had for breakfast, a luxury we afford every other musician ever? Second: why wouldn't you listen to this record on it's own merits rather than stack it up to whatever came before, or whatever you think it's supposed to sound like? And third -- has Springsteen ever been about living up to your expectations? Hasn't he always charted a difficult and rather fuck-you course through rock music, and hasn't that been what's interesting about him to begin with?
RIght now, Springsteen doesn't always wanna be the political John The Baptist, crying in the wilderness. Right now, Springsteen's in love with melodies and harmonies. Right now, Springsteen's enraptured with the great pop albums of the 60s like the Byrds' "5D" and the Beach Boys' "Smile." RIght now, Springsteen's enamored of the sweep and scope of Jimmy Webb's work with Glenn Campbell or the over-the-top pomp and circumstance of Scott Walker's records. And that is the kind of record he's interested in making, and a magnificent job he's doing of it, too. Viewed as a pair with late-2007's astonishing Magic, Working on a Dream is no less than the Revolver to that album's Rubber Soul -- a multi-layered tapestry of sound that works more often than it doesn't and always shocks and surprises.
The album leads off with a gigantic, almost incomprehensibly strange middle-finger -- "Outlaw Pete," an EIGHT-MINUTE try at a western mini-opera a la "Heroes and Villains" off the Beach Boys' Smile. And like that song, "Pete" is bolstered an amazing, spiky string section that evokes the old west while still remaining forcefully modern. I'm not at all sure the song works in toto (the lyrics are funny, which is an odd but kind of wonderful vibe for Springsteen to tackle, and I'm still on the fence about 'em) but as an album kick-off it's kind of wonderfully mystifying.
From there, just like on Revolver it goes every-which-way-but-loose, from Byrdsian pop ("My Lucky Day," the sweetly psychedelic "Life Itself," the very pretty "Surprise, Surprise") to sweeping Beach Boys/ Jim Webb majesty (the frankly amazing "This Life," the tear-jerkingly-gorgeous "Kingdom Of Days") to weirdly-electric blues ("Good Eye") to the kind of Tom Joad folk that people want him to do, over and over again ("The Last Carnival," which ends with a gorgeous, surprising harmony turn, or "The Wrestler," tacked on as a bonus track and not really fitting). It only stumbles a couple times -- I love the melody of "Queen of the Supermarket" and I'm okay with the gentle gibe of it's lyric, but I'm not sure it works as a whole. And the country shuffle of "Tomorrow Never Knows," as pretty as it is, feels a little out of place amongst such staggering works that surround it.
The key, I think, to enjoying this album is to manage expectations by ditching them entirely -- which, to be fair, is how you should listen to every album ever but I know that's not always possible. Listen, though: unlike most of Springsteen's work, this isn't about the grand importance of the lyrics, although he manages some magnificent and poetic turns as always, especially on the rather darkly gorgeous "Life Itself." Instead, it's about something entirely other -- phenomenally pretty melodies, harmonies and arrangements. Like -- do we batter Gene Clark for sounding "too slight" on the first two Byrds records 'cause he's singing sweet songs about love? Do we dog Brian Wilson for being "facile" on "Pet Sounds" for the same reason? We do not, but that's because those writers are about melodies and arrangements more than lyrical depth, and Bruce isn't supposed to be. But, see, now he is about melody, suddenly, and he's doing it better than pretty much anybody else in rock these days. You have to be willing to accept the notion that a songwriter simply cannot do the same thing over and over -- that sometimes they want to do something very, very different, and how cool is that, really, especially if they're doing it well? That's the sign of someone great rather than someone merely good, and the sign of someone really great is that he doesn't seem to give a fuck what you think about him doing something different. He's just gonna do it.
Taken at that level, Working On A Dream is a glorious pop album. It's richly layered; filled with production twists and turns courtesy Brendan O'Brien, who seems to have turned Springsteen into the kind of glorious studio craftsman he's always wanted to be (see: his Spector love on "Born To Run"). Its filled top-to-bottom with the kind of magnificently-written songs that don't even really exist these days. And it rewards repeated listens, each song stacked with hidden details (a harmony part here, an organ line there) that only reveal themselves after you've already digested the stunning melodies. It isn't perfect, but it's highs hit extremely high, and it's lows are merely confusing, overly-ambitious missteps, which are always the best kind of failures, really.
I think, even if I'm the only armchair critic who thinks it, that Working On A Dream represents the second (maybe the third?) in a rather stunning late-career renaissance for a man who's never really made an altogether bad record, and whose career is really a series of highs of various heights. Give the album time to worm its way into you. It will reward your repeated listening, and you will find something to love.
*Including, of course, Chicago's Tweedle Dee of rockcrit, Greg Kot -- honestly, seeing both him and Tweedle Dum (Jim DeRogatis) give the album a negative review filled me with hope, since I almost always have exact opposite taste to these clueless bozos.
Seriously: go out and google the reviews of Bruce Springsteen's latest, Working on a Dream. Almost to a one*, the reviews lead with mention of Obama's election, saddling Bruce with the impossible-to-live-up-to title of BAROMETER OF OUR TIMES. And almost to a one, they decide that since the nation's mood is optimistic (Is it? Was it when he recorded the thing? Shit, everybody I know just got laid off!), Bruce has made a happy and therefore "slight" album, since he apparently can only reflect the mood of the nation. And then they dismiss it based entirely upon the expectation that Bruce should only make ominous, elegiac albums.
That's such goddamn lazy, half-assed criticism. First off -- why does Springsteen have to reflect the political tenor of the times? Why is he so damn special/unspecial that he's not allowed to just make a record about what he wants to make a record about, i.e. who he's in love with or what happened to him yesterday or what he had for breakfast, a luxury we afford every other musician ever? Second: why wouldn't you listen to this record on it's own merits rather than stack it up to whatever came before, or whatever you think it's supposed to sound like? And third -- has Springsteen ever been about living up to your expectations? Hasn't he always charted a difficult and rather fuck-you course through rock music, and hasn't that been what's interesting about him to begin with?
RIght now, Springsteen doesn't always wanna be the political John The Baptist, crying in the wilderness. Right now, Springsteen's in love with melodies and harmonies. Right now, Springsteen's enraptured with the great pop albums of the 60s like the Byrds' "5D" and the Beach Boys' "Smile." RIght now, Springsteen's enamored of the sweep and scope of Jimmy Webb's work with Glenn Campbell or the over-the-top pomp and circumstance of Scott Walker's records. And that is the kind of record he's interested in making, and a magnificent job he's doing of it, too. Viewed as a pair with late-2007's astonishing Magic, Working on a Dream is no less than the Revolver to that album's Rubber Soul -- a multi-layered tapestry of sound that works more often than it doesn't and always shocks and surprises.
The album leads off with a gigantic, almost incomprehensibly strange middle-finger -- "Outlaw Pete," an EIGHT-MINUTE try at a western mini-opera a la "Heroes and Villains" off the Beach Boys' Smile. And like that song, "Pete" is bolstered an amazing, spiky string section that evokes the old west while still remaining forcefully modern. I'm not at all sure the song works in toto (the lyrics are funny, which is an odd but kind of wonderful vibe for Springsteen to tackle, and I'm still on the fence about 'em) but as an album kick-off it's kind of wonderfully mystifying.
From there, just like on Revolver it goes every-which-way-but-loose, from Byrdsian pop ("My Lucky Day," the sweetly psychedelic "Life Itself," the very pretty "Surprise, Surprise") to sweeping Beach Boys/ Jim Webb majesty (the frankly amazing "This Life," the tear-jerkingly-gorgeous "Kingdom Of Days") to weirdly-electric blues ("Good Eye") to the kind of Tom Joad folk that people want him to do, over and over again ("The Last Carnival," which ends with a gorgeous, surprising harmony turn, or "The Wrestler," tacked on as a bonus track and not really fitting). It only stumbles a couple times -- I love the melody of "Queen of the Supermarket" and I'm okay with the gentle gibe of it's lyric, but I'm not sure it works as a whole. And the country shuffle of "Tomorrow Never Knows," as pretty as it is, feels a little out of place amongst such staggering works that surround it.
The key, I think, to enjoying this album is to manage expectations by ditching them entirely -- which, to be fair, is how you should listen to every album ever but I know that's not always possible. Listen, though: unlike most of Springsteen's work, this isn't about the grand importance of the lyrics, although he manages some magnificent and poetic turns as always, especially on the rather darkly gorgeous "Life Itself." Instead, it's about something entirely other -- phenomenally pretty melodies, harmonies and arrangements. Like -- do we batter Gene Clark for sounding "too slight" on the first two Byrds records 'cause he's singing sweet songs about love? Do we dog Brian Wilson for being "facile" on "Pet Sounds" for the same reason? We do not, but that's because those writers are about melodies and arrangements more than lyrical depth, and Bruce isn't supposed to be. But, see, now he is about melody, suddenly, and he's doing it better than pretty much anybody else in rock these days. You have to be willing to accept the notion that a songwriter simply cannot do the same thing over and over -- that sometimes they want to do something very, very different, and how cool is that, really, especially if they're doing it well? That's the sign of someone great rather than someone merely good, and the sign of someone really great is that he doesn't seem to give a fuck what you think about him doing something different. He's just gonna do it.
Taken at that level, Working On A Dream is a glorious pop album. It's richly layered; filled with production twists and turns courtesy Brendan O'Brien, who seems to have turned Springsteen into the kind of glorious studio craftsman he's always wanted to be (see: his Spector love on "Born To Run"). Its filled top-to-bottom with the kind of magnificently-written songs that don't even really exist these days. And it rewards repeated listens, each song stacked with hidden details (a harmony part here, an organ line there) that only reveal themselves after you've already digested the stunning melodies. It isn't perfect, but it's highs hit extremely high, and it's lows are merely confusing, overly-ambitious missteps, which are always the best kind of failures, really.
I think, even if I'm the only armchair critic who thinks it, that Working On A Dream represents the second (maybe the third?) in a rather stunning late-career renaissance for a man who's never really made an altogether bad record, and whose career is really a series of highs of various heights. Give the album time to worm its way into you. It will reward your repeated listening, and you will find something to love.
*Including, of course, Chicago's Tweedle Dee of rockcrit, Greg Kot -- honestly, seeing both him and Tweedle Dum (Jim DeRogatis) give the album a negative review filled me with hope, since I almost always have exact opposite taste to these clueless bozos.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Facebook is weird.
So: we're all on Facebook. Isn't it strange? When I say "we all," I mean literally we all -- everybody, except a few of your odd curmudgeon friends, are on there. MySpace was never like this. Did people you've wished you could talk to for twenty years from high school come out of the woodwork to reunite with you on MySpace? Maybe a few of them, sure, but all of them, like is happening on Facebook? Did MySpace allow you to post odd, semi-coherent statements and have people comment on your brilliant wit? It did not, and how cool is that? And Facebook doesn't look like the dashboard of a shitty low-rider car -- it's one size fits all, and its readable and makes sense, and you can keep track of friends you'd lost track of since you were, like, nine years old. It's cool. It really is, I must admit, despite my earlier reservations.
Okay, but Facebook also has created some...unusual...social situations that have never, ever existed before. There's no Hints from Heloise to advise you how to navigate 'em, either -- you're out in weird cyber social-freakout-land, and you're on your own, and if you mess up your Facebook etiquette (or whatever!) you feel just as stupid as that time you got really drunk on wine cooler at that high school party and vomited on that girl you had a huge crush on. It really feels that awkward, and since half the people you're interacting with are from High School, it feels even more odd.
LIKE:
- You get friended by someone who, in high school, you had no interaction with other than them occasionally elbowing you in the hallway, calling you "fag" or threatening to beat the shit out of your best friend. What do you do? I mean, you're old now. That was a long, long time ago. Do you forgive and forget? Do you let it go? Do you ignore? What's the right thing to do, there?
- You run across your ex's sisters. You have since (mostly!) made amends for whatever horrors you inflicted upon your ex (in my case, being an immature moron the entire time we were together, and then breaking up with her for no reason at all -- seriously, I could not have sucked more) and you figure "ah, my ex and I are friends, now, and that was ten-plus years ago, so maybe her sisters will want to friend me." And so you try. But then they don't. And now you feel stupid!
- You friend someone you thought you were good friends with, and they don't respond. Or worse yet -- they reject your friendship! Your entire feeling of well-being is suddenly thrown into question.
I'm sure you've run across a few yourself, in your effort to build a friend-list and reunite with people in your life that you've missed. Right? I mean, there needs to be a guidebook.
And what's more -- what is Facebook doing to BLOGGING? It used to be whenever I had a whim to discuss something or pontificate about something, I'd come over to the blog and post a line or two. I'd maybe get three, four, five comments, and think "wow, my post made a difference in people's lives." But now? I can go over to Facebook, post my clever little comment or my YouTube video or my thought about this band or that, and get FORTY comments. But those are all just my friends -- and my gigantic ego wants random strangers to be able to read my "deep thoughts." What will happen? Will blogging get folded into the Facebook Experience? Or what?
I dunno. I'm interested in everybody's thoughts on this. Part of me thinks I should just post this on Facebook but I'm trying to be a gap-bridger, here. DISCUSS.
Okay, but Facebook also has created some...unusual...social situations that have never, ever existed before. There's no Hints from Heloise to advise you how to navigate 'em, either -- you're out in weird cyber social-freakout-land, and you're on your own, and if you mess up your Facebook etiquette (or whatever!) you feel just as stupid as that time you got really drunk on wine cooler at that high school party and vomited on that girl you had a huge crush on. It really feels that awkward, and since half the people you're interacting with are from High School, it feels even more odd.
LIKE:
- You get friended by someone who, in high school, you had no interaction with other than them occasionally elbowing you in the hallway, calling you "fag" or threatening to beat the shit out of your best friend. What do you do? I mean, you're old now. That was a long, long time ago. Do you forgive and forget? Do you let it go? Do you ignore? What's the right thing to do, there?
- You run across your ex's sisters. You have since (mostly!) made amends for whatever horrors you inflicted upon your ex (in my case, being an immature moron the entire time we were together, and then breaking up with her for no reason at all -- seriously, I could not have sucked more) and you figure "ah, my ex and I are friends, now, and that was ten-plus years ago, so maybe her sisters will want to friend me." And so you try. But then they don't. And now you feel stupid!
- You friend someone you thought you were good friends with, and they don't respond. Or worse yet -- they reject your friendship! Your entire feeling of well-being is suddenly thrown into question.
I'm sure you've run across a few yourself, in your effort to build a friend-list and reunite with people in your life that you've missed. Right? I mean, there needs to be a guidebook.
And what's more -- what is Facebook doing to BLOGGING? It used to be whenever I had a whim to discuss something or pontificate about something, I'd come over to the blog and post a line or two. I'd maybe get three, four, five comments, and think "wow, my post made a difference in people's lives." But now? I can go over to Facebook, post my clever little comment or my YouTube video or my thought about this band or that, and get FORTY comments. But those are all just my friends -- and my gigantic ego wants random strangers to be able to read my "deep thoughts." What will happen? Will blogging get folded into the Facebook Experience? Or what?
I dunno. I'm interested in everybody's thoughts on this. Part of me thinks I should just post this on Facebook but I'm trying to be a gap-bridger, here. DISCUSS.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
"It's too bad she won't live! But then again -- who does??"
I think I've said it before, but it is absolutely awesome being engaged to Trixi, the ultimate Hot Chick Geek. Because not only does she like some uber-geeky stuff that I like too that nobody else likes (80s Yes albums (!!!), Doctor Who, Twin Peaks -- stuff you'd be surprised if your S.O. liked one of, let alone the whole batch), she also totally loves my all-time favorite movie, Blade Runner. When we were a-courtin' back a year-some ago, I got a text from Trix apropos of nothing quoting Rutger Hauer's "tears in the rain" quote from the end of the film. My response? "Oh, we have to get married." And then, y'know, I proposed to her. 'Cause come on.
So this weekend, when we found ourselves downtown for no particular reason, it struck me: we're right near the Bradbury Building, which is where genetic scientist J.F. Sebastian lived in the movie. I didn't even have to ask twice -- Trixi was as excited as I was. It's an astonishing building, more astonishing considering it was designed by someone who'd never designed anything before in his life, at the behest of the ghost of his dead brother. I'm not even kidding. It's been lovingly restored, recently, and there's even a plaque up in the lobby talking about its use in Blade Runner, which is cool.
Check it out -- isn't it amazing and complicated and cool??
Last bonus shot: me and Trix at the mod night this weekend, dressed in our mod finery:
I'd tell you all what we did on Sunday night, but then I'd have to shoot you.
So this weekend, when we found ourselves downtown for no particular reason, it struck me: we're right near the Bradbury Building, which is where genetic scientist J.F. Sebastian lived in the movie. I didn't even have to ask twice -- Trixi was as excited as I was. It's an astonishing building, more astonishing considering it was designed by someone who'd never designed anything before in his life, at the behest of the ghost of his dead brother. I'm not even kidding. It's been lovingly restored, recently, and there's even a plaque up in the lobby talking about its use in Blade Runner, which is cool.
Check it out -- isn't it amazing and complicated and cool??
Last bonus shot: me and Trix at the mod night this weekend, dressed in our mod finery:
I'd tell you all what we did on Sunday night, but then I'd have to shoot you.
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