2 Jul 2003
Last night I saw Stone Reader and was quite taken in. It is the story of a man searching for the long-lost author of one of his favorite books. The documentary worked in a weird way, convincing the audience that this was an important quest, although the "story" was not really all that enticing. It was completely off-beat and very good.
"I don’t think fuck is the new damn," said Mr Karo. "I think it’s the new the."
"My best friend? At the age of 43? My credit card! ... My best friend is myself. I look after myself very, very well. I can rely on myself never to let myself down. I'm the last person I want to see at night and the first in the morning. I am endlessly fascinating - at eight o'clock at night, at midnight, I'm fascinated. It's a lifelong relationship and divorce will never come into it. That's why, as I say, I feel privileged." -Morrissey
It is monstrously depressing to imagine the number of exciting rock shows I would have attended by the end of this summer had I been, as they say, "of age". I must echo a sentiment I noted a few weeks ago on another blog: "I think the next time I see someone who's 21 I'm going to punch them in the face."
6 Jul 2003
It has been some while since I last accessed the internet. During the interim I attended the White Stripes concert at Roy Wilkins auditorium with Kevin Clair.
Friday I attended Rumors the current UNCO production, which I enjoyed. My only complaint was that it seemed very much like college kids playing thirtysomethings rather than truly authentic representations of the characters but it was a good show all the same. I also saw the official and unofficial fireworks shows Northfield had to offer.
Saturday I paid to see Finding Nemo at Lakeville. I had heard only good things about it and they were all true. Afterwards I decided, rather than leaving, to drop in on Charlie's Angels 2 because it was just starting. I felt either sorry for or shocked at the people who actually paid to see it. I had heard only bad things about it and they too were all true. In the evening I saw Spartacus, a Netflix selection and a Stanley Kubrick film. It was a huge and expensive epic and for the first two-thirds of the film reminded me of The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. There were many more noticeable creative Kubrick touches toward the end though which I appreciated and which elevated the experience above that of just another movie. Finally I watched Spaceballs upstairs with a few other people. I noticed for the first time the parallels to Frank Capra's It Happened One Night with Clark Gable. I'd say that had almost as much influence on it as Star Wars.
Today I have come to the post office to do this very thing I am doing at the moment and later will attend To Have and Have Not at the Oak Street Cinema in Minneapolis. That is all.
The White Stripes concert:
To say that the White Stripes gave as much energy tonight as I've ever seen is actually an understatement due to its relativity; the White Stripes gave as much energy as was humanly possible. During the hour plus they played the main part of their set, they took perhaps 83 seconds to rest in total. Jack and Meg pounded out song after song after song stringing them together as if they were not separate pieces but one huge slab of feedback, distortion and soul.
The Whites shattered the relative quiet before the storm of their onslaught with "Little Room", an appropriate tune considering the huge success Elephant was on the charts, capturing for the first time a large portion of the mainstream rock market, along with the expected critical approval, at the time of its release. Some time during the first verse of "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" Jack realized there was something not quite right with the guitar tuning. After a valiant attempt to fix it midsong he went directly over to the keyboard where he finished up. From what I gather in his interviews and liner notes, Jack is very concerned about directness, being real and being honest; this show gave no reason to believe the contrary. For 90 minutes, the White Stripes poured themselves into a majestically powerful sound outstripping groups twice and three times their size. The simple combination of guitar and drums seemed to fill the echoing auditorium to near bursting.
Meg's drumming was rock-solid, the perfect thundering base for the guitar histrionics taking place center stage. One of the loudest cheers of the night came in anticipation of her turn at the mic for "In the Cold, Cold Night" while Jack faced the rear wall as if to let Meg have the spotlight for a short while all to herself. That is not to say that she was ignored otherwise. To observe their synergy, their togetherness during any number of arbitrary tempo changes and improvisations was fantastic. It's clear that the Stripes have been either playing a lot lately because they were fantastically tight.
The highlights of the show, at least for me, were probably "Jolene", which I don't own but was glad to hear, and the Burt Bacharach cover from Elephant, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself", which showcases both the innocence and the awesome power the White Stripes fuse so well.
As a frontman, Jack White is second to none. He wasn't in any way aloof, but the fact that he required almost no extraneous conversation to relate his excitement to the crowd was evident in every note he played. With his guitar and emotive voice, he held the audience absolutely rapt for the duration of the night. Indeed, at times when he was riffing next to Meg's drumset there was an almost palpable wave driving the performance, its power nearly unsettling.
Because of their execrable lack of talent, I am forced to mention the Whirlwind Heat, who opened. They seemed either to be imitating either the White Stripes minus the talent and songwriting ability and plus a lot of awful gyrating and idiocy, or perhaps three monkeys given musical instruments who didn't know what to do with them and, frankly, were none too pleased with having to try to play for a crowd. Luckily any remnants of the incredibly awful Heat were banished by the first chord of "Dead Leaves".
A lot of people complain about or at least poke fun at the White Stripes' limited color palette. The pervasive motif does however serve to enhance the simple and direct way in which the Stripes communicate their message of love, hope and goodwill through one of the most colossal sounds ever produced by a two-piece rock band.
7 Jul 2003
I went to Oak Street Cinema and saw To Have and Have Not which was great and couldn't pass up The Big Sleep for only an extra two dollars. I also decided to join the Minnesota Film Arts Society as a member at the student level which essentially will pay for itself over the course of the summer. I get free tickets, reduced price admission all the time and a t-shirt. Additionally, if it turns out I have to pay taxes, I am able to deduct 83% of my fee, so the government may subsidize my watching films. That would make me extremely happy. I only hope I can have transportation in the next year so I can abuse my privileges past September.
I must thank Kevin for linking to this article. Perhaps if everyone read it life would be that much easier. An excerpt follows:
How can I let the introvert in my life know that I support him and respect his choice?
First, recognize that it's not a choice. It's not a lifestyle. It's an orientation.
Second, when you see an introvert lost in thought, don't say "What's the matter?" or "Are you all right?"
Third, don't say anything else, either.
10 Jul 2003
I must say I'm still skeptical about when I'll finally be driving one but I am excited about the possibility. I want to be able to tell people that my car runs on borax.
Teague Lyons appeared in the lobby outside the post office today. He has since graduation been a victim of the jobless recovery; a sad, sad tale. I suggested he attempt to collect unemployment. I hope at some point to collect unemployment. I'm sure it will restore any faith I've lost in my government. My brother managed to find a job a month and a half into summer as a security guard. Luckily for him, he starts classes even later in the fall than I do.
Lest I forget amidst the hoopla of the race for the Democratic presidential nomination, I am a registered member of the Green party.
I am wildly enthusiastic about The Postal Service's Give Up at the moment:
And I intercepted a sampler headed for KRLX which has a song from the new album Ladybug Transistor is putting out. Excitement.
14 Jul 2003
I went home this weekend to retrieve a Honda Civic. I also managed to donate blood while there. On the way back I stopped in at the Bijou Theater at the University of Iowa for Stroszek. I basically agree with Ebert's review. After the movie I redeemed my second free bottle of Coke in two weeks. Their contest has been benefitting me greatly.
Also, I currently have a brand new KRLX sticker in my pocket but am too lazy to scan it.
I have fulfilled my Columbia House agreement thusly:
The Clash: Essential Clash
Gram Parsons: GP/Grievous Angel
Willie Nelson: Greatest Hits and Some That Will Be
Television: Marquee Moon
My Bloody Valentine: Loveless
Joy Division: Substance
17 Jul 2003
The record wishlist has been revised ever so slightly and each selection has a link to either allmusic.com's page or a better review. I don't think much work will get done on the new record collection page during the summer and it may in the end get scrapped. Speaking of my computer, I attempted last night to physically disconnect the CDRW drive because it has been malfunctioning all summer. Before it was simply not working and blinking its light, but on Monday I had to repeatedly reboot the computer over the course of trying to watch Barry Lyndon, an excellent and beautiful Stanley Kubrick movie. I had no luck with disconnecting the drive using control panel options so I had to open the case and physically disconnect the drive from the daisy chain including the DVD drive and the motherboard. That seems to have worked though I haven't yet tried to watch another DVD. I somehow managed to collect at one time three Netflix movies an average of 206 minutes each. The Kubrick film was 184, Lawrence of Arabia is 204 minutes and Kurosawa's Seven Samurai is 228. I hope to manipulate my queue so as not to have this happen again. I enjoy long movies, but there are times when I don't necessarily feel like going home and sitting there for four hours. If I get really bored I may post my Netflix queue sometime. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. In other movie news, tonight I will visit the Riverview Theater for the first time to see Gangs of New York in what I believe to be the last theatrical showing available to me. I did the same last summer with the godawful Attack of the Clones. It deserves no response but even so still gets a shudder from me. I must hope Episode III turns out better. Tomorrow I will see In a Lonely Place at the Oak Street Cinema where I will receive a t-shirt and get in for free because of my newly obtained membership privileges. I used to think Humphrey Bogart was overrated but my appreciation for him has grown dramatically after seeing much more of his work. And that, as they say, is that.
18 Jul 2003
Last night I paid two American dollars to see Gangs of New York. This was especially cheap due to the abundant free residential parking nearby. In fact, the Riverview Theater is basically in the middle of miles of houses as far as I can tell. There is a coffeeshop nearby, which I patronized, and another tiny establishment or two across the street but it is something of an oddity in southeast Minneapolis. The Riverview itself was fascinating. It had the nicest lobby I've ever seen with comfortable seating and very nice restrooms. The theater itself is humongous, at least compared to what I am used to. It holds seven hundred people and felt incredibly spacious. The screen was huge though I sat far enough back that it felt normal. There was a natural echo due to the magnitude of the place but the sound was the most effective I've heard in awhile; I couldn't tell if that was due to the space or the sound system but it worked well either way.
The movie itself was a sort of sensory shock, though not due to the violence. Rather it was the amount of movement and activity that took me for a loop. Having just watched Kubrick's Barry Lyndon with its meticulously crafted, beautiful, well-balanced shots and stately pacing, this was a veritable sensory overload. Scorsese successfully created a place and a time period in this film, much like Kubrick, but this was a dirty, gritty, fast-paced city seething with people. In the Kubrick film, there was a sense, for many reasons, that each scene was isolated from the rest of the world, that Kubrick was making each part complete and whole in and of itself apart from the movie and the rest of the world. The Five Points is visibly a part of New York and there are constantly people moving in and out of the frame, with a lot of panning and tracking, of which Barry Lyndon contains almost none at all. Gangs of New York impressed me and nearly every element was well done but it somehow lacked the vital spark necessary to connect me with the characters. It was as if all the right elements had been collected but not mixed quite rightly. I could expound more but I don't feel like it at present.
Rent-a-negro.com
"The only Americans who find out about Idlewild are those who believe in record reviews or listen to college radio, and these days such people are less tastemakers for the masses than citizens in their own separate nation."
20 Jul 2003
Friday night I went to UNCO's production of Eleemosynary. It was a stark affair with little in the way of set or costume or anything else for that matter but the acting was terrific and more than enough to satisfy me. Saturday I saw Whale Rider at Lakeville and it was the best new movie I have seen in the theater for a long, long time, perhaps ever (that seems like an overstatement but I really haven't seen that many good new movies in the theater in my time). I recommend it unabashedly. It was simple and down-to-earth, beautiful and, yes, moving. Sadly I was a full 25% of the crowd in attendance. The ladies at the box office asked me what it was about because they'd never heard of it. It deserves much more publicity, but probably can't afford it. Perhaps people should be forced to think twice before they are allowed to pay to see Charlie's Angels 2, for example, and instead learn about the joys of this movie.
In other news, the Mooney Suzuki's Electric Sweat is a good record and a little odd since it combines Strokes-ish 70's New York retro atmosphere and attitude with rhythms and melodies that seem more appropriate to late 50's/early 60's rock and roll (in one instance "Love Potion No. 9" is very apparent) and soul music, which is a nice addition. I was in FYE browsing through the enormously overpriced CDs ($18-20) planning to not buy a single thing until I spotted the Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady on sale for a mere $9.98, which you may have seen on my record wishlist. As with Whale Rider, I was almost overwhelmed at the quality-price ratio of this album compared with, say, almost anything in the billboard top 40 going for twice as much. And, appropriately enough, I got a money order from the Northfield post office and sent it to Sub Pop Records for the Postal Service EP, Such Great Heights, which includes Iron and Wine covering the Postal Service which just about made me wet myself with delight at the very thought. I await its arrival feverishly, although I'm afraid it might not come until after I leave for a week of vacation this Friday afternoon. I suppose it will just make me excited to return.
I managed to make it to the theater yesterday despite a parade being held in the street beside it. I went to the Hopkins sexplex (6 theaters, $2) to see The Quiet American which was good but nothing to get too worked up over. After that I paid a visit to Teague in Uptown. Among other things we played Mario Kart 64 and I was dismayed by my performance; it seems that a long time away from the game has dulled my once sharp skills. I also watched Lawrence of Arabia after I got home which was nearly four hours long. I enjoyed it but not as much as the week's epic highlight, Barry Lyndon. I would have liked to have seen both of them on much larger screens but my computer will have to suffice while I'm in college. I've also been noticing since listening to my new Clash compilation: how loud and ferocious and good they were, how odd and experimental and groundbreaking they became, and how amazing it is that they did it all in less than six years (except for Cut the Crap which doesn't even feature Mick Jones).
23 Jul 2003
Yesterday I moved into the other room in the basement. This room has four actual walls, such as they are, and an actual closet, such as it is. It also includes more carpet and actual drawers. I was also reminded last evening that if you do not own all of Nick Drake's albums, do yourself a favor and buy them. I'd say Pink Moon is my favorite due to its sparse instrumentation, though Five Leaves Left comes in a very close second. Bryter Later is also great, and I think the simple fact that I haven't listened to it as much may be the reason it's in third place. That should not deter you from purchasing all three of these wonderful, wonderful records. Making distinctions between them is like distinguishing between favorite flavors of ice cream: one must taste better than the other out of reason and logic but the difference in quality is microscopic.
Tonight I will venture out to see Spellbound on the recommendation of Teague and his roommate, Alex Starace. One of the major subjects of the film is an incoming freshman at Carleton, and that holds some sort of minor excitement in addition to it being a good documentary in the first place.
Also, this.
And some idiot just walked in the library computer lab talking loudly on cell phone. He is oblivious to the others in the room. How delightful.
And more recently someone else walked by and asked me where I'd gotten my copy of The Inimitable Jeeves by PG Wodehouse. I told him the Northfield Library and he seemed quite excited at the prospect of checking some such thing out despite the Gould Library's stock of fiction being mostly packed away inaccessible. Indeed there is much excitement in the library computer lab today.
This kid is in fifth grade. He is my new idol.
24 Jul 2003
I did manage to see Spellbound last night. During the trip I listened to a CMJ compilation CD I got from the post office. Today BMG was advertising the Drive-By Truckers' Decoration Day for free with purchase of something else on their website. They mistakenly charged me for shipping so I emailed them and hopefully we can work things out. Tonight I will do laundry and pack for my week at home.
Spellbound
Spellbound holds few surprises for the viewer; it states its intent immediately at the beginning. It is going to follow eight spelling prodigies to the finals at Washington DC. The first half of the film profiles each of the spellers in their home environments: on the Texas plains, rural Pennsylvania, beachside Orange County, California. The parents, who vary in their involvement with their spellers, are all involved to some extent and very excited for their children, an excitement both their own and vicariously channeled through their offspring. Once the main subjects have been introduced the film moves to the actual competition in DC where much of the drama and interest is supplied by the spellers at the microphone, as well as reactions by parents offstage and after each elimination. A young returnee, Georgie, is introduced, though he isn't even included in the final round; the main reason for his involvement seems to be his mantra, "Trust in Jesus," for what film about America could be complete without a little fundamentalism?
The director's style is very direct here: aside from a few long shots establishing location, the camera is focused on the subjects in a medium close up. The students and their varying reactions to and amount of preparation for the national spelling championship provide the obvious interest of the film, but the parents are perhaps more diverse, interesting and indicative of what each speller truly represents. Except for the wacky Jewish boy who can't sit still for more than five seconds at a time, the kids generally don't have much regional flair. The parents make it obvious where they come from and betray their sometimes extreme to the kids quite easily. The most touching is probably the couple who can't speak English but immigrated from Mexico so their children could get the education that is so aptly embodied in this contest. The parents from Pennsylvania are slightly wacky and one has to wonder whether that has caused the downcast taciturnity so obvious in their daughter that they seem to either ignore or just have gotten used to. Early on one of the children's teachers says that she always likes students from India because they are so hard-working. She is proved right by both Indian children in the film but the difference in the parents is night and day. Nulal Pura seems to work by herself a lot with parents who support her as needed. Neil Raiaka, on the other hand, is quoted to have been practicing upwards of 7000 words a day by his systematic, very driven father, who believes very firmly in hard work and the American dream. Interestingly, the quiet parents come out ahead in the end.
Perhaps Spellbound provides no summertime thrills or revelations about human nature, but as it sets out to do from the beginning, it ably chronicles a quirky slice of Americana quite well and shows us ourselves in the mirror, laughable and familiar all at once.
CMJ New Music Monthly: Volume 114
For "college music", CMJ certainly comes up with some intensely normal, even boring material for its monthly compilations. There is at least some variety here evident especially in the first track, "I Need More Love" from Robert Randolph & The Family Band, atypical of traditional college/indie rock as might be expected. Its funky guitar line is quickly joined by a driving dance beat with more instruments thrown into the mix at various points along the way, including most of what must be the family backing Robert and some high-pitched love-starved freak.
Next comes the obligatory nod to Liz Phair's new self-titled disaster. Overproduced loud guitars accompanied by Ms Phair singing through her inane and not even very interesting songs about how "psycho" she is, much less "extraordinary" seems out of place.
St Olaf's Spymob breaks the monotony with a constant driving piano rhythm that flows through the song at times accompanied by a similarly mobile guitar. Though it's no revelation, it is a nice little piece of college pop.
Elliott attempts to convince us he's creating a rich atmosphere with a staid little effects-laden guitar until it's time to rock out after the first verse and his plaintive tenor above the aforementioned guitar plus frequent wacky drum breaks leads us to believe that Elliott believes there's a lot more to this song than there really is.
Alert! Alert! Radiohead ripoff fast approaching. "Breathe In" from Palo Alto is perhaps the most egregious clone of The Bends not just recently but ever. This could be forgiven if the song had something, anything new to contribute but it ends up sounding like Yorke & co just got bored with "Planet Telex" and decided to spice things up by making it, well, boring. Avoid this at all costs. It's all there, right down to the exact timbre and expression in the lead singer. Ten years ago, maybe this would have been necessary, but probably not.
Madlib, from the depths of the Blue Note catalog, contributes an appropriate change of pace number, "Slim's Return". Grounded by a repeating bass figure frequently broken by slightly funky strings and a voice, assumedly Madlib's, providing extra sonic texture, the piece works combining a jazz tone to a sample-heavy hip hop song.
Drive-by Truckers blaze into town with "Sinkhole" with mean guitars and some of the most individualistic vocals on here. They seem the sort that might spit used tobacco juice on most of the rest of the compilation, muttering an obscenity, and ride off into the sunset. Well, at least the guitar would.
"Get Up" and get out of town. Bleu is coming with bland, vaguely self-important lyrics and a slightly angry guitar sound that goes nowhere. The song has no idea what it's about emotionally, though Bleu attempts to make it sound somewhat convincing. Better luck next time.
Switchfoot hits with some heavy riffing that, if you're into produced crunch, is actually quite spacious and roomy, giving the song room to resonate. "Meant To Live" sounds like an anthem for high school girls looking for that band with heart, but not too specifically nor creatively expressed. It's really not all that bad.
"The Move", from Michael Baynes, opens with acoustic guitar for that extra emotional resonance that it completely misses. In fact, it's such a godawful straightforward pop song that it's hard to care much one way or the other except that by this time you've already been overwhelmed with CMJ-endorsed mediocrity and you're not gonna take it anymore.
Memento seems to be just another nu-metal band killing us softly before they hit us up massive riffage-style. But wait, did he just mention Jesus' cousin . . . and the devil . . . and whores and wars . . . and hallelujah? What is this ill-begotten quasi-spiritual mishmash along with the weird new-age synth strings and a pretending to be sinister drum track. I'm slightly afraid and not entirely sure I shouldn't be. Creepy.
Luckily most of the albums real sucking has been done. Yes, "We Don't Care" may get slightly repetitive and seem slightly less than cerebral (the refrain "What the fuck?!" fails to lend any intellectual strength to the song) at least it has a mostly danceable beat so you could do something to alleviate possible attacks of boredom waiting for something interesting to happen.
Karsh Kale's "Liberation" NIN-meets-New Age vocals works surprisingly well. The building activity underneath adds to the mystery and by this point in the disc, that is, if you've actually made it this far, you're thankful for something that sounds vaguely original and well-conceived.
I downloaded "Sail On" for some reason. I have yet to figure out why. Chris Lee is entirely unthrilling throughout. His oddly soulful vocal stylings don't seem to portray anything other than mildly nonthreatening vibes. The title of his album, Cool Rock, sets just the right slightly corny, passe tone for the song.
The best track sits here, perilously near the end, as if CMJ wasn't quite sure it wanted to allow it on. Wildchild's rapping happens over such a spare atmosphere (a slim beat, constant quiet static and the occasional keyboard figure) that it seems odd others on this compilation couldn't simply put something this basic yet solid together.
"Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl" is Broken Social Scene's oddity, dominated by faded faint female vocals that are joined by banjo and guitar with various strings in the background and what could be bongos underneath. It's all pulled off amazing lightly for how clear each element is presented. Scene fills up its eight minutes much more satisfactorily than many of the bands on here can handle two.
Minus the Bear ends this affair with "Monkey!!! Knife!!! Fight!!!". It rocks, though I'm not sure it presents a real necessity to. In no way does it deserve a title as manic and hyped-up as it has, but its a nice little rock song that comes off as a little quirky due to a few bleeps here and other bloops there.
All in all, the only bands I must hear again are Wildchild and Drive-by Truckers though I'd probably go for Minus, Broken Social Scene, Madlib and Karsh Kale without much of a fight. Robert Randolph and Spymob would probably sneak in someday but if this is really the best "college music" has to offer this month, I'm rather disappointed.