Bruce Campbell
Special shout out to my friends Emily, ADogg and Jimmy, all of whom would repeatedly kiss this guy on the mouth and feet, were they ever to meet him. I can understand liking him in an ironic, hipster kind of way, the same way people "like" Journey, for example. His mugging and overacting in the "Evil Dead" movies is kind of funny, but what nobody wants to admit is that all of those movies suck. Granted, they kind of fall into that so-bad-it's good category, but once again, while that might be fine for people who like Bruce and his body of work as a kitschy joke, to celebrate the man as an artist is a little much. Take away those "Evil Dead" films, and what has he done? "Bubba Ho-Tep" was amusing, but try and name some of his other movies, ones he's in for reasons other than his pals Sam Raimi and the Coen brothers throwing him an occasional bone. "McHale's Navy"? "Serving Sarah"? Luckily, Bruce seems to have a sense of humor about his career.
2001: A Space Odyssey
There are some pretty cool images here in between eons of absolutely nothing happening. I admit I haven't seen this the whole way through, which probably taints my opinion on the matter, but it hasn't been from lack of trying. I watch all kinds of things. High school sex comedies. Bad Kung-Fu flicks. Ken Burns documentaries. A few days ago, while in bed sick, I watched "Touch of Evil", "Election", "The Treasure of Sierra Madre" and "The Karate Kid", all in the same day. So I'd like to think I can appreciate all kinds of movies. But time seems to stop when I try to watch "2001", and by the time it reaches the two-hour mark, my brain has been turned to mush. So, I've never been able to make it all the way through "2001". Too bad, I hear it's quite a movie.
Bob Dylan
Speak up, dude. You're mumbling again.
Pamela Anderson-Lee
I just never really found her attractive. Yes, even in her prime. She's not exactly hideous; I just wasn't ever too impressed. And it's not that I don't like dimwitted blondes with cartoonish upper bodies. Hell, I thought Anna Nicole Smith was hot as recently as three or four years ago. But even if I were to overlook the fact that she has Hep C, she slept with Tommy Lee AND Kid Rock and she starred in "Barbed Wire", I wouldn't be attracted to Pammy. She just looks dirty, like I'd need to cover her with delousing powder before I let her into my home. By all accounts, she's a really nice person though, and she does care a lot about animals.
90% of video games released after the late '90s
The newest gaming console I own is a beat-up Playstation 2, and I have a grand total of three games for that; the last three installments of the "NBA 2K" series. Other than the occasional sports game, I haven't really been big into videogames since the heyday of the Nintendo 64. Usually if I'm with a big group of people and they end up playing "Halo", I'm the guy who goes outside for a cigarette and resigns himself to the fact that he might be very bored for the next couple of hours.
Baseball
I single-handedly dispel the myth that Latinos are good at beisbol.
Jagermeister
I'm not a big drinker or anything, but there's certain things I'll drink and there's certain things you couldn't pay me to sip. And then, there's Jagermeister. It's like drinking cough syrup, only if you drink enough of it, you'll get throwed. Only I heard that happens with cough syrup, too. In fact, while undoubtedly safer than drinking large amounts of cough syrup, the rest of the Jagermeister experience could likely be simulated by taking a little Robutussin to the head.
The Beatles
Just kidding!
Friday, December 14, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
The Wu could be through
"Hey, so what do you think of '8 Diagrams'? I dunno if I'm really feelin it."
A friend of mine sent me this message on Facebook today in regard to the new Wu-Tang Clan album. I've known him since kindergarten. Growing up, the two of us were bonafied Wu fanatics. We bought the albums, the clothes, the concert tickets; anything with that big black "W" logo on it had to be ours. Long after they were considered washed up, we were still checking for the nine Staten Island superheroes. They were comic book characters come to life, X-Men under the influence of fat blunts and kung-fu movies. Now, after a four year break, "8 Diagrams" is their latest effort as a group. The spotlight has been off of them for years, and this album, with reports of bickering amongst the group, could be their last. I wanted them to go out on top. They're not gonna.
The rejuvenated Clan could have made a great album, but it appears group Svengali/producer RZA let his ego get in the way. Many other Wu members have come forth to denounce him, claiming that he completely micromanaged "8 Diagrams" and ignored all other input. RZA himself admits the album was produced under a "dictatorship" and not a "democracy". He has no one but himself to blame for the results.
The rapping isn't the problem. Other than the intolerable U-God, all the MCs sound great. Method Man, still the group's biggest star, hasn't performed this well in a decade. The underappreciated Masta Killa gets more face time than on past efforts and does an excellent job. Ghostface, always a model of consistency, does his thing, and, although everyone else is past their prime, they're still better than most MCs today.
If the MC'ing exceeds expectations, RZA's beats fail to meet them completely. Almost universally regarded as a musical genius (name another hip hop producer who's done scores for Tarantino and Jarmusch films), RZA has been Wu-Tang's heart and soul from the jump. Now, for the first time, he seems to be lacking inspiration. "Tar pit", "Unpredictable" and "Campfire" are just three of many songs that feature quality rapping over subpar production.
Occasionally on "8 Diagrams", RZA has a flashback to his glory days and creates a sonic palette worthy of his past work. "Wolves" features the great George Clinton filling the role of the Clan's late jester, Ol' Dirty Bastard, while RZA's track combines eerie chanting with an eastern flute sample. It's the rare case of an "8 Diagrams" song with a beat and hook comparable to the rapping. Other quality songs include the ominous "Stick Me For My Riches", despite some awful singing, and the heartfelt tribute to Ol' Dirty, "Life Changes". "Rushing Elephants" takes the title for best song on the album, as Raekwon, GZA, Masta Killa and RZA all drop excellent verses, one after another, with no chorus to slow the momentum. It's the closest they come to capturing that vintage Wu sound.
Were it the debut album of some unhyped group of newjacks, "8 Diagrams" would likely be fawned over by rap critics. There's not a truly bad song on the disc, although the cheesy "Starter" comes close. But from a collective as talented as the Wu-Tang Clan, it's fair to expect excellence from them every time out, especially when delivering an album as important as this one.
A friend of mine sent me this message on Facebook today in regard to the new Wu-Tang Clan album. I've known him since kindergarten. Growing up, the two of us were bonafied Wu fanatics. We bought the albums, the clothes, the concert tickets; anything with that big black "W" logo on it had to be ours. Long after they were considered washed up, we were still checking for the nine Staten Island superheroes. They were comic book characters come to life, X-Men under the influence of fat blunts and kung-fu movies. Now, after a four year break, "8 Diagrams" is their latest effort as a group. The spotlight has been off of them for years, and this album, with reports of bickering amongst the group, could be their last. I wanted them to go out on top. They're not gonna.
The rejuvenated Clan could have made a great album, but it appears group Svengali/producer RZA let his ego get in the way. Many other Wu members have come forth to denounce him, claiming that he completely micromanaged "8 Diagrams" and ignored all other input. RZA himself admits the album was produced under a "dictatorship" and not a "democracy". He has no one but himself to blame for the results.
The rapping isn't the problem. Other than the intolerable U-God, all the MCs sound great. Method Man, still the group's biggest star, hasn't performed this well in a decade. The underappreciated Masta Killa gets more face time than on past efforts and does an excellent job. Ghostface, always a model of consistency, does his thing, and, although everyone else is past their prime, they're still better than most MCs today.
If the MC'ing exceeds expectations, RZA's beats fail to meet them completely. Almost universally regarded as a musical genius (name another hip hop producer who's done scores for Tarantino and Jarmusch films), RZA has been Wu-Tang's heart and soul from the jump. Now, for the first time, he seems to be lacking inspiration. "Tar pit", "Unpredictable" and "Campfire" are just three of many songs that feature quality rapping over subpar production.
Occasionally on "8 Diagrams", RZA has a flashback to his glory days and creates a sonic palette worthy of his past work. "Wolves" features the great George Clinton filling the role of the Clan's late jester, Ol' Dirty Bastard, while RZA's track combines eerie chanting with an eastern flute sample. It's the rare case of an "8 Diagrams" song with a beat and hook comparable to the rapping. Other quality songs include the ominous "Stick Me For My Riches", despite some awful singing, and the heartfelt tribute to Ol' Dirty, "Life Changes". "Rushing Elephants" takes the title for best song on the album, as Raekwon, GZA, Masta Killa and RZA all drop excellent verses, one after another, with no chorus to slow the momentum. It's the closest they come to capturing that vintage Wu sound.
Were it the debut album of some unhyped group of newjacks, "8 Diagrams" would likely be fawned over by rap critics. There's not a truly bad song on the disc, although the cheesy "Starter" comes close. But from a collective as talented as the Wu-Tang Clan, it's fair to expect excellence from them every time out, especially when delivering an album as important as this one.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Pimp C
How do you condense a man's life into a handful of neat paragraphs? How can you explain a person's sweeping influence on a culture and sum up their entire legacy in a few hundred words? This is the dilemma I'm faced with as I try to write a fitting eulogy for fallen musician Pimp C, who passed away recently in a Los Angeles hotel room. He wasn't a superstar, but his influence on the music world was undeniable and couldn't possibly be captured in the space of a blog entry.
Chad "Pimp C" Butler was one-half of Port Arthur, TX's seminal rap group UGK. Texas hip hop has reached an all-time high in popularity, and many of the groups currently reaping the benefits are direct descendants from the UGK school of rap. Pimp sang his own melodic hooks and used live instruments to craft funky beats for he and his partner Bun B to rhyme over. UGK's use of slowed down vocal samples, self-sung choruses and bubbling bass, along with their laidback rhymes about "slabs", "boppers" and "pourin up" influenced countless MCs since the duo released their first album, "Banned", in 1988.
Bun B was the better MC of the pair, a rapper's rapper with a rapid-fire flow and intricate lyrics. But Pimp's colorful persona, his proficiency as a producer and a musician, and his gift for writing and singing catchy hooks were what made UGK's sound so distinctive. He always proved a funny and lively interview, and his blunt rhymes had a cynical sense of humor that belied their simplicity.
Pimp C's epitaph deserves to contain the word "innovator". He helped lay the groundwork for a style still being used successfully by artists today. In fact, Texas rap done in the fashion of UGK is more popular than ever, so, if anything, giving his own limited commercial success, it can be argued Pimp C was too ahead of his time. But instead of being bitter, Pimp was clearly pleased that the musical blueprint he'd designed had given birth to so many other careers. Even though he's gone, the tradition he started will carry on.
Chad "Pimp C" Butler was one-half of Port Arthur, TX's seminal rap group UGK. Texas hip hop has reached an all-time high in popularity, and many of the groups currently reaping the benefits are direct descendants from the UGK school of rap. Pimp sang his own melodic hooks and used live instruments to craft funky beats for he and his partner Bun B to rhyme over. UGK's use of slowed down vocal samples, self-sung choruses and bubbling bass, along with their laidback rhymes about "slabs", "boppers" and "pourin up" influenced countless MCs since the duo released their first album, "Banned", in 1988.
Bun B was the better MC of the pair, a rapper's rapper with a rapid-fire flow and intricate lyrics. But Pimp's colorful persona, his proficiency as a producer and a musician, and his gift for writing and singing catchy hooks were what made UGK's sound so distinctive. He always proved a funny and lively interview, and his blunt rhymes had a cynical sense of humor that belied their simplicity.
Pimp C's epitaph deserves to contain the word "innovator". He helped lay the groundwork for a style still being used successfully by artists today. In fact, Texas rap done in the fashion of UGK is more popular than ever, so, if anything, giving his own limited commercial success, it can be argued Pimp C was too ahead of his time. But instead of being bitter, Pimp was clearly pleased that the musical blueprint he'd designed had given birth to so many other careers. Even though he's gone, the tradition he started will carry on.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Feature Article (taken from the Hilltopper): Student Rapper Tries to Make it in Austin
At an age when most St. Edward's University students are working on Capstone papers, Austin-based rapper and St. Ed's student Clark Perry is working on his fifth album in four years. Perry has recorded and performed everywhere from Los Angeles to Belgium, and opened for the likes of Hanson and Devin the Dude. With an unwavering work ethic, confident flow and witty lyrics, Perry just might turn Austin's barren hip hop scene into something worthwhile.
The fact that Clark Perry raps at all comes as a surprise to most people initially. He looks more like the front man of an indie rock band or an actor in a quirky comedy than an MC. He's soft-spoken and even a little nerdy, but carries himself with the swagger of an artist who knows he's good at what he does.
Despite his current confidence, even Perry admitted he would never have imagined himself rapping just a few years ago.
"I didn't listen to music for a long time," he said. "I didn't even own a CD player until I was 14."
Then, Perry heard Eminem and developed a passion for hip hop. Perry said he related to Eminem's identity as a white rapper.
"His sense of humor and in-your-face attitude played a part too," Perry said.
Perry jumped into music headfirst and put out his first album, "Watered Down", under the name "Greyt Whyte" in 2003. Selling mostly to his fellow students at Austin High School, Perry moved an estimated 1,000 copies of "Watered Down". His success gave him the confidence he needed to work to get better.
After recording two more albums, 2004's "Indecision" and 2005's "First Wave", Perry left the United States to study in Spain, a move that would advance his career and permanently change his life.
"I was so inspired by everything around me," he said. "I got to hang out with the most famous rap group in Belgium, roll with London rappers, German rappers, a Romanian producer. Everywhere I went I was hooking up with the local people."
Perry said meeting these people provided him with material for his latest effort, "Barcelona On Ice", an album that plays like a love letter to Europe. Perry worked on "Barcelona" with renowned European producer Smimooz, and addressed topics such as Europeans' negative attitude toward Americans.
"All of that made me a new breed of enlightened, multi-cultural party rapper," he said.
Perry is currently back in Austin and he said he is still struggling to make a name for himself in a city that calls itself "The Live Music Capital of the World", but has yet to truly make room for hip hop.
"I've been doing this a really long time, and still don't feel like I've gotten much attention," Perry said. "Bavu Blakes is probably the biggest rapper in Austin, and still, the average person doesn't know his name. I've never even been to ACL because it's not like there are many rap acts playing."
Perry is determined to break through to a wider audience, and despite being in a less than ideal locale for his type of music, he remains optimistic. He has recently started work on his fifth album, "Danger to Myself".
At only 22 years old, Perry has accomplished far more than many of Austin's other musicians and has the potential to go even further. Maybe he'll be the one to change the pecking order here and help this city escape from the shadow of Houston and make a name for itself in the world of rap. But even if he doesn't, hip hop has already taken Clark Perry exactly where he wants to be.
The fact that Clark Perry raps at all comes as a surprise to most people initially. He looks more like the front man of an indie rock band or an actor in a quirky comedy than an MC. He's soft-spoken and even a little nerdy, but carries himself with the swagger of an artist who knows he's good at what he does.
Despite his current confidence, even Perry admitted he would never have imagined himself rapping just a few years ago.
"I didn't listen to music for a long time," he said. "I didn't even own a CD player until I was 14."
Then, Perry heard Eminem and developed a passion for hip hop. Perry said he related to Eminem's identity as a white rapper.
"His sense of humor and in-your-face attitude played a part too," Perry said.
Perry jumped into music headfirst and put out his first album, "Watered Down", under the name "Greyt Whyte" in 2003. Selling mostly to his fellow students at Austin High School, Perry moved an estimated 1,000 copies of "Watered Down". His success gave him the confidence he needed to work to get better.
After recording two more albums, 2004's "Indecision" and 2005's "First Wave", Perry left the United States to study in Spain, a move that would advance his career and permanently change his life.
"I was so inspired by everything around me," he said. "I got to hang out with the most famous rap group in Belgium, roll with London rappers, German rappers, a Romanian producer. Everywhere I went I was hooking up with the local people."
Perry said meeting these people provided him with material for his latest effort, "Barcelona On Ice", an album that plays like a love letter to Europe. Perry worked on "Barcelona" with renowned European producer Smimooz, and addressed topics such as Europeans' negative attitude toward Americans.
"All of that made me a new breed of enlightened, multi-cultural party rapper," he said.
Perry is currently back in Austin and he said he is still struggling to make a name for himself in a city that calls itself "The Live Music Capital of the World", but has yet to truly make room for hip hop.
"I've been doing this a really long time, and still don't feel like I've gotten much attention," Perry said. "Bavu Blakes is probably the biggest rapper in Austin, and still, the average person doesn't know his name. I've never even been to ACL because it's not like there are many rap acts playing."
Perry is determined to break through to a wider audience, and despite being in a less than ideal locale for his type of music, he remains optimistic. He has recently started work on his fifth album, "Danger to Myself".
At only 22 years old, Perry has accomplished far more than many of Austin's other musicians and has the potential to go even further. Maybe he'll be the one to change the pecking order here and help this city escape from the shadow of Houston and make a name for itself in the world of rap. But even if he doesn't, hip hop has already taken Clark Perry exactly where he wants to be.
Friday, November 23, 2007
The Swag of Scott (Baio)
Scott Baio is only known for two things: his role as the titular character on two crappy sitcoms, and his role as a player Frank Sinatra wouldn't have left his girlfriend alone with. Now, after falling off the face of the planet for years, Baio has mounted a comeback with a reality show mocking his Hollywood pimp image. I haven't seen the show, but I recognize the brilliance of the concept. Apparently, he just goes around dropping in on old girlfriends, apologizing for being a sleazeball and asking them what went wrong. Hilarity surely ensues.
Baio is the very definition of overachiever. Now, I am neither condemning nor condoning having meaningless "relationships" with an unhealthy amount of partners. But if that's how you choose to live your life, you could do worse than Pamela Lee, Nicole Eggert, Denise Richards, Natalie Raitano (criminally underrated), Nicollete Sheridan and Heather Locklear. He even hooked with Liza Minnelli, which I would liken to choosing Julius Erving for your pick-up basketball team. He may be 60, but he's still Dr. J! Amazingly, Baio got with these A-list celebrities with nothing on his resume but a slew of made-for-TV movies and roles as a babysitter and The Fonz's cousin (apparently, Fonzie put him up on game). Kevin Federline should have a shrine dedicated to the man in his house.
Baio is the subject of more urban legends than Keyzer Soze. The thing is, there are so many great true stories about him that I would have a hard time disbelieving anything I heard. In a recent interview with Howard Stern (Howard, that class act, asked Baio if he could sniff his fingers), Baio was asked to tell "the Playboy story". Turns out, during the late '80s, Baio was the first man to be banned from the Playboy Mansion for making Hugh Hefner jealous. Read that sentence again. If I got cockblocked by HUGH FREAKING HEFNER, my ego would get so big that my head would swell up like Joseph Merrick.
The legend of Scott Baio has grown; that much is evident with a google search. He's something like a cult figure now, and it makes sense. To call him an underdog would be misleading, but it's hard to believe that the one man Hugh Hefner was scared to even let near his girlfriend(s) was the guy who played the nanny on "Charles in Charge". It's like how every year during March Madness, some tiny school pulls off an upset victory, and everyone starts rooting for them. In other words, Scott Baio is the people's champion. The word "swag" gets thrown around an awful lot these days, but...
Baio is the very definition of overachiever. Now, I am neither condemning nor condoning having meaningless "relationships" with an unhealthy amount of partners. But if that's how you choose to live your life, you could do worse than Pamela Lee, Nicole Eggert, Denise Richards, Natalie Raitano (criminally underrated), Nicollete Sheridan and Heather Locklear. He even hooked with Liza Minnelli, which I would liken to choosing Julius Erving for your pick-up basketball team. He may be 60, but he's still Dr. J! Amazingly, Baio got with these A-list celebrities with nothing on his resume but a slew of made-for-TV movies and roles as a babysitter and The Fonz's cousin (apparently, Fonzie put him up on game). Kevin Federline should have a shrine dedicated to the man in his house.
Baio is the subject of more urban legends than Keyzer Soze. The thing is, there are so many great true stories about him that I would have a hard time disbelieving anything I heard. In a recent interview with Howard Stern (Howard, that class act, asked Baio if he could sniff his fingers), Baio was asked to tell "the Playboy story". Turns out, during the late '80s, Baio was the first man to be banned from the Playboy Mansion for making Hugh Hefner jealous. Read that sentence again. If I got cockblocked by HUGH FREAKING HEFNER, my ego would get so big that my head would swell up like Joseph Merrick.
The legend of Scott Baio has grown; that much is evident with a google search. He's something like a cult figure now, and it makes sense. To call him an underdog would be misleading, but it's hard to believe that the one man Hugh Hefner was scared to even let near his girlfriend(s) was the guy who played the nanny on "Charles in Charge". It's like how every year during March Madness, some tiny school pulls off an upset victory, and everyone starts rooting for them. In other words, Scott Baio is the people's champion. The word "swag" gets thrown around an awful lot these days, but...
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Eulogizing Shaq
Growing up, Shaquille O'Neal was my idol. Every other kid on the playground wanted to be Michael Jordan or Penny Hardaway, the athletic mid-sized players who could dart through the lane like a ferrari and walk to the basket on air. Not me. I wanted to be the 300-pound guy who swatted shots into the bleachers and broke backboards with his dunks. After years of trying, Shaq finally won his first title in 2000 and I was so giddy you would've thought I was the one hoisting that championship trophy in front of 15,000 people. I'd been watching basketball for about 7 years, but it was the first time I had something to celebrate at the end of the season. I watched him pick up a few more titles and suffer some heartbreaking defeats after that, unwavering in my support. But after 16 years of dominace, it appears Shaq is finally starting to break down.
Watching Jordan or Hardaway play was like observing a great actor deliver a rousing monologue. You're wowed by the precision and confidence in their every action, wondering what they're going to do next. Shaq in his prime was more like a cyclone leveling a city block. He'd back his man down and spin with a quickness that was unfair to give a seven-footer. This was almost always followed by a ferocious dunk with defenders hanging on him like a football player. "Force of Nature" is a cliche, but it's entirely appropriate here. That's why watching him lately has been downright depressing, like Superman getting beat up by Gerry Cooney. He fumbles passes, blows dunks, gets beaten for rebounds by players half a foot shorter and plays with the demeanor of a guy in a prison rec game who knows he has to go back to his cell at the end.
It'd be great if he could get back to his previous form, but it seems nearly impossible at this point. Shaq had a notorious aversion to off-season conditioning even back when he was undisputedly the best player in the game. Now, by all accounts, he works much harder, but it's too little too late. His stamina is shot, and his athleticism has waned to the point of nonexistence. True, he's going through a messy divorce, which even his coach admits is probably distracting him, but all the recent articles about Shaq's decline haven't been written for nothing.
Even as a kid, I could appreciate what I was watching and know that I might not see a player like Shaq for decades. On and off the court, he was unique. The one-liners he'd crack in press conferences with that monotone delivery that made you unsure if he was kidding or not. The ridiculous nicknames he'd give himself ("The Big Aristotle" was my favorite). The crappy rap albums that I still bought. "Kazaam". Off the court, he was a goofy, overgrown kid, but put him in a basketball game and he'd be out for blood.
Hopefully I'll forget what looks to be the undignified end of Shaq's career and still get to keep my memories of his better days. I can pretend his career ended in 2006, with the Heat winning the NBA title. I've already accepted this is the end of the line for Shaq. Here's hoping he gets the memo and retires gracefully.
Watching Jordan or Hardaway play was like observing a great actor deliver a rousing monologue. You're wowed by the precision and confidence in their every action, wondering what they're going to do next. Shaq in his prime was more like a cyclone leveling a city block. He'd back his man down and spin with a quickness that was unfair to give a seven-footer. This was almost always followed by a ferocious dunk with defenders hanging on him like a football player. "Force of Nature" is a cliche, but it's entirely appropriate here. That's why watching him lately has been downright depressing, like Superman getting beat up by Gerry Cooney. He fumbles passes, blows dunks, gets beaten for rebounds by players half a foot shorter and plays with the demeanor of a guy in a prison rec game who knows he has to go back to his cell at the end.
It'd be great if he could get back to his previous form, but it seems nearly impossible at this point. Shaq had a notorious aversion to off-season conditioning even back when he was undisputedly the best player in the game. Now, by all accounts, he works much harder, but it's too little too late. His stamina is shot, and his athleticism has waned to the point of nonexistence. True, he's going through a messy divorce, which even his coach admits is probably distracting him, but all the recent articles about Shaq's decline haven't been written for nothing.
Even as a kid, I could appreciate what I was watching and know that I might not see a player like Shaq for decades. On and off the court, he was unique. The one-liners he'd crack in press conferences with that monotone delivery that made you unsure if he was kidding or not. The ridiculous nicknames he'd give himself ("The Big Aristotle" was my favorite). The crappy rap albums that I still bought. "Kazaam". Off the court, he was a goofy, overgrown kid, but put him in a basketball game and he'd be out for blood.
Hopefully I'll forget what looks to be the undignified end of Shaq's career and still get to keep my memories of his better days. I can pretend his career ended in 2006, with the Heat winning the NBA title. I've already accepted this is the end of the line for Shaq. Here's hoping he gets the memo and retires gracefully.
Another Post About Jay-Z: The "American Gangster" Soundtrack
It's easy to draw a parallel between rappers and athletes. They can both make millions for their abilities if they play their cards right, but their success is almost always the fleeting kind. For every Brett Favre or Rakim who defies Father Time, there are a dozen others who reach a certain age and seemingly lose their talents overnight. When Jay-Z put out his ninth album, "Kingdom Come", last year, many thought he had become a casualty of this phenomenon. Listening to the self-proclaimed "Mike Jordan of rap" was like watching Jordan during his last couple of years playing basketball, when he seemed determined to destroy his legacy by overstaying his welcome. "Kingdom Come" was a midlife crisis on CD; songs like "30's the New 20" (he's nearly 40) were downright embarrassing. Hip hop is a young man's game, and Jay was too far past his prime to stick around and try to compete. Right?
Well, apparently not. Listening to Jay's latest album, the soundtrack to Ridley Scott's new film "American Gangster", it sounds like his flow's been dipped in the fountain of youth. He undoubtedly saw the critical beating "Kingdom Come" took, and rather than merely telling us he's the best as he did on that album, on "American Gangster" he decides to show us instead.
Throughout the album, haunting strings and gorgeous vocal samples intermingle with slick basslines and gritty drums, creating a musical backdrop somewhere between Stax and Motown. As the soundtrack to a gangster movie set in 1970s Harlem, it couldn't be more appropriate. Improbably, these beats were birthed by the King of Banality himself, Puffy Combs, and his in-house production team. Some of them, like "American Dreamin", which samples Marvin Gaye's voice on the chorus, are so striking that they overpower the rapping. And that's quite an accomplishment, because "American Gangster" finds Jay back to his old self lyrically.
When he's in a zone, Jay's effortless mastery of his craft is, well, Jordanesque, and like Michael, he's able to turn every performance into an event. "Hey young world, wanna hear a story?/Close your eyes and you can pretend you're me", he suggests on the opening track, before weaving an enthralling tale about his upbringing. On "Fallin", he makes the tired point that nothing lasts forever, but his attention to detail makes you hear the song in first person; it's so vivid you feel like you're actually caught up in it. And "Success" finds Jay rapping alongside former rival Nas and besting the great MC.
Jay saves his best performance for the instant classic, "Ignorant Sh*t". Utilizing the same Isley Brothers sample his friend Biggie Smalls employed on "Big Poppa", Jay defends rap against the negative stereotypes people associate with it, while wryly admitting that uplifting messages rarely sell hip hop music. Out of hundreds of songs, it ranks as one of his best.
"American Gangster" deserves to be mentioned as one of the top ten albums of the year, in any genre. It revitalizes Jay's career, and puts his name back among rap's elite. Even if it's an aberration he will never top for the rest of his career, it stands as a towering accomplishment in the face of a slew of doubters.
Well, apparently not. Listening to Jay's latest album, the soundtrack to Ridley Scott's new film "American Gangster", it sounds like his flow's been dipped in the fountain of youth. He undoubtedly saw the critical beating "Kingdom Come" took, and rather than merely telling us he's the best as he did on that album, on "American Gangster" he decides to show us instead.
Throughout the album, haunting strings and gorgeous vocal samples intermingle with slick basslines and gritty drums, creating a musical backdrop somewhere between Stax and Motown. As the soundtrack to a gangster movie set in 1970s Harlem, it couldn't be more appropriate. Improbably, these beats were birthed by the King of Banality himself, Puffy Combs, and his in-house production team. Some of them, like "American Dreamin", which samples Marvin Gaye's voice on the chorus, are so striking that they overpower the rapping. And that's quite an accomplishment, because "American Gangster" finds Jay back to his old self lyrically.
When he's in a zone, Jay's effortless mastery of his craft is, well, Jordanesque, and like Michael, he's able to turn every performance into an event. "Hey young world, wanna hear a story?/Close your eyes and you can pretend you're me", he suggests on the opening track, before weaving an enthralling tale about his upbringing. On "Fallin", he makes the tired point that nothing lasts forever, but his attention to detail makes you hear the song in first person; it's so vivid you feel like you're actually caught up in it. And "Success" finds Jay rapping alongside former rival Nas and besting the great MC.
Jay saves his best performance for the instant classic, "Ignorant Sh*t". Utilizing the same Isley Brothers sample his friend Biggie Smalls employed on "Big Poppa", Jay defends rap against the negative stereotypes people associate with it, while wryly admitting that uplifting messages rarely sell hip hop music. Out of hundreds of songs, it ranks as one of his best.
"American Gangster" deserves to be mentioned as one of the top ten albums of the year, in any genre. It revitalizes Jay's career, and puts his name back among rap's elite. Even if it's an aberration he will never top for the rest of his career, it stands as a towering accomplishment in the face of a slew of doubters.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The Sounds of Silence: Silence of the Lambs
Watching scary movies around Halloween is as American as baseball or obesity. I still remember being about 11 and watching "The Exorcist" at my friend Carleton's Halloween party, which was in September, for some reason. Around the point where Linda Blair is telling the priest that his mother sucks cocks in hell, Carleton's dad emerged from the darkness like a phantom, wearing a disgusting rubber mask. Naturally, we screamed our little preteen heads off. But even though he put the fear of God (fear of the devil?) into me, Carleton's dad had helped me reach a rite of passage. I started to like getting scared around Halloween.
The movie I keep coming back to in late October is something people will be watching around Halloween long after movies like "Saw" are collecting dust in bargain bins. I'm speaking of "Silence of the Lambs", a movie that isn't really a horror film. What it is is a profoundly disturbing thriller that invites queasiness into your stomach even as it leaves you wanting more.
Obviously, the main draw of "Silence of the Lambs" is Anthony Hopkins. In the '80s, another movie adaptation of one of Thomas Harris's series of novels about Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter featured Brian Cox in what would become Hopkins's signature role. But while Cox was menacingly cool, Hopkins's Lecter is theatrical and aggressive. It's clear why Hannibal Lecter became an icon after "Silence of the Lambs"; it's impossible to take your eyes off him while he's on screen.
Without taking away from the merits of underrated director Jonathan Demme, screenwriter Ted Tally or cinematographer Tak Fujimoto (check out his lighting during the scenes in Buffalo Bill's dungeon), "Silence" is ultimately successful because of the three lead performances. Of course, Hopkins is incredible as Lecter, but much has been said about Jodie Foster in the role of Clarice Starling as well. She's able to play tough and driven while displaying a lack of confidence underneath, making Starling more complex than the average movie Fed or cop. The forgotten man is Ted Levine, who actually comes close to stealing the show from Hopkins as the deranged "Buffalo Bill".
Levine's performance is the most fearless one I've ever seen; he savors his self-disgust, doing acts that must be terrifying to perform in front of a camera. You'd feel compassion for him, if he wasn't dancing around naked in garish, drag queen makeup, while a young woman is trapped in his homemade dungeon. The slightest thing, like how he smirks at Foster when she pulls her gun, or when he tugs on his shirt mimicking the screams of his hostage, can make your skin crawl. Levine was so good at being creepy that he became forever typecast. He doesn't get too many acting roles today, because no one can see him on screen without thinking of shimmying in the dark with his package out, whispering, "would you [blank] me?" to no one in particular.
With "Silence of the Lambs", Demme shows an incredible ability to ratchet up suspense. The scene where the police look for Lecter in a prison air vent is grab-your-armrest material. The climactic confrontation between Starling and Buffalo Bill, with its voyeuristic point-of-view camera work and eerie, green lighting, is even more exciting.
The pieces fit together to create an experience that almost goes beyond merely seeing a movie. Silence of the Lambs evokes fear, exhilaration and most of all, the sense that you're watching something people will love being spooked by for generations to come.
The movie I keep coming back to in late October is something people will be watching around Halloween long after movies like "Saw" are collecting dust in bargain bins. I'm speaking of "Silence of the Lambs", a movie that isn't really a horror film. What it is is a profoundly disturbing thriller that invites queasiness into your stomach even as it leaves you wanting more.
Obviously, the main draw of "Silence of the Lambs" is Anthony Hopkins. In the '80s, another movie adaptation of one of Thomas Harris's series of novels about Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter featured Brian Cox in what would become Hopkins's signature role. But while Cox was menacingly cool, Hopkins's Lecter is theatrical and aggressive. It's clear why Hannibal Lecter became an icon after "Silence of the Lambs"; it's impossible to take your eyes off him while he's on screen.
Without taking away from the merits of underrated director Jonathan Demme, screenwriter Ted Tally or cinematographer Tak Fujimoto (check out his lighting during the scenes in Buffalo Bill's dungeon), "Silence" is ultimately successful because of the three lead performances. Of course, Hopkins is incredible as Lecter, but much has been said about Jodie Foster in the role of Clarice Starling as well. She's able to play tough and driven while displaying a lack of confidence underneath, making Starling more complex than the average movie Fed or cop. The forgotten man is Ted Levine, who actually comes close to stealing the show from Hopkins as the deranged "Buffalo Bill".
Levine's performance is the most fearless one I've ever seen; he savors his self-disgust, doing acts that must be terrifying to perform in front of a camera. You'd feel compassion for him, if he wasn't dancing around naked in garish, drag queen makeup, while a young woman is trapped in his homemade dungeon. The slightest thing, like how he smirks at Foster when she pulls her gun, or when he tugs on his shirt mimicking the screams of his hostage, can make your skin crawl. Levine was so good at being creepy that he became forever typecast. He doesn't get too many acting roles today, because no one can see him on screen without thinking of shimmying in the dark with his package out, whispering, "would you [blank] me?" to no one in particular.
With "Silence of the Lambs", Demme shows an incredible ability to ratchet up suspense. The scene where the police look for Lecter in a prison air vent is grab-your-armrest material. The climactic confrontation between Starling and Buffalo Bill, with its voyeuristic point-of-view camera work and eerie, green lighting, is even more exciting.
The pieces fit together to create an experience that almost goes beyond merely seeing a movie. Silence of the Lambs evokes fear, exhilaration and most of all, the sense that you're watching something people will love being spooked by for generations to come.
Ya-Ta! There's still hope for "Heroes"
"Heroes" was one of my favorite entertainment stories of last year, a great water cooler show that was actually worthy of all the hype. This year, I've been disappointed, to put it mildly. But just when it seemed like the show had succumbed to the dreaded "sophomore slump", "Heroes" finally has its swag back.
"Heroes" had been the biggest cocktease since Kim Kardashian during its second season, giving the viewer roughly five minutes of brilliance (and thus, hope) every episode and surrounding it with 35 minutes of filler. Just when it looked like they'd painted themselves into a corner, the brain trust behind Tim Kring's show is starting to make things interesting again.
I'm not going to review the last episode, other than to say it was great and went a long way in renewing my faith in this series. I'm just going to make some observations and predictions. Obviously, if you don't watch the show, this will all sound like gibberish.
RANDOM OBSERVATIONS
-Either Parkman's dad isn't the bad mother (shut your mouth!) we thought he was, or Kensei is so powerful he can keep him under his thumb. Both are probably true. It looks like they're setting Parkman up to become really powerful; otherwise he couldn't have bested his supposedly unstoppable father Monday night.
-Speaking of Parkman, I'm getting really sick of that pansy. There are a few superfluous characters on "Heroes", but none annoy me as much as him. He's not a lovable loser; he's just a loser. He got punked by his wife. He got punked by the Fed chick he worked with in season one. He got punked by Angela Patrelli after trying to read her mind, and by his own father while trying to read his. Sylar nearly killed him because he was stupid and thought he could be the hero he always wanted to be. He even got sonned by little Mollie Mapquest, who probably likes Mohinder better anyway. If he couldn't read minds, he'd handing out speeding tickets, and even with this incredible power, he was thought of as a joke by every other cop. And if you get thrown through a window by the third female lead from "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back", you will always be a punk. His "My Two Dads" situation with Mohinder and Mollie shatters what writer Bill Simmons refers to as the Unintentional Comedy Scale. Their predicament is like a bad sitcom.
-The guy that plays Bob is a terrible actor. Just God-awful.
-Mohinder snitching on Claire's dad was even dumber than him bringing Mollie to the company.
-I heart Claire
FEARLESS PREDICTIONS
-Peter and Sylar get their grudge match, with amnesia'ed-out "Peter Bourne" working for Kensei without knowing better and Sylar fighting with the "good guys" on some Magneto shit. Sylar also won't kill the Honduran Wonder Twins, although he will really want to.
-Parkman's Dad, who my friends call "Fatty Krueger", will be back, but he really isn't as interesting now that all the build up is finished and we've been introduced to the guy.
-Hiro will be really depressed for quite awhile.
-Claire's flying Peeping Tom boyfriend will turn evil.
-Claire's dad gets murked by either Flying Boy or Mohinder (probably Flying Boy), but not before doing something reprehensible the others find out about.
-The Invisible Man from season 1 comes back
-Kristen Bell (forget the name of her character) is Kensei's daughter. She and Peter will have a showdown and there will be sexual tension for everyone.
-Sylar dies, possibly doing something heroic.
-Hiro will be the one to kill Kensei in the end.
-I like talking about this show way too much.
"Heroes" had been the biggest cocktease since Kim Kardashian during its second season, giving the viewer roughly five minutes of brilliance (and thus, hope) every episode and surrounding it with 35 minutes of filler. Just when it looked like they'd painted themselves into a corner, the brain trust behind Tim Kring's show is starting to make things interesting again.
I'm not going to review the last episode, other than to say it was great and went a long way in renewing my faith in this series. I'm just going to make some observations and predictions. Obviously, if you don't watch the show, this will all sound like gibberish.
RANDOM OBSERVATIONS
-Either Parkman's dad isn't the bad mother (shut your mouth!) we thought he was, or Kensei is so powerful he can keep him under his thumb. Both are probably true. It looks like they're setting Parkman up to become really powerful; otherwise he couldn't have bested his supposedly unstoppable father Monday night.
-Speaking of Parkman, I'm getting really sick of that pansy. There are a few superfluous characters on "Heroes", but none annoy me as much as him. He's not a lovable loser; he's just a loser. He got punked by his wife. He got punked by the Fed chick he worked with in season one. He got punked by Angela Patrelli after trying to read her mind, and by his own father while trying to read his. Sylar nearly killed him because he was stupid and thought he could be the hero he always wanted to be. He even got sonned by little Mollie Mapquest, who probably likes Mohinder better anyway. If he couldn't read minds, he'd handing out speeding tickets, and even with this incredible power, he was thought of as a joke by every other cop. And if you get thrown through a window by the third female lead from "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back", you will always be a punk. His "My Two Dads" situation with Mohinder and Mollie shatters what writer Bill Simmons refers to as the Unintentional Comedy Scale. Their predicament is like a bad sitcom.
-The guy that plays Bob is a terrible actor. Just God-awful.
-Mohinder snitching on Claire's dad was even dumber than him bringing Mollie to the company.
-I heart Claire
FEARLESS PREDICTIONS
-Peter and Sylar get their grudge match, with amnesia'ed-out "Peter Bourne" working for Kensei without knowing better and Sylar fighting with the "good guys" on some Magneto shit. Sylar also won't kill the Honduran Wonder Twins, although he will really want to.
-Parkman's Dad, who my friends call "Fatty Krueger", will be back, but he really isn't as interesting now that all the build up is finished and we've been introduced to the guy.
-Hiro will be really depressed for quite awhile.
-Claire's flying Peeping Tom boyfriend will turn evil.
-Claire's dad gets murked by either Flying Boy or Mohinder (probably Flying Boy), but not before doing something reprehensible the others find out about.
-The Invisible Man from season 1 comes back
-Kristen Bell (forget the name of her character) is Kensei's daughter. She and Peter will have a showdown and there will be sexual tension for everyone.
-Sylar dies, possibly doing something heroic.
-Hiro will be the one to kill Kensei in the end.
-I like talking about this show way too much.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Feeling the Heat
The NBA season tipped off a couple of days ago, which meant a fresh start for my Miami Heat. The Heat struggled just to make the playoffs last year and were unceremoniously eliminated in the first round by the Chicago Bulls. Widespread changes were called for, but other than lose three key players from last year's team (Jason Kapono, James Posey and Eddie Jones), the only moves Miami made were to acquire documented head cases Ricky Davis, Smush Parker and Mark Blount, all of whom have talent, although they possess the collective maturity of Larry David. With the season underway and the Heat having limped to an 0-3 start, I thought now would be a good time to take a look at what's going wrong and well in Miami.
The Bad
-With our star Dwyane Wade injured, the Heat are incapable of winning close games. Miami can keep pace until the final minutes, but then opponents pull away. The once-great Shaquille O'Neal is rendered impotent at the end of games due to his poor free throw shooting and the fact that his frequent foul trouble often keeps him off the court. This leaves Davis to be Miami's primary scorer toward the end of games, which is a problem because he tends to get too excited in pressure situations and take bad shots or turn over the ball.
-The Heats scorers run hot and cold. Shaq is still capable of exploding on occasion, but he's lost a lot of quickness, he can't maintain a high energy level, and he struggles with fouls. Davis, Smush, Jason Williams and Udonis Haslem are all capable of making it rain from the perimeter, but they're either on fire or missing every shot they take; there's no medium.
-We have absolutely no point guard depth. Smush Parker must be even more of an idiot than I thought to already be out of the rotation 3 games into the season, especially when the only alternative is Chris Quinn. The under-talented Quinn may end up playing a lot of minutes, particularly due to the fragile health of starter Jason Williams. Step your game up, Smush.
-With Wade's extended absence, the team may go through some rough patches, and that could put them in the position of having to fight just to make it to the playoffs when he gets back.
The Good
-Rookie Daquean Cook looks like he might be able to make an impact this season. Everyone knew he could shoot the lights out, but the consensus was that he was too raw to contribute this season. It's good seeing him get minutes, because coach Pat Riley really needs to have confidence in a rookie to give him a shot.
-Young Dorrell Wright is finally starting to make use of some of his potential. After a horrendous preseason, I was ready to give up on him, but Wright has been solid so far and could get much better. He's athletic, can rebound and has the makings of a good defender, which means he could be very valuable to the Heat.
-Former All-Star Penny Hardaway, who'd been out of the league two years and was widely considered washed up, has had his moments so far. Seeing as how he was a long shot to even make the team, this has to come as a positive.
-Once Wade comes back, the team is better tenfold. Not only is he a great player, he makes everyone else on the Heat raise their levels of play as well. The attention he draws from defenders frees up teammates, getting them open shots. He also fills the role of the fourth-quarter scorer Miami needs.
Miami will definitely struggle until Wade returns from his injury and works his way back into shape, but the good news is, if Wade plays as well as he had the previous two years, Miami instantly becomes a title contender. I'm intrigued to see how my team does over the course of the season.
By the way, expect a lot of basketball posts from now on.
The Bad
-With our star Dwyane Wade injured, the Heat are incapable of winning close games. Miami can keep pace until the final minutes, but then opponents pull away. The once-great Shaquille O'Neal is rendered impotent at the end of games due to his poor free throw shooting and the fact that his frequent foul trouble often keeps him off the court. This leaves Davis to be Miami's primary scorer toward the end of games, which is a problem because he tends to get too excited in pressure situations and take bad shots or turn over the ball.
-The Heats scorers run hot and cold. Shaq is still capable of exploding on occasion, but he's lost a lot of quickness, he can't maintain a high energy level, and he struggles with fouls. Davis, Smush, Jason Williams and Udonis Haslem are all capable of making it rain from the perimeter, but they're either on fire or missing every shot they take; there's no medium.
-We have absolutely no point guard depth. Smush Parker must be even more of an idiot than I thought to already be out of the rotation 3 games into the season, especially when the only alternative is Chris Quinn. The under-talented Quinn may end up playing a lot of minutes, particularly due to the fragile health of starter Jason Williams. Step your game up, Smush.
-With Wade's extended absence, the team may go through some rough patches, and that could put them in the position of having to fight just to make it to the playoffs when he gets back.
The Good
-Rookie Daquean Cook looks like he might be able to make an impact this season. Everyone knew he could shoot the lights out, but the consensus was that he was too raw to contribute this season. It's good seeing him get minutes, because coach Pat Riley really needs to have confidence in a rookie to give him a shot.
-Young Dorrell Wright is finally starting to make use of some of his potential. After a horrendous preseason, I was ready to give up on him, but Wright has been solid so far and could get much better. He's athletic, can rebound and has the makings of a good defender, which means he could be very valuable to the Heat.
-Former All-Star Penny Hardaway, who'd been out of the league two years and was widely considered washed up, has had his moments so far. Seeing as how he was a long shot to even make the team, this has to come as a positive.
-Once Wade comes back, the team is better tenfold. Not only is he a great player, he makes everyone else on the Heat raise their levels of play as well. The attention he draws from defenders frees up teammates, getting them open shots. He also fills the role of the fourth-quarter scorer Miami needs.
Miami will definitely struggle until Wade returns from his injury and works his way back into shape, but the good news is, if Wade plays as well as he had the previous two years, Miami instantly becomes a title contender. I'm intrigued to see how my team does over the course of the season.
By the way, expect a lot of basketball posts from now on.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Ways to fix Heroes
-Ditch all the high school stuff with Claire. I don't care about her flying stalker boyfriend or that stuckup cheerleader who looks and talks like she should be in a direct-to-video sequel to "Bring it On". Hopefully they're building to something with the flying kid; we already know about his connection to Claire's dad, but they have yet to actually explore that situation. If they're gonna waste so much time on this sub-"Welcome to the Dollhouse" high school misfit bullshit with Claire, there better be some sort of payoff with flying boy.
-More of Claire's dad, more Sylar. These two are really carrying the show right now. Last season, the only storyline I didn't enjoy was Ali Larter's, with her split-personalities, bad acting and annoying, jheri-curled kid. This season, even the characters I like are getting dragged down by the lame plots they end up in the middle of. But these two ruthless bastards are such good characters that the malaise that seems to be affecting everyone else on the show doesn't touch them.
-Parkman's dad needs to be amazing. When little Mollie Mapquest's "boogieman" was revealed to be the father of Parkman, the perpetually pushed around sad-sack cop, it seemed like a clever idea . This "boogieman" had been built up to the point that you would think he was Lucifer living in Philadelphia, and the notion of the soft, incompetent, Parkman being fathered by a hardhearted demon is a cool one. Hopefully, Poppa Parkman gets a healthy ammount of screen time and remains as
interesting as he was in his first appearance.
-N'Awlins girl has potential, but I could see her situation being mishandled as well. Being able to mimic any action you see is an amazing ability, so why is she wasting it learning to play double dutch and carve tomato roses? Watching the scene with her jumping rope intercut with li'l Soul Glo Micah looking at her with that goofy grin is a memory I will try desperately to repress for the rest of my life.
-This "Peter Bourne" crap needs to stop. For a show that used to be so original, this whole "let's give Peter Amnesia" angle is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. At least he's finally leaving his fake-ass "Boondocks Saints" friends in Ireland. The Lucky Charms leprechaun sounds more Irish than they do. Here's hoping he and Sylar get a rematch and Sylar kills him. It works for everyone-it's a shocker for the people watching at home, Sylar becomes an even better villain, Milo Ventimiglia gets to go on to doing movies, where he could be pretty successful, and "Heroes" jettisons a terrible actor. I haven't seen them in awhile, but I didn't notice dude being that bad in "Rocky Balboa" or the first season of "Heroes". Lately, he's been the worst actor on the show that didn't appear in Varsity Blues wearing a whip cream bikini.
-Kristen Bell needs to appear as much as possible. Only good things on a number of levels could come out of that.
I really don't know what I want to come out of the Sylar/Wonder Twins situation, but I think it's a promising one.
-More of Claire's dad, more Sylar. These two are really carrying the show right now. Last season, the only storyline I didn't enjoy was Ali Larter's, with her split-personalities, bad acting and annoying, jheri-curled kid. This season, even the characters I like are getting dragged down by the lame plots they end up in the middle of. But these two ruthless bastards are such good characters that the malaise that seems to be affecting everyone else on the show doesn't touch them.
-Parkman's dad needs to be amazing. When little Mollie Mapquest's "boogieman" was revealed to be the father of Parkman, the perpetually pushed around sad-sack cop, it seemed like a clever idea . This "boogieman" had been built up to the point that you would think he was Lucifer living in Philadelphia, and the notion of the soft, incompetent, Parkman being fathered by a hardhearted demon is a cool one. Hopefully, Poppa Parkman gets a healthy ammount of screen time and remains as
interesting as he was in his first appearance.
-N'Awlins girl has potential, but I could see her situation being mishandled as well. Being able to mimic any action you see is an amazing ability, so why is she wasting it learning to play double dutch and carve tomato roses? Watching the scene with her jumping rope intercut with li'l Soul Glo Micah looking at her with that goofy grin is a memory I will try desperately to repress for the rest of my life.
-This "Peter Bourne" crap needs to stop. For a show that used to be so original, this whole "let's give Peter Amnesia" angle is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. At least he's finally leaving his fake-ass "Boondocks Saints" friends in Ireland. The Lucky Charms leprechaun sounds more Irish than they do. Here's hoping he and Sylar get a rematch and Sylar kills him. It works for everyone-it's a shocker for the people watching at home, Sylar becomes an even better villain, Milo Ventimiglia gets to go on to doing movies, where he could be pretty successful, and "Heroes" jettisons a terrible actor. I haven't seen them in awhile, but I didn't notice dude being that bad in "Rocky Balboa" or the first season of "Heroes". Lately, he's been the worst actor on the show that didn't appear in Varsity Blues wearing a whip cream bikini.
-Kristen Bell needs to appear as much as possible. Only good things on a number of levels could come out of that.
I really don't know what I want to come out of the Sylar/Wonder Twins situation, but I think it's a promising one.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
I don't even know what to say about this one.
I watched this three times in a row and I'm still speechless. The Steve Nash part had me dying.
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1772261
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1772261
Friday, October 26, 2007
T-Pain
Turn on the radio to any given station at any given time and there's a good chance the first thing you'll hear is T-Pain "singing". If you want a hit record nowadays, it's who you go see. I say "it" because you can tell from the sound of its voice that T-Pain is obviously some sort of robot. Maybe it's a man who "speaks" electronically like Stephen Hawking. But whatever it is, it's pissing me off.
Kanye West featuring T-Pain. R. Kelly featuring T-Pain. Chris Brown featuring T-Pain. Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band featuring T-Pain. The airwaves are a sea of neverending nasal, autotuned vocals, all performed by one "man". I can't even explain T-Pain's popularity. Ever since it came out with that awful "In Love With a Stripper" song two years ago, I've hated that little cyborg. (I had a funny little story to go along with this, but then I realized I don't really want it in print. Use your imagination.) Regrettably, this would not be my last experience with T-Pain.
Now, T-Pain (it even has a name, Faheem Najm, which doesn't explain where the "T" comes from) rules the radio, and thinking about why could make your head spin. It sounds like Akon trying to sing with his head underwater, which actually might be why people enjoy its music. It's like Ricky Martin and Enrique Eglasias; they both suck, but one of them made something catchy enough to become popular, and the other person just copied them and achieved the same result. At least Akon's "Don't Matter" song was kinda cool, and "Soul Survivor" with Young Jeezy will be looked upon by future generations as a masterpiece. By comparison, T-Pain crafts songs like that inescapable "SHE MOVE HER BODY LIKE A CYYYYYCLOOOONNNEEE!" bullshit, songs that make me want to stab myself in the ear with a corkscrew.
Fun fact: According to Wikipedia, T-Pain's children's names are Lyriq and Muziq.
Kanye West featuring T-Pain. R. Kelly featuring T-Pain. Chris Brown featuring T-Pain. Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band featuring T-Pain. The airwaves are a sea of neverending nasal, autotuned vocals, all performed by one "man". I can't even explain T-Pain's popularity. Ever since it came out with that awful "In Love With a Stripper" song two years ago, I've hated that little cyborg. (I had a funny little story to go along with this, but then I realized I don't really want it in print. Use your imagination.) Regrettably, this would not be my last experience with T-Pain.
Now, T-Pain (it even has a name, Faheem Najm, which doesn't explain where the "T" comes from) rules the radio, and thinking about why could make your head spin. It sounds like Akon trying to sing with his head underwater, which actually might be why people enjoy its music. It's like Ricky Martin and Enrique Eglasias; they both suck, but one of them made something catchy enough to become popular, and the other person just copied them and achieved the same result. At least Akon's "Don't Matter" song was kinda cool, and "Soul Survivor" with Young Jeezy will be looked upon by future generations as a masterpiece. By comparison, T-Pain crafts songs like that inescapable "SHE MOVE HER BODY LIKE A CYYYYYCLOOOONNNEEE!" bullshit, songs that make me want to stab myself in the ear with a corkscrew.
Fun fact: According to Wikipedia, T-Pain's children's names are Lyriq and Muziq.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Latest from Bonanza City
Kid Nation was back on the air tonight, which meant I was putting off my homework and ignoring any phone calls from about 6:30-8:00. The show has gotten progressively more interesting, as characters we barely knew at the beginning started to reveal themselves and new dynamics have began to emerge within the group. We've been introduced to DK (an older kid who is generally beloved in Bonanza City), Zack (a born leader and the founder of the Jew Crew.), Emilie (a wannabe PETA member who ironically looks like she spends a lot of time at KFC) and Jared (the comic relief and probable future Jew Crew leader). But the kid who's made the largest impact on Kid Nation aside from the group council is Greg, a cocky 15 year old who can't seem to decide whether he wants to better his society or terrorize the other kids. His long running rift with then-council member Mike created palpable tension every time they were on screen together, something you wouldn't expect from a show about a bunch of kids too young to be in Algebra I.
And the twists keep coming. Entitled snob Taylor got voted off the council in favor of the decidedly less bitchy Zach, but not before she established herself as a terrifically entertaining villain. In between reminding everyone over and over that she was a beauty queen, Taylor spent her time on the council shouting insults and orders at other kids while running away from her own responsibilities. As I said in my first Kid Nation post, the best thing about most reality shows is stupid beef and Taylor's knack for pissing people off made for great television.
Incidentally, the show's producers obviously realize the appeal of shows like this centers around the conflict and drama that insues (and usually the sex, but that probably isn't going down in Bonanza City). They pit the kids against each other in situations that are truly despicable at times. In one episode, the council consults the Old Pioneer Journal left behind by those CBS executives who apparently roamed the old west with the idea that they should write a Bonaza City owner's manual some kids could use 150 years down the line. This journal actually suggested the council cajole the other kids into having a pan-theological religious ceremony. Shockingly, that led to all kinds of conflict, including more jaw dropping anti-Semitism than a weekend with David Duke.
The powers-that-be also stir things up by putting the kids into teams and pitting them against each other in bizarre challenges. Tonight, they had to find tin cans submerged under gallons of baked beans in a giant vat filled with pigs. No, really. Even better than the actual challenges are the prizes the kids earn from victory. They get to choose between two rewards, one of which is always useful and practical, the other a ridiculous luxury item only a child would pick in that situation. Surprisingly, they've been pretty responsible. Good for them, because if they had taken the heated water slide over the outhouse, it would have caused even more wailing and gnashing of teeth. Bad for me, because that's what I want out of a show like this. Kid Nation continues to pull out all the stops for the benefit of the viewer. Stripping children of their dignity has never been so fun.
And the twists keep coming. Entitled snob Taylor got voted off the council in favor of the decidedly less bitchy Zach, but not before she established herself as a terrifically entertaining villain. In between reminding everyone over and over that she was a beauty queen, Taylor spent her time on the council shouting insults and orders at other kids while running away from her own responsibilities. As I said in my first Kid Nation post, the best thing about most reality shows is stupid beef and Taylor's knack for pissing people off made for great television.
Incidentally, the show's producers obviously realize the appeal of shows like this centers around the conflict and drama that insues (and usually the sex, but that probably isn't going down in Bonanza City). They pit the kids against each other in situations that are truly despicable at times. In one episode, the council consults the Old Pioneer Journal left behind by those CBS executives who apparently roamed the old west with the idea that they should write a Bonaza City owner's manual some kids could use 150 years down the line. This journal actually suggested the council cajole the other kids into having a pan-theological religious ceremony. Shockingly, that led to all kinds of conflict, including more jaw dropping anti-Semitism than a weekend with David Duke.
The powers-that-be also stir things up by putting the kids into teams and pitting them against each other in bizarre challenges. Tonight, they had to find tin cans submerged under gallons of baked beans in a giant vat filled with pigs. No, really. Even better than the actual challenges are the prizes the kids earn from victory. They get to choose between two rewards, one of which is always useful and practical, the other a ridiculous luxury item only a child would pick in that situation. Surprisingly, they've been pretty responsible. Good for them, because if they had taken the heated water slide over the outhouse, it would have caused even more wailing and gnashing of teeth. Bad for me, because that's what I want out of a show like this. Kid Nation continues to pull out all the stops for the benefit of the viewer. Stripping children of their dignity has never been so fun.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The University of Hip Hop
(Don't waste your time reading to this if you don't listen to a lot of rap. Seriously.)
Years from now, when Russell Simmonds creates The University of Hip Hop (and Dame Dash founds the first Hip Hop Community College), aspiring musicians will come running to get the training they need to survive in a cutthroat industry. There would be all the expected courses about hip hop culture and history, song writing, B-Boying, DJ'ing and so on, but there are also opportunities to have classes covering more specific areas of expertise. Other courses could include:
-Accurately Quoting Drug Prices in Song (with Professor T.I.)
-Teaching Yourself to Sound Like an Ig'nant Thug Ass Headbussa When You Have a Masters Degree (with Professor David Banner and guest lecturer Plies)
-Adlibbing 101 (with Professor Young Jeezy) "THAAAASSS RIIIIGGGHHTTT!"
-Breaking into George Clinton's House to Steal Clothes (with Professor Andre Benjamin)
-Whining About the Same F*cking Girl Over and Over (with Professor Slug)
-Rapping About Oral Sex (with Professor Lil Kim)
-The Art of the Publicity Stunt (with Professor 50 Cent)
In addition to the wide array of courses they offer, The University of Hip Hop would attract a who’s who of big name guest speakers:
Sean “Puffy” Combs will give a detailed business plan for using your legendary dead best-friend rapper’s memory to sell records.
Jay-Z will give a lecture on why it’s a bad idea to piss off Nas.
And, before midterms, Method Man and Redman will host a seminar on remembering your lyrics when you’re high.
If there is a God, I will be around to see this university open its doors.
Years from now, when Russell Simmonds creates The University of Hip Hop (and Dame Dash founds the first Hip Hop Community College), aspiring musicians will come running to get the training they need to survive in a cutthroat industry. There would be all the expected courses about hip hop culture and history, song writing, B-Boying, DJ'ing and so on, but there are also opportunities to have classes covering more specific areas of expertise. Other courses could include:
-Accurately Quoting Drug Prices in Song (with Professor T.I.)
-Teaching Yourself to Sound Like an Ig'nant Thug Ass Headbussa When You Have a Masters Degree (with Professor David Banner and guest lecturer Plies)
-Adlibbing 101 (with Professor Young Jeezy) "THAAAASSS RIIIIGGGHHTTT!"
-Breaking into George Clinton's House to Steal Clothes (with Professor Andre Benjamin)
-Whining About the Same F*cking Girl Over and Over (with Professor Slug)
-Rapping About Oral Sex (with Professor Lil Kim)
-The Art of the Publicity Stunt (with Professor 50 Cent)
In addition to the wide array of courses they offer, The University of Hip Hop would attract a who’s who of big name guest speakers:
Sean “Puffy” Combs will give a detailed business plan for using your legendary dead best-friend rapper’s memory to sell records.
Jay-Z will give a lecture on why it’s a bad idea to piss off Nas.
And, before midterms, Method Man and Redman will host a seminar on remembering your lyrics when you’re high.
If there is a God, I will be around to see this university open its doors.
Critiquing the Arts Class Review--"It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"
"It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" is a show about people so vain, venal and vile that, when an episode ends, you find yourself thanking the heavens that it's only a TV show. They backstab and bitch, wave guns at each other (sometimes) and smoke crack (well, one time). And it's funny.
"Sunny" centers around Mac, Dennis and Charlie, three guys who own a bar in a certain Pennsylvania town, along with Dennis's sister, Sweet Dee, and the always entertaining Danny DeVito, who plays Dee and Dennis's dad. They're superficial and self-centered in the same manner of the characters on "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm", but even nastier. Other than "South Park", there's no other show capable of pulling so many laughs from such downright mean material.
Most of the plots that showcase the kind of sick humor "Sunny" is so good at can't be described in this blog. In fact, some of the episode titles are probably unprintable here. But a constant is the bickering of the "friends" who screw over each other in ways that are usually horrifying and hilarious at the same time.
And while the characters are morally loathsome, the actors manage to make them likable in a strange sort of way. Charlie, the George Costanza of "Sunny", would be nothing but obnoxious on a lesser show, but actor Charlie Day makes his annoying, sleazy, ignorant character very entertaining. In a recent episode, he gets to show off his singing skills, belting out a love song about the "night man" who sneaks into his room while he sleeps with an earnestness that would be hard for any actor to pull off. Even the hyperactive DeVito can't match Charlie's demented energy, but the two play off each other perfectly, with DeVito's character Frank using his gift for manipulation to put the dimwitted Charlie into all sorts of undesirable situations for Frank's benefit.
"Sunny" mines humor from the things we're taught not to laugh at at a very young age. Abortion. Mental retardation. Untimely death. Drug addiction. Just about everything is fair game, and fortunately, it's done well enough that it manages to be clever, at times almost brilliant, in its tastelessness. Sure, it's mean-spirited when Frank tells his own daughter he can help her become a local politician (so he can pull strings from behind the scenes), but only if she can "trick people" into thinking she's smart and pretty. And it's a little cruel to make a running joke out of Charlie's dyslexia, but it pays off for moments like when he shows Mac the lyric sheet to the aforementioned "Night Man" and there's nothing on the paper but some scribbles of stick figures, a backwards crescent moon and what looks like some sort of beetle. It's pretty funny, as far as learning disabilities go. "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" needs to be seen once, if only to be believed. Also, this is as a good a point as any for me to say that if you ever wanted to see Danny DeVito on acid firing a pistol, watching this show may be your only chance.
"Sunny" centers around Mac, Dennis and Charlie, three guys who own a bar in a certain Pennsylvania town, along with Dennis's sister, Sweet Dee, and the always entertaining Danny DeVito, who plays Dee and Dennis's dad. They're superficial and self-centered in the same manner of the characters on "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm", but even nastier. Other than "South Park", there's no other show capable of pulling so many laughs from such downright mean material.
Most of the plots that showcase the kind of sick humor "Sunny" is so good at can't be described in this blog. In fact, some of the episode titles are probably unprintable here. But a constant is the bickering of the "friends" who screw over each other in ways that are usually horrifying and hilarious at the same time.
And while the characters are morally loathsome, the actors manage to make them likable in a strange sort of way. Charlie, the George Costanza of "Sunny", would be nothing but obnoxious on a lesser show, but actor Charlie Day makes his annoying, sleazy, ignorant character very entertaining. In a recent episode, he gets to show off his singing skills, belting out a love song about the "night man" who sneaks into his room while he sleeps with an earnestness that would be hard for any actor to pull off. Even the hyperactive DeVito can't match Charlie's demented energy, but the two play off each other perfectly, with DeVito's character Frank using his gift for manipulation to put the dimwitted Charlie into all sorts of undesirable situations for Frank's benefit.
"Sunny" mines humor from the things we're taught not to laugh at at a very young age. Abortion. Mental retardation. Untimely death. Drug addiction. Just about everything is fair game, and fortunately, it's done well enough that it manages to be clever, at times almost brilliant, in its tastelessness. Sure, it's mean-spirited when Frank tells his own daughter he can help her become a local politician (so he can pull strings from behind the scenes), but only if she can "trick people" into thinking she's smart and pretty. And it's a little cruel to make a running joke out of Charlie's dyslexia, but it pays off for moments like when he shows Mac the lyric sheet to the aforementioned "Night Man" and there's nothing on the paper but some scribbles of stick figures, a backwards crescent moon and what looks like some sort of beetle. It's pretty funny, as far as learning disabilities go. "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" needs to be seen once, if only to be believed. Also, this is as a good a point as any for me to say that if you ever wanted to see Danny DeVito on acid firing a pistol, watching this show may be your only chance.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Travis vs. Computer Class Part II
As I've previously mentioned, I absolutely can't tolerate computer class. Computers just don't make sense to me, and people always fear what they understand. I hate it more than Jesse Jackson hates Jews, more than Tina hates Ike, more than Salieri hates Mozart. I have nightmares about HTML codes and .jpeg files. If I ever end up applying what I've learned in this class to a real world situation, it means I've taken a job I can't stand. If you're a computer programer or a website designer, I completely agree that Problem Solving With Computers should be a required class. But I would be stunned if I use the information I've learned for anything other than answering questions on the test. I might have to drop it, but I'll give it awhile longer. I'd hate to be defeated by a freaking computer.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Critiquing the Arts Class Review--Jay-Z: "Reasonable Doubt"
Jay-Z wants to relive his past. He's doing the soundtrack to the upcoming Denzel Washington/Russell Crowe movie "American Gangster", and in keeping with the film's gritty nature, Jay has promised to deliver a dark, uncompromising album in the vein of the music he made early in his career. He's said to be looking to his first album, 1996's "Reasonable Doubt", for inspiration and it's not hard to see why. "American Gangster" is the story of an infamous drug dealer's rise to power. "Reasonable Doubt" tells a similar story, reflecting on the days when a young Shawn Carter was was supporting himself through the narcotic trade, before he went on to wealth, fame and Beyonce as Jay-Z. If he has to look to his youth to inspire him for "American Gangster", Jay couldn't ask for a better blueprint than "Reasonable Doubt".
While Jay-Z's later albums reflected the viewpoint of a man on top of the world, "Reasonable Doubt" was a portrait of the artist as a struggling hoodlum, sharing his past with the listener while looking toward the future with guarded optimism. Jay was a nobody searching for a foothold in the overcrowded New York rap scene when the album came out. "Reasonable Doubt" wouldn't match the sales of his later output, but those who heard it were blown away. As the album garnered more attention through word of mouth, Jay-Z was suddenly being mentioned alongside legends like Nas and Biggie Smalls as a future cornerstone of the east coast hip hop movement.
The album’s subject matter isn't exactly groundbreaking. Countless MCs before and since have talked about selling drugs, packing guns and being forced to do anything to survive, usually after they've moved out to the suburbs and left behind the conditions that they rapped about. But it's his style, not his subject matter, that gives Jay's music far more impact than the routine gangsta fare currently being cranked out by record labels. He has an understated brashness about him, not like 2Pac's fiery bravado or T.I.'s leering cockiness. Jay's style is more laid back, but still commandingly confident. He's pure James Bond; he knows he's the coolest one in the room and doesn't need to be loud or flashy to prove it.
The beats on "Reasonable Doubt", done by a slew of talented producers, are soulful and sinister at the same time. "Can I Live" is powered by a sample of Isaac Hayes's epic song "The Look of Love", and the beat is the perfect canvas for Jay to paint his intriguing pictures of the illegal life. "Brooklyn's Finest", his collaboration with Biggie Smalls, the self-proclaimed "King of New York" whose throne Jay would one day inherit, has a beat filled with off-kilter piano keys and harmonious wails taken from an old Ohio Players record. The album's high point, "Can't Knock the Hustle", is built around a sample of Melissa Morgan's lush "Fool's Paradise", deftly borrowing from Morgan's song instead of pillaging it.
Over these beats, on which a less capable MC would be hopelessly overmatched, Jay switches up his style effortlessly to match the emotion of each particular song. He tugs heartstrings on the wistful "Regrets", pumps pure adrenaline on "22 Twos" and releases his inner anguish on "D'Evils", lyrically and musically the bleakest song on an album with plenty of competition. His witty double (occasionally triple) entendres, intricate metaphors and seen-it-all swagger are on full display on "Reasonable Doubt". If Jay wants to give "American Gangster" a similar sound, he'll have his work cut out for him trying to recapture the magic of his debut.
While Jay-Z's later albums reflected the viewpoint of a man on top of the world, "Reasonable Doubt" was a portrait of the artist as a struggling hoodlum, sharing his past with the listener while looking toward the future with guarded optimism. Jay was a nobody searching for a foothold in the overcrowded New York rap scene when the album came out. "Reasonable Doubt" wouldn't match the sales of his later output, but those who heard it were blown away. As the album garnered more attention through word of mouth, Jay-Z was suddenly being mentioned alongside legends like Nas and Biggie Smalls as a future cornerstone of the east coast hip hop movement.
The album’s subject matter isn't exactly groundbreaking. Countless MCs before and since have talked about selling drugs, packing guns and being forced to do anything to survive, usually after they've moved out to the suburbs and left behind the conditions that they rapped about. But it's his style, not his subject matter, that gives Jay's music far more impact than the routine gangsta fare currently being cranked out by record labels. He has an understated brashness about him, not like 2Pac's fiery bravado or T.I.'s leering cockiness. Jay's style is more laid back, but still commandingly confident. He's pure James Bond; he knows he's the coolest one in the room and doesn't need to be loud or flashy to prove it.
The beats on "Reasonable Doubt", done by a slew of talented producers, are soulful and sinister at the same time. "Can I Live" is powered by a sample of Isaac Hayes's epic song "The Look of Love", and the beat is the perfect canvas for Jay to paint his intriguing pictures of the illegal life. "Brooklyn's Finest", his collaboration with Biggie Smalls, the self-proclaimed "King of New York" whose throne Jay would one day inherit, has a beat filled with off-kilter piano keys and harmonious wails taken from an old Ohio Players record. The album's high point, "Can't Knock the Hustle", is built around a sample of Melissa Morgan's lush "Fool's Paradise", deftly borrowing from Morgan's song instead of pillaging it.
Over these beats, on which a less capable MC would be hopelessly overmatched, Jay switches up his style effortlessly to match the emotion of each particular song. He tugs heartstrings on the wistful "Regrets", pumps pure adrenaline on "22 Twos" and releases his inner anguish on "D'Evils", lyrically and musically the bleakest song on an album with plenty of competition. His witty double (occasionally triple) entendres, intricate metaphors and seen-it-all swagger are on full display on "Reasonable Doubt". If Jay wants to give "American Gangster" a similar sound, he'll have his work cut out for him trying to recapture the magic of his debut.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A controversial issue
In Austin, the passionate voices locked in a heated debate have reached a deafening roar discussing the only topic that truly matters today: Freebird's or Chipotle? Both have mastered the art of the Tex-Mex burrito, but as that brilliant thinker Nelly so eloquently put it, "two is not a winner and three nobody remembers". If you're scoring at home, that means either Chipotle or Freebird's must occupy the not-so-coveted number two slot. This debate raises all sorts of questions. Which faux-Mexican eatery is better? Is it okay to go to nationwide juggernaut Chipotle instead of Texas born Freebird's, especially in a city that takes so much pride in supporting their local businesses? And just what happened to Nelly, anyway?
Unfortunately, there are no easy answers to these questions. Chipotle is shockingly, overpoweringly addictive for a fast food burrito place owned by McDonald's. But Freebird's represents the pinnacle of what the burrito has to offer Earth. One bite takes you to another world. The spicy sauce they use (I don't know the name) is hot without overpowering its own flavor, and apart from that, there's not a single ingredient they can't add that Chipotle uses.
I love both places, but I've actually gotten into arguments touting Freebird's. People like Chipotle, and rightfully so. It is what can only be described as magically delicious. But Freebird's is simply at another level. It unleashes an unquenchable desire on the customer and never lets go; it's like heroin probably is, only it's stuffed with steak and covered in sour cream and salsa.
By the way, Burrito King is better than both of them.
Unfortunately, there are no easy answers to these questions. Chipotle is shockingly, overpoweringly addictive for a fast food burrito place owned by McDonald's. But Freebird's represents the pinnacle of what the burrito has to offer Earth. One bite takes you to another world. The spicy sauce they use (I don't know the name) is hot without overpowering its own flavor, and apart from that, there's not a single ingredient they can't add that Chipotle uses.
I love both places, but I've actually gotten into arguments touting Freebird's. People like Chipotle, and rightfully so. It is what can only be described as magically delicious. But Freebird's is simply at another level. It unleashes an unquenchable desire on the customer and never lets go; it's like heroin probably is, only it's stuffed with steak and covered in sour cream and salsa.
By the way, Burrito King is better than both of them.
Getting Wired
I've been counting down the days until January like a prison inmate awaiting his release. After nearly a year and a half, HBO's brilliant drama, The Wire, will bless its devoted viewers with ten more episodes before having its number retired alongside the greatest shows of its generation.
Arguably the best show on TV (yes, even better than Kid Nation), The Wire is essentially another show about lovably gruff police officers and their struggle to enforce the law without bending it themselves. Yet, to call it a cop show would be a gross oversimplification. What makes The Wire so interesting is the way it explores the lives of people on the other side of the law, the criminals who on most shows would be reduced to villianous stereotypes but emerge here as sympathetic and likeable, even as they kill, maim, and sell heroin to anybody with a couple of bucks in their wallet. By contrast, the "good guys" aren't always so good. The show's protagonist, Detective Jimmy McNulty, is an alcoholic womanizer who isn't above stepping outside the boundaries of the law to get results. But, like many other characters on The Wire, McNulty's flaws actually make him more likable. It's easy to identify with the these people's weaknesses, especially given the black-and-white nature of television in general, where the heroes are virtuous supermen and the villians depraved psychopaths.
The Wire brings excitement to TV in a way that all the wisecracking doctors and indestructable cheerleaders currently ruling the airwaves never could. Hopefully, the final season can live up to the standards the show has set for itself.
Arguably the best show on TV (yes, even better than Kid Nation), The Wire is essentially another show about lovably gruff police officers and their struggle to enforce the law without bending it themselves. Yet, to call it a cop show would be a gross oversimplification. What makes The Wire so interesting is the way it explores the lives of people on the other side of the law, the criminals who on most shows would be reduced to villianous stereotypes but emerge here as sympathetic and likeable, even as they kill, maim, and sell heroin to anybody with a couple of bucks in their wallet. By contrast, the "good guys" aren't always so good. The show's protagonist, Detective Jimmy McNulty, is an alcoholic womanizer who isn't above stepping outside the boundaries of the law to get results. But, like many other characters on The Wire, McNulty's flaws actually make him more likable. It's easy to identify with the these people's weaknesses, especially given the black-and-white nature of television in general, where the heroes are virtuous supermen and the villians depraved psychopaths.
The Wire brings excitement to TV in a way that all the wisecracking doctors and indestructable cheerleaders currently ruling the airwaves never could. Hopefully, the final season can live up to the standards the show has set for itself.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Seattle's Best (at taking a good thing and making it crappy)
So, my Critiquing the Arts professor told me if you attack a specific individual or company on a lot of blog sites, your blog is removed. But there's something that kinda pisses me off, and what's a blog for if not attacking random people and things you're pissed off at? Now that the coffee house in the Ragsdale building at St. Ed's is sponsored by Seattle's Best coffee, it's lost most of its appeal.
This coffee house is more than a little annoyance; it's costing me money. I used to get food there with my meal plan, but, mysteriously, they've stopped serving anything edible, including those old pastries they have on hand. The cafeteria has also been reconfigured to serve less appetizing food, so I've been resorting to eating at Whattaburger and the indispensable Burrito King and dropping cash far too often because of it.
Not that there's anything wrong with Burrito King. I'd take a bullet for numerous items on their menu, and if I could eat there for free, I would completely disregard my health and show up every day for lunch. But I have a meal plan and I didn't pay for it, so I should be benefiting from it and not spending hard earned money on burritos and cheeseburgers and delicious chocolate cream pie shakes from Sonic. I would have thought a corporate sponsorship for the coffee house would lead to a larger menu or no change at all. I can't see what St. Ed's or Seattle's Best would have to gain from this. Maybe they're cutting costs by limiting food service to the cafeteria, but we have that crazy Seattle's Best money now. Our money's long. So price shouldn't be an issue, but of course, it probably is. I really can't write any more. I've been wanting some Sonic for a minute here. Last year, I would've just went and gotten something from the coffee house.
This coffee house is more than a little annoyance; it's costing me money. I used to get food there with my meal plan, but, mysteriously, they've stopped serving anything edible, including those old pastries they have on hand. The cafeteria has also been reconfigured to serve less appetizing food, so I've been resorting to eating at Whattaburger and the indispensable Burrito King and dropping cash far too often because of it.
Not that there's anything wrong with Burrito King. I'd take a bullet for numerous items on their menu, and if I could eat there for free, I would completely disregard my health and show up every day for lunch. But I have a meal plan and I didn't pay for it, so I should be benefiting from it and not spending hard earned money on burritos and cheeseburgers and delicious chocolate cream pie shakes from Sonic. I would have thought a corporate sponsorship for the coffee house would lead to a larger menu or no change at all. I can't see what St. Ed's or Seattle's Best would have to gain from this. Maybe they're cutting costs by limiting food service to the cafeteria, but we have that crazy Seattle's Best money now. Our money's long. So price shouldn't be an issue, but of course, it probably is. I really can't write any more. I've been wanting some Sonic for a minute here. Last year, I would've just went and gotten something from the coffee house.
Critiquing the Arts Class Capsule Review: Ghostface-Supreme Clientele
By the year 2000, the hip hop dynasty of The Wu-Tang Clan had started crumbling. The legendary rap group's 1997 effort, "Wu-Tang Forever" sold two million copies, but the subsequent flurry of solo albums that followed weren't up to par, commercially or critically. After albums from Wu-Tang superstars like Method Man failed to make any sort of impact in the world of hip hop, few could fathom the Clan's eccentric maverick Ghostface would be one to bring attention back to one of rap's most popular brand names. But it was Ghost's stubborn nature and unwillingness to let go of his principles that put the Wu-Tang back near the top of rap's elite. Because he never cared about trends or making popular music, when Ghostface released "Supreme Clientele" in January of 2000, the album was so out-of-step with what was going on with hip hop that it was immediately looked upon as a classic.
"Supreme Clientele" is an album with no definitive mood; it lurches from ebullient to depressed. Over beautiful '70s-soul inspired beats, Ghost careens wildly from topic to topic. He celebrates his own success ("We Made It"), locks horns with crooked cops ("Saturday Night"), revisits grade school romance ("Child's Play"), and does it all with his unique blend of bizarre slang and vivid imagery. His inimitable style makes "Supreme Clientele" the album that it is, an album that sounds as fresh and inspired today as when it was released, more than seven years ago.
"Supreme Clientele" is an album with no definitive mood; it lurches from ebullient to depressed. Over beautiful '70s-soul inspired beats, Ghost careens wildly from topic to topic. He celebrates his own success ("We Made It"), locks horns with crooked cops ("Saturday Night"), revisits grade school romance ("Child's Play"), and does it all with his unique blend of bizarre slang and vivid imagery. His inimitable style makes "Supreme Clientele" the album that it is, an album that sounds as fresh and inspired today as when it was released, more than seven years ago.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Critiquing the Arts Class Review: The Godfather
There are very few things that get better with time. Wine is one. Pam Grier is another. But older movies tend to become dated fast. It could be because films have gotten so much more advanced on a technical level, or perhaps because the best old movies are usually pillaged by newer films looking for ideas, taking a piece of the older movie’s creativity with them. The Godfather, however, stands the test of time, more than thirty years after its initial release.
The fact that The Godfather remains so entertaining today has little to do with its plot. As I said above, newer movies are constantly recycling ideas from older ones, and there have been dozens of mob pictures that probably would never had existed were it not for their thematic older brother. But none of those movies, with the possible exception of the latest great gangster pic, the Departed, had a cast of actors as skilled as those in The Godfather. The character of Michael Corleone was Al Pacino's breakthrough role, and it can be argued that he's never been better. Robert Duvall, James Caan, Diane Keaton and the underappreciated John Cazale are all fantastic as well, but it's the legendary Marlon Brando who elevates the movie to such great heights. Toying with an almost perfect screenplay, Brando creates a pop culture icon who serves as The Godfather's backbone, giving a performance that burns its way into the head of anyone who's seen the film.
That's not to say the actors are the only reason The Godfather is a classic. There are plenty of amazing moments that can be seen again and again and still have the same impact. Who can forget the greedy movie studio executive waking up to a surprise in his bed, or Michael getting revenge on his rivals in a crowded Italian restaurant? The movie has been both parodied and outright stolen from so many times that people who haven't seen the movie know certain moments or lines of dialogue.
The finished product is so much more than a standard issue mafia movie. The Godfather is a dense parable about family, loyalty, making tough decisions and, uh, conflict resolution. It's that rare film that's better than the book that inspired it, yet it's still as rich as a good novel.
"The Godfather" weaves multiple storylines together amongst the large cast of actors, several of which are strong enough to be the focus of their own movie. The 1972 Oscar Winner for Best Picture is nearly three hours long, but the film is so absorbing that time becomes meaningless the moment the opening titles flash on the screen. It will almost certainly be remembered as one of the greatest movies of all time.
The fact that The Godfather remains so entertaining today has little to do with its plot. As I said above, newer movies are constantly recycling ideas from older ones, and there have been dozens of mob pictures that probably would never had existed were it not for their thematic older brother. But none of those movies, with the possible exception of the latest great gangster pic, the Departed, had a cast of actors as skilled as those in The Godfather. The character of Michael Corleone was Al Pacino's breakthrough role, and it can be argued that he's never been better. Robert Duvall, James Caan, Diane Keaton and the underappreciated John Cazale are all fantastic as well, but it's the legendary Marlon Brando who elevates the movie to such great heights. Toying with an almost perfect screenplay, Brando creates a pop culture icon who serves as The Godfather's backbone, giving a performance that burns its way into the head of anyone who's seen the film.
That's not to say the actors are the only reason The Godfather is a classic. There are plenty of amazing moments that can be seen again and again and still have the same impact. Who can forget the greedy movie studio executive waking up to a surprise in his bed, or Michael getting revenge on his rivals in a crowded Italian restaurant? The movie has been both parodied and outright stolen from so many times that people who haven't seen the movie know certain moments or lines of dialogue.
The finished product is so much more than a standard issue mafia movie. The Godfather is a dense parable about family, loyalty, making tough decisions and, uh, conflict resolution. It's that rare film that's better than the book that inspired it, yet it's still as rich as a good novel.
"The Godfather" weaves multiple storylines together amongst the large cast of actors, several of which are strong enough to be the focus of their own movie. The 1972 Oscar Winner for Best Picture is nearly three hours long, but the film is so absorbing that time becomes meaningless the moment the opening titles flash on the screen. It will almost certainly be remembered as one of the greatest movies of all time.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Is the St. Pauli Girl the Saint of beer?
The entire experience divined from drinking a St. Pauli Girl is magical. When you crack the cap off the bottle, a pungent aroma wafts toward you, smelling like...well you should drink one and find out what it smells like on your own. Next comes the best part--drinking! It's like a Heineken, only better. Now, I'm not one of those booze experts who can tell you St. Pauli is better because of the freshly grown hops or anything like that. The only thing I know is that it's the Ferarri to Heineken's Porsche. Best of all, it's a light beer, so it doesn't make you feel like you've been in a hotdog eating contest after drinking it the way Guiness does. But it's not too light; it isn't water in a beer can like Keystone.
Why are European beers so much better than ours?* When I was in Amsterdam, most bars and restaurants had a wopping two different beers on tap. One was Heineken, which is like the national beverage over there, but the other one was invariably Bud Light. If you live ANYWHERE in Europe, why would you drink Bud Light?
I write this drinking a Heineken, another fine beer that is just not doing it for me right now. I missed class, had to take my car into the shop, tried to help a friend with his bullshit identity crisis, broke a glass, lost $10, got some bad news from the guy who was supposed to be producing my album, and, on top of that, the season premiere of "Heroes" sucked. All I wanted was for my St. Pauli Girl to take me away to her kingdom of crisp flavor and smooth aftertaste. It's time to finish this blog and go turn out all the lights. Throw on some DJ Shadow and watch the streetlight that escapes in through my window make patterns on the ceiling until I fall asleep. And dream of my sweet St. Pauli Girl.
***With all due respect to Lone Star, Turbo Dog, Ziegenbach, Shiner, Sam Adams, Bass, Real Ale, Red Hook, Mississippi Mud, Rogue, and the highly underrated Arrogant Bastard Ale.
Why are European beers so much better than ours?* When I was in Amsterdam, most bars and restaurants had a wopping two different beers on tap. One was Heineken, which is like the national beverage over there, but the other one was invariably Bud Light. If you live ANYWHERE in Europe, why would you drink Bud Light?
I write this drinking a Heineken, another fine beer that is just not doing it for me right now. I missed class, had to take my car into the shop, tried to help a friend with his bullshit identity crisis, broke a glass, lost $10, got some bad news from the guy who was supposed to be producing my album, and, on top of that, the season premiere of "Heroes" sucked. All I wanted was for my St. Pauli Girl to take me away to her kingdom of crisp flavor and smooth aftertaste. It's time to finish this blog and go turn out all the lights. Throw on some DJ Shadow and watch the streetlight that escapes in through my window make patterns on the ceiling until I fall asleep. And dream of my sweet St. Pauli Girl.
***With all due respect to Lone Star, Turbo Dog, Ziegenbach, Shiner, Sam Adams, Bass, Real Ale, Red Hook, Mississippi Mud, Rogue, and the highly underrated Arrogant Bastard Ale.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Kid Nation
When a friend of mine told me to watch CBS's new "Real World"-meets- "Lord of the Flies" reality show Kid Nation, a kidspIoitation show (new slang!) about a town made up entirely of children, I was initially resistant. I hate reality shows and years of working at a summer camp have made me terrified of kids, but when I broke down and watched the show's first episode on CBS's website this morning, I can't say I wasn't entertained. I've only seen one episode, and it showed me a blend of comedy and drama I had never witnessed before.
The show's premise involves dropping a bunch of kids, aged 8-15, off in a ghost town, giving them some basic resources to work with (and possibly a script to follow), and letting them govern themselves, which paves the way for what the show is really about: a bunch of kids acting cute or bratty in front of a camera while making decisions nobody that age should make.
Now, even for somebody who hates reality shows, I've been forced to watch The Real World a number of times, and while a lot of the concept behind both shows is the same ("hey, let's watch these people embarrass themselves!"), sometimes it's harder to laugh at Kid Nation. When 15-year-old Greg picks a fight with 11-year-old Mike or 8-year-old Jimmy sits in the dirt and cries from homesickness, you cringe. If people look ignorant, douchey, pathetic or just plain crazy on The Real World, you laugh, because you know these are grown-ass men and women who know exactly what they're doing when they sign up to be humiliated on TV. Meanwhile, the participants of Kid Nation are, well, kids. It's a guilty pleasure watching some succeed and some crash and burn and you can't help but feel you're being manipulated even as you enjoy it.
My favorite characters are Taylor (adorably bratty mini-southern belle), Sophia (eye-gougingly irritating know-it-all whose immaturity might be the funniest thing about the show), and Michael (born leader and probably the only kid on the show over 10 whose parents should be proud of him), but all the children have their entertaining aspects.
I'm almost ashamed to say I like a show this contrived, cruel and flat-out stupid, but God help me, I'm gonna keep watching. The personalities are compelling, and the conflict and beefing between the participants (always one of the redeeming aspects of this sort of show) is hilarious, even though you sort of feel like a dick watching children fight. I've been forced to sit through episodes of numerous reality shows and I've finally found one I enjoy. Here's hoping child labor laws don't deprive me of it.
The show's premise involves dropping a bunch of kids, aged 8-15, off in a ghost town, giving them some basic resources to work with (and possibly a script to follow), and letting them govern themselves, which paves the way for what the show is really about: a bunch of kids acting cute or bratty in front of a camera while making decisions nobody that age should make.
Now, even for somebody who hates reality shows, I've been forced to watch The Real World a number of times, and while a lot of the concept behind both shows is the same ("hey, let's watch these people embarrass themselves!"), sometimes it's harder to laugh at Kid Nation. When 15-year-old Greg picks a fight with 11-year-old Mike or 8-year-old Jimmy sits in the dirt and cries from homesickness, you cringe. If people look ignorant, douchey, pathetic or just plain crazy on The Real World, you laugh, because you know these are grown-ass men and women who know exactly what they're doing when they sign up to be humiliated on TV. Meanwhile, the participants of Kid Nation are, well, kids. It's a guilty pleasure watching some succeed and some crash and burn and you can't help but feel you're being manipulated even as you enjoy it.
My favorite characters are Taylor (adorably bratty mini-southern belle), Sophia (eye-gougingly irritating know-it-all whose immaturity might be the funniest thing about the show), and Michael (born leader and probably the only kid on the show over 10 whose parents should be proud of him), but all the children have their entertaining aspects.
I'm almost ashamed to say I like a show this contrived, cruel and flat-out stupid, but God help me, I'm gonna keep watching. The personalities are compelling, and the conflict and beefing between the participants (always one of the redeeming aspects of this sort of show) is hilarious, even though you sort of feel like a dick watching children fight. I've been forced to sit through episodes of numerous reality shows and I've finally found one I enjoy. Here's hoping child labor laws don't deprive me of it.
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Trouble With Computer Class
Dear God, I hate my Problem Solving with Computers class. It's not the professor's fault, or the workload; I just don't see how knowing how many computers were linked in the first ARPAnet network or what the abbreviation HTTP stands for is going to help me in real life. I'm really tired as I write this, and I have a shit-ton of things to do, so I'll make it short and sweet: computer class can eat me sideways. If my professor's reading this, I'm sorry. It's not your fault.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Why Common can never be forgiven.
Seven years ago, I saw Common at a show at Antone's. He'd just released his fourth album, "Like Water For Chocolate", and was finally getting some mainstream recognition to go along with his considerable talent. Common was my favorite rapper at the time, and even though none of my friends cared about him, and few even knew who he was, I resolved to go to the show by myself if I had to. I did.
It was the best show I'd ever gone to at the time. After the Black Eyed Peas, in the dues paying, pre-fame stage of their career opened up for him, Common hit the stage in knit pants and a daishiki and ripped it for the next two hours. Nearly a decade later, signs abounded that if I went back to see him, I'd be paying to watch an old man who'd lost his edge and wanted to make boring music for the coffee shop crowd. Those signs were his past three albums. But each of those had handfuls of songs that sounded like the hungry Common of old, and I figured as long as he didn't go overboard doing new material, it'd be a great concert.
In short, Common ran over my heart with an 18-wheeler. He didn't perform a SINGLE song off any of his first four albums, three of which are incredible. His bland new material dominated that night, making it sound more like a poetry slam than a hip hop show. He didn't even do his most famous song, 1994's "I Used to Love H.E.R.", I guess because most of his fans think his career began when he started hanging out with Kanye West a couple years back and didn't know what the hell a Common was in 1994. The newer songs he did, with a couple of exceptions, may be fine to play at a PETA rally, playing hackey-sack and smoking American Spirits, but they lacked the energy and vitality of his previous work.
I guess I have nobody to blame but myself for paying to go to this concert. I'd heard his recent work and didn't particularly enjoy it, and I knew going into the show that said recent work was making him more money than he'd ever had and exposing him to a whole new fan base. So I realized that hippie, incense and sandals PETA spokesman Common would be in attendance, because he's more popular than the raw, superlyricist Common of the past had ever been. But I thought the latter might show up for more than a couple of songs, and I was sadly mistaken. I paid twice what I'd paid in 2000 for a concert that wasn't half as good. Thanks for nothing, Com. I should've wasted my money on ACL.
It was the best show I'd ever gone to at the time. After the Black Eyed Peas, in the dues paying, pre-fame stage of their career opened up for him, Common hit the stage in knit pants and a daishiki and ripped it for the next two hours. Nearly a decade later, signs abounded that if I went back to see him, I'd be paying to watch an old man who'd lost his edge and wanted to make boring music for the coffee shop crowd. Those signs were his past three albums. But each of those had handfuls of songs that sounded like the hungry Common of old, and I figured as long as he didn't go overboard doing new material, it'd be a great concert.
In short, Common ran over my heart with an 18-wheeler. He didn't perform a SINGLE song off any of his first four albums, three of which are incredible. His bland new material dominated that night, making it sound more like a poetry slam than a hip hop show. He didn't even do his most famous song, 1994's "I Used to Love H.E.R.", I guess because most of his fans think his career began when he started hanging out with Kanye West a couple years back and didn't know what the hell a Common was in 1994. The newer songs he did, with a couple of exceptions, may be fine to play at a PETA rally, playing hackey-sack and smoking American Spirits, but they lacked the energy and vitality of his previous work.
I guess I have nobody to blame but myself for paying to go to this concert. I'd heard his recent work and didn't particularly enjoy it, and I knew going into the show that said recent work was making him more money than he'd ever had and exposing him to a whole new fan base. So I realized that hippie, incense and sandals PETA spokesman Common would be in attendance, because he's more popular than the raw, superlyricist Common of the past had ever been. But I thought the latter might show up for more than a couple of songs, and I was sadly mistaken. I paid twice what I'd paid in 2000 for a concert that wasn't half as good. Thanks for nothing, Com. I should've wasted my money on ACL.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Another boring blog
The concept of the blog is one that I will probably never fully embrace. The Internet has given people around the globe the ability to stand on the proverbial mountaintop and shout their inane opinions for the world to listen to. People seem to think their thoughts and ideas somehow gain validity when they spend 15 minutes setting up a Livejournal account and hiding behind a screen name so they can anonymously bitch about anything and everything. Dude, you're a 37 year old cash register jockey at HEB; just because now you CAN tell the world how you think My Chemical Romance sold out or Heath Ledger will make a terrible Joker in the new Batman movie doesn't mean you should.
Now, I understand that writing about how blogs suck in your new blog is some hypocritical shit, but I have my reasons. My Critiquing the Arts professor at the wonderful St. Edward's University told me to create this blog, and since he's been an editor at one esteemed professional newspaper, and I have worked for exactly zero, I figured I should probably take his advice.
Anyway, there's nothing wrong with being opinionated, and it's not like I wish death on every blogger working out there in cyberspace; I just think the idea is a little silly. Some people would say that if you don't like blogs, fine, just don't read about them and don't complain. Let's look at this another way: I don't listen to, say, Fallout Boy or Mike Jones, but the modicum of their shitty music that I've been exposed to gives me the right to dislike them. And just because I don't listen to every song they put out doesn't mean I can't call them talentless hacks. Hopefully I'm not rambling and you see where I'm going with this.
On that note, welcome to my humble little blog. I'm not proud of it, but I guess I'll be updating pretty frequently, seeing as how it'd be nice to pass my Critiquing the Arts class. I'll be posting my own inane, worthless opinions every now and then, so feel free to read them, not read them, enjoy them, or think they suck.
One Love,
Travisty
Now, I understand that writing about how blogs suck in your new blog is some hypocritical shit, but I have my reasons. My Critiquing the Arts professor at the wonderful St. Edward's University told me to create this blog, and since he's been an editor at one esteemed professional newspaper, and I have worked for exactly zero, I figured I should probably take his advice.
Anyway, there's nothing wrong with being opinionated, and it's not like I wish death on every blogger working out there in cyberspace; I just think the idea is a little silly. Some people would say that if you don't like blogs, fine, just don't read about them and don't complain. Let's look at this another way: I don't listen to, say, Fallout Boy or Mike Jones, but the modicum of their shitty music that I've been exposed to gives me the right to dislike them. And just because I don't listen to every song they put out doesn't mean I can't call them talentless hacks. Hopefully I'm not rambling and you see where I'm going with this.
On that note, welcome to my humble little blog. I'm not proud of it, but I guess I'll be updating pretty frequently, seeing as how it'd be nice to pass my Critiquing the Arts class. I'll be posting my own inane, worthless opinions every now and then, so feel free to read them, not read them, enjoy them, or think they suck.
One Love,
Travisty
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