This is my favorite Nick Hornby book, so I doubt that anything would really live up to my expectations. That said, I think this film is remarkably well cast (Rose Byrne, Ethan Hawke, and Chris O'Dowd) and fairly charming. It's rote, though, and has been quite altered from the source material.
Byrne plays Annie, the long-suffering girlfriend of Duncan (O'Dowd), who has a pop culture obsession that he's parlayed into a day job as an instructor at a small-town university in Sandcliff, England. He teaches a class on The Wire. But his true love is nitpicking the work of reclusive rocker Tucker Crowe (Hawke), who abruptly disappeared from the music scene some 20+ years ago. Duncan runs a website dedicated to Crowe where visitors deconstruct the music and theorize on his life. Blurry pictures of Crowe "sightings" abound.
Annie is mildly dissatisfied with life but too cautious to shake things up. Then change comes to her in the form of an anonymous CD sent to Duncan of the demo tapes of Tucker Crowe's album Juliet—only this is called Juliet, Naked. She listens to it before Duncan, sparking his ire. After they spar, Annie writes a scathing review of the recording on Duncan's own site.
Her contradictory point of view grabs the attention of Tucker Crowe himself, and he and Annie begin an email correspondence. Things more or less go paint-by-number from there, with Duncan of course also having a physical affair with another instructor so that Annie can look like the better person in this narrative. If Duncan had only been obnoxious but Annie had carried on with this emotional attachment, she would run the risk of being the bad guy.
That said, it is a cute little movie, if rote. I still greatly prefer the book because there's something about the tone of the novel that this film doesn't quite catch. But the movie is worth a watch on its own merits.
I have a tendency to think of Ethan Hawke as a villain, or at the very least intense—he was my inspiration for Uncle Eoin in my Hamlette novel—so it's nice to see him in a more laid-back role. And Azhy Robertson as Tucker's son Jackson is adorable.
In short: a good movie but, as is so often true, the book was better.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
12.07.2018
1.26.2017
The other day my iPod tried to tell me one of its stories. It played the following:
Um . . .
As for me, I'm having a difficult time focusing on my work these days. There is a lot going on, a lot of noise, and it's frankly terrifying. This is how dictatorship begins: censorship and pulling the rights out from under people. Threats of torture to keep people quiet and scared. Is this wall meant to keep people out or in? We've been such a fat, sassy country for so long . . . It was only a matter of time before we'd become complacent enough that someone could waltz in and take advantage. Now more than ever we must be vigilant and informed. They will try to throw lies at us, confuse us, but we can't let that happen. They will try to divide and conquer, get us chasing our own tails, but we can't let that happen. They will try to scatter our energies by doing so many bad things at once that we don't know where to look, but we can't let that happen. We must have our eyes everywhere. And we must act before they take away our ability to act.
- "I Will Wait" by Mumford and Sons
- "Just a Memory" by Train
- "Through with You" by Maroon 5
- "Wave Bye Bye" by Gin Blossoms
Um . . .
As for me, I'm having a difficult time focusing on my work these days. There is a lot going on, a lot of noise, and it's frankly terrifying. This is how dictatorship begins: censorship and pulling the rights out from under people. Threats of torture to keep people quiet and scared. Is this wall meant to keep people out or in? We've been such a fat, sassy country for so long . . . It was only a matter of time before we'd become complacent enough that someone could waltz in and take advantage. Now more than ever we must be vigilant and informed. They will try to throw lies at us, confuse us, but we can't let that happen. They will try to divide and conquer, get us chasing our own tails, but we can't let that happen. They will try to scatter our energies by doing so many bad things at once that we don't know where to look, but we can't let that happen. We must have our eyes everywhere. And we must act before they take away our ability to act.
11.13.2016
Movies: Sing Street
John Carney has made a career of basically finding a frame story to give him reasons to string would-be music videos together. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. He's good at it, and I've liked two of the three movies I've seen. It's just very noticeable. By the time I got to Sing Street, as cute as the plot is, I had come to realize it was more about the music than the characters.
Feel free to argue. The story of Sing Street is that in 1980s Dublin, 15-year-old Conor wants to impress a girl he sees sitting on a stoop. She tells him she's a model, and he randomly asks if she wants to star in his band's video. Which means he needs to start a band and shoot a video. Then comes the crash course in learning to write songs, etc., and a series of music video shoots.
Sure, there's a bit more to it. The would-be romance between Conor and Raphina, the stresses of a family falling apart, the school bully—or bullies, if you count the administration as one. But none of it feels all that important. They're there because there needs to be mortar to fill the gaps between the bricks that are the musical numbers. Mortar is important to a wall, yes, but the bricks make the wall. You dig?
Again, it's not necessarily a bad thing. I actually really enjoyed the movie, and it's a toss up between this one and Begin Again for me. I like them about equally. (I tried to watch Once, though, and couldn't get through it. Sorry. Know it was an award-winning whatever but not for me.) Bottom line is, John Carney movies are this one thing. When you're in the mood for that one thing, you watch one. Or maybe you skip the movie and just buy the soundtrack.
Feel free to argue. The story of Sing Street is that in 1980s Dublin, 15-year-old Conor wants to impress a girl he sees sitting on a stoop. She tells him she's a model, and he randomly asks if she wants to star in his band's video. Which means he needs to start a band and shoot a video. Then comes the crash course in learning to write songs, etc., and a series of music video shoots.
Sure, there's a bit more to it. The would-be romance between Conor and Raphina, the stresses of a family falling apart, the school bully—or bullies, if you count the administration as one. But none of it feels all that important. They're there because there needs to be mortar to fill the gaps between the bricks that are the musical numbers. Mortar is important to a wall, yes, but the bricks make the wall. You dig?
Again, it's not necessarily a bad thing. I actually really enjoyed the movie, and it's a toss up between this one and Begin Again for me. I like them about equally. (I tried to watch Once, though, and couldn't get through it. Sorry. Know it was an award-winning whatever but not for me.) Bottom line is, John Carney movies are this one thing. When you're in the mood for that one thing, you watch one. Or maybe you skip the movie and just buy the soundtrack.
9.12.2016
Concert: Rob Thomas & Counting Crows at Shoreline Amphitheatre (Mountain View, CA)
Or: Partying Like It's 1996
I go see Rob pretty much any time he's within driving distance, and my husband is a big Counting Crows fan, so this concert was custom made for us.
The show started with K Phillips, someone I wasn't familiar with, but I did enjoy his music. Definitely showed his Nashville and Austin influences.
Rob's set was mostly older stuff; the only song he did from the newest album was the latest single "Pieces." I was sort of sorry about that because I really like The Great Unknown. At the same time, however, this concert reminded me how long it's been since I listened to the other two albums and how much I like those as well.
He played "Unwell," which is a great song, but I kind of wish he'd do "Dizzy" instead. I feel like those two songs have the same sentiment behind them, but "Dizzy" is the better of the two in that it cuts closer to the bone. (Wouldn't say no to "Here Comes Horses" either, Rob, next time you're in town.)
And while I'm addressing you directly, Rt, you can stop telling that same "Smooth" story now. We all know it.
But you're looking fit, and we love you, and speaking of looking well, Adam Duritz also seemed in good spirits. This was my third time seeing him and Counting Crows in concert, and the best time. Adam had good energy. Lots of cuts from the latest album, and of course all the favorites. There was also the obligatory moment in which they were all on stage together, singing "Holiday In Spain" and "Rain King" to finish things out. It's cliché, but no less fun for all that. Adam and Rob singing together met expectations yet somehow also seemed to exceed them in that it was better than it had any right to be.
As far as stagecraft, I'd call this simple but effective. I enjoyed the pseudo-cityscape of lights in Rob's set. It was interesting to watch them turn the stage over for Counting Crows; they had it down to a science but it still took a while, and they were loading some things directly into the truck. This tour must be a bruiser. Counting Crows had a panel of lights behind them, and they were used to good effect along with the usual spots.
Overall, one of the better shows, and I like Shoreline as a venue, though it more or less looks like dozens of other similar places. It was a great night.
6.17.2016
Music: Songs I Hate
Lately my kids have been weirdly persistent in trying to figure out which songs I hate most and why. It all started when I asked my husband to make me a piña colada and he started singing "Escape" (also known as "The Piña Colada Song") and I demanded he stop. The kids found this extremely interesting, no doubt adding it to their arsenal of ways to get at me.
Thing is, I used to like that song, but there's something about it that is too catchy, and I sort of hate songs that sink in their claws and won't just go away. Also, as I got older and better understood the song's meaning, I found it unnaturally upbeat for the subject matter. (Haha! We were both planning to cheat! But since we ended up with each other anyway, it's all good!)
Now of course it would be impossible to create a list of every song I dislike. For one thing, there are whole categories of music I don't even listen to, but I can't generalize and say I hate all those songs. I don't know them, am not particularly drawn in by them, but I don't actively hate them.
For the purposes of this post, then, I will talk about songs that, when they come on the radio, I cannot change the station fast enough. And still this list won't be exhaustive. Because I'll almost certainly have forgotten something.
As for "Escape," I'll sometimes leave it on. Songs I cannot stand to hear even the first few notes of, however, include:
"I've Got You, Babe"
"Wind Beneath My Wings"
"Killing Me Softly"
"Somewhere Out There" (yes, from An American Tail)
Most Dan Fogelberg songs*
These are songs that, if I'm somewhere and they are playing, I have the strong urge to *ahem* escape. You'll notice they are all relatively slow songs. I think I dislike songs that labor under a certain amount of weight. And yet I love Christopher Cross songs, and I'll listen to "One More Night" by Phil Collins without complaint. I even learned to play "Against All Odds" on the keyboard, though I've since forgotten how.
*Yet I like some Dan Fogelberg. "Go Down Easy" is a great song. In fact, I enjoy most of the High Country Snows album, but that may be because my parents exposed me to it early. Sort of like being inoculated.
As I said, I'm probably forgetting a lot of songs here. Ones I perhaps have managed to avoid for so long I've forgotten they exist. Which is sort of the goal. If you have any songs you hate—or songs you think I'd hate—let me know about them in the comments.
Thing is, I used to like that song, but there's something about it that is too catchy, and I sort of hate songs that sink in their claws and won't just go away. Also, as I got older and better understood the song's meaning, I found it unnaturally upbeat for the subject matter. (Haha! We were both planning to cheat! But since we ended up with each other anyway, it's all good!)
Now of course it would be impossible to create a list of every song I dislike. For one thing, there are whole categories of music I don't even listen to, but I can't generalize and say I hate all those songs. I don't know them, am not particularly drawn in by them, but I don't actively hate them.
For the purposes of this post, then, I will talk about songs that, when they come on the radio, I cannot change the station fast enough. And still this list won't be exhaustive. Because I'll almost certainly have forgotten something.
As for "Escape," I'll sometimes leave it on. Songs I cannot stand to hear even the first few notes of, however, include:
"I've Got You, Babe"
"Wind Beneath My Wings"
"Killing Me Softly"
"Somewhere Out There" (yes, from An American Tail)
Most Dan Fogelberg songs*
These are songs that, if I'm somewhere and they are playing, I have the strong urge to *ahem* escape. You'll notice they are all relatively slow songs. I think I dislike songs that labor under a certain amount of weight. And yet I love Christopher Cross songs, and I'll listen to "One More Night" by Phil Collins without complaint. I even learned to play "Against All Odds" on the keyboard, though I've since forgotten how.
*Yet I like some Dan Fogelberg. "Go Down Easy" is a great song. In fact, I enjoy most of the High Country Snows album, but that may be because my parents exposed me to it early. Sort of like being inoculated.
As I said, I'm probably forgetting a lot of songs here. Ones I perhaps have managed to avoid for so long I've forgotten they exist. Which is sort of the goal. If you have any songs you hate—or songs you think I'd hate—let me know about them in the comments.
5.08.2016
Movies: Tumbledown
A sweet gem of a movie that we stumbled upon while searching for something that wasn't, well, all the usually hyped crap we're so sick of.
Tumbledown stars Jason Sudeikis and Rebecca Hall, and also puts Blythe Danner to good supportive use, though I feel like there was a lot more story to the supporting cast and characters—as if maybe this could be a series of books, really, set in this small Maine town. But that's probably just the writer in me getting fanciful.
Hall plays Hannah, widow of an obscure folk musician, and Sudeikis plays Andrew, a professor who wants to write a book about Hannah's deceased husband. Hannah herself is trying to write her husband's biography but can't seem to organize her thoughts and feelings in any useful way, so she taps Andrew to help her pull the manuscript together.
Though things progress in a very predictable fashion, this is a cute-sweet film with good performances. I enjoy Hall as an actress in general; she's shown fine range in a variety of projects. And Sudeikis is still funny here, but he also proves he can do more than broad comedy.
I do wonder at Hollywood's being so convinced that any time two people [of the opposite sex] get together to work on something, it will unavoidably become a romance. I think I'll write a screenplay in which two people work together and are just friends despite all the pressure from people around them to become romantically involved. That, in my experience, is far more realistic.
Then again, I guess we don't go to movies for the realism.
This movie also reminds me of why I no longer live in the Northeast. Because it's fucking cold is why.
In short, a cute film well worth a look when you're tired of all the usual popcorn fare.
Tumbledown stars Jason Sudeikis and Rebecca Hall, and also puts Blythe Danner to good supportive use, though I feel like there was a lot more story to the supporting cast and characters—as if maybe this could be a series of books, really, set in this small Maine town. But that's probably just the writer in me getting fanciful.
Hall plays Hannah, widow of an obscure folk musician, and Sudeikis plays Andrew, a professor who wants to write a book about Hannah's deceased husband. Hannah herself is trying to write her husband's biography but can't seem to organize her thoughts and feelings in any useful way, so she taps Andrew to help her pull the manuscript together.
Though things progress in a very predictable fashion, this is a cute-sweet film with good performances. I enjoy Hall as an actress in general; she's shown fine range in a variety of projects. And Sudeikis is still funny here, but he also proves he can do more than broad comedy.
I do wonder at Hollywood's being so convinced that any time two people [of the opposite sex] get together to work on something, it will unavoidably become a romance. I think I'll write a screenplay in which two people work together and are just friends despite all the pressure from people around them to become romantically involved. That, in my experience, is far more realistic.
Then again, I guess we don't go to movies for the realism.
This movie also reminds me of why I no longer live in the Northeast. Because it's fucking cold is why.
In short, a cute film well worth a look when you're tired of all the usual popcorn fare.
3.19.2016
Movies: Begin Again
It's really difficult to successfully construct a film around music, a soundtrack. But Begin Again does it. Not just well but in stellar fashion.
The film itself is cute. The acting manages to elevate the story line so that the movie is thoroughly enjoyable despite it being firmly predictable.
What's it about? Mark Ruffalo (and I'll admit that I'd watch him in just about anything) plays Dan Mulligan, a down-and-out indie record label exec who discovers Gretta (Keira Knightly) and helps her record an album. Pretty basic. Oh, there are other threads: Gretta's disintegrated relationship with rising star Dave Kohl (Adam Levine), Dan's struggle to stay relevant to his teenage daughter and estranged wife. But this is mostly about the music.
I don't often miss being on set, but films like this sometimes make me wish I could have been there. It's the kind of movie where it looks like they're having a good time as they go along.
In short, I was pleasantly surprised, not so much by the movie but by how much I enjoyed it. And yes, the soundtrack is really good too.
The film itself is cute. The acting manages to elevate the story line so that the movie is thoroughly enjoyable despite it being firmly predictable.
What's it about? Mark Ruffalo (and I'll admit that I'd watch him in just about anything) plays Dan Mulligan, a down-and-out indie record label exec who discovers Gretta (Keira Knightly) and helps her record an album. Pretty basic. Oh, there are other threads: Gretta's disintegrated relationship with rising star Dave Kohl (Adam Levine), Dan's struggle to stay relevant to his teenage daughter and estranged wife. But this is mostly about the music.
I don't often miss being on set, but films like this sometimes make me wish I could have been there. It's the kind of movie where it looks like they're having a good time as they go along.
In short, I was pleasantly surprised, not so much by the movie but by how much I enjoyed it. And yes, the soundtrack is really good too.
2.28.2016
Movies: Straight Outta Compton
I just . . . don't understand why this movie didn't receive more Oscar nominations.
Actually, I do. If the Academy is made up of seventy-something percent old white guys, it's a cinch they get more excited remembering how they blackballed Communists than want to think about L.A. in the 80s and 90s.
The self-congratulatory aspect of the Academy Awards—and the industry in general—leaves a bad taste in my mouth. They're so proud of themselves for what? Making an entirely unnecessary export? I guess they employ a lot ofpeople white men. Good for them, keeping those off the streets.
Anyway. This movie. I know nothing about rap music. I don't listen to it, don't much care for it at all. I mean, at that time I was living in Texas, where most people I knew listened to country music, a few listened to alternative/grunge, and a tinier sliver listened to techno. And I listened to pop and classic rock and Jimmy Buffett. Throughout this movie, my husband kept saying, "Now you must recognize this song!" I didn't. The songs all sounded the same to me, and all sounded a bit like Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Give It Away." I'd heard of Dr. Dre and Ice Cube and Suge Knight, but that's about it. Name recognition. Yet despite all this handicap, I still found Straight Outta Compton compelling.
A movie that encourages me to endure rap? Pretty amazing.
More than that, a movie that brings home what it was like to suffer under the racial ire of the L.A. police—something I could never hope to fully understand, but this film comes as close as possible to making me "get it"? That's impressive. (Though I still can't entirely wrap my brain around how they are so violent towards one another. How is that okay?)
The acting here is really good, too. Again, it left me shaking my head that they didn't get any nominations.
I don't know what else to say. It's a fabulous film. Better than Trumbo or The Big Short, in my opinion. Just goes to show, the Academy is . . . I think it's too close to the industry to be able to see the big picture (no pun intended). It's impossible for the Academy to step back and be any kind of objective. And I know this is all subjective—art is subjective—but in the Oscars' case it's too subjective. It's too influenced by its own self-interest. If that makes any sense.
Bottom line is, the Academy Awards don't mean much. Or shouldn't. It's a peer group slapping each other on the back, and we're supposed to believe that who and what wins matters. But it really doesn't. We can look at past winners and see that it doesn't make a bit of difference, and we can look at omissions like Straight Outta Compton and realize that says more than whoever takes home the trophy. It's the equivalent of prom king and queen—those elected (and their best friends) think it's amazing, the rest of us won't care or remember in a few years and will feel sorry and embarrassed for them when they still talk about being prom court whenever we run into them. "In" versus "out" is so high school, yet the Academy perpetuates exactly that. I think it's time we all move on.
Actually, I do. If the Academy is made up of seventy-something percent old white guys, it's a cinch they get more excited remembering how they blackballed Communists than want to think about L.A. in the 80s and 90s.
The self-congratulatory aspect of the Academy Awards—and the industry in general—leaves a bad taste in my mouth. They're so proud of themselves for what? Making an entirely unnecessary export? I guess they employ a lot of
Anyway. This movie. I know nothing about rap music. I don't listen to it, don't much care for it at all. I mean, at that time I was living in Texas, where most people I knew listened to country music, a few listened to alternative/grunge, and a tinier sliver listened to techno. And I listened to pop and classic rock and Jimmy Buffett. Throughout this movie, my husband kept saying, "Now you must recognize this song!" I didn't. The songs all sounded the same to me, and all sounded a bit like Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Give It Away." I'd heard of Dr. Dre and Ice Cube and Suge Knight, but that's about it. Name recognition. Yet despite all this handicap, I still found Straight Outta Compton compelling.
A movie that encourages me to endure rap? Pretty amazing.
More than that, a movie that brings home what it was like to suffer under the racial ire of the L.A. police—something I could never hope to fully understand, but this film comes as close as possible to making me "get it"? That's impressive. (Though I still can't entirely wrap my brain around how they are so violent towards one another. How is that okay?)
The acting here is really good, too. Again, it left me shaking my head that they didn't get any nominations.
I don't know what else to say. It's a fabulous film. Better than Trumbo or The Big Short, in my opinion. Just goes to show, the Academy is . . . I think it's too close to the industry to be able to see the big picture (no pun intended). It's impossible for the Academy to step back and be any kind of objective. And I know this is all subjective—art is subjective—but in the Oscars' case it's too subjective. It's too influenced by its own self-interest. If that makes any sense.
Bottom line is, the Academy Awards don't mean much. Or shouldn't. It's a peer group slapping each other on the back, and we're supposed to believe that who and what wins matters. But it really doesn't. We can look at past winners and see that it doesn't make a bit of difference, and we can look at omissions like Straight Outta Compton and realize that says more than whoever takes home the trophy. It's the equivalent of prom king and queen—those elected (and their best friends) think it's amazing, the rest of us won't care or remember in a few years and will feel sorry and embarrassed for them when they still talk about being prom court whenever we run into them. "In" versus "out" is so high school, yet the Academy perpetuates exactly that. I think it's time we all move on.
1.08.2016
In Retrospect: American Idol
So Pop Culture Happy Hour's most recent podcast is a discussion of American Idol, which is a show I used to watch quite fixedly, and I think it's funny/interesting that a lot of the discussion on the podcast was centered around the question, "When did you stop watching?" As if it were a given that pretty much everyone had.
I gave up ages ago myself, though I had to go look up the Wiki to figure out when. Before I did that, I had to really think about it. The last thing I could remember was Adam Lambert, which is a strange way to put it, but it's true. It's like I'd been knocked upside the head by the juggernaut that is (was) American Idol, and my tunnel vision narrowed to Adam Lambert and then I lost consciousness.
I can't remember if I finished that season (which, it turns out, was Season 8) or gave up partway through, but I know I didn't watch any of Season 9. From time to time I've tuned in to the auditions to see if anyone sparks my interest, but the more you watch, the more manufactured the drama appears. To be sure, it's always been manufactured, but like anything you're overexposed to, it becomes so much more obvious after a while. And that becomes annoying. It's like . . . You're fine to go watch a theatrical production. You know the sets are sets. But if every play you ever saw used the same set pieces? While the actors kept trying to make you believe they were real? You'd be like, "Get the fuck outta my face. Seriously." What was magical loses its luster, and suddenly you never want to see another play again. Because you've seen everything they can possibly do with those stupid sets.
That was a crap metaphor, but I hope you see my point. What was fun is now just a long, involved process. And when it became increasingly clear that the winners may or may not actually have careers (I was really pulling for David Cook there), it began to feel like there was nothing actually at stake. Runners up were having chart-topping singles while winners went nowhere. So it didn't really matter who won.
If I'm honest, I probably began the slide away from Idol when Daughtry got voted off in Season 5. I'm glad he's had a solid career in the aftermath. And whatever happened to Taylor Hicks? See what I mean by it not mattering? And if there's nothing at stake, the reasons to watch (or vote) dwindle.
For me, motivation to watch continued to erode as the chosen contestants got increasingly uninteresting to me (translation: I got older and am too stuck in my music preferences to deal with these young whippersnappers), and when judges I knew and loved began walking away as well. I did make a half-hearted attempt to try the show again when Harry Connick Jr. came on; I worked with him a while back and he's lovely, someone whose judgement [in music] I would certainly trust. But I just couldn't muster any enthusiasm. Whatever I'd liked in Idol early on was gone, or I'd grown out of it or something.
Truth is, I don't do reality television any more. I had a fair run with Idol and also enjoyed Survivor for a while, but then the market got crowded and I began missing scripted drama and characters. As a writer, I have great appreciation for the work that goes into scripted television. And you can tell me up, down, and backward that reality TV is just as much work or more, but I'll never "get it." It feels so much more forced to me. It feels like gossip and backstabbing. I know some people relish those things, but I do not.
American Idol is now entering its 15th and final season. And I still have no desire to go back and try watching it again. All these singers sound alike to me these days anyway. Guess it's time to go sit on the front porch and grumble at the neighborhood kids.
I gave up ages ago myself, though I had to go look up the Wiki to figure out when. Before I did that, I had to really think about it. The last thing I could remember was Adam Lambert, which is a strange way to put it, but it's true. It's like I'd been knocked upside the head by the juggernaut that is (was) American Idol, and my tunnel vision narrowed to Adam Lambert and then I lost consciousness.
I can't remember if I finished that season (which, it turns out, was Season 8) or gave up partway through, but I know I didn't watch any of Season 9. From time to time I've tuned in to the auditions to see if anyone sparks my interest, but the more you watch, the more manufactured the drama appears. To be sure, it's always been manufactured, but like anything you're overexposed to, it becomes so much more obvious after a while. And that becomes annoying. It's like . . . You're fine to go watch a theatrical production. You know the sets are sets. But if every play you ever saw used the same set pieces? While the actors kept trying to make you believe they were real? You'd be like, "Get the fuck outta my face. Seriously." What was magical loses its luster, and suddenly you never want to see another play again. Because you've seen everything they can possibly do with those stupid sets.
That was a crap metaphor, but I hope you see my point. What was fun is now just a long, involved process. And when it became increasingly clear that the winners may or may not actually have careers (I was really pulling for David Cook there), it began to feel like there was nothing actually at stake. Runners up were having chart-topping singles while winners went nowhere. So it didn't really matter who won.
If I'm honest, I probably began the slide away from Idol when Daughtry got voted off in Season 5. I'm glad he's had a solid career in the aftermath. And whatever happened to Taylor Hicks? See what I mean by it not mattering? And if there's nothing at stake, the reasons to watch (or vote) dwindle.
For me, motivation to watch continued to erode as the chosen contestants got increasingly uninteresting to me (translation: I got older and am too stuck in my music preferences to deal with these young whippersnappers), and when judges I knew and loved began walking away as well. I did make a half-hearted attempt to try the show again when Harry Connick Jr. came on; I worked with him a while back and he's lovely, someone whose judgement [in music] I would certainly trust. But I just couldn't muster any enthusiasm. Whatever I'd liked in Idol early on was gone, or I'd grown out of it or something.
Truth is, I don't do reality television any more. I had a fair run with Idol and also enjoyed Survivor for a while, but then the market got crowded and I began missing scripted drama and characters. As a writer, I have great appreciation for the work that goes into scripted television. And you can tell me up, down, and backward that reality TV is just as much work or more, but I'll never "get it." It feels so much more forced to me. It feels like gossip and backstabbing. I know some people relish those things, but I do not.
American Idol is now entering its 15th and final season. And I still have no desire to go back and try watching it again. All these singers sound alike to me these days anyway. Guess it's time to go sit on the front porch and grumble at the neighborhood kids.
10.02.2015
Concerts: Richard Marx (Again)
He played his hits—acoustically. Which meant some of the songs I love like "That Was Lulu" were not included. (Was that one ever even a hit?) He played a new one, too, that hasn't been recorded yet. It's called "Not In Love," and was a great piano number.
What's fun about seeing Marx live is that he's really funny as well as talented. He has good patter. And "How Can I Miss You (When You Won't Go Away)?" remains a favorite of mine.
I tried to explain to my daughter how Marx has had this impressive career, and how he was my first musician crush (I'd had TV and movie star crushes but Marx was my first rock star crush), and how this and that song meant a lot to me at various times in my life. I think it was too much for her to absorb, though. Instead she more or less walked away understanding that this singer was important to me, and that I was excited to see him play, and that meant more to her than anything. Well, and when Marx said something like, "Thanks for coming to hear these songs I made up," my daughter turned to me with wide eyes and said, "He made them up all by himself?!"
Yes, dear, he did.
8.21.2015
Music: The Great Unknown by Rob Thomas
We all know I love Rob. So, you know, keep in mind I'm probably biased here.
Aquarians are weird. They're fiercely loyal and committed, but also fluid. They need things to move. Their also very caught up in connections, wether it those ties be between people or society at large. For an Aquarian it's more or less the same thing, actually, because they see that it's the minute bonds between people that hold us together as a world population. That's why so many Aquarians end up being activists of one kind or another. They see and feel all this so clearly it's sometimes painful. And like their Tarot significator the Star card, they must channel all that (pour the water) into their art or work or hobbies.
I don't mean to get woo-woo on you. It's just that these themes are recurring for Rob in his music. And yet one can't say "more of the same," really, because as an Aquarian he is fluid and does change things up a bit. There's something very definitely him at the core—echoes, say, of "Lonely No More" and the like—and yet no one of his solo albums, or of Matchbox Twenty's albums for that matter, sounds really alike.
Now, I originally said of "Trust You" that it didn't sound like Rob at all. And it still doesn't to me, not really. That song has Ryan Tedder/OneRepublic written all over it. That said, it has grown on me a bit. Other songs on The Great Unknown called to mind American Authors and Jason Mraz. This isn't a judgement, and not necessarily a bad thing, just very noticeable to me.
That said, I really did enjoy my first couple listens to the album. Most of it is upbeat, even danceable. The title song is slower and, intentionally or not, evokes the 23rd Psalm with its talk of valleys and, well, The Great Unknown.
I think so far I most like "Nlytm" and "Lie To Me," though there's no one song I don't like, which is pretty impressive. Yes, even "Trust You" will stay on my iPod. For now.
The whole thing hangs together quite well if you listen to it straight through. The next test will be to see if, when my iPod is on shuffle, I feel the need to skip through any of these songs when they surface. It does make a difference, believe it or not. Something that's fine in a bloc may not stand alone very well.
But thus far, it's all good.
Aquarians are weird. They're fiercely loyal and committed, but also fluid. They need things to move. Their also very caught up in connections, wether it those ties be between people or society at large. For an Aquarian it's more or less the same thing, actually, because they see that it's the minute bonds between people that hold us together as a world population. That's why so many Aquarians end up being activists of one kind or another. They see and feel all this so clearly it's sometimes painful. And like their Tarot significator the Star card, they must channel all that (pour the water) into their art or work or hobbies.
I don't mean to get woo-woo on you. It's just that these themes are recurring for Rob in his music. And yet one can't say "more of the same," really, because as an Aquarian he is fluid and does change things up a bit. There's something very definitely him at the core—echoes, say, of "Lonely No More" and the like—and yet no one of his solo albums, or of Matchbox Twenty's albums for that matter, sounds really alike.
Now, I originally said of "Trust You" that it didn't sound like Rob at all. And it still doesn't to me, not really. That song has Ryan Tedder/OneRepublic written all over it. That said, it has grown on me a bit. Other songs on The Great Unknown called to mind American Authors and Jason Mraz. This isn't a judgement, and not necessarily a bad thing, just very noticeable to me.
That said, I really did enjoy my first couple listens to the album. Most of it is upbeat, even danceable. The title song is slower and, intentionally or not, evokes the 23rd Psalm with its talk of valleys and, well, The Great Unknown.
I think so far I most like "Nlytm" and "Lie To Me," though there's no one song I don't like, which is pretty impressive. Yes, even "Trust You" will stay on my iPod. For now.
The whole thing hangs together quite well if you listen to it straight through. The next test will be to see if, when my iPod is on shuffle, I feel the need to skip through any of these songs when they surface. It does make a difference, believe it or not. Something that's fine in a bloc may not stand alone very well.
But thus far, it's all good.
7.03.2015
Concerts: Plain White T's and Rob Thomas at Mountain Winery (Saratoga, CA)
This time I wore the stripes.
Mountain Winery in Saratoga, California is one of my favorite venues. You drive up a twisty path and arrive high above everything around you, with breathtaking views. But more than that, it's like being on another planet. And though it's a large enough arena, it feels very intimate.
The Plain White T's opened, none of them wearing plain white t's at all, which I find to be false advertising. Would it be too precious if they did wear them? I don't know. I'm not sure about the politics around naming a band after an item of clothing.
I'll go ahead and admit I don't own any of their albums, though I've enjoyed some of their songs on the radio. Some but not all. In fact, that "Hey There Delilah" song, which is probably still their best known, is one that really irritates me. But I knew there would be no escaping it, and indeed they closed the set with it. I, for one, prefer the more upbeat. "1, 2, 3, 4" is a good one, and "Should've Gone to Bed." In truth, they put on a good show and were working hard for it, too; it's tough to be the opening band. You're almost never the one people came to see, and a lot of seats are usually still empty when you start. Tom Higgenson called people down to dance in front of the stage, hoping to get some energy going, and that helped.
Rob, meantime, put on as good a show as he ever does. This tour has been fraught with acute allergy attacks and—affecting last night's show—band member emergencies that prevented them from playing anything but the single "Trust You" from the forthcoming new album (which Rob says is due to drop in August). That was disappointing, as I was looking forward to the new stuff, but Rob still put on a robust show. He's a fine entertainer, and a large part of that is he genuinely enjoys it but also doesn't take it for granted. It's clear he's grateful for his fans and the opportunity to do what he loves, and it's equally clear there's love and respect between him and his band. That makes him a pleasure to watch and be with for a couple hours.
(I gotta give up for Rob's drummer, too, in particular; Abe kills it.)
Not a lot of change-ups in this show. What I mean is, most things came out sounding more or less like the album versions, only live, and though Rob touched on some Elvis (doing a bit of "That's All Right" coming out of "Getting Late," like usual) and some Steve Miller (skimming "The Joker") he didn't do any one full cover song. He played "Rest Stop" and "3 A.M." and from there stuck to his solo album catalogue. Well, and he played "Smooth" of course. No piano for Rob this show, either.
Still and all, it was a solid outing, and everyone left satisfied, filled up on a great experience.
I've seen Rob perform (solo and with Matchbox Twenty) more times than any other artist, and I've seldom if ever been disappointed. But this particular show—and I think the venue plays a big part here—had particularly good energy. Thanks, as ever, Rob, for another wonderful night.
Mountain Winery in Saratoga, California is one of my favorite venues. You drive up a twisty path and arrive high above everything around you, with breathtaking views. But more than that, it's like being on another planet. And though it's a large enough arena, it feels very intimate.
The Plain White T's opened, none of them wearing plain white t's at all, which I find to be false advertising. Would it be too precious if they did wear them? I don't know. I'm not sure about the politics around naming a band after an item of clothing.
 |
| Not a white tee among them. |
Rob, meantime, put on as good a show as he ever does. This tour has been fraught with acute allergy attacks and—affecting last night's show—band member emergencies that prevented them from playing anything but the single "Trust You" from the forthcoming new album (which Rob says is due to drop in August). That was disappointing, as I was looking forward to the new stuff, but Rob still put on a robust show. He's a fine entertainer, and a large part of that is he genuinely enjoys it but also doesn't take it for granted. It's clear he's grateful for his fans and the opportunity to do what he loves, and it's equally clear there's love and respect between him and his band. That makes him a pleasure to watch and be with for a couple hours.
(I gotta give up for Rob's drummer, too, in particular; Abe kills it.)
Not a lot of change-ups in this show. What I mean is, most things came out sounding more or less like the album versions, only live, and though Rob touched on some Elvis (doing a bit of "That's All Right" coming out of "Getting Late," like usual) and some Steve Miller (skimming "The Joker") he didn't do any one full cover song. He played "Rest Stop" and "3 A.M." and from there stuck to his solo album catalogue. Well, and he played "Smooth" of course. No piano for Rob this show, either.
Still and all, it was a solid outing, and everyone left satisfied, filled up on a great experience.
I've seen Rob perform (solo and with Matchbox Twenty) more times than any other artist, and I've seldom if ever been disappointed. But this particular show—and I think the venue plays a big part here—had particularly good energy. Thanks, as ever, Rob, for another wonderful night.
5.26.2015
Music: "Trust You" by Rob Thomas
It's catchy and has Ryan Tedder's fingerprints all over it; the song could easily be by OneRepublic. Which I suppose is my major beef with it: it doesn't sound like Rob Thomas.
"Trust You" is fun and upbeat, but it's synthesized all to hell. Not my thing. I like the song, I'll listen to it plenty, but there's nothing about it that says "Rob Thomas" to me. ::shrug::
This seems to be the way music is moving, everything sounding a lot alike . . . There are few distinctive voice left.
See you in July, Rob. xoxo
P.S. At least your stripes are getting better. It's all about the spacing.
"Trust You" is fun and upbeat, but it's synthesized all to hell. Not my thing. I like the song, I'll listen to it plenty, but there's nothing about it that says "Rob Thomas" to me. ::shrug::
This seems to be the way music is moving, everything sounding a lot alike . . . There are few distinctive voice left.
See you in July, Rob. xoxo
P.S. At least your stripes are getting better. It's all about the spacing.
5.24.2015
Movies: Pitch Perfect 2
Starring: Anna Kendrick, Rebel Wilson, Hailee Steinfeld
Directed By: Elizabeth Banks
Written By: Kay Cannon, based on characters created by Mickey Rapkin
Universal, 2015
PG-13; 115 minutes
2.5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
I really, really enjoyed Pitch Perfect. And I wanted to really, really enjoy Pitch Perfect 2, but I didn't. I didn't hate it, but I didn't especially enjoy it either. So in the end I was disappointed.
I'm aware, of course, there is a bias. I watched Pitch Perfect at home and with little to no expectations attached. I only passingly knew what it was even about. But going into the sequel, I did have expectations. This is the particular curse of sequels to unexpected blockbusters.
Thing is, in the first movie, all the actors looked like they were having a good time. This time they didn't. Anna Kendrick in particular appeared not to want to be there at all. I spent a good portion of the movie trying to decide if she really didn't want to be there, or if that was just the character. But the character was meant to be torn . . . I think? Actually, it wasn't clear, and that's another problem with the movie. Well, that and it wasn't all that funny.
Again, I probably expected too much from the film. But it was very clear very fast that this was exactly the same beats as the first movie. 1. The catastrophic event that lays the group low. Basically, it's a hole they need to dig themselves out of. (In the first film it was the vomiting, this time it was "Muffgate.") 2. The antagonist group. (In the first film, the boys, in this one the Germans.) 3. The sing-off in which things fall apart. 4. The need to change the act/"sound" in order to win. 5. The big win.
In the first movie Beca isn't sure she wants to even be in the group, and this time . . . She's not sure she wants to keep being in the group. Her heart continues to be in producing music. And her relationship this time around is non-existent, merely taken as fact. She's still dating Jesse, but we only see token scenes of them together. Because instead of inspiring her with old film soundtracks, we now have Hailee Steinfeld inspiring Beca's nascent career with her original songs. ("You're my flashlight"? Really? If someone called me that, I would not be flattered.)
Steinfeld plays Emily, a "legacy" Bella because her mother was a Barden Bella as well. But she's kind of (as we say down South) a dip. And even her would-be romance with Benji is perfunctory, all of it playing to the steady beat of plot point, plot point, plot point.
Sure, argue that the first movie was all plot points too, and you wouldn't be wrong. But instead of tweaking or twisting, Pitch Perfect 2 serves up the same exact dish only colder this time. As I mentioned, no one seems especially happy to be there, none of the actors appear to be having a good time. This movie attempts to be funny but lacks joy.
Still, it's done gangbusters at the box office, which means we're probably in for another round. Beca and Fat Amy and the others have graduated, but we still have Emily . . . Just Emily? Really? All the Bellas were in the same class until now? They hadn't recruited any younger students? That seems like poor planning.
Or I could be wrong and some of those people didn't graduate, in which case it's poor writing for being unclear.
Either way, there's a flaw here. Let's just hope whatever they come up with next has a bit more pop. This one felt flat.
Directed By: Elizabeth Banks
Written By: Kay Cannon, based on characters created by Mickey Rapkin
Universal, 2015
PG-13; 115 minutes
2.5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
I really, really enjoyed Pitch Perfect. And I wanted to really, really enjoy Pitch Perfect 2, but I didn't. I didn't hate it, but I didn't especially enjoy it either. So in the end I was disappointed.
I'm aware, of course, there is a bias. I watched Pitch Perfect at home and with little to no expectations attached. I only passingly knew what it was even about. But going into the sequel, I did have expectations. This is the particular curse of sequels to unexpected blockbusters.
Thing is, in the first movie, all the actors looked like they were having a good time. This time they didn't. Anna Kendrick in particular appeared not to want to be there at all. I spent a good portion of the movie trying to decide if she really didn't want to be there, or if that was just the character. But the character was meant to be torn . . . I think? Actually, it wasn't clear, and that's another problem with the movie. Well, that and it wasn't all that funny.
Again, I probably expected too much from the film. But it was very clear very fast that this was exactly the same beats as the first movie. 1. The catastrophic event that lays the group low. Basically, it's a hole they need to dig themselves out of. (In the first film it was the vomiting, this time it was "Muffgate.") 2. The antagonist group. (In the first film, the boys, in this one the Germans.) 3. The sing-off in which things fall apart. 4. The need to change the act/"sound" in order to win. 5. The big win.
In the first movie Beca isn't sure she wants to even be in the group, and this time . . . She's not sure she wants to keep being in the group. Her heart continues to be in producing music. And her relationship this time around is non-existent, merely taken as fact. She's still dating Jesse, but we only see token scenes of them together. Because instead of inspiring her with old film soundtracks, we now have Hailee Steinfeld inspiring Beca's nascent career with her original songs. ("You're my flashlight"? Really? If someone called me that, I would not be flattered.)
Steinfeld plays Emily, a "legacy" Bella because her mother was a Barden Bella as well. But she's kind of (as we say down South) a dip. And even her would-be romance with Benji is perfunctory, all of it playing to the steady beat of plot point, plot point, plot point.
Sure, argue that the first movie was all plot points too, and you wouldn't be wrong. But instead of tweaking or twisting, Pitch Perfect 2 serves up the same exact dish only colder this time. As I mentioned, no one seems especially happy to be there, none of the actors appear to be having a good time. This movie attempts to be funny but lacks joy.
Still, it's done gangbusters at the box office, which means we're probably in for another round. Beca and Fat Amy and the others have graduated, but we still have Emily . . . Just Emily? Really? All the Bellas were in the same class until now? They hadn't recruited any younger students? That seems like poor planning.
Or I could be wrong and some of those people didn't graduate, in which case it's poor writing for being unclear.
Either way, there's a flaw here. Let's just hope whatever they come up with next has a bit more pop. This one felt flat.
5.16.2015
Movies: Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck
I was close to graduating from high school when Kurt Cobain died, and the whole of my reaction to the news was, "Oh. That guy."
Grunge, punk, and metal were not my things, I couldn't identify with those particular feelings*, but in those days one couldn't go very far without hearing something by Nirvana, so I had a passing familiarity with their music. And mostly knew Cobain from t-shirts worn by my classmates.
His is the kind of story that seems made for media: the troubled childhood, the health problems, the superstardom, the eventual crash (weirdly tempered by a semi-happy family life), capped by suicide.
I went into Montage of Heck knowing almost nothing about Cobain except (a) he'd been lead singer and songwriter for Nirvana, (b) he'd married Courtney Love and they'd had a daughter, and (c) he'd killed himself. I probably suspected the drug thing but I'm suspicious by nature and in my experience musicians have bad habits, so I could have been wrong. But I guess I wasn't.
The documentary isn't as cohesive as something more formal, or maybe a biopic, would be. Writer/director Brett Morgen was able to get friends and family members to talk about Cobain, but there's a distinct sense of each of them having created their own narrative, and so I was actively wondering how much of what I was being told was true. Also, any time something is labeled as "authorized," I sort of cock an eye at it; when something gets the official stamp of approval, there's at the very least a bias, and at worst an agenda.
For visuals, besides people sitting on couches, there is a lot of old home videos, and then TV interview clips, and many, many shots of Cobain's journals, his scrawling thoughts, which is the closest we can come now to him speaking for himself. There is also interstitial animation reminiscent of Pink Floyd's The Wall; in fact, Morgen himself stated Montage of Heck would become this generations' The Wall, so the parallel is deliberate.
It was an interesting film, if a bit long; some of the archival footage could have been better edited. And it ends with Cobain's coma in Rome, at which point Courtney Love tells the camera that she'd thought of cheating but hadn't, yet Kurt had apparently known this in some psychic way, hinting that his overdose and the resulting coma was his response to this knowledge. The final legend over a black screen remarks that a month after the incident in Rome, Cobain killed himself. No need, perhaps, to hash that out again since it's so well known. Or maybe the family and friends just didn't want to talk about that part. But the result is an odd juxtaposition that almost draws one to the conclusion Cobain's suicide was Courtney Love's fault, if only because it pulls through the notion that the suicide was a continuation—and full stop—of what happened in Rome. Just sort of bizarre, but then the whole documentary is a bit bizarre. But at the same time, it's the kind of film that does stick with you. It makes an impression.
If anything, I'll have Nirvana stuck in my head for a few days. And I wasn't even a fan.
*For me, and probably for many people, I tend to like music that speaks to my experience or my feelings. Thanks to a pretty happy childhood, the whole anger/rebellion music scene didn't work for me. Guess I've had a "pop/rock" life. (Yes, I realize this makes me supremely uninteresting and there will never be books or movies about me. Sigh.)
Grunge, punk, and metal were not my things, I couldn't identify with those particular feelings*, but in those days one couldn't go very far without hearing something by Nirvana, so I had a passing familiarity with their music. And mostly knew Cobain from t-shirts worn by my classmates.
His is the kind of story that seems made for media: the troubled childhood, the health problems, the superstardom, the eventual crash (weirdly tempered by a semi-happy family life), capped by suicide.
I went into Montage of Heck knowing almost nothing about Cobain except (a) he'd been lead singer and songwriter for Nirvana, (b) he'd married Courtney Love and they'd had a daughter, and (c) he'd killed himself. I probably suspected the drug thing but I'm suspicious by nature and in my experience musicians have bad habits, so I could have been wrong. But I guess I wasn't.
The documentary isn't as cohesive as something more formal, or maybe a biopic, would be. Writer/director Brett Morgen was able to get friends and family members to talk about Cobain, but there's a distinct sense of each of them having created their own narrative, and so I was actively wondering how much of what I was being told was true. Also, any time something is labeled as "authorized," I sort of cock an eye at it; when something gets the official stamp of approval, there's at the very least a bias, and at worst an agenda.
For visuals, besides people sitting on couches, there is a lot of old home videos, and then TV interview clips, and many, many shots of Cobain's journals, his scrawling thoughts, which is the closest we can come now to him speaking for himself. There is also interstitial animation reminiscent of Pink Floyd's The Wall; in fact, Morgen himself stated Montage of Heck would become this generations' The Wall, so the parallel is deliberate.
It was an interesting film, if a bit long; some of the archival footage could have been better edited. And it ends with Cobain's coma in Rome, at which point Courtney Love tells the camera that she'd thought of cheating but hadn't, yet Kurt had apparently known this in some psychic way, hinting that his overdose and the resulting coma was his response to this knowledge. The final legend over a black screen remarks that a month after the incident in Rome, Cobain killed himself. No need, perhaps, to hash that out again since it's so well known. Or maybe the family and friends just didn't want to talk about that part. But the result is an odd juxtaposition that almost draws one to the conclusion Cobain's suicide was Courtney Love's fault, if only because it pulls through the notion that the suicide was a continuation—and full stop—of what happened in Rome. Just sort of bizarre, but then the whole documentary is a bit bizarre. But at the same time, it's the kind of film that does stick with you. It makes an impression.
If anything, I'll have Nirvana stuck in my head for a few days. And I wasn't even a fan.
*For me, and probably for many people, I tend to like music that speaks to my experience or my feelings. Thanks to a pretty happy childhood, the whole anger/rebellion music scene didn't work for me. Guess I've had a "pop/rock" life. (Yes, I realize this makes me supremely uninteresting and there will never be books or movies about me. Sigh.)
3.14.2015
Movies: Whiplash
I went into this one knowing nothing except J.K. Simmons took home the Academy Award for it. Now I know why. Though I guess the Academy thinks Miles Teller needs to pay a few more dues, but honestly, he did a fabulous job as well.
Teller plays Andrew, a driven, first-year music student at supposedly the finest conservatory in the nation (which means, of course, it's in New York). Andrew is a drummer, and he's picked out by Fletcher (Simmons) to join the Studio Band, which is the elite performance group for the school. Fletcher's teaching methods are extreme to say the least; he is, as some would call it, a "pusher" in the sense that no matter how good a student is, it's never good enough. To keep Andrew on his toes, Fletcher brings in another drummer so that Andrew is ever under threat of being replaced, ever required to prove himself and earn his spot on stage. Andrew drops his girlfriend and focuses solely on becoming "one of the greats."
Fletcher pushes Andrew so far that at one point Andrew stumbles away from a car accident with only the thought of getting to the performance on time. He tries to play while half covered in blood, and when Fletcher orders him off stage, Andrew attacks him.
Turns out that Andrew isn't the first of Fletcher's students to come unraveled; a prior student had recently committed suicide, and the parents blame Fletcher. So Andrew "testifies" (for lack of a better word), supposedly anonymously, against Fletcher and his tactics. Andrew has already been expelled after attacking Fletcher physically, so he has little left to lose.
But then Fletcher invites Andrew to play at a local jazz festival . . .
I'll leave the rest to your imagination, or for you to go and watch for yourself.
It's a simple film but marvelously done. Brutal in places, and raw, which is the point. I only wish some of these talented filmmakers would come make 20 August. I think they could lend some real beauty to it.
Teller plays Andrew, a driven, first-year music student at supposedly the finest conservatory in the nation (which means, of course, it's in New York). Andrew is a drummer, and he's picked out by Fletcher (Simmons) to join the Studio Band, which is the elite performance group for the school. Fletcher's teaching methods are extreme to say the least; he is, as some would call it, a "pusher" in the sense that no matter how good a student is, it's never good enough. To keep Andrew on his toes, Fletcher brings in another drummer so that Andrew is ever under threat of being replaced, ever required to prove himself and earn his spot on stage. Andrew drops his girlfriend and focuses solely on becoming "one of the greats."
Fletcher pushes Andrew so far that at one point Andrew stumbles away from a car accident with only the thought of getting to the performance on time. He tries to play while half covered in blood, and when Fletcher orders him off stage, Andrew attacks him.
Turns out that Andrew isn't the first of Fletcher's students to come unraveled; a prior student had recently committed suicide, and the parents blame Fletcher. So Andrew "testifies" (for lack of a better word), supposedly anonymously, against Fletcher and his tactics. Andrew has already been expelled after attacking Fletcher physically, so he has little left to lose.
But then Fletcher invites Andrew to play at a local jazz festival . . .
I'll leave the rest to your imagination, or for you to go and watch for yourself.
It's a simple film but marvelously done. Brutal in places, and raw, which is the point. I only wish some of these talented filmmakers would come make 20 August. I think they could lend some real beauty to it.
9.09.2014
Movies: Twenty Feet from Stardom
I used to want to be a backup singer. Is that silly? I didn't dream of the spotlight, only of harmonizing. I'm sure there are psychological reasons for that; my independent streak is one thing, but I also have that deep-seated desire to belong, to meld with others . . . In particular, I wanted to sing backup for Jimmy Buffett. But whatever.
Meanwhile, in college I had a roommate who was getting an Advertising degree, but her passion was always music. So I wasn't entirely surprised to learn some years later that she had moved to L.A. and was writing her own music as well as booking studio sessions as a backup singer. (Here's her site; she's been doing work with Keb' Mo'.)
This is all just meant to illustrate that I came into Twenty Feet from Stardom with a certain amount of personal interest. And I enjoyed the film, though . . . I think I was expecting something different. I guess a documentary can't cover a subject too broadly; they had to pick some very definite people to talk to and follow, backup singers whose careers they charted from then to now. But as things went on, I asked myself, What's the point they're trying to make? And I couldn't quite get an answer.
That's probably more on me than on the film. I'll admit my attention began to wander. There's a chance the film made many points.
One thing I liked was when Sting mentioned how winning something like American Idol might rocket you to stardom, but it means you haven't worked as hard, haven't mined the depths of yourself, and so whatever you produce is less likely to last. I think he's really right in that. We've seen stars rise and fall in ever more rapid cycles, and it's because they have nothing to make them stick. They are all gloss, so they slide right by.
The film also touched on how trying to be a superstar is very different from having a real love of your art. People who love what they do and put themselves into it . . . They may or may not get famous for it, but one can detect the difference between someone like that and someone who is just in it for money or attention. (I, of course, must always go back and relate these things to writing, which is my chosen art. People who labor over a book because they can't not write are very different from those who churn out whatever the lowest common denominator of pop culture is. Those LCD people will sell, but . . . Same for screenplays/movies. We're a culture of mental candy. And so the people who deserve to do well—those who go the extra mile, those literary spinaches and broccolis—often don't.)
Sting also pointed out that talent alone won't get you there. Luck is involved. Serendipity. Destiny.
These are the things I took away from Twenty Feet from Stardom. Well, and that Merry Clayton (and she was such a hoot; I loved her) recorded her part of "Gimme Shelter" while in pajamas and curlers.
Really, the film was in part a historical look at the role of backup singers, and at how that has changed. What these singers bring to a song or a show. Why their names deserve to be known.
Meanwhile, in college I had a roommate who was getting an Advertising degree, but her passion was always music. So I wasn't entirely surprised to learn some years later that she had moved to L.A. and was writing her own music as well as booking studio sessions as a backup singer. (Here's her site; she's been doing work with Keb' Mo'.)
This is all just meant to illustrate that I came into Twenty Feet from Stardom with a certain amount of personal interest. And I enjoyed the film, though . . . I think I was expecting something different. I guess a documentary can't cover a subject too broadly; they had to pick some very definite people to talk to and follow, backup singers whose careers they charted from then to now. But as things went on, I asked myself, What's the point they're trying to make? And I couldn't quite get an answer.
That's probably more on me than on the film. I'll admit my attention began to wander. There's a chance the film made many points.
One thing I liked was when Sting mentioned how winning something like American Idol might rocket you to stardom, but it means you haven't worked as hard, haven't mined the depths of yourself, and so whatever you produce is less likely to last. I think he's really right in that. We've seen stars rise and fall in ever more rapid cycles, and it's because they have nothing to make them stick. They are all gloss, so they slide right by.
The film also touched on how trying to be a superstar is very different from having a real love of your art. People who love what they do and put themselves into it . . . They may or may not get famous for it, but one can detect the difference between someone like that and someone who is just in it for money or attention. (I, of course, must always go back and relate these things to writing, which is my chosen art. People who labor over a book because they can't not write are very different from those who churn out whatever the lowest common denominator of pop culture is. Those LCD people will sell, but . . . Same for screenplays/movies. We're a culture of mental candy. And so the people who deserve to do well—those who go the extra mile, those literary spinaches and broccolis—often don't.)
Sting also pointed out that talent alone won't get you there. Luck is involved. Serendipity. Destiny.
These are the things I took away from Twenty Feet from Stardom. Well, and that Merry Clayton (and she was such a hoot; I loved her) recorded her part of "Gimme Shelter" while in pajamas and curlers.
Really, the film was in part a historical look at the role of backup singers, and at how that has changed. What these singers bring to a song or a show. Why their names deserve to be known.
5.30.2014
My iPod Is Trying to Tell Me a Story
Stuck in traffic and here is the story my iPod chose to tell via shuffle:
I'm a lyrics person, and I also take into account songs' moods and such. As a writer, how could I not? And so when I listen to music, each song tells a kind of story. And when you have a lot of songs telling stories, you kind of start to weave them together into one big story. Or I do, anyway.
I found this particular plot, so to speak, very clear and satisfying (thanks largely to the last song which started as I turned on to my street). It's a love story—most songs are love stories—and it's a story told mostly from His perspective but She interjects a couple times. I like the way She answers his question (Guster & Michaelson) and He works to soothe her after her crisis of confidence (P!nk & Goo Goo Dolls).
Really, it's quite a good story. We start with the power of attraction, move into a deeper phase of the relationship, then go back and forth for a bit until the love in question matures and finds its joy again.
Does you iPod (or other music player) ever tell you sweeping, epic stories? I like it when mine does.
- "Hands All Over" - Maroon 5
- "Shiver" - Maroon 5
- "Do You Love Me?" - Guster
- "Parachute" - Ingrid Michaelson
- "Every Morning" - Sugar Ray
- "Still Ain't Over You" - Rob Thomas
- "Warmer Place To Sleep" - John [Cougar] Mellencamp
- "Keep Coming Back" - Richard Marx
- "Misery" - Maroon 5
- "Don't Let Me Get Me" - P!nk
- "Notbroken" - Goo Goo Dolls
- "Just Say Yes" - Snow Patrol
- "Best Day of My Life" - American Authors
I'm a lyrics person, and I also take into account songs' moods and such. As a writer, how could I not? And so when I listen to music, each song tells a kind of story. And when you have a lot of songs telling stories, you kind of start to weave them together into one big story. Or I do, anyway.
I found this particular plot, so to speak, very clear and satisfying (thanks largely to the last song which started as I turned on to my street). It's a love story—most songs are love stories—and it's a story told mostly from His perspective but She interjects a couple times. I like the way She answers his question (Guster & Michaelson) and He works to soothe her after her crisis of confidence (P!nk & Goo Goo Dolls).
Really, it's quite a good story. We start with the power of attraction, move into a deeper phase of the relationship, then go back and forth for a bit until the love in question matures and finds its joy again.
Does you iPod (or other music player) ever tell you sweeping, epic stories? I like it when mine does.
3.16.2014
Movies: Inside Llewyn Davis
If someone were to put the question to me flat out: "Did you like Inside Llewyn Davis?" I'd probably have to answer, "Not really."
There are things about the movie to like. It's beautifully shot. The music is, of course, quite good. The acting too. But the characters and the story . . . Those I liked less.
It's a small movie. More a character study than plot driven. But since Llewyn isn't terribly likable, I found it tough to sit through a movie about him. I also have a bit of an issue with "suffering" movies—that is, movies that focus on people's hard times and such. It's not my idea of entertainment, watching people walk around freezing without winter coats. I'm sure it's supposed to be edifying or something, watching a movie like this, but eating liver is also supposed to be edifying and I don't do that either; I get my iron from other sources, ones I enjoy more.
Inside Llewyn Davis is a kind of snapshot of folk musician Llewyn's life, and it's a mess of his own making. He had been part of what I suppose was a relatively popular duo, but then his partner committed suicide and Llewyn has been trying to make it as a solo act. But his records don't sell and his manager is lousy. Llewyn gets by on occasional Greenwich Village gigs and couch surfing, constantly taking advantage of others' generosity (even when it's clear he isn't welcome).
And yet this seems to be his ideal. He berates other musicians who are (as he calls them) "careerist." Those who aspire to actually make money at the craft. Well, I suppose it's easy to condemn what you know you can't have—and Llewyn travels to Chicago to try and get a foot in the door there only to be told he should really be part of a duo or group act because he'll never make it solo.
Messed up hypocrite that he is, Llewyn is still somewhat better than Jean (Carey Mulligan), who is shrill and awful as another folk singer who slept with Llewyn and got pregnant and now doesn't know if the baby is Llewyn's or her . . . long-term partner's? husband's? (played by Justin Timberlake, their relationship is not defined) Deciding she'd rather not risk the child being Llewyn's she demands he pay for her to have an abortion. Which is worse: Jean's drive or Llewyn's unwillingness to pull himself together? He has opportunities but always takes the easy way out of things; at one point, with a little paperwork he could get royalties on a record he sings on but would rather just take a one-time check. Sure, he needs the money, but what if the record ends up a hit? (And then again, what if it doesn't? 'Tis the risk creatives must take.)
By the end, the movie had become something of a drag. There was no up side, no hopefulness in it. Things only got worse as the seconds ticked by. I wouldn't have wanted false optimism, but . . . I just don't know what I'm supposed to have taken away from this film. An impression of the 60s Greenwich Village scene? ::shrug::
I'm thinking the cat—you saw it in the trailers, of course you did—probably had a more interesting story.
There are things about the movie to like. It's beautifully shot. The music is, of course, quite good. The acting too. But the characters and the story . . . Those I liked less.
It's a small movie. More a character study than plot driven. But since Llewyn isn't terribly likable, I found it tough to sit through a movie about him. I also have a bit of an issue with "suffering" movies—that is, movies that focus on people's hard times and such. It's not my idea of entertainment, watching people walk around freezing without winter coats. I'm sure it's supposed to be edifying or something, watching a movie like this, but eating liver is also supposed to be edifying and I don't do that either; I get my iron from other sources, ones I enjoy more.
Inside Llewyn Davis is a kind of snapshot of folk musician Llewyn's life, and it's a mess of his own making. He had been part of what I suppose was a relatively popular duo, but then his partner committed suicide and Llewyn has been trying to make it as a solo act. But his records don't sell and his manager is lousy. Llewyn gets by on occasional Greenwich Village gigs and couch surfing, constantly taking advantage of others' generosity (even when it's clear he isn't welcome).
And yet this seems to be his ideal. He berates other musicians who are (as he calls them) "careerist." Those who aspire to actually make money at the craft. Well, I suppose it's easy to condemn what you know you can't have—and Llewyn travels to Chicago to try and get a foot in the door there only to be told he should really be part of a duo or group act because he'll never make it solo.
Messed up hypocrite that he is, Llewyn is still somewhat better than Jean (Carey Mulligan), who is shrill and awful as another folk singer who slept with Llewyn and got pregnant and now doesn't know if the baby is Llewyn's or her . . . long-term partner's? husband's? (played by Justin Timberlake, their relationship is not defined) Deciding she'd rather not risk the child being Llewyn's she demands he pay for her to have an abortion. Which is worse: Jean's drive or Llewyn's unwillingness to pull himself together? He has opportunities but always takes the easy way out of things; at one point, with a little paperwork he could get royalties on a record he sings on but would rather just take a one-time check. Sure, he needs the money, but what if the record ends up a hit? (And then again, what if it doesn't? 'Tis the risk creatives must take.)
By the end, the movie had become something of a drag. There was no up side, no hopefulness in it. Things only got worse as the seconds ticked by. I wouldn't have wanted false optimism, but . . . I just don't know what I'm supposed to have taken away from this film. An impression of the 60s Greenwich Village scene? ::shrug::
I'm thinking the cat—you saw it in the trailers, of course you did—probably had a more interesting story.
2.28.2014
Concert Review: Richard Marx at the Bankhead Theater
Marx was my first musician crush. (Proof that I was never cool.) His Rush Street got me through the worst heartache of my life. And "Don't Mean Nothin'" prepared me for my current work as a screenwriter. (People always ask why I'm not more excited when someone says they want to make a movie from one of my scripts. I say, "Because it doesn't mean anything until it's in writing and signed.")
I was the nerd who cited Marx lyrics in a school newspaper debate. I used "Hazard" as the jumping off point for a soap opera-like story I used to write in a red notebook. My main character was named Mark Aaron Bradford, and he'd had to flee his hometown after being accused of murder, so he went into the city and had to take questionable jobs, and he was sexually harassed by a woman named Carole, and then moved in with a suburban family . . . At least, that's how I remember it going. It was a big hit in certain circles; I would write an "episode" (or chapter, I guess), and the notebook would get handed round so everyone could read it, and then it would come back to me and I'd write the next part. Good times.
This is just meant to show how influenced I was by Marx and his music. In the summer of 1993, I really wanted to see him in concert, but the week he was going to be in town was the week my parents had planned for us to visit my grandparents in Alaska. I begged to be allowed to stay home, but no. I thought it was unimaginably cruel of my parents to make me fly halfway across the U.S. (and part of Canada!) when my crush was going to be so close.
And now, 21 years later . . . Finally! I was able to see Richard Marx play. Not in some big concert venue, but in an intimate little setting. Just Marx, no band. He had his acoustic guitar and his piano, and he stripped down a number of his songs—they lend themselves to that; Marx said he was playing them more or less as they'd been written, rather than the "after" studio version. It was lovely and unique and a worthwhile experience.
So often I go to concerts and think, considering the songs are played pretty much exactly as they sound on the radio, I might as well have saved my money. There's nothing special in that experience, at least not to me. Some say it's the crowd and the fans that make it special, but . . . The crowd and the fans really mean you're going to have to stand all evening if you want to be able to see the stage. And they mean that you'll be listening to the guy next to you sing when you really just want to hear the musicians. So unless there's a big show, a spectacle of some kind (like, you know, Pink Floyd) . . .
OR. Every now and then an artist goes smaller instead of bigger, and that's nice too. In Marx's case, it worked very well. He's good with a crowd, has a good sense of humor. He played a number of his biggest hits, and some songs he'd written for other artists (Luther Vandross, Keith Urban, NSYNC). He played some new stuff, too, and that was exciting to hear.
When you consider the length and breadth of his career, Marx has done well in an industry that typically chews up and spits out the "latest thing." He's been smart and savvy enough to write for others, to produce others' work. He's worked the system quite well, and it was really nice to see that he still has such core fans willing to come out and see him play.
As for me, I was just so glad to finally, finally check this one off my list. I'd have been happy no matter what, but Marx put on a great little show. So I thank him for making my teenage dream come true, even if it was 20+ years later than planned.
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