I just finished watching Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. The principle thing I learned from it is that a work of art will fail if the characters depicted are unlikable. Nick was boring, Norah was cute . . . but Clarissa was a big, whiny three-year old and Tess (or Tiss, or whoever she was), was a skanky ass hoe. So there you go. I couldn't care less about the characters and therefore could care less about what happened to them. Cut that tie and then the whole movie goes down the drain, along with the soundtrack, and, more to the point, indie rock.
What's wrong with indie rock? Well, to sum it up, it sounds bad. But why? I know you're dying to know just why it sounds so gosh-awful. And you're probably scratching your head, like me, and wondering how we ever went from Led Zeppelin to Modest Mouse, (really, who would name their band that?), from the Stones to Yo-La-Tango. (?)
Well my friends, the answer is that indie rockers misapplied the great, time-honored truth: every great movement is in reaction to something. Rock 'n roll happened in reaction to big-band swing; punk rock happened in reaction to classic rock, alternative rock happened in reaction to the last vestiges of classic rock and the MTV era, indie rock happened in reaction to alternative rock, and well, anything that sounded good. You know the problem with indie rock? They exist in reaction to everything about rock that's great. They tampered with the very ingredients of the formula that make rock sound good, heck that make any kind of music sound good. Let's examine this point by point.
1) Great band names became beyond lame band names. I've already cited a few examples above. When I heard about MuteMath's latest release, I didn't even wince.
2) The blues went down the toilet. 'Nuff said. None of the indie bands know how to play the blues. You take the blues out rock, you take the rock out of rock.
3) Cool lyrics about love, sex, and rebellion became lyrics about autumns sweaters and never-ending math equations. (Thanks Yo-La-Tango and Modest Mouse!)
4) Bass-driven grooves became . . . oops! The bass is either absent or it's playing a drone.
5) Rich, beautifully phrased guitar melodies became short, choppy, staccato ostinatos (repeated melodic fragments inspired by avante-garde classical music a-la Phillip Glass). You kinda have to know that last bit for those tinny sounding ostinatos to have a fighting chance at sounding cool. Don't forget to take your opera glasses with you to the Nothing Rhymes With Orange concert.
6) R&B inspired belting became nerdy whining. Really, I don't know what else to call it. Is it just me, or do lots of indie singers sound like they, well, don't know how to sing? The women often adopt an affected Billie Holiday-ish pout and the guys make a style out of straining for high notes and warping the vowels to suit their English-major poetic recitation fantasies? It's unforgivable.
Alright, I'll cut the ranting but indie rock sets my panties in a twist. I just think it sounds so bad. Does anyone really, really like it? It just isn't cool. Doesn't look cool, doesn't sound cool.
Nothing.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Swingers: favorite lines
Mike approaches a girl at a party and her initial response?
"What car do you drive?"
Vince Vaughan's put down: "She's business class . . . big but, can't fly coach."
What the guys all said, time and time again, about some lonely bar before hopping over to the next lonely bar:
"This place is dead."
Vince Vaughan to Mike: "You're so money and you don't even know it."
"What car do you drive?"
Vince Vaughan's put down: "She's business class . . . big but, can't fly coach."
What the guys all said, time and time again, about some lonely bar before hopping over to the next lonely bar:
"This place is dead."
Vince Vaughan to Mike: "You're so money and you don't even know it."
Swingers: it was fun to see it from a guy's perspective . . .
The whole single, dating, romance thing . . . sucks, doesn't it? If you're in a great relationship, well, good for you. But for the rest of us, whether you're trying to meet someone, trying to avoid having someone meet you, trying to forget someone . . . it just sucks from every angle. The great thing about Swingers is that it attests to that in a very honest way but wraps up with a happy ending. It's like a chick flick without the sappiness along the way. Oh yeah, did I mention that it examines the whole dating thing from a guy's perspective? That was really fun. Because what I learned is that we're all in the same boat, guys are girls: it's awkward and painful for all of us, in the same ways, and for the same reasons.
The message of the movie, "be yourself," was time-worn, but it was given a refreshingly complex treatment. Mike is hurting over the break-up of a six year relationship and struggles to meet someone new. His friend Trent, a ladies man, tries to teach Mike a thing or two about meeting women. When Mike follows Trent's script, things don't work out, of course. However, the movie isn't so simplistic that Mike hits it off with someone as soon as he lets his guard down. He has to fumble around. And Trent's influence isn't completely bad: thanks to Trent, who drags Mike out of his lonely apartment, Mike meets the Heather Graham character.
The point of it all? You have to be yourself, but being who you are won't work with everyone and a combination of approaches--Mike's down-home honesty and Trent's go get 'em energy--work best. You have to be patient and stick it out. Things will eventually click if you hang in there. And never forget that everyone's in the same, sinking boat. At the end of the day, cocky Trent and shy Mike were haunting the same bars and parties with the same results. (Just because Trent got girls to sleep with him didn't mean he found true love. It is fair to say, however, that Trent minded his loneliness less, free spirit that he was.) It doesn't matter who you are: true love is a matter of luck, timing, and patience.
And, by the way, perhaps the truest part of the movie was this: you won't forget that special someone from your past until you meet someone new. So get to it, don't sit around, and dramatically lower your expectations until finally, to your utter disbelief, Mr. or Mrs. Right appears.
The message of the movie, "be yourself," was time-worn, but it was given a refreshingly complex treatment. Mike is hurting over the break-up of a six year relationship and struggles to meet someone new. His friend Trent, a ladies man, tries to teach Mike a thing or two about meeting women. When Mike follows Trent's script, things don't work out, of course. However, the movie isn't so simplistic that Mike hits it off with someone as soon as he lets his guard down. He has to fumble around. And Trent's influence isn't completely bad: thanks to Trent, who drags Mike out of his lonely apartment, Mike meets the Heather Graham character.
The point of it all? You have to be yourself, but being who you are won't work with everyone and a combination of approaches--Mike's down-home honesty and Trent's go get 'em energy--work best. You have to be patient and stick it out. Things will eventually click if you hang in there. And never forget that everyone's in the same, sinking boat. At the end of the day, cocky Trent and shy Mike were haunting the same bars and parties with the same results. (Just because Trent got girls to sleep with him didn't mean he found true love. It is fair to say, however, that Trent minded his loneliness less, free spirit that he was.) It doesn't matter who you are: true love is a matter of luck, timing, and patience.
And, by the way, perhaps the truest part of the movie was this: you won't forget that special someone from your past until you meet someone new. So get to it, don't sit around, and dramatically lower your expectations until finally, to your utter disbelief, Mr. or Mrs. Right appears.
Friday, September 18, 2009
"Can't Hardly Wait": just not that good . . .
Can't Hardly Wait . . . I couldn't hardly wait for it to end . . . 'cause it was about as funny as what I just said. So, not funny . . . except for the movie's best line, delivered by a stoned nerd who sagely observed:
"You know what? My retainer kinda looks like a Klingon warship."
Haha! I know exactly what he means. (Except mine was pink).
The romance between Jennifer Love Hewitt and Ethan Embry was heartwarming, though. They were the only intelligent beings depicted in the film. You know, I didn't think Melissa Joan Heart could ever come off as, well, dumb. But if I ever see Vicki the Yearbook Girl hop around on one leg and whip her pig tails 'round in loop-di-loops again to get attention, I will solemnly swear to never ever watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch . . . not even once, for nostalgia's sake!
I will say, however, that this film had a good soundtrack. I forgot how big Smashmouth was back in the day. And there's a pleasing sunniness to '90s pop rock. Whatever happened to pop rock? Those indie people stripped it of the "pop" part and replaced it with indie weirdness. I'm so sick of "quality," "original" music. But that's a topic for another post. There were moments when the lyrics of the song were perfectly timed to whatever was happening the movie . . . there are parallels, I think, between the role of soundtracks in film and the role of songs in musical theater. Sometimes music gets the point across best.
But, like the mindless characters in Can't Hardly Wait, I'm too lazy to flesh things out in any greater detail.
"You know what? My retainer kinda looks like a Klingon warship."
Haha! I know exactly what he means. (Except mine was pink).
The romance between Jennifer Love Hewitt and Ethan Embry was heartwarming, though. They were the only intelligent beings depicted in the film. You know, I didn't think Melissa Joan Heart could ever come off as, well, dumb. But if I ever see Vicki the Yearbook Girl hop around on one leg and whip her pig tails 'round in loop-di-loops again to get attention, I will solemnly swear to never ever watch Sabrina the Teenage Witch . . . not even once, for nostalgia's sake!
I will say, however, that this film had a good soundtrack. I forgot how big Smashmouth was back in the day. And there's a pleasing sunniness to '90s pop rock. Whatever happened to pop rock? Those indie people stripped it of the "pop" part and replaced it with indie weirdness. I'm so sick of "quality," "original" music. But that's a topic for another post. There were moments when the lyrics of the song were perfectly timed to whatever was happening the movie . . . there are parallels, I think, between the role of soundtracks in film and the role of songs in musical theater. Sometimes music gets the point across best.
But, like the mindless characters in Can't Hardly Wait, I'm too lazy to flesh things out in any greater detail.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Wackness: A beautiful movie . . .
I'm really glad I stuck this one out. 99% of this movie is very depressing; you really don't get to the golden 1% unless you tough it out through the forced evictions, the divorces, the attempted suicides, the exploitative sex, the loneliness, the drug abuse, the disillusionment . . . but, if you do, you learn that the dirt of the film was there to provide a foil for the spiritual beauty of Josh Peck's character. And, oh yea, you get the bonus of seeing Mary Kate Olsen playing a stoned hippie in Central Park.
Poor Josh Peck's character, Lucas Shapiro, weathers the vagaries of life and comes out of the refiner's fire wearing his depression as a badge of honor. What I mean is that the thing that makes Josh (and his good friend, Dr. Squires), stand out from the rest, is their sensitivity. They feel things poignantly, they care about life, they both are looking for something beautiful and sacred that the other characters could care less about. The most obvious example of this is their failed love affairs . . . they get burned easily by bad women . . . they want to go "deeper" than said women can go.
While the characters never verbalize this, of course, what they come to value in themselves is their vulnerability and honesty. While other characters seem to selfishly bulldoze their way through life or mask their problems by popping meds, these two characters find their humanity in fully experiencing life's highs and lows and just talking things out. They develop an inner confidence that while they may be imperfect, they are essentially good: so when life hurts, they no longer blame themselves for feeling down. Instead, they know their pain is a result of their inner goodness bumping up against a cold, decadent world.
This movie is a bonus for hip-hop lovers. It had an excellent sound track of hip-hop tracks from hip-hop's golden age, 90's east coast stuff. Music was important metaphorically in this movie. When characters wanted to bond with each other, they exchanged mix tapes. Music set an example of honesty and self-expression that Lucas and Dr. Squires aspired to. Makes you wonder how many lives have been saved by music.
I really enjoyed the intimacy of this film. I found Lucas Shapiro to be a very sympathetic character and the movie brought me right into his mind.
I also loved the cinematography. There were quite a few moments when I wanted to freeze the film and take a screen shot.
This movie is a favorite!
P.S. it's not for the kids :)
And a useful moral-of-the-story is to be very, very careful to only fall in love with nice people.
Poor Josh Peck's character, Lucas Shapiro, weathers the vagaries of life and comes out of the refiner's fire wearing his depression as a badge of honor. What I mean is that the thing that makes Josh (and his good friend, Dr. Squires), stand out from the rest, is their sensitivity. They feel things poignantly, they care about life, they both are looking for something beautiful and sacred that the other characters could care less about. The most obvious example of this is their failed love affairs . . . they get burned easily by bad women . . . they want to go "deeper" than said women can go.
While the characters never verbalize this, of course, what they come to value in themselves is their vulnerability and honesty. While other characters seem to selfishly bulldoze their way through life or mask their problems by popping meds, these two characters find their humanity in fully experiencing life's highs and lows and just talking things out. They develop an inner confidence that while they may be imperfect, they are essentially good: so when life hurts, they no longer blame themselves for feeling down. Instead, they know their pain is a result of their inner goodness bumping up against a cold, decadent world.
This movie is a bonus for hip-hop lovers. It had an excellent sound track of hip-hop tracks from hip-hop's golden age, 90's east coast stuff. Music was important metaphorically in this movie. When characters wanted to bond with each other, they exchanged mix tapes. Music set an example of honesty and self-expression that Lucas and Dr. Squires aspired to. Makes you wonder how many lives have been saved by music.
I really enjoyed the intimacy of this film. I found Lucas Shapiro to be a very sympathetic character and the movie brought me right into his mind.
I also loved the cinematography. There were quite a few moments when I wanted to freeze the film and take a screen shot.
This movie is a favorite!
P.S. it's not for the kids :)
And a useful moral-of-the-story is to be very, very careful to only fall in love with nice people.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Beowulf: favorite moments . . .
From Beowulf's fight with Grendel, the monster:
"Then out of the night
came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift . . .
. . .
In off the moors, down through the mist-bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
The bane of the race of men roamed forth,
hunting for a prey in the high hall.
Under the cloud-muck he moved toward it
until it shone above him, a sheer keep
of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time
he had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar's dwelling. . .
. . .
Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead
and arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced door
turned on its hinge when his hands touched it.
Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open
the mouth of the building, maddening for blood,
pacing the length of the patterned floor
with his loathsome tread, while a baleful light,
flame more than light, flared from his eyes.
He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping,
a ranked company of kinsmen and warriors
quartered together. And his glee was demonic,
picturing the mayhem: before morning
he would rip life from limb and devour them,
feed on their their flesh; but his fate that night
was due to change, his days of ravening
had come to an end."
Is it just me, or is Beowulf so Eminem's Relapse? I love both . . .
Grendel's wounded retreat:
"His fatal departure
was regreted by no one who witnessed his trail,
the ignominious marks of his flight
where he'd skulked away, exhausted in spirit
and beat in in battle, bloodying the path,
hauling his doom to the demons' mere.
The bloodshot water wallowed and surged,
there were loathsome upthrows and overturnings
of waves and gore and would-slurry.
With his death upon him, he had dived deep
in his marsh-den, drowned out his life
and his heathen sou: hell claimed him there."
WOW!
Try the King's description of where Grendel's mother dwells:
"A few miles from here
a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch
above a mere; the overhanging bank
is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface.
At night there, something uncanny happens:
the water burns. And the mere bottom
has never been sounded by the sons of men.
On its bank, the heather-stepper halts:
the hart in flight from pursuing hounds
will turn to face them with firm-set horns
and die in the wood rather than dive
beneath its surface. That is no good place.
When wind blows up and stormy weather
makes clouds scud and the skies weep,
out of its depths a dirty surge
is pitched toward the heavens.
"Then out of the night
came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift . . .
. . .
In off the moors, down through the mist-bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
The bane of the race of men roamed forth,
hunting for a prey in the high hall.
Under the cloud-muck he moved toward it
until it shone above him, a sheer keep
of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time
he had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar's dwelling. . .
. . .
Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead
and arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced door
turned on its hinge when his hands touched it.
Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open
the mouth of the building, maddening for blood,
pacing the length of the patterned floor
with his loathsome tread, while a baleful light,
flame more than light, flared from his eyes.
He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping,
a ranked company of kinsmen and warriors
quartered together. And his glee was demonic,
picturing the mayhem: before morning
he would rip life from limb and devour them,
feed on their their flesh; but his fate that night
was due to change, his days of ravening
had come to an end."
Is it just me, or is Beowulf so Eminem's Relapse? I love both . . .
Grendel's wounded retreat:
"His fatal departure
was regreted by no one who witnessed his trail,
the ignominious marks of his flight
where he'd skulked away, exhausted in spirit
and beat in in battle, bloodying the path,
hauling his doom to the demons' mere.
The bloodshot water wallowed and surged,
there were loathsome upthrows and overturnings
of waves and gore and would-slurry.
With his death upon him, he had dived deep
in his marsh-den, drowned out his life
and his heathen sou: hell claimed him there."
WOW!
Try the King's description of where Grendel's mother dwells:
"A few miles from here
a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch
above a mere; the overhanging bank
is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface.
At night there, something uncanny happens:
the water burns. And the mere bottom
has never been sounded by the sons of men.
On its bank, the heather-stepper halts:
the hart in flight from pursuing hounds
will turn to face them with firm-set horns
and die in the wood rather than dive
beneath its surface. That is no good place.
When wind blows up and stormy weather
makes clouds scud and the skies weep,
out of its depths a dirty surge
is pitched toward the heavens.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Beowulf: a glimpse into a dignified era
Beowulf was one of those reads I picked up to satisfy my desire to start at the very beginning with my study of English literature. To my surprise, I enjoyed reading it more than anything else I can remember reading since E.M. Forster's Room With a View.
The most astonishing thing about Beowulf was the quality of the writing. The poet's deft and innovative way with figurative language took my breath away. Pains were taken in every case to describe things in new terms. In addition, this careful attention to diction was combined with passion for drama and good storytelling. The resulting effect? Flawless. I can't count how many times I paused while reading to marvel at the perfection of it all.
With every work of art I enjoy, I always ask myself why I think it was created. In this case, I believe Beowulf was created for multiple purposes including the preservation of pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan culture and genealogy; an exploration of language in the spirit of art-for-art's sake (the Beowulf poet famously invented words that were never used in any other manuscripts from the period); and sheer entertainment. However, the beating heart of this work, in my opinion, is the poet's desire to explain the divine order of things. Fate determines every outcome and fate is controlled by God. People who live virtuous lives have God and fate at their side; mortality, however, guarantees that everyone's luck will run out at some point . . . in the vast scheme of things, we are all in God's hands and will return to our maker. For the virtuous, death is not be mourned. Beowulf, the virtuous and heroic king, dies a "majestic death."
That phrase really caught my attention. How glorious, to die a "majestic death." And wouldn't it be even more glorious to believe that such a thing existed? The faith of the Beowulf poet intrigued me. His utter trust in the cosmic order of things felt, well, not of this world.
I wish I could meet the Beowulf poet for lots of reasons. I'm impressed by his craftsmanship and touched by his preoccupation with the noble and the good. Last but not least, I admire his imagination. According to the introduction, he worked hard to resurrect the customs and language of an era that was obsolete to him. He wrote in the 10th century about the 5th or 6th centuries . . . what passion!
Beowulf, the sine qua non of poems. Now one of my all-time favorite reads.
The most astonishing thing about Beowulf was the quality of the writing. The poet's deft and innovative way with figurative language took my breath away. Pains were taken in every case to describe things in new terms. In addition, this careful attention to diction was combined with passion for drama and good storytelling. The resulting effect? Flawless. I can't count how many times I paused while reading to marvel at the perfection of it all.
With every work of art I enjoy, I always ask myself why I think it was created. In this case, I believe Beowulf was created for multiple purposes including the preservation of pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan culture and genealogy; an exploration of language in the spirit of art-for-art's sake (the Beowulf poet famously invented words that were never used in any other manuscripts from the period); and sheer entertainment. However, the beating heart of this work, in my opinion, is the poet's desire to explain the divine order of things. Fate determines every outcome and fate is controlled by God. People who live virtuous lives have God and fate at their side; mortality, however, guarantees that everyone's luck will run out at some point . . . in the vast scheme of things, we are all in God's hands and will return to our maker. For the virtuous, death is not be mourned. Beowulf, the virtuous and heroic king, dies a "majestic death."
That phrase really caught my attention. How glorious, to die a "majestic death." And wouldn't it be even more glorious to believe that such a thing existed? The faith of the Beowulf poet intrigued me. His utter trust in the cosmic order of things felt, well, not of this world.
I wish I could meet the Beowulf poet for lots of reasons. I'm impressed by his craftsmanship and touched by his preoccupation with the noble and the good. Last but not least, I admire his imagination. According to the introduction, he worked hard to resurrect the customs and language of an era that was obsolete to him. He wrote in the 10th century about the 5th or 6th centuries . . . what passion!
Beowulf, the sine qua non of poems. Now one of my all-time favorite reads.
