The first two mp3s from the yet-to-come Super Famicom epic “The Wandering Floret” have been posted on the sf myspace, and they sound wonderful. For those who aren’t in the know, The Wandering Floret is eight albums, all of which are going to be simultaneously released on eight record labels, on 08/08/08. I’ve never heard of anyone else doing this, and I honestly can’t figure out why no one’s talking about this, because it’s completely unprecedented. This dwarfs 69 Love Songs and just about any other indie rock concept I can think of, if only for the sheer magnitude of the undertaking. The record labels involved have not yet been announced, but I’m sure they’ll include some of the labels PJ has released on already such as Sanitary Records, Tract Records, Red Chair Records, and Pj’s own PJ Records. This is a big deal.”Sometimes” starts out with the killer line “sometimes you let someone ruin your life to see how far they’ll go,” and keeps loose time with the sounds of rustling brushes and moving water. “Nice Really Nice” reeks of delicious Super Famicom reverb, and keeps the lonely lyrics coming. From the looks of it, The Wandering Floret’s gonna be the best thing PJ’s ever done, and I’m way excited.
It may not be fair to review this album since I’m on it, but James Eric has compiled a great collection of artists covering the hilarious and heartbreaking Magnetic Fields.
The covers here run the gamut from faithful to downright bizarre. Check out Tinyfolk’s take on “I Don’t Believe You,” I’m so strangely drawn to it, but every time I’m like “WTF is going here?” It sounds like a mice and robot orgy.
Fairmount Fair turn “Why I Cry” into an upbeat jungle romp ‘n’ stomp sing-along. The same goes for James Eric’s cover of “(Crazy For You) But Not That Crazy,” as he injects about ten billion watts of electricity into the original and lets go with wondrous results.
Now before you think that everyone here is taking a piss out of Stephin Merritt, its all in good fun and I think he might get a real kick out of this if, or when, he hears it.
There are some also really touching covers, my cover of “Plant White Roses,” for example. No, no really. But seriously, A Lime Tree’s homespun, front porch country cover of “You Me And The Moon,” is really sweet and banjolicious.
But my favorite cover on this album is Your Yellow Dress’s cover of “Absolutely Cuckoo.” This has become a full blown twee number, and you’ll totally fall in love with Carrie Muller’s voice. Her voice bounces just on the edge of the melody and keeps the song racing. Alex Poska ain’t no slouch either and the simple yet effective arrangement keeps it on constant repeat for me.
When James first started calling for admissions on this tribute I hadn’t even heard of The Magnetic Fields, but I was totally won over and consider myself one of the believers. I think everyone on this tribute, regardless of fandom, really pulled out the big guns and made a great album even if you haven’t heard of The Magnetic Fields either.
Justin Waddell is one of the hosts of the CHUD.com podcast as well as being a sometimes contributer to CHUD.com. He’s also written some of the funniest blog posts/short humorous essays ever. Recently, on his CHUD blog, he wrote an entry called “Turtle Rescue” that was so fucking funny I had to share it with you. Be sure to bookmark his blog, cuz you’re going to want to read everything this guy writes. So without further ado, Turtle Rescue:
Hey.
On my way to work the other day, I spotted a turtle in the middle of the road. That’s a weird, unexpected sight - like seeing a peacock on your way home from work, which also happened to me a while back. Maybe my car spits out some kind of Dr. Doolittle-vibe or something. If so, that’s some special feature that was included, care of dealer oversight. I bought my station wagon as bare bones as possible. My in-dash cassette deck stands as a rock-solid testament to this fact.
Anyway, I had basically made it to work when I saw the turtle. The shelled gentleman was smack in the middle of the second to last corporate road I navigate before leaping from my car and sprinting into work to quickly begin a glorious workday. The street the turtle was crossing typically isn’t very busy - but still, what is he? Crazy? I drove past him, instantly felt guilt settle in, and decided to turn my heap-on-wheels around. Now, it would have been pretty exciting to perform one of those screeching turns you see expertly executed in old 70s cop shows. Or even some kind of balletic turn, like the car was on a lazy Susan. I wish I could brag about accomplishing either kind, but my turnaround was pretty long-winded. Picture the blog you are currently reading as a car turning, and you should have some idea.
By the time I got back to the turtle, he had backtracked. He was at the side of the road, and his shell was up against this fairly tall curb that he had no possible way of climbing. And, I guess knowing this - that somehow his decision-making skills had let him down - he had emptied his bladder in terror. He looked like a tossed, green water balloon. This, of course, broke my heart. I mean, I was already gearing up to rescue him, but now it was imperative. The tiny pool of piss he was standing in underscored the fact that my instincts had indeed been correct on this one. This was not some devil-may-care critter crossing the road like some reptilian badass who couldn’t give a shit about what lay in wait for him beyond his comfy habitat. You know, like this guy:
This was a turtle that, like so many of us have done, simply made a bad life choice.
So, I got out of my car and headed towards the little guy who, as I got closer, didn’t look so little, really. He was mid-sized to kind of large. And he looked pretty weathered and old. Plus, he was cornered – not so much by any obstacles (aside from the curb), but by his galaxy-given slowness and his next to nothing reflexes. Surrounded by his own urine, all his faults in relief, I cautiously approached him. Yep. Cautiously. I mean, with all of these little details rolling around in my mind (old, cornered, large, alive), I’ll sadly admit that I started to get a little nervous. I thought, “Don’t some turtles bite? Snapping turtles, right? What does that snapping part mean?” “What if it attacked?” I’m thinking. “Do turtles hiss?” – hearing any animal hiss always gets to me. And then, a flash - what if someone saw me running from a hissing, pissing turtle? Cell phone video begets YouTube begets plastic surgery to change my face. In summary, this was not a proud moment for either of us.
Eventually, my heart won out. I swallowed my sad fear and I grabbed the old guy with two hands…like I was grabbing a big sandwich or a dictionary. Of course, I made sure to keep his possibly-dangerous head full of possibly-sharp turtle fangs pointed away from my body. As soon as I put my hands on the guy, he tucked in. Which, I’ll admit, was exactly what I was gambling on. He went indoors. He hermited up. I wanted to hug the guy.
As I carried the turtle away from the street and over the curb (which I managed in one step, thank you), I felt a bond form between us. Me and him, united inside this gaggle of boring corporate buildings, headed towards a man-made lake. And, I sympathized with him. Because, honestly, the lake didn’t look great. It looked small – to me, at least. Confining. And this turtle, maybe he was sick of the same old. Or maybe there were troubles at home or something. Maybe he was fleeing a bad relationship. Or maybe even some kind of predator or turtle bully was on the loose down there. And maybe this (currently) tucked-in reptile decided to pick up sticks and strike out on his lonesome. Take his chances on the new, the unknown. Maybe he pictured a world full of lakes - better lakes, bigger, cleaner lakes. A clean start. A starched shirt. A warm rock, baked to perfection by the sun’s rays, to lean his tired shell against. And then, I mean, it must have taken him a long time to get to the road on those little radish legs. Hours into the journey, exhausted, reality set in that he might as well be in fucking outer space. It must have been like living a waking nightmare. Sounds up close that he’d only ever heard at a distance while lounging on a pitiful micro-beach that surrounds the lake’s waters. Strange objects, way beyond his understanding, quickly attaching themselves to those sounds. The world like a fucking maze of regrets. Every single thing programmed to end his life. It must have been the single worst experience of his entire existence.
So, to cheer him up, since I was holding him like a sandwich, I pretended to take a bite. And he giggled. -Justin Waddell
I told you he was fucking funny. Now I’d like to leave you with a random song that you should love, Donovan’s “Young Girl Blues”. Donovan is a totally underrated British Invasion artist, best known for his 1966 singles “Mellow Yellow” and Sunshine Superman”, but he’s written a ton of amazing folk songs that rarely get the attention they deserve. So enjoy him.
For a while there TGIF was ruled under the iron fist of Thomas Miller and Robert Boyett. Miller-Boyett first hit it big with Happy Days, a show that I want to hate, but can’t because of how much it contributed to American culture. It contributed Ron Howard, who’d go on to narrate amazing television shows and direct utterly mediocre films. It gave us Weezer’s best music video. It gave us the term “Jump the shark”. Most of all, it gave us the Happy Days theme song, finally making the days of the week fun again.
After Happy Days, they had a couple more hits in the 80’s with Bosom Buddies and Perfect Strangers. But I was hardly alive in the 80’s, so fuck those shows. To me the golden age of Miller Boyett was in the early to mid 90’s with TGIF. They hit it big with Full House, a conservative television show about three men living together in San Fransisco. Oh irony. That show was super boring, but it was followed by Miller-Boyett’s masterpiece, Family Matters.
Family Matters is a spin-off of both Perfect Strangers and Die Hard. So shit was destined to be weird from the get go. It was groundbreaking from the start, setting a record for ugliest cast ever in an American sitcom. Harriet looked like Mrs. Huxtable, except a few steps to the left on the evolutionary charts. Not that Carl minded. I’m not saying Reginald Veljohnson is gay, but according to IMDB, he enjoys “singing and dancing in his spare time.” Imagine Carl Winslow singing and dancing through his house and tell me that wouldn’t be the gayest shit you’ve ever seen. But Family Matter’s greatest achievement was it’s spectacular descent into utter lunacy. From cloning to the Nutty Professor inspired “Stephan” to rocket packs to time machines to goddamned evil ventriloquist dummy versions of Carl and Steve, the show spun out of control in a completely glorious way. And don’t get me started on that theme song. Christ, that was a great theme song. I always tear up at “it’s the bigger love of the faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamily”, without fail.
Miller-Boyett hit it’s peak with Family Matters, but as quickly as they rose, they fell even faster with the abysmal Step-by-Step. I imagine the pitch for Step-by-Step went something like “what if all the characters in The Brady Bunch were trashy and unlikable?” I feel sorry for those kids. They had Patrick Duffy and Suzanne Somers as parents. JT, Dana, Al, Karen, Mark and the ever personality-deficient Brendan had no choice but to end up awful people. That shit’s genetic, my friend. But the worst offense the show committed was trying to stuff it’s own brand of Urkel down viewers throats: Cody. Code-man. Dude! Ch-yeah! Danaburger! He combined annoying catchphrase-ism with an annoying voice and a uncontrollable lust for his cousin, Dana. Dude could kickbox though, I’ll grant him that.
As Step-By-Step destroyed Miller-Boyett productions (not to mention Lorimar productions), another show took the proud torch of TGIF and held it high. That show was Boy Meets World. Boy Meets World is the greatest television show in the history of televison shows. What makes it particularly special to me is that it was one of the first shows to allow it’s characters to age. Hell, that was the focal point of the show. Shawn and Cory are now in high school! Cory is now dating Topanga! They’re going to college! Cory and Topanga are getting married and making everyone uncomfortable by constantly making jokes about fucking! That shit was groundbreaking.
Speaking of groundbreaking, Boy Meets World featured a casual interracial relationship between the characters of Shawn and Angela. The best part about it was that it was never the focus of a show, never a big deal to anyone, and they never tried to play it up, even for an easy “you so white!” joke. It was just a pretty white guy and pretty black girl getting together. And that’s beautiful! Angela wasn’t the stereotypical African-American woman you normally see on television. She never snapped her fingers and said “no you di-in’t!”. As far as I know, she hates Koolaid. In fact, now that I think about it, she was a pretty boring character. No real personality at all. Is that more or less progressive than a stereotypical sassy black woman? If she was a teenaged Jackée, would that be better or worse? These are questions I’m not qualified to answer, but I am fully-qualified to say I’d tap that. I’d tap Topanga too, though, cuz I like a little meat on the bones. My father always said that an hourglass was better than an egg timer. Then he’d beat me. But above all I’d tap Jack and Eric’s roommate Rachel.
Goddamn, Rachel was a dream. That redheaded Goddess may have been a thinly veiled excuse for eye-candy, but boy was she FUN! Did you see how bright red her hair is? That’s really bright! How FUN! What a perfect counterpart to the wackiness that is latter-day Eric Matthews. Eric’s transformation was much like Family Matters, going more and more bizarre til it began to bend the very reality of the show. I think at one point he was a caveman who talked to squirrels. Thank God they had William Daniels to lend the show his gravitas. Mention Mr. Feeny to anyone age 16 to 21, and they will at least smile. They may even hug you. It’s like a 90’s youth fraternity. The same way previous generations were linked by their experiences in Vietnam, kids of the 90’s are united by their common love of watching Shawn yell “it’s because I LIVE IN A TRAILER, isn’t it?”, run his fingers through his hair, and storm out the Mathew’s kitchen while Mrs. Matthews covers her mouth and looks at her husband, who just frowns and shakes his head. What will he do about that boy?
Boy Meets World ran out of steam towards the end, mostly because they unable to accurately portray the decadence of college life under the watchful eye of TGIF, but we grew up with these guys. We were there when Shawn learned the truth about his real mother. When Shawn’s dad died. When Shawn joined a cult. When Shawn got caught up in the Philadelphia’s illegal undergound street fighting tournaments. Jesus, Shawn was fucked up. If tragedy visited me as frequently as it visited Mr. Hunter, I too would run my fingers through my hair at every possible opportunity. I too would grow a goatee. I too woul-UNDERPANTS! Wow. That came out of nowhere. Now I can’t stop watching it. Hypnotizing.
Knock Knock.
Who’s there?
Aunty.
Aunty who?
Aunty-climatic ending to this blog post
If you own a computer and you own an internet vehicle device, and you watch movies, and you’re interested in movies, and you want to hear news and rumors about upcoming movies and you also want to hear movie people’s opinion on movies that are currently at the movies, then you should look no further than www.CHUD.com, which, IMDB and Netflix aside, is the most wonderful place for cinema on the internet machine. It’s got writers who are either intelligent, funny, assholes, a combination of all three, or Phil Owen. To be fair to Phil Owen, he’s got a more impressive head of hair than any of ‘em.
Devin, the Editor-in-Chief/Self-loathing nerd/Kubrick lookalike of CHUD.com has started a column entitled
“Chudsploitation” that I’m really really excited about, all about exploitation films. Exploitation films are films that exploit shocking or sensational content to attract audiences. They range from Shaft to Faces of Death to Meet the Spartans (which exploits the fact that Americans aren’t really picky about what movies they watch, as long as it’s not too long to make them late for something). Famous balding fugly awesome fugly director Quentin Tarantino has been a champion of them for sometime, culminating in his box-office failure/artistically dubious/undisputably awesome collaboration with Robert Rodriguez Grindhouse, in which his testicles melted off. Since then, the interest in these “grindhouse films” has boomed into an all-time slightly higher.
According to Devin, the column’s goal will be to “write about the sickest, strangest movies ever made, films with almost no redeeming value.” And when he means sick and strange, he doesn’t mean something simple like The Truth About Cats and Dogs or I Spit on Your Grave. Too easy. His first entry was on a film entitled Goodbye Uncle Tom about “An Italian documentary crew [that] goes back in time to the pre-Civil War American South to document the excesses and horrors of slavery, intercut with modern riot footage and pro-violence black power musings. In Italian.” According to Devin the film is “racist in every possible direction, brutally misogynistic and leeringly cruel”. I don’t know about you, but my ears perk up anytime the phrases “racist” and “leeringly cruel”. Must have been all those years I grew up in Texas*.
Even though Devin is a hell of a writer and entertaining as a chimp having sex with another chimp and them both having a cigarette afterwards, you don’t even have to take his word for it. Apparently the American edit** is apparently up on Youtube, in parts. I don’t know how long it will be up for, but I have a feeling that filmmakers Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi aren’t the type to troll Youtube to make sure their work aren’t being pirated. I know I say this all the time, but I wish NBC was more like Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi. Anyway, here are some links to offend you. Even if you don’t plan on watching the whole film, I’d reccomend skipping around various scenes just to learn how awful it can feel to be a member of the human race. I’d note that they aren’t safe for work, but really, they aren’t safe for anything. Shit is vile.
*Texas is in close proximity to Alabama, which is where racism comes from.
**The American edit is dubbed and may have some cuts from the original Italian version. Not that it isn’t already utterly depraved, but if you’re a completist, I thought you should know.
I know this fellow over in England. He’s a complete bastard. Almost as much as I am. His name is Spike. Do you like brief sentences? I like them. Spike has a blog. See blog run. Run blog, run.
Sorry about that, I haven’t been myself since I quit smoking. Anyway, Spike’s blog is called What Spike Likes and it contains meditations on everything from Vampire Weekend to the Hiroki Yamaguchi 2004 masterpiece”Hellevator”. I wish he’d refrain from other content, since the internet needs a good blog that is exclusively about Vampire Weekend and Hellevator, but I wish a lot of things, none of them ever ever come true. Pity.
Anyway, check his shit out because despite being an absolute cunt the brother can write, and he knows shit. And there ain’t nothing wrong with a brother sharing shit with his fellow brothers. Even if he’s white.
I’d like to conclude with my favorite knock-knock joke:
Trust
Bonnie and Clyde
Eyes Wide Shut
The Girl From Monday
Simple Men
Welcome to the first in a weekly feature, discussing random films I’ve uncovered through the glorious creation of Netflix’s new WATCH NOW feature with over 7,000 titles you can view instantly on your PC. For those who don’t know, I used to be a film critic for a few online sites and my college newspaper. Therefore I tend to use a lot of adjectives, and use them repeatedly. I’m not a writer in the grammatically correct sense and I apologize in advance. I write in a stream-of-consciousness style with very little editing (much like I do with my music). I usually watch 5 movies a week because I’m addicted to it, and I will choose to write in detail about one. Or I will write short paragraphs for each that I watch if I feel like I have something to say about everything I watched for the week. Part One is in regards to a film that I hadn’t seen in over ten years, and now officially declare, my “favorite.” Yeah, I know. All my friends are rolling their eyes thinking “That’s his favorite for THIS week.” (Sorry Collin). I just can’t deny the excitement I get when something completely washes over me. Maybe Fearless is my favorite movie after I watch it again. But for right now, it’s Trust, directed by Hal Hartley.
There probably wouldn’t be a Juno, Chasing Amy, or Rushmore if it weren’t for the indie darlings of the 90s like filmmakers Hal Hartley, Noah Baumbach, and Jim Jarmusch. Hartley’s masterpiece, Trust, exists as a unique little motion picture encased inside a universe which manages to be both ridiculous and real at the same time. An offbeat hodgepodge that mirrors the surreal absurdity of love which, often times, dominates the structure of actual life. The most remarkable thing about this movie, though, is its ability to fill a charmingly sweet love story in the center out of what seems to be utter emptiness. It’s not very often that I think of Buster Keaton and David Mamet while watching a movie. Trust lives inside its own volcanic-sized heart, and speaks a rhythm of dialogue that influences mean-spirited critiques of a show like “Gilmore Girls,” for being too unrealistic and overtly cute for cute’s sake.
The thing is. I adore movies with a hyper-sense of reality, in which characters exchange coincidences, and talk in a language drowned in non-sequitur and random life observations. Maybe I’m envious of the people who live in the movie who can think fast, talk fast, and attempt to deconstruct their issues within 90 minutes. But Trust is one of those films where there is no sound resolution, but offers a sense of hope and possibility that can only be manifested by the redemptive promise of love. Plus it helps that the characters are flawed, three-dimensional, and constantly conflicted about their actions. I’m drawn to the ones in Trust in a way that hadn’t happened since probably Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I had seen this movie a decade ago, and only watched it this past week thanks to the new Netflix “watch now” option in which you don’t even have to wait for the movie to come in the mail.
Trust revolves around a brilliant idiot (Matthew) played by indie-stalwart Martin Donavan, and a wise-beyond-her-years teenager (Maria) played by the late great beauty Adrienne Shelley. When Maria announces her pregnancy to her parents, her father drops dead on the floor. Her mother kicks her out of the house and her boyfriend dumps her, so Maria is left alone and homeless. This is when she meets the seemingly nihilistic Matthew. Matthew is an older, educated high school graduate with a great talent for fixing electronic devices, but he can’t hang on to a job because of his principled attitude towards quality and his lack of endurance to be surrounded by capitalist automatons. When Maria accepts Matthew’s offer to help her, they begin to form a relationship with each other in which both of them begin to change, despite their imperfections. It’s hard to define it as ‘romantic’ in the same way that you can’t categorize the relationship in Lost In Translation as turning into something that’s driven by lust. It’s more revolved around two lonely souls, meeting randomly, forming a bond, and learning how to be human in an inhumane society.
While watching Trust unfold, I sat on my bed in astonishment, re-realizing that it’s simply just perfect in the way it captures my sensibilities and predilection for quirk, exaggeration, and emotionally-inconsistent individuals who try to better themselves while repeating mistakes they can’t seem to shake. I’m aware of my strange, picky sense-of-humor but there are so many moments where I’m laughing too loud, and questioning myself in the process. For instance there’s a moment towards the end involving a confrontation between Matthew and his father, and after things settle down, Maria’s mom asks “Do you want something to eat?” It’s a complete throwaway transition to the next scene, but in Hal Hartley’s world, he manages to make that line so deadpan and skillfully executed that despite its awkwardness, it’s ridiculously charming.
There’s also some sublime social commentary mixed in throughout about sex, teenage pregnancy, TV, and family relations that is cringe-worthy and honest. But if there is a flaw (and it’s not a quibble for me), it’s that Hartley’s movies tell and speak, instead of show and visualize. He has a style thats all its own, but it’s mostly carried by the screenplay rather than the directing. Kevin Smith sort of carries that same torch, but aside from Chasing Amy and Clerks 2 as being his only four star masterworks, Smith too, became somewhat lost in his own world. Hartley has made some abysmal films. The Girl From Monday is his attempt as low-fi science fiction, and it’s a chore to sit through despite the presence of Sabrina Lloyd. Flirt is arthouse pretension at its most languid. The only other times Hartley came close to replicating the genius displayed in Trust were with the spy-comedy Amateur (what if Hal Hartley made the Bourne movies?), and the struggling-writer malaise of Henry Fool (what if Hal Hartley made Adaptation and decided to throw in an homage to the toilet scene in Dumb and Dumber?). I genuinely like the majority of Hartley’s admittedly pretentious films, but you have to prepare for a period of adjustment while watching them in the same way you have to with David Mamet. It’s sooo stylized that it can be off-putting, but the rewards are plentiful if you can stomach the quirkiness. Trust is one of those rare movies that makes you see yourself and the world outside in a whole different light. It makes you cautious and hopeful for the future (especially if you’re single - have a lot of quirks - and tend to think that no one will put up with you). I think in the end, there’s a line in the film that sums up the hyper-surreal soap opera world of these characters: “Family is like a gun, point in the wrong direction, and someone gets hurt.” I could go on and on about why Trust has become my favorite movie as of 2008, but I need to curb my hyperboles. Stay tuned for more “Life Is Not A Movie… Or Maybe” articles. I am mostly revisiting movies that I haven’t watched in years, to see if my viewpoint has changed since I’ve grown up a bit. Trust is the perfect starting point for this project, and reaffirms that I will remain a cinemaniac til I’m six feet underground.
A great scene from TRUST, and the movie can also be viewed in its entirety on YouTube! If this scene isn’t your cup of tea, then you probably won’t like the movie as a whole:
“Honesty is so addictive/I can’t get enough of these songs” James Eric sings in his song “Off Key?”, a cute tribute to the growing DIY folk scene. That sums up James Eric’s Fire In The Mountains for me. Fire In The Mountains is a rare album, in that is both intimate and lushly produced. For being recorded completely in Mr. Eric’s bedroom, the album sounds beautiful, with all sorts of orchastration, from trumpets to violins to pianos to lo-fidelity electronic sounds. But what makes this album truly special is the thematic string that ties it all together, James Eric’s lyrics.
James Eric is a frank and honest songwriter. Most of his songs are tales from his life, told matter-of-factly. It opens with “Daddy Don’t Cry”, a tale of James on his near deathbed which sets the pace for the rest of the album. While he occasionally breaks away to tell other stories (like his folk/court report “Something’s Not Right Here”), he mostly sticks to what he knows, or at least what he feels. Thankfully, they all aren’t as grave and serious as the opening track. Most notable is the upbeat and catchy “Could’ve Been Like Ben”. With lyrics like “I could have been a mentor according to my English professor/Or assistant to a lawyer, but I got too bored with college” it serves as the James Eric origin story. That’s what’s so great about the album, it’s a comprehensive portrait of the artist, how he feels, where he’s been, where he’s looking to go. It’s all delivered simply and matter-of-factly, with minimal pretense.
Unfortunately, sometimes the very plain and direct lyrics come at the cost of melody. Most of the songs have at least a few clunky lines and phrases where James tries to shove too many syllables where they don’t fit. I have no doubts about James’ talents as a musician and a songwriter, but if I had to pick one thing that could use improvement, vocals would undoubtedly be it. Luckily, with the lyrical style and subjects of the songs, it comes across much more earnest than annoying. In a way, the disregard for vocal melody only serves to add to the conversational feeling that makes the album so special. The album is worth checking out just for it’s rare combination of intimacy and vibrant production. So go on, get to know James Eric. He’s a friendly personable guy who’s made a friendly personable album.
No words needed. Also, I’m lazy. Anyway, here ya go (I’d embed them as videos, but it’s not letting me. If anyone on the Blog staff can fix this, let me know):
But in the (pretty much) absence of content, I smell a power vacuum. And I’ve always wanted to be king. So guess who just became royalty? Patrick Ripoll, that’s who. I broke free of my stale prison they call “Friday assignments” and am now proposing something new.
You (all twelve of you) don’t go to this blog because you want to see where we stand on the big entertainment issues of the day (but, for the record, Semi-Pro is shit). You want us to share with you. This is a place where we stand on our little soap box (which would promptly tear and collapse, because it’s a fucking cardboard box that’s designed to hold soap) and yell “Hey! You! The funny looking one with the hat! Check this out! It is awesome!”. So that’s what I’m going to do every day. Sometimes it will be in the form of an album review, a rant about women in prison films, a retrospective on the career of Bill Duke, a comparison between stand-up comedy and 80’s cop films, whatever. Point is, I see some shit, I know some shit, I want to share this said shit with you. Because goddamnit, that’s what it’s all about.
I, King Patrick, declare that this blog be a place of sharing, from now until forever, cuz there’ll never be another better*. If this whole goddamned Collective is about people sharing music for the sheer thrill of it, then there’s no need to be as stingy as to limit my output to one day.
And I declare this: If you e-mail me (soybomb@care2.com) with a link to your music, your website, your blog, your short documentary about midget turtles, I will mention it here. People will hear about it. I’m not gonna lie and go “Oh my god, Long Necks, Little Torsos is the greatest short film about midget turtles ever made!” but I’ll keep an open mind, I’ll keep positive energy, and most of all, I will keep what I write about it entertaining so even if it sucks, at least a funny joke came of it.
I got several different e-mails recently from various blokes asking me to review their albums. On Friday (which will still be “Patrick’s Big Stuff Day”) I’m reviewing Chicago folkie James Eric’s new album Fire in the Mountains. Spoiler Warning: It’s good. The next Friday after that I’ll be reviewing plucky young upstart Big Round Spectacle’s debut misfortuneless, which is also all sorts of pleasant. But let me cover the two non-CLLCT folks who contacted me recently, AKA, “the less important”.
I got an e-mail recently from a Nadav Young promoting his curious site www.VIRV.TV I say curious because it’s purpose is not entirely clear to me. In the little e-mail press release thing I got, it claimed to be “a hand-picked, all-indie playlist 24/7, exclusively on the web. Our playlist includes Bright Eyes, Of Montreal, Spoon, Arcade fire, Xiu Xiu, The Good Life, Now Its Overhead, Architecture In Helsinki, Bloc Party, Shout Out Louds and many, many more..”. So it’s like a YouTube with super-limited selection and no easy ability to control what you watch? I’d like MTV2 to start playing all music videos again, too, but that’s cuz it’s on TV, so it’s easy to have on in the background while I do other things, like making gin in my bathtub. An online tv station just misses the point of why people choose to sit in front of the TV: It’s passive. So why have it online? Why would someone download an application to watch videos they could find on youtube? Well, Nadav’s job is a playlist manager, so I suppose the angle they are going for is “if you like X band, you’d like Y band!” Which I guess makes a little more sense, but not a ton.
Nadav, if you read this and you could clarify exactly what your site is and the needs of the consumers it fills, that’d be super helpful. As far as the music, I think it’s silly to limit yourself to indie, but niches are meant to be filled, I suppose. For once I’d like to see a radio station that plays Curtis Mayfield, Paul Simon, Captain Beefheart,Kylie Minogue, Daniel Johnston, and Leadbelly back to back. They could call it “97.5, The Hammer: We’re completely unmarketable!” Then I could listen to it for a week before I get all up in arms about it shutting down. Cuz that’s what happens to great things. They get replaced by Lite Rock mix stations. Fuck quality, we need another outlet to hear Rob Thomas.
The other fellas that contacted me were one of those musical rock ‘n roll groups you kids love so much. Their name: Springfactory. Their mission: to rock you. Or make you dance. Or make you giggle while dancing. Look, I’m not going to tell them why they do the shit, point is they make music and they want to share it with ya’s. They have a new album of old material, their previous released EP’s, coming out through Series Two records. Series Two records is based in Nebraska, the music capital of the world. I’ve listened to music via their myspace, and the tracks they e-mailed me, and I gotta say, it’s pretty nice (especially “No More”, which has a fun Georgie James quality to it). Go ahead, check it out, it won’t hurt. It’s some rather lovely definitely well-made indie/pop/rock/dance stuff. Look, I won’t do Springfactory the disservice of lumping them into the genre. You know why? Because I’m not a good enough writer to do that. You gotta be a DaveB motherfucker to do that shit. I’m just some college dropout.
Speaking of which, will Kanye West ever be interesting again? Just wondering. Dude can make fucking beautiful beat, but will he ever be interesting again? I wonder. But speaking of Kanye West and interesting, have you seen Spike Jonze’s video for “Flashing Lights” yet? Holy great.
Anyway, that’s about all I got for now. Keep in touch though, for real. BTW, if I ever say something stupid here, or just incredibly ignorant, tell me. That’s you sharing with me. Which is beautiful.
The first two mp3s from the yet-to-come Super Famicom epic “The Wandering Floret” have been posted on the sf myspace, and they sound wonderful. For those who aren’t in the know, The Wandering Floret is eight albums, all of which are going to be simultaneously released on eight record labels, on 08/08/08. I’ve never heard of anyone else doing this, and I honestly can’t figure out why no one’s talking about this, because it’s completely unprecedented. This dwarfs 69 Love Songs and just about any other indie rock concept I can think of, if only for the sheer magnitude of the undertaking. The record labels involved have not yet been announced, but I’m sure they’ll include some of the labels PJ has released on already such as Sanitary Records, Tract Records, Red Chair Records, and Pj’s own PJ Records. This is a big deal.”Sometimes” starts out with the killer line “sometimes you let someone ruin your life to see how far they’ll go,” and keeps loose time with the sounds of rustling brushes and moving water. “Nice Really Nice” reeks of delicious Super Famicom reverb, and keeps the lonely lyrics coming. From the looks of it, The Wandering Floret’s gonna be the best thing PJ’s ever done, and I’m way excited.
