Africa Brasil by Jorge Ben (1976) **** First Listen

Wow, what a surprise. I recognized the first song immediately. I listened to it about a hundred times on an old Brazilian music collection put out by David Byrne. Talking Heads are probably my favorite band, so I collect everything the band has put out, plus all the solo stuff. In 1989 Bryne started a record label to highlight Brazilian pop music and the lead track on Africa Brasil and the BPM collection was this track. He even made a video for it. Ponta de Lanca Africano, that’s the name of the grooviest non-Talking Head Talking Head song ever released.

Okay, so I don’t speak Brazilian, so I have no idea what the songs are about. He could be screaming, “Kill the Jews,” over and over, but damn is it funky. Actually, after a little research, most of the songs are about innocuous subjects like sports and love.

My first thought on hearing the album was, “I know where Bryne and band borrowed their mid-period Afro-funk Talking Heads sound.” And that’s my favorite period of Talking Head‘s records.

My second thought was, “Shut up, stupid. Just groove.” This album is all dense Afro-funk groove. Ben’s warm voice is just another element in the tight arraignments balanced against the light, airy backing vocals.

I’m not sure what else to say, except it’s a timeless record I’ll listen to a lot. If you have even a passing interest in Brazilian music or mid-period Talking Heads, give it a listen. And dance.

I did check out a few other Jorge Ben albums and while they were good, leaning more to the Latin mix, Africa Brasil is a bigger and tighter album. James Brown and Fela Kuti would be proud.

Do It: Nap. Tired. Sleep.

Avoid it: The new Smashing Pumpkins CD. I only listened to the first four tracks. Where’s the emotion, Billy? The sound’s feeling old.

The Tweeter: I hope when Abraham Lincoln stakes a black vampire he says, “Now, you’re a free man!” all cool-like. #notinmovieihope

The Facing Book: “No one ever reads my posts. Please post something if you’ve read this,” Every 13 year old girl every on Facing Book.

Bonus Movie Review:

Don’t Go In the Woods (2010) * First Viewing

I was looking for a modest slasher movie to clear my brain after writing last night. Ugh. Directed by and story by semi-famous actor, Vincent D’Onofrio, Don’t Go In the Woods is an extremely generic slasher pic masquerading as an excuse to film some band’s songs. As someone who sees a lot of horror movies, and even likes some musicals, I’d like to write to Vincent directly….

Dear Vincent,

As an actor, I think you’re great. If you’re in a movie, I’ll probably see it. I picked this movie based solely on your name as director. You seem like a smart guy. (I know, here comes the but…sorry)

But Vincent, watch some more horror movies before making another one. Especially the sub-genre of horror that you are trying to do. True horror fans know the genre can be used to say something else, like you tried. A note: even the point about artists and greed and ego and how creativity can be a poison has been done to death in many, many horror movies. As horror fans, we’ll go along with that.

But what is beyond tiresome are the many ‘stuck in the woods with a serial killer’ tropes. You did them all. People unaware of their surroundings. Completely unprepared or even willing to change their plans when trouble starts. People acting completely irrational. The authority figure who’s late, so he dies before anyone knows he’s coming. The parade of dead bodies the female lead runs into as she’s screaming. Oh, she falls down.

And while the reason they didn’t have cell phones was dumb/plausible, every horror fan knew the ending the second you did it.

I get it, you needed to get someone to pay for you to film this band singing songs and wrapping it around a horror movie gets cash, but the songs had only the most tangential relation to the plot. I know you saw the Buffy episode Once More with Feeling, because you cribbed some shots. Did you notice how the songs progressed the plot and the character’s emotion? Not just emotion. Take the songs out and nothing’s changed and we have a 30 minute short. And it’s a thirty minute short horror fans have seen before.

Some good points. When actors direct, they tend to like actor close-ups. This is the best way to go if you have actors who can command the screen. Um, the acting and singing was, politely, uneven. The girls usually did the best, but the boys had the biggest load to carry. You had many innovative shots and each chuck was well directed. Sadly, two back to back songs stop a movie dead.

My favorite part of most serial killer movies is the moment all the teens figure out shit is crazy and start to freak out, it usually happens to start the third act. Your third act hit with 10 minutes left in the movie.

The directing was fine and I’ll check out you next movie. There’s potential. Try a drama, horror’s harder than it looks.

Thanks and have a nice day,
Full Metal Jacket was awesome.

Bryan

Things I learned from Don’t Go Into the Woods:

—Do not chop up your tennis shoes with an axe just for fun, you will step on broken glass within 30 seconds.
—Never give your cell phone to megalomaniacal indie band leaders. They will chop them up with an axe.
—Axes, great for chopping up stuff.
—If you’re in a crappy indie band in the middle of the woods, hot chicks will appear out on nowhere like in a beer commercial. To par-tay.
—The guy with the two T-shirts, “Let’s Hug It Out” and “I Pee Excellence” really deserved to die.
—This lyric by the blind guy in the band. Yes, the crappy indie band has a blind guy and an Asian guy, “I am blind and I do not want to see.” Most of the lyrics were are these simple verbal negations. Tiresome.
—The movie does the stupid blind joke, “Hey, I hear something, nah, it’s nothing.” Twice. And then don’t pay off the set-up later.
—Watered down Wilco mixed with screaming Emo lyrics is not good.
—Oh, Eric Bogosian, you’re Vincent’s best friend for showing up for 10 seconds at the end.

Ack, taking a day off. Post not up to my mediocre standards…..

Next Up: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Alien (1979), screenThe 400 Blows (1959), or After the Gold Rush by Neil Young (1970).

Alice, Sweet Alice (1976)**1/2 First Viewing

Long time ago, I heard an apocryphal story about a group of people dying after taking communion. They bled from the eyes, became ill and some died. Later it was “determined” they were not fully faithful and God was punishing them. I searched on the internet, but couldn’t find the story. I did find a page of happy communion tales, floating wafers, many blood-soaked wafers restoring the faith in this person or that. God sure is extremely selective.

Let’s pretend the “Bad people who took communion” story is true for a sec. I always think about the unintended consequences. Wouldn’t this mean that that particular sect of the Catholic church is the only true church? Or else eye bleeding would be through the roof in every church. And since the eye bleeding no longer happens, seems like the one true church no longer exists and we’re all going to hell. (Insert Apologetics here.)

In any event, God is one capricious SOB, haphazardly applying punishments and rewards, caring for some faithful by providing proof, but not most others. So the faithful is left to invent their own miracles in their own lives. God-believing miracles. In any event, if the whole eye-bleeding thing did happen, I’d never take communion ever again even if I thought I was true-blue believer (talking to you snake-handling guy who died last week) and I’d become an opthomologist.

Alice, Sweet Alice‘s story bookends with two Catholic communion services. Both end in death. That’d make you pay attention in church.

Weird older sister Alice actively hates her younger sister (Brooke Shields) and her upcoming First Communion. Her dad’s estranged, her mom clearly loves Brooke more, her aunt is a bitch. And she just started menstruating. Has a young girl in a horror movie not had her first period at a bad time.

So, is Alice the bad seed, a murderer? Clues point to yes, but also to other answers. If made today, I’m sure Alice would avoid the more Catholic/Faith aspects of the story and given us the twist ending we’ve already guessed because it’s in a million other movies.

While the movie lags in the middle, I didn’t see one twist coming. That’s good. There’s nothing great here, but it fits nicely in the giallo genre mixed with The Bad Seed with some nice imagery. Another post Exorcist movie. The acting is like a Pixies song—quiet, loud, quiet, loud, loud, loud.

Unfortunately, some of the good characters act out, not so much of love, but stupidity. I mean, if the person you’re looking for stabs you, make another plan. Warily calling out their name, not smart.

But, hey, Brooke Shields in her movie debut is tortured and killed at the top of the movie. That’s worth a star.

What I learned from Alice, Sweet Alice and other thoughts:

—Do not piss off the church staff on the phone, they hold a grudge.
—Yellow raincoats, with the exception of the Gorton’s fisherman, are always a harbinger of evil. Strike that, I know nothing about the Gorton’s fisherman.
—Has a creepy, morbidly obese pedophile downstairs landlord with stains on his shirt and underwear and a cat fetish ever made it out of a movie alive?
—Once again, puberty, the worse monster of all.
—Giant, sharpened butcher knives can be found practically everywhere.
—Catholic priests in movies are either Vatican 2 sexy-young or Vatican 1 older than God. No priests are 35 years old?
—Thank you, presidential pictures on government walls. You were the only way I knew this movie took place in 1962. (See every episode of X-Files)
—Can committing a sin erase other sins? Short answer, No, say every other movie ever made. Long answer, we all gotta try. We all gotta try.
—Yellow raincoats and that creepy clear plastic mask both come in multiple sizes, but when worn are all the same size to others.

Finally, Alice, Sweet Alice was brought to you by The Communion Wafer Council. “People are dying to have one, you’ll kill to get one. Communion Wafers.”

A note, Alice, Sweet Alice was supposed to be Aftermath (1994), but I couldn’t find a copy to watch. So, A,SA. And I watched it on YouTube. Public Domain fun.

Do it: The Electric Version by The New Pornographers. Solid, mid-to-up tempo power pop. If someone told me that this was their favorite album of all time, I could see it, it’s an album that a college student could latch onto and make it their own. While, there’s a sameness to some of the sound, the sameness is a likable sameness like a Ramones sameness. Wha? Another breezy Summah Album.

Avoid It: Everyone says I’m a cynical curmudgeon who doesn’t like anything, but this is the hardest section every day to come up with something to say.

The Tweeter: It’s about fifty-fifty, either I’m warming my hands or I’m cooling my balls with my hands. #die-a-beet-us.

The Facing Book: Wow, I saw Kevin Durant of the Oklahoma Thunder just walking around downtown today. Shouldn’t he be in Miami? Game five is tomorrow. Oh wait, sorry, pimply white kid wearing a jersey.

Bonus Comedy Filler:

I’m trying to use my restaurant savings card (POGO, the cheap guy’s mistress) up before it expires at the end of the month. So, I’ve been eating at Popeye’s Chicken a lot. Not good.

And like every other Fat American, the breaded fried chicken skin Is my favorite. I have a procedure, like an autopsy, for removing the skin. Breast chicken skin is the best. Once removed, I can either set it aside as a fatty dessert after being good (ie, eating the white chicken meat) or as an immediate fried chicken fat jolt to the stomach.

After staring at the mini-pile of chicken skin carcasses, a hoary old comic idea came once again to the forefront of my stomach…

Chickenskins, the all chicken skin-based restaurant. You know the drill. A buck a skin, ten bucks a bucket. Only the top of the breast. All ‘skins are double fried in chicken fat and then wrapped around the food of your choice and lightly fried again. Hamburger patties-chickenskin style. Carrots–fresh and chickenskinned.

You name the food and we’ll wrap it in Chickenskins goodness and refry it to seal in the flavor. Snicker bars, butter, ice cream, corn on the cob, you bring it in and we’ll ‘chicken skin’ it for less. We use a special chicken fat adhesive to stick our mouth watering skin onto any food for frying.

You haven’t lived until you’ve had our CS Soup and Salad. Ask for extra chicklets, the crumbled chicken skin from the still delicious underside of the breast. Our Kid’s Skins and CS Shakes are perfect for any kid above age three. ( A choking hazard may occur for kids under three.)

In our poorer neighborhoods, check out CS Skins, they may not be Grade A breasts, but skinned gizzards are just as tasty. Look for our caravan at your local state fair. Or keep an eye out for our Skins Street Team Food Truck. We’re so good, you’ll beg us to throw our skins into your car.

Also, Chickenskins always gives back. Behind every CS is a dumpster full of semi edible goodness for all of our homeless brethren. It’s self serve, a dollar a fistful. And dogs eat free, bones that is.

Chickenskins, we’ll peel the flavor off for ya!

Next Up: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Alien (1979), The 400 Blows (1959), or Africa Brasil by Jorge Ben (1976).

200 Motels (1971 ) ** First Full Viewing

In the beginning of the creative process, ‘Yes’ is good word. Say yes to as many ideas as you can. Especially if what your making isn’t heavily plot-driven, if you’re chasing an emotion or abstract idea.

However, there becomes a point where the yes ideas need to have import in the art, the ‘yesses’ should have meaning—-to theme or to emotion or to plot or to pace.

Has Frank Zappa ever had idea he didn’t pursue or throw in there? Just for fun? Because no one, Zappa included, ever said whoa there, think it through.

I had my GFF Shelly also watch 200 Motels with me. Hopefully, she’ll comment. Shelly was to give me another perspective. You see, I should like Frank Zappa. He’s weird, he’s funny, he’s in the underground. I’ve tried in the past to like him, all failed. And while there are some bright spots, generally the more focused comedy pieces, Frank Zappa’s art is busy mess. Say, no to something. All yes makes the yes irrelevant.

Overworked. That’s the word. Sometimes, the best quality of an artist is knowing when the fuck to leave the art alone. To be done. I could be wrong on their motivations, I think Zappa and The Mothers of Invention don’t know when to stop screwing with their movie and some of their songs. So, it’s all (now) dated chroma key tricks ahoy. Just because you can edit and loop video doesn’t mean you should. I always suspect when I see re-used shots, cheap fast/slow rewind, and a general overuse of video tricks as a transparent effort to ‘fix’ missing shots, under shooting and lack of a story.

I don’t know the back story to the production, but here’s my theory:

Hey guys, I got this studio space for a week starting tomorrow. Let’s make a movie. We’ll figure it out while we’re shooting.

The Mothers of Invention have been on the road forever. 200 Motels. They all go more bonkers from being on the road, I dunno, maybe it’s drugs? Songs are sang. Sketch-like flights of fancy are are taken. Ringo Starr plays Frank Zappa. Frank Zappa is barely there. Keith Moon is a nun groupie who dies (?) of an overdose (eewwww, like real life). Everyone knows they’re in a movie and talks about it all the time, that’s kinda neat. 200 Motels is an early example of the now popular meta entertainment trend. Pre-meta, if you will.

Tim and Eric is a good example of the new meta entertainment using a lot of the modern old-timey video tricks to create an overall strange-land effect. The difference is these tricks are used for a purpose. A winking purpose. Zappa may be making some inside jokes about the freak lifestyle, but they no longer stand up. Also, any sketch-based movie is usually, inherently uneven. 200 Motels has more misses than hits.

Also, 200 Motels‘s kitchen sink approach doesn’t build toward much, just noise. Maybe I don’t get it. Early music video? Granted, I liked the last third more than the rest of the film, but I think that’s just Stockholm Syndrome.

Things I Learned?

—The Mothers of Invention really hate Frank Zappa. He’s a dictator and a puppet master who steals their ideas. I’m sure it’s just an extended lame joke.
—This movie has talked directly to my penis more than I ever have. Guess I should talk to my penis more. Seems like our conversation ended years ago.
—I can see why teens might like it, TMOI say a lot naughty words. Funny, naughty words.
—Ringo Starr can actually be not funny or likable. Who knew? First time in his career.
—If you’re going as Frank Zappa for Halloween, just get a weird mustache/goatee and a purple long-sleeved turtleneck sweater.
—Drugs are bad?

Do It: The Fiery Furnaces. Like Zappa, TFF’s music is filled with abrupt tonal shifts, looped lyrics and strange instrumentation. Unlike Zappa, there’s a more of a cohesive feel and weird logic at work.

Avoid It: Season two of The Killing. I now know who killed Rosie Larsen. Blah. Blah. Blah, not worth the time investment. With very little forward motion, the–I’m guessing–series finale could have run after the season one finale. Oh, and the show spent most of the last episode trying to glorify and redeem all the characters that it once needed as suspects. You know, except the killer. Killer bad. The good news, I don’t have to think about The Killing anymore.

The Tweeter: True Blood stole my idea I had for a marketing opportunity for True Blood a week ago. Maker’s Mark Whiskey. A groupie was drinking it tonight. #iwastoolate #makersmarkambassador

The Facing Book: A fun (?) game you can play while out dining. When you’re ease dropping on another table, pick one person. Imagine that everyone else at the table is about to take that person to jail or rehab without their knowledge. The stupid everyday conversation they’re having suddenly seems way more important, way more tension-filled.

Bonus Movie Review:

Bring Me the Head of Alberto Garcia (1974) *** First Viewing

The weather’s been in full summer mode, so I was in the mood for a western. A movie where everyone was miserable from heat. I thought BMTHOAG would be a classic Sam Peckinpah western. Not so much, but it is a classic Pekinpah movie. Morally compromised men. Lots of slow-mo shooting. A story that goes sideways. And everyone is miserable.

Alfredo Garcia is the movie’s MacGuffin, everybody wants him. Actually, like 8 Heads in a Duffel Bag, Alfredo Garcia’s head is the MacGuffin. A million bucks for said head. It’s a mad, mad, mad head.

Warren Oates is a down on his luck American bartender in Mexico. Think Rockford without the PI badge. He gets his prostitute girlfriend to help him find Al Garcia. And at its heart, the film is a love story. Like Sid and Nancy or Bonnie and Clyde is a love story. Although, for a movie with rape in it, the love story is kind of sweet and an effective motivator.

They drive around third world Mexico in a crappy car. Mexicans in crappier cars chase them. There’s a rape break with Kris Kristopherson. Then, things get weird, go bad. Things get shooty.

Warren Oates is fantastic as he slowly slips off the sanity burrito, wearing big sunglasses, shabby clothes, drinking tequila. That toothy, grim smile. His performance makes the film. The ramshackle, mostly plausible plot is engaging. Surprisingly good, but quick ending.

If you’ve liked any other Peckinpah movie (The Wild Bunch, Straw Dogs), you should like this unconventional Peckinpah movie.

Things I learned from BMTHOAG:

—Do NOT sleep with El Jeffe’s daughter. He will not like you.
—Pay more to have a pubic lice free hotel room.
—Ice. What can’t it do? Especially in hell.
—You can live on Tequila alone. I’ve always wondered.

Next Up: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Aftermath (1994), The 400 Blows (1959), or Abraxas by Santana (1970).

A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) *** Second Viewing

Remember J-horror? Before those sparkly vampires? While most horror trends succumb to their own clichés, the best of the Asian horror boom of the early 2000’s still works. There’s a randomness and inevitability to the horror. Dread.

A Tale of Two Sisters doesn’t rely of the wandering, pale, black-haired, disjointed female ghosts cliché of other J-pop horror efforts. At it’s heart, it’s a drama about divorce and loss between two sisters. The best horror films are usually dramas where the fear and rotten emotions of conflict are rendered into horrifying flesh. The first two-thirds of The Exorcist is also a drama about the change of growing up and the new changes in the world.

There’s really a pretty crafty mystery at work in ATOTS. One I didn’t catch in the first viewing so many years ago. The set-up is extremely familiar, two teen sisters are forced to move into a haunted country house with their dad and evil, new stepmother. Slowly, crazy shit happens. The dad, certainly Lithium’s best customer, is emotionally unavailable. The step-mom vacillates between extreme roles, uncomfortable in any of them. The older sister tries to protect the withdrawn younger sister from the evil step-mother. You get the drill.

Of course, that’s not what really is going on. Clues abound.

The pace sometimes borders between slow and deliberate and slow and plodding, but the cinematography is fantastic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shoddy looking Korean movie. (Japanese, yes. Korea, no.) They’ve gotta have a great film school there.

Things I learned from A Tale of Two Sisters:

—Evil spirits, like young’uns in action films, love to hide under the sink.
—Korea has the best wallpaper.
—Pets, always the first to go.
—Puberty, the worst monster of all.
—The psychiatrist-waiting-for-patient two shot. This technique begins every third Korean film.
—Old Dunlap bags are the best way to store bodies. (A shout-out to Audition)
—Put an adorable Korean baby in the film and I’ll add a star to the review. Sorry, no Korean baby in ATOTS. You earned your three star rating honestly.
—I’m beginning to think my star-rating system might be flawed.
—Also, I wrote this review for the “Lithium’s Best Customer” joke which wasn’t framed well enough.

Do It: Tom Scharpling. Do it, Tom Scharpling. The king of free entertainment, Scharpling has had some crushing professional, personal and physical set backs lately. Me, I’d go all fetal baby, but Tom Scharpling is just getting better. He’s steamrolling the chumps. His radio show, The Best Show on WFMU just celebrated it’s 500th show, listen to it. The Best Show reminds me why I wanted to be a DJ so long ago, why I was a DJ so long ago, before the corporate vultures picked the bones clean. He just interviewed Weird Al and Tommy Stinson for his podcast Low Times. And he’s teamed up with podcasting’s reigning king of ‘making it about me’ Marc Maron for another funny podcast, The Marc and Tom Show. The dude should be more famous. That said, he’s still grinding away like everyday is game four of the playoffs. I miss one post one day, and I’m a big baby Sisyphus, screw that rock. Not Tom. He’s back at that rock. Also, he’s a Tweeteraholic. Do it, Tom, just keep doing it.

Avoid It: The usual Disneyland Dad Father’s Day hangouts. Valentino’s and Godfather’s. Pizza Hut and Pizza Ranch. Dairy Queen and Cherry on Top. Champion’s Fun Center and the bowling alley. On Father’s Day, these places become a giant bowl, nay well, of sadness, desperation, averted eye contact, forced interest and that one awkward smile as divorced dads try too hard, way too hard. Look, I know that sounds cynical. There’s plenty of happy dads and kids scarfing down half-priced meals on dad’s day, but it’s inevitable, there’ll be one father/daughter paring who’s psychic emotional scars will almost be palpable to nearby tables. Your J-pop pitch black spirit devouring souls under the guise of healing. I know, I’ve been there. I’ve been (am) poor, planning a whole day around one trip for crappy, half-price pizza and a game of pinball. I’m always putting too much stock in that one day.

Related side note—Why son, Why? Why don’t you want to talk to me? I’m sad. I miss you. Just the thought of Father’s Day…

Tom Scharpling. Tom Scharpling. Just keep doing’ it….

The Tweeter: I like sentence fragments. A lot. A real, real lot. A real, real, real lot. Like more than full sentences. Brain fragmented, like sentence fragments. Say what, again?

The Facing Book: Dear Facing Book timeline, why must you remind me that I’ve done Jack and Squat between 2007 and birth?

Old to begin, I’ll setcha back, setcha back, setcha back.

A Cheap, Comic Life:

Next Up: 200 Motels (1971), Aftermath (1994), The 400 Blows (1959), or Abraxas by Santana (1970).

Abbey Road by The Beatles (1969) **** 1/2 Own

This was the first Beatle‘s record I ever bought. I was maybe, 10 or 11, and had this old orange suitcase style record player. At the time, my favorite songs were the Ringo songs, Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and Octopuses Garden. They had plot and were funny. Was Steve Martin in some kind of video for Maxwell’s Silver Hammer? Bang bang. Songs for an unproduced musical?

Now, I’ve heard all The Beatle‘s records probably as much as you—offer not valid for Chris Topher and other Beatlemaniacs—so, the songs are more subconscious at this point, they’ve always just been there. Anything I could say about them has already been said more eloquently by others by now.

But I listened to the hell out of Abbey Road. Hundreds of times. This was my Beatle‘s record. I don’t think I even bought any of the others (Beatle‘s Love excepted and that doesn’t count), all inherited or dubbed.

I remember spending hours looking at the album cover. The Beatles themselves weren’t that important. It’s the Volkswagen in the back. What kind of lives did those people inside the album cover live? Not knowing John, Paul, George and Ringo were just outside. That’s what we used to do—stare at a record sleeve the first twenty times we listened to the music. CD’s and MP3’s have all but eliminated that goofy past time.

America’s greatest achievement, packaging, is all but an afterthought in the itunes age. I mean, what’s the point of Pink Floyd‘s Animals if not staring at that flying pig?

Abbey Road, their 11th, is more stripped down than the last few. The White Album should be my favorite with it’s darker John Lennon production tricks. But no. It’s an adult record with too much revolution on its mind. And Sgt. Pepper’s is the ultimate Paul McCartney pop record, the Snoopy of Beatle records, everyone loves it. But I owned Abbey Road. So, that’s the one I’ve heard more than any other.

All the Beatle‘s are given their equal due. I’m not sure of songwriting credits, but’s easy to pick out what I think are the quintessential Ringo songs, John songs, Paul songs and George songs. More than the other records, George and Ringo are really given a showcase. And while the Ringo songs are now my least favorite, they’re kinda gimmicky, the George songs, Sun King and Because, gave me a greater appreciation for the denim Beatle. Doo-Wop turns into a nice rock drudge. I think they front-loaded the Ringo songs, got them out of the way, to prime you for the epicness of the end medley where everyone’s style melded into a whole. Even John’s Come Together is a joke front-end ‘hit’ song, the record’s palette cleanser from the other Beatle records.

In a lot of ways, Abbey Road doesn’t really get started until She’s So Heavy, all the other songs clearing out The Beatle‘s back catalog. It takes the meditation of George’s songs and the sweeter ballads of John’s songs to set the right mood for Abbey Road‘s existence, the medley that is most of the second side.

Favorite moment: The ten seconds after the first “She’s so….”

Least Favorite: The next ten seconds. Jazz influences ruin rock.

Redemption: The last “She’s so….” through the rocking sudden end of the side. My crappy suit case record player didn’t have auto arm return, so I’d let it go ka-chhhh, ka-chhhh, ka-chhhh on the last groove for about a minute. Good times. On the CD, Here Comes the Sun sounds so wrong after She’s So Heavy.

Remember that old Sonic Youth record, Evol? The last track of the second side had a resetting groove at the end of the song, basically replaying the last four notes ad infinitum. Drone all night. Awesome. I Want You and Loving, Touching, Squeezing were my favorite songs to slip cue as a DJ. Tight.

Final Dumb Comments or No Learning:
— I always thought the lyric was, “He had feet way down below his knees.” I like my lyric better.
— You know who needs a mojo filter? Effin’ Jim Morrison, that’s who.
— Apparently, the lack of shoeshine will help make you a great toejam football player.
— Walrus Gumboots. Now at Target.
—Maxwell was not a nice man, but he was a real hit with the ladies. Ba-Da-Bing.
— A square world is a real buzz kill.
— I may be good looking, certainly I feel as if I am hard to see.
— Funny papers are no substitute for real money.
— Ten Bob notes must certainly be small or mean Mister Mustard has a huge nose.
— 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7: that sounds like only 7 good children went to heaven. The Beatles, your Sesame Street substitute.
— The Beatles may also earn you Latin Class credits. Or is it fake Latin? Italian? Anyway, all foreign language lessons should end with a drum bridge.
— Polyethene Pam. Now at Target.
— Need to wonder? Suck your thumb next to your lagoon.
— Monday’s always on the phone to me, AMIRIGHT working peeples?
— Robbing is a different skill than stealing.
— A man once died trying NOT to air drum to Ringo’s solo. True Fact.
— Love. It’s physical, makable, takeable.
— The Beagles sure do love their queen. Oh, adorable Beagles. Did you see the Diamond Jubilee concert? Paul was the only one who didn’t completely suck. Madness excluded.
— Paul did marry the Queen. True fact. Her vocals were turned way down on Band on the Run. After a belly full of wine, he beat her. So, she took him for billions. It’s how the monarchy runs.
—And so concludes, Jokes You Only Get While Listening to Abbey Road. If you have any complaints about Beatle facts, you can take a long and winding road, pal. Slip out through the bathroom window.

Do it: Falling Off the Sky by The Db’s. The last time The Db’s released an album Ronald Reagan was still in office. And like last years, Here Now by The Feelies, their comeback effort, Falling off the Sky is a solid addition to an already great canon of country-tinged power pop records. Falling Off the Sky could have come out comfortably after Big Star‘s #1 Record without sounding dated in any era. A pleasant summer shandy for your ears.

Avoid It: This is PIL by Public Image LTD.
Also shooting for a comeback, Johnny Rotten’s back—years after cashing in his generic anger for the lucrative cashola—and This is PIL suuuuuuucckkks. I’m listening to it while I’m writing and was planning on making some kind of Malcolm McLaren is rolling over in his grave joke, but the awfulness of the record is sapping my strength, my ability to focus. It suuuuuuuuuccckkkks. If he’s trying to make a dirt stupid parody of himself, Rotten’s still falling short.

The Tweeter: Tweeter, the best place to rail against abstract concepts and the minutiae of life while making pop culture references.

The Facing Book: Hey (old) ladies in the (every eating) place, I’m calling out to ya (I’m also easedroppin’ on ya), let that one old lady talk. It happens every time I’m out, one woman is jabbering away, monopolizing 95% of the conversation. I’ve never heard anything Mrs. Never-Shut-up say that was even remotely interesting or not self involved. C’mon, other lady, speak up! #seewhatididthere? #beastieboys

True Fact: Famous grammarians Strunck and White used to team together to rape babies and cheat at cards. True Fact. OK, not a true fact, but I hate developing my own informal Style Book and needed someone to take the fall.

Bonus Review:

Keyhole (2011) *** First Viewing

Let me tell you about this crazy dream I had a few weeks ago. No, don’t go away, it’ll have a point. I promise.

You see, I had been watching strange old Asian horror movies, Japan’s Hell (1960) and Korea’s Cure (1997), and they wormed into my subconscious. Usually, we’re being chased in dreams or looking for something. We’re the passive hero subjected to whims of large outside forces, the stuff of horror movies. In this dream, I actually was one of the bad guys. I started out as a good guy. You see, I was part of a large group of teenagers visiting a enormous, cylinderal, haunted house. I got bit by a demon almost immediately and turned into a demon. I knew that I was not only in a dream, but also in a film. My dreams often come in different film styles. (Never a RomCom or porn, sadly) So, I started working with the other demons killing teens. With my claws, I shredded and skinned. We released giant bees forcing the teens down a series of hallways, only to block the other side, so they had to run through miles of angry, oversized bees. Funny thing, I didn’t feel any remorse for my actions. Also, I knew that was OK because I was in a film playing a part. I’m rarely the lead in my own dreams, but that’s another story for a lower self esteem day.

Keystone is a fully realized filmed dream of a 1930’s gangster movie. If you’ve never seen a Guy Maddin film, this is probably his most accessible. It’s like he’s got an AV plug on a dream helmet. While David Lynch flirts with dream-like imagery and logic, Maddin fully commits. Every strange emotion, blurred logic and editing, characters as self aware functionaries and as knowing symbols, casual nudity (lots of old man scrotum), the dream hero’s blasé stance on his own predicament, acceptance and embracing of the supernatural, the set as artifice, time fuckery, and ghosts, ghosts, ghosts. Every dream element.

This is how your dreams operate, right? Mine certainly do.

Usually when a movie eases from beginning weirdness to semi-coherent plot, the movie usually benefits. In Keystone, the black and white gangster premise was enough to support the machinations of the dream and of the hero’s searching in the dream. I did lose some interest in the last thirty minutes, both because of sheer image overload and because the sense the film started to make didn’t fulfill the earlier promises.

Jason Patric, Isabella Rossalini, and Udo Keir are in it. Keyhole looks lush like the best old time movies. Kids in the Hall‘s Kevin McDonald is in playing basically a KITH character that’s wildly out of place which makes it, oddly, appropriate. Oh, that 70 year-old dude is fully naked 100 percent of the time. Who needs clothes in dreamworlds?

I like that Canadian Maddin. Although aggressively strange with a silent movie vibe, his movies don’t strike me as pretentious. They really should, but they don’t. I guess it’s because Maddin is so good at showing a kind of movie reality as dream. He’s trying to understand, not impress.

Not for everyone and not in the daytime.

Oh, in my demon dream Roger from Mad Men kept harassing me to hurry up and do a better job. He tapped his watch a lot, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Kinda cool Roger, thanks for drooping by.

Next Up: 200 Motels (1971), A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), The 400 Blows (1959), or Abraxas by Santana (1970).

I’ve decided to ditch the Rolling Stone’s Top 500 Greatest Albums. (C’mon, Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot at only #495!)

Instead I like the randomization aspect of an alphabetical-by-album-title list like 1001 Records You Must Hear Before You Die. Plus, I start with Abbey Road! Sorry, Outkast.

Next Up: 200 Motels (1971), A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), The 400 Blows (1959), or #500. Abbey Road by The Beatles (1969).

A Bucket of Blood (1959) ** First Viewing

Would you kill a cat if it meant artistic success? Sure, we all would. What about a (dum dum DUM) human? Well….

Underrated character actor and Roger Corman staple Dick Miller plays Walter, a schlubby talentless nobody busboy at a beatnik hang-out. He really wants to be one of the elitist beatniks spouting their crazy faux beatnik talk. They’re kinda the bad guys in their own exclusive click way. The best parts of this slim 65 minute movie are the goofy beatnik talk. Who knew those smelly beatniks were such status seekers? Anyway, murder ensues.

Overall, the plot plays out like a plant-less Little Shop of Horrors, an earlier Roger Corman movie. Dorky loser lead? Check. Unrequited love? Check. Escalating murders to feed the beast? Check. Appropriately just, predictable ending? Check.

I’ve seen every MST3K, twice. (Nerd) So, I’ve seen a lot of bad, heavily padded Roger Corman movies. Give me a weekend and two sets and I’ll give you a movie, that’s old RC. However, this may be the best of his early cheapies. There’s some nifty shots, almost zero padding (people walking places, etc.) and decent pacing.

Still, it’s a clay-covered Little Shop of Horrors. Dick Miller’s good. Has he ever made it to the end a movie alive? Usually he’s dead before the third act.

A side note. Kudos the advertising maven who came up with the ‘gallons of blood per movie’ matrix idea. 10,000 gallons of blood were used in the making of Piranha 3-D. Neat.

There was literally a bucket of blood in the film. I enjoy truth in film titling.

Things I learned From A Bucket of Blood:

—Heroin can come in pill form.
—Here’s a fun game you can play anytime you see Bert Convy in a film (I know, that’s a lot, right?):
Say, “Hey Bert,” like Ernie from Sesame Street and take a drink. Hey Bert!
—Cats like to hide in walls, about halfway up to the ceiling.
—Contrary to what the movie implies, seems like completely covering a dead body in clay to create a realistic statue would involve some talent.
—Repetition is death say the beatniks.

Bonus Movie Review: Iron Sky (2012) *** First Viewing about a week ago.

This movie’s a great example of the new Kickstarter generation of film. A Finnish production garnering support from the Internet and letting the audience in on the fun. There’s a board game for the movie coming out and it’s super nerdy, I’m in.

The movie’s set-up and plot even seems like a role playing session written down. The premise is pure pulp. The Nazi’s, after WW2, retreated to the dark side of the moon to build a new society and prepare to retake the Earth.

Nazi’s on the moon. Go!

The satire can be a bit broad, a Sarah Palin-type President is a bit on the nose, but the characters are still all pretty solid tropes in the serial adventure genre. I anticipated a small budget look, but the movie looks great. It’s a steampunk vibe reinterpreted through the Nazi aesthetic. Nazi future tech. Giant vacuum tubes and a doomsday machine. Blimps as spaceships. Oh yea, there’s a space battle run by busty women wearing skin-tight leather. And Udo Keir as Hitler’s successor. That is, if Hitler’s really dead. (Dum Dum Dummmm)!

Pure pulp. The movie never takes itself seriously, yet works on fully developing the premise.

C’mon, Nazi’s on the moon! It’s kinda hard to screw that up.

Do It: If you like Veep on HBO, check out In the Loop, the Veep‘s creator’s scathingly funny movie about the politics behind the Iraq war. Oh, also Veep. The season finale was easily the funniest half hour of television in the last three years. Every line was biting and hilarious while advancing the episode’s plot and the season’s plot lines.

Avoid It: War, man. I got nuthin.

The Tweeter: Hey everybody, check out my veritable tweetnado with the hashtag #madmenforchildren

The Facing Book: Today, I had two Orange Juliuses. That ten times my daily allowance of chalk.

Random Rock Lyric: You’ve been chosen as an extra in the movie adaptation of the sequel to your life.
A shady lane — everybody wants one.
Pavement

Next Up: 200 Motels (1971), A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her (1967), or #500. Aquemini by OUTKAST.

21 Days (1940) ***1/2 First Viewing

It’s either the best or it’s the worst
and since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t and I know this ain’t no way to treat a guest
But why don’t you grab your old lady by the feet
and just lay her out in the darkest street
and by morning, she’s just another hit and run.
You know, some people got no choice
and they can never find a voice
to talk with that they can even call their own
So the first thing that they see that allows them the right to be
why they follow it, you know, it’s called bad luck.
—Lou Reed, Street Hassle

I know that most people who see the title of this review and the release date of the film will just skip the whole affair. Old black and white movies are boring. I get that, but I’m not writing the reviews as a consumer guide, a pro or con on whether to see it, but as a reaction to the movie itself, it’s themes and what comes into my mind as I watch it. In some ways, the movie is a conduit for a more personal blog post.

And the first thought I had in this film were the Lou Reed lyrics above. The lyrics are pretty grim. Look at the movie poster, it looks like a romantic film. But it’s not, mostly.

Lawrence Olivier plays a young man who accidentially kills the newly discovered husband of his girlfriend, Vivien Leigh (That’s Miss Scarlett O’Hara to you). He enlists the aid of his brother, a lawyer on his way to being a judge. While the set-up is noir lite, the execution and ending plays out differently. We’re encouraged to root for Oliver as a straight-up protagonist, albeit riddled with guilt. It’s a zippy (71 minutes) little film that asks a lot of interesting moral questions. Do we really need to pay for our failings? Is it okay to be charged with one crime, but pay for another? Does love, of a girl or a brother, mitigate and soften ones crime? Can intentions be a worthy substitue for action? And the perennial question, if you could get away with murder, would you and to what point would ignore or aid the man wrongfully charged with the crime you committed? Fun stuff.

In some ways the movie reminded me of the first season of The Killing, the way one death can affect so many people and the way self preservation, denial, honor, suffering and love collide. The film seems to make the case that a life filled with daily distractions bound by love IS a good moral choice.

I’ve been dreading some of the upcoming Criterion Collection films, but if they’re as lean as this one, I’ll be okay. I liked this one and if you’re a fan of crime/courtroom dramas, you may as well. The dialog is typically 1940’s quick and I totally didn’t guess the ending. Some may call the ending a bit of a cheat, but not me, I was expecting noir.

Things I Learned From 21 Days:

—If I kill a man, don’t just leave him out in an alley. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

—If I kill a man, burn all evidence and if my brother’s a high muckity-muck lawyer, for goodness sake LISTEN to him. A man’s lack of conscience is a virtue in a crime. (See Harvey Keitel in Pulp Fiction)

—A long boat ride and a carnival is a good way to take your mind off a man’s wrongly charged murder trial.

—Newspapers in the ’40’s were faster at delivering the news than today’s internet.

—Foreigners living in 1940’s London had seriously awesome moustaches.

Bonus Mini Review: Prometheus (2012) **** First Viewing

Early on in Prometheus, the Sigourney Weaver stand-in character, Noomi Rapace, says about man’s creator, “I don’t know, but I choose to believe.” It’s so important it’s said twice. If there’s ever been a phrase that’s led to more bloodshed, upheaval and change, I can’t think of it.

Prometeus’ DNA is two-thirds the original Alien with a spirituality glaze. And really, for the first two-thirds of the film, the haunted-house-in-space Alien part works, even if some of the characters make some stoopid choices against their own self-preservation. I don’t remember Ripley and crew being this dumb. The movie falls down when it tries to explore it’s own big questions.

By trying to be smart, yet providing some dumb answers, the movie loses it’s soul and many of the characters become just more pawn pieces in service of The Big Question. Plus I counted two giant space movie cliches that should never be in any movie ever again. No cliche spoilers here, but damn, stop pretending to be smart and chase down and explore the smart questions you pose. Or don’t dwell on them and be an Alien movie.

That said, you should see Prometheus. In a theater. In 3-D. It’s a big, hyper-detailed, super clean film. Well edited, a decent pace, and interesting, if sterile visuals. First time at a movie, the 3-D didn’t bug me like I was a one-eyed guy deciphering a Stereo Eye drawing. Although, that said, I still had a twenty minute quiet-time session to heal my burned-out corneas after the film.

I prefer the messiness of the original Alien (really the only movie it could and demands to be compared to), both in design and character flaws, but the execution, detail and production of Prometheus deserve a big screen viewing.

Things I learned from Prometheus:

—In Dungeons and Dragons parlance, Androids would be ‘Chaotic Neutral.’

—Also, Androids do not have souls. Oh wait, that’s been said in every single piece of science fiction ever written.

—When will we learn to not fully trust Androids?

—Michael Fassbender should be the Peter O’Toole role in the remake of The Ruling Class or the lead in The Peter O’Toole story.

—If it keeps up, Charlize Theron will overtake Tilda Swinton as Queen of The Ice Queens.

—Stringer Bell continues to be Da Man!

—Also, Stringer is a big fan of old white guy rocker, Stephen Stills.

—Weyland Industries logo is based on an old Van Halen T-Shirt.

—In the future, health care still sucks for women. Hard.

—Good news, no aliens were shot out into space during the making of Prometheus.

—I’m positive writer Damon Lindeloff (Lost) has seen the 1973 German Sci-fi film World on a Wire. Also, the reasons that the Lost finale fell way short are fully on display in Prometheus.

Do It: Cornershop’s Handcreme for a Generation (2002): The Brimful of Asha guys album is solid, fun summer CD that will expire when the weather cools off.

Avoid It: Peanut Butter Doug. He’s the Poochie of peanuts.

The Tweeter: Meatnesia—The ability to forget how meat is raised, processed, packaged and prepared so you can enjoy a hamburger. #newwords

The Facing Book: Ugh, Monday again. Really?!?!?

True Facts: The episode of Fear Factor where contestants drink donkey semen finally airs, not on NBC, but in Denmark this week. True Fact. My concern isn’t why, but how.

Next Up: 200 Motels (1971), A Bucket of Blood (1959), 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her (1967), or #500. Aquemini by OUTKAST.