Music for White People

I catch a lot of crap from my friends for the music I listen to, basically because I listen to pop. It wouldn't be far from the mark to say that my musical taste is similar to that of a 15-year-old girl.

So let me tell you about two CDs--wildy different--that have been finding heavy rotation on my iPod (disregarding the idea that iPod's do or do not technically have "rotations").

The first is really girly (or so others would claim), so I'll get that out of the way. It also happens to be one of the best rock CDs I've listened to in a long time.

I'm talking, of course, about Fall Out Boy.

Now, I've been a fan of theirs since "Sugar, We're Going Down" (which is still their best song) off the album From Under the Cork Tree. For those of you unfamiliar with them, you might have heard of their wacky bassist, Pete Wentz and his "famous" fiancee.

Most consider them the poster princes of emo, a musical genre so broad I'm not quite sure what falls under its purview. That said, I don't really care if the music I like is called emo. Especially when it is pretty much the only rock music on the radio today. I think. I don't really listen to the actual radio.

But I have listened to Fall Out Boy's latest album, Folie à Deux, and it's fantastic. What helps is that, although Pete Wentz writes the lyrics (which I usually don't understand), Patrick Stump, the lead singer, also writes the music. And he's extremely talented. He's also got the most soulful voice for a white guy since this singer.

And what he's done is write a great album, with a number of particularly notable songs. It starts off strong--like all their albums tend to--with the song "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" (yeah, the titles are fairly ridiculous). But it doesn't let up, following with the singles "I Don't Care" and "American Suitehearts," which sandwich a very good song, "She's My Winona." Then, except for the totally unforgettable "W.A.M.S.", it continues along with good track after good track, including "What a Catch, Donnie" and my favorite song, "20 Dollar Nose Bleed," which is a duet with Panic at the Disco's lead singer, Brandon Urie.

Now I'm not promising anything, but I think if you like rock music--if you like good melodies and catchy hooks--then you should at least try Fall Out Boy. If they're not your cup of tea, try coffee. Because, really, they have plenty of fifteen-year-old girls to be fans.

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Of a different genre--although very in the "music that white people like" category, much like this guy--is Kanye West's newest album, 808 and Heartbreak.

Named after the Roland MC 808 drum machine, it meant that Kanye only had a minimal sound selection to work with, creating a sparse, semi-futuristic track-list that is built upon with the use of the Auto-Tune, the voice-changer that somehow made this clown 2008's Nate Dogg.

While not for everyone, there is a simplicity to the music that makes the depressing subject matter of his mom dying and breaking up with his girlfriend so much more powerful. Kanye is a guy who always brought the ego, and although I think he's always been musically deserving of his own accolades, I find that by taking away some of that hubris, he actually proves just how talented he really is.

Although I can listen to the whole album front-to-back on repeat (except for the last song, the live bonus track), I particularly like the three-track set right in the middle: "Love Lockdown," "Paranoid," and "Robocop."

This isn't the Kanye West you're used to, and maybe that's a good thing. This is hip-hop I haven't really ever heard, and I find myself fascinated by it.

Which I'm sure was his plan all along.

In Gran Style (amendment)

This may be a bit of a spoiler, so don't read if you like to know how your movies turn out by watching them.

I just wanted to point out a little more about the hero aspect of Walt: as the movie progresses, and Walt's spirituality has a rebirth (not a poor choice of words, if you think about it), just notice the position they show him in after he confronts the gang for the last time. If that's not purposeful (and, as well directed as the movie is, I can't think it wouldn't be purposeful), then I'm a monkey's uncle.

In other words, I think it's alluding to a certain important Christian figure, namely: Jesus.

I guess my only problem, then, is that are we then supposed to believe Walt is a Christ figure? Because that wasn't really the message I was getting the entire movie.

Still, sometimes I think it's so easy to get away with symbolism as to forget that the cleverness doesn't necessarily make the story better (and in a visual medium such as film, it's even easier to think something looks "cool" and forget its "coolness" doesn't gibe with the message it's sending), so. . .

I forgive you, Mr. Eastwood.

Maybe I'm a Christ-figure.

Or maybe I'm going to Hell for saying that. Mmm, delicious irony.

In Gran Style

And no, it's not a pun because Clint Eastwood is old.

Although, he is, like, really old.

I just saw Gran Torino, and while I don't want to say it's one of the best movies of the year (sorry, The Dark Knight wins that, hands down), it is a fantastic film. What's amazing is what a terrible job the commercials on television do in showing what the movie is about.

Watch this:



Now, let me ask you something: would you think this movie would be hilarious? No, right?

Well, let me tell you: it's hilarious. I laughed pretty much the entire movie, except at the end, when I cried like the little girl I am. But still, until that point, I got to witness what makes Clint Eastwood such a fantastic actor, namely--the ability to make pure fury reserved, contained, joyless, and yet ultimately funny. I'm really not kidding here; this movie will make you laugh.

But it's not a comedy in any stretch of the imagination. It's funny because Eastwood's character, Walt, is such a curmudgeonly, racist old bastard, that you almost can't believe he ever found a woman to marry him in the first place (the movie begins at his wife's funeral). Yet, he plays it so honestly that, like the Hmong girl Sue who befriends him, you connect so powerfully to his inner-goodness, while laughing off his outer-asshole. Think of him as Archie Bunker, but with a dark tour of duty in the Korean War.

That's why the ending is so powerful, too. Because you know it has to end roughly for someone--it keeps building and building towards a violent climax--and so the although it's not exactly shocking, it is perfectly tuned to strike the right emotional chord. So while I don't know if he should win Best Actor, I have no doubt that he's going to be hard to beat for Best Director (he really did get the most out of his actors).

One last thing. I was talking with my friend the other day, who happens to be a high school English teacher. One of the classes he teaches is about the American Hero, and I couldn't help thinking what a perfect example Walt is of this archetype. He's proud, strong, quiet, loyal, cunning, and self-reliant. Sure, there's a lack of the stereo-typical wilderness normally associated with the American Hero, but, in a contemporary spin, one could clearly see the suburbs of Detroit, with the de-gentrification eroding what Walt observes was a fine neighborhood, as a "wild" setting, where savage men terrorize people just trying to carve out a piece of land to call their own. His mission--to not only tame this wilderness, but the understand it, has a familiar ring, doesn't it?

Anyway, when you get a chance, watch this movie--I think you'll be hard-pressed not to find it one of the very best this past year has had to offer.

Oh snap

To my fan:

I'm soooo sorry.

I got super caught up in pretty much everything--from work to finishing up grad school (which I think is done, but I'm sure NYU wants to bleed me some more) to just having a life--that I just didn't have time to talk about the interesting things that I've experienced.

I was, you know, experiencing them. But lets get back into the swing of things with some of my favorites from the past almost-year.

First off: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. It's a book. With the BEST TITLE EVER. Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, it's quite possibly my favorite book of the past year. Besides the outstanding, easily accessible writing, it's a quite touching story about the Isle of Guernsey during World War II. At once charming, funny, and a little sad, I blew through it in no time, and pretty much fell in love.

And yes, maybe I love it so much I will marry it.

What makes it rather unique is that it is an epistolary novel, as it is a collection of letters and telegrams that combine to make a single story.

I actually was talking about it at a friends house, and his mother overheard the conversation and was curious about it. When I sent her the book, she loved it, too (but since polygamy is illegal, we couldn't both marry it), and decided to buy it for all her friends for Christmas.

It was a Festivus miracle!

Moving on, I'm still really into what I'm seeing as the "Motown Revival." What Amy Winehouse ostensibly started was this return to an old-school sound, and other artists I may or may not have mentioned in previous posts--Jamie Lidell, Duffy (the remix of "Mercy" with The Game is fantastic), and, not surprisingly, Al Green--have all found their ways into my iPod because they just make great, head nodding music.

One of my favorites, though, has been Raphael Saadiq's latest offering, The Way I See It. This is fun, upbeat R&B, and songs like "100 Yard Dash" and "Staying In Love" are great because they could be played in the 1960's just as easily as they could today. And, in case you're wondering, Mr. Saadiq used to be the lead singer in Tony! Toni! Toné!

Finally, I figured I'd end with a shout out to the best cartoon for adults on television: "The Venture Bros." If you haven't seen this gem, let me urge you to figure out when it's on The Cartoon Network, and set your DVR to stun (and, come on people--if you don't have a DVR, isn't it about time to start re-examining that thing you call your "life?"). It's a strange pseudo-Johnny Quest spoof that follows Dr. Venture, his two teenage sons Hank and Dean, and their bodyguard Brock Sampson (played by the most excellent Patrick Warburton, aka, David Putty.) as they avoid being killed by super-villains (such as The Monarch, who dresses up like a butterfly, Dr. Girlfriend, who looks like Jackie O but has a man's voice, and Phantom Limb, who is a walking torso) and go on crazy adventures.

Now I love cartoons, and I still think the peak of "The Simpsons" stacks up against the very best of television, period. "South Park" is still excellent, "Family Guy" has it's moments, and although there really aren't any new episodes, "Futurama" continues to be one of my all-time favorites (despite the atrocity they called "The Beast With a Billion Backs," which was pretty much perfectly reviewed here), but right now, the cartoon putting out the most consistently funny, truly ingenious work is "The Venture Bros."

Go Team Venture!

(Glad to be back)

Men and Grids of Iron (Keep Reading; You'll Get It)

Ghostface Killah: You chose wisely.

Iron Man not only lived up to the hype, it went beyond the hype. It took the hype, exposed it for the bastard-child it was, and replaced it with the legitimate prince of an opinion.

I kind of liked the movie.

Consider it this way: Was there ever a more perfect casting job than Robert Downey, Jr. as Tony Stark? Hmm, who should we get to play a womanizing, jet-setting playboy who eventually redeems himself to make good on the promise he had exhibited so long ago?

Right, other than John Travolta.

He’s at his funny and charmingest (it’s a word!) best, and for a movie that doesn’t actually have a lot of characters, he more than makes up for that. He’s slightly over-the-top portrayal is to the movie’s benefit, and combines well with a rather subdued Jeff Bridges, a pretty but rather replaceable Gwyneth Paltrow, and a take-it or leave-it Terrence Howard.

Too, for a comic book movie, there’s not a great deal of “action.” There’s a lot, but the actual scenes with Iron Man is pretty much limited to three. Everything else is Downey, and as cool as the effects for Iron Man are, I had no problem with this fact.

Okay, I’ll admit: I have a little man-crush on Robert Downey, Jr.

Clearly, by now, you probably don’t need me to tell you to go see this movie. You either already have, and loved it, or never had any desire to see it (to which I say: Pardon my French, but you’re an asshole).

But one thing that needs to get mentioned is the feel-good moment of the movie. No, it’s not when Iron Man saves the village in Afghanistan. Instead, it’s the moment when the oft-maligned robot helper finally redeems himself. Seriously. People clapped when this thing finally helps Tony instead of hindering him.

The best thing about this movie is that it’s not only one of the best comic book movies ever (up there with Batman, Batman Begins, X-Men, Sin City, and Howard the Duck), it’s honestly a very good movie. It holds a wide deal of appeal, is topical(!), and is well-written. Jon Favreau does a very good job directing it, and has a decent cameo role to boot.

Next up: The Dark Knight.

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I wrote a while ago about Michael Lewis’ rather seminal baseball book, Moneyball. Well, I just finished his most recent book, The Blind Side, where he tackles (oh, that’s awful) the evolution of the game of football (that’s not soccer, for all my European readers).

While perhaps not as important as Moneyball, it’s probably the more personal story, paralleling the burgeoning career of Michael Oher and how the game of football got to the point where the left tackle position became a skilled position on par with quarterback and running back.

The reason I say it’s not as important is because Moneyball described the revolution before it started (heck, people are still fighting the revolution), whereas The Blind Side is looking at the results of its sport’s revolution.

In this case, the revolution begins with Bill Walsh, the famous coach of the San Francisco 49ers. Like Billy Beane in Moneyball, the cause for the revolution was essentially trying to figure out how to win without being able to simply buy the best talent available. What Walsh discovered was that by utilizing the short pass and eliminating much of the decision making process of the quarterback, he was able to maximize his returns, no matter who was taking the snaps. So, although most people would consider Joe Montana one of, if not the, greatest QB of all time, when you look at the players before and after him, they were all able to perform at pretty much equally high levels. Now I’m not willing to say that Montana really isn’t as good as people say, but it is interesting how successful some of his no-name replacements were, when he got hurt.

This was what we know of as the West Coast Offense (or, rather, it’s how I’m very simplistically describing the West Coast Offense for the time being), and although it wasn’t necessarily exciting (oooh, another seven-yard pass!), it was fairly effective. What it meant, though, was that the offensive line was suddenly even more important than before, as pass protection was necessary to provide enough time for the QB to make his passes.

This, in turn led defenses to look for ways to get to these now pass-happy offenses, and the most dangerous weapon turned out to be the blind-side rusher, as exemplified by Lawrence Taylor (hence the title of the book).

Which brings us back to Michael Oher. Oher was a monosyllabic mountain of a mystery, who somehow found himself from being virtually homeless in poor, black Memphis to attending one of the wealthiest Christian schools and, ultimately, being adopted by an incredibly rich, white family. The reason he’s so fascinating to Lewis is the fact that he’s not only incredibly big and strong, but he’s also extremely fast and agile. He is, in other words, the perfect combination necessary to play the, now, super-important left tackle position – the man who protects the quarterback from being taken out from behind. As we follow Oher’s journey from the streets of Memphis to being wooed by every major college football coach in the nation, it’s a rather remarkable story.

What makes it really good, though, is Lewis’ access. He is somehow able to go deep into the minds of pretty much every person (and at every level), and yet stays remarkably objective in his viewpoint. For example, although he is sympathetic of Oher’s plight, he doesn’t hesitate to kind of paint Michael, as his fame grows, as a bit of jerk. Same thing with the family that adopted and accepted him, the Tuohys. None of that overshadows what is amazing about these stories – the sacrifice, the hard work, and personal growth – but it definitely grounds them.

I’m just surprised, after the way Billy Beane gets portrayed in Moneyball that people still agree to cooperate with this guy!

If you like football, or just sports in general, you’ll probably like this book. If, like me, you also really like the strategy of a sport, then you’ll like this book, too. But, just as important, if you want a pretty feel-good story, or an insight into race, class, and religion in Memphis, this might be the book for you, too. Lewis is a good writer, a “popular” historian who understands how to weave his narrative into the facts to make us enjoy the story. It helps that he writes about sports, which is one of the more universal languages, but I also happen to think he picks fascinating topics – and fascinating characters.

It is…ahem…a touchdown.

Commence hating of me now.

Frogs and Princesses (Princessi?)

I have to admit, when I started reading, I thought I would immediately hate this novel. What wasn't there to hate? The pretentiousness, the despicable protagonist, the improbable plot? Is there a person more deserving of what befalls him than Harry Driscoll? Of course not.

And there in lies the genius.

While certainly not the greatest book ever, as a first-novel, Adam Davies could have done a lot worse than what he gives us with The Frog King.

So yes, while the cleverness is set to “11,” it is perfectly acceptable – mostly because it's very, very clever. Hmm, want to use a lot of big words? Why not have two characters who are intimately involved with dictionaries? Want to talk a lot about literature? Le's have everyone work in publishing! It would be wrong to say that the way they talk, especially Harry and Evie (the love interest) is inauthentic, because I've had equally ridiculous conversations. It's just weird to see them transcribed onto the page, and, as such, comes off as little unnatural.

Even better, though, is how it all plays out. When we meet Harry Driscoll, he's kind of a lovable loser, a man who seems to have it all and yet nothing at the same time. In a way, he kind of reminds me of Ignatius Riley, the main character in the modern classic A Confederacy of Dunces, in that he's so full of himself and his ideas of his own importance that you start to hate him, but you believe it, too. I mean, how else do you explain the fact that he's apparently a ladies man?

And yes, that's plural. Besides Evie, who is apparently the most amazingly perfect person for him (think of Dante's girlfriend in Clerks), there are all of, what she refers to as, Dates. As in “How's Date?” Again, clever, clever, clever. Except, how does this guy have both Evie and Date? He's a pompous ass, he's been an assistant with no hopes for prospects for six years, he lives in a crap apartment with a psycho roommate, he has questionable hygiene (and its accompanying rash – yes, he has a rash throughout the novel), and he's so poor that he carries ziploc baggies with him to parties in order to sustain himself.

He's a dirty, poor, arrogant douche.

He's also really, really judgmental.

And yet, despite all this, Evie loves him. She loves him despite the fact that he treats her like crap a lot. Despite the fact she cheats on her – a lot – and she deludes herself about it. She loves him despite the fact that he can't (literally can not) say that he loves her back. It gets to the point where I was thinking: If Harry ends up with Evie, I'm done with this whole “reading thing.”

That's where Davies surprised me. I won't say exactly how it ends, but Harry's life does not finish with a “happily ever after.” As unrealistic as it might seem, the ending feels pretty real. More importantly (and the truest testament of Davies writing ability), I actually found myself rooting for Harry and kind of pissed at Evie. Then again, as a lovable loser myself, I always kind of root for one of our own to “make good.”

What's more, I laughed out loud. I've mentioned my feelings about this, but I will sum up my thoughts: Comedy is the hardest thing to do, and writing something that actually makes another person laugh is an amazing talent. More so than making me cry (for instance, I was crying tonight as I watched The Ron Clark Story, but I'm also a big girl).

But that still leaves the biggest flaw – the ending. I just don't think it's as poignant as Davies thinks it is to end with Harry and Birdie, his underage homeless friend, together. While I'm sure it's not meant to be in any way sexual, there really aren't that many hints to dissuade us of this reading. And, uh, that's not cool.

That's just an interpretation issue, though, and one that most people probably don't make (which must say o-so-much about me . . .). But it's there, nonetheless, and I think it prevents the story from fully realizing it's potential. Like I said, though, this was his first novel, and he's definitely caught my eye enough to read his next one, Goodbye Lemon (note, too, that Riverhead, his publisher, must really like this guy, because they're sticking with the rather striking cover design). As a member of the same literary tradition with the likes of Nick Hornby and Jonathan Tropper, this is “dude lit” at its best.

But man, unlike some Harrys, this guy is really unlovable.

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On a completely different (read: gay) note, I recently watched High School Musical 2. At first I was concerned that I was going to lose some of the context, having not seen the first one. That fear was assuaged, though, when they started singing. It was then, as I watched Zac Efron's impossible tan and crystal blue eyes, that a new fear arose – that I was now a teenage girl.

I wasn't, though, and so I figured I was man enough to stick it out. You know what? Both the songs and the story really aren't that bad. While the choreography (and sponteneous singing) were quite cheesy (at one point, in the context of a baseball game, two characters sing-argue over the fact that one of them doesn't dance – despite the fact that the whole time, he is, of course, dancing), the kids can actually sing, and whoever wrote the music knows a thing or two about writing pop-rock. Probably the only song that completely sucked was Ashley Tisdale's solo number about being “fabulous,” but, I mean, it's frickin' Disney movie (hence the “frick”).

So I can say this without any reservations: If I was a teenage drama-geek, I would love this movie. Regrettably, I'm not, but I can at least be objective enough to understand why such a person would like it.

That reason: because it's Dirty Dancing. Or, even better, Caddyshack. With singing. And less boobs. Overall though, not a bad use of film.

Could have used some James Dalton, though. Then again, what movie couldn't?

Apologies, Again

Man, I'm not a very good blogger. Luckily no one relies on me for any kind of information, let alone reads me on any consistent basis. Still, I feel like I should do better than I do.

Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .

Maybe that's just how I roll.

To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)

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I give you: Jamie Lidell.

I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .

Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.

Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.

"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.

It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").

His videos, though . . .



And another, equally . . . different:



Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.

I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.