Yes, it's that kind of night: when we have no idea what to write about, throw up a random blog title and hope that sparks something. Well, no: I'm not going to write about Al Stewart (although we did take a brief pass at "Year of the Cat" in practice the other night).
Frankly, I'm not going to write about anything. I'm fucking exhausted. Tomorrow, I'll post some of my 'vomit comics' to share. What are 'vomit comics?,' I hear you ask. Well, you'll just have to link and see, won't you?
Have a good night and all that shit.
D.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Criteria
Well, I'm about to blow my art school cred for the billionth time, but I have to report that I rilly, rilly liked Music and Lyrics, a surprisingly smart, funny, touching - and oddly genuine - romantic comedy (or rom-com, if you're writing for Variety) that slipped in and out of theaters earlier this year. The characters are all intelligent and act accordingly; when the romance finally comes, it falls into the script so organically that even though it's right on cue, it's still affecting. Also, the milieu - a new songwriting partnership between a faded 80's pop star (modeled on Andrew Ridgley) and Drew Barrymore's neurotic writer - felt very real, which isn't something you often find in films of this kind. It gets the details right, so the characters can become more solid as well.
One detail totally nailed - that feeling of the first real day of a new relationship, when both people are hopeful and timid at once. Nicely done.
The end was a little pat, but, what the hell. At least it was genuinely funny, and even though the satiric targets (80's new wave pop bands, sexed-up teen pop starlets with delusions of enlightenment, reality TV and snobbish academic novelists) are easy targets, the jokes are all spot on and pretty fresh.
Of course, the casting is what makes these things work, and Hugh Grant's effortless charm and self-effacement combined with Barrymore's reinvention of the Annie Hall stereotype gets it done. I'll call it the best film of its kind since You've Got Mail, meaning that it's slick Hollywood product that nonetheless is more human and sincere than any number of Slamdance winners.
And hey! The song in question is genuinely catchy, and the lyrics are indeed solid, so it passes the dreadful test of having the piece at the center of the film be a tremendous vacuum, which is always a danger. See Eddie and the Cruisers II for clarification on what a train wreck a film can be when everyone in the story appears to have lost their mind by responding to an utter hunk of rock and roll crap as if it were stone genius on the order of "Strawberry Fields Forever."
To top it off, they only have the final recorded version of the song in the film once, so the development of it pays off very well.
Anyway, see it. There are far, far worse ways to waste $4.00 at Blockbuster and 90 minutes of your time.
D.
One detail totally nailed - that feeling of the first real day of a new relationship, when both people are hopeful and timid at once. Nicely done.
The end was a little pat, but, what the hell. At least it was genuinely funny, and even though the satiric targets (80's new wave pop bands, sexed-up teen pop starlets with delusions of enlightenment, reality TV and snobbish academic novelists) are easy targets, the jokes are all spot on and pretty fresh.
Of course, the casting is what makes these things work, and Hugh Grant's effortless charm and self-effacement combined with Barrymore's reinvention of the Annie Hall stereotype gets it done. I'll call it the best film of its kind since You've Got Mail, meaning that it's slick Hollywood product that nonetheless is more human and sincere than any number of Slamdance winners.
And hey! The song in question is genuinely catchy, and the lyrics are indeed solid, so it passes the dreadful test of having the piece at the center of the film be a tremendous vacuum, which is always a danger. See Eddie and the Cruisers II for clarification on what a train wreck a film can be when everyone in the story appears to have lost their mind by responding to an utter hunk of rock and roll crap as if it were stone genius on the order of "Strawberry Fields Forever."
To top it off, they only have the final recorded version of the song in the film once, so the development of it pays off very well.
Anyway, see it. There are far, far worse ways to waste $4.00 at Blockbuster and 90 minutes of your time.
D.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Four
A big, rainy, wet kiss of a birthday celebration for our nation this evening here on the east coast. Thankfully, we didn't have to go anywhere far to see any kind of fireworks display - we spent the afternoon and evening at the Yacopino's, and then at around 9 PM, a neighbor of theirs set off a pretty impressive - if intermittent - display. Apparently, the launcher is a NYC policeman who annually brings his haul of confiscated fireworks (they're illegal in New York for private use) and lights them off from his home without any hassle from the local police. One of those benefits of the fraternal order of the blue, but who am I to complain? Free fireworks from a friend's porch? Not bad.
I'd like to take this moment - as all bloggers in the whole damn sphere who happen to have an Earth address in America have no doubt done - just to praise this great, resilient nation and the framers who gave us enough rope to hang ourselves with and enough leeway to come down from the gallows with renewed purpose. The drawback to this is every four years, listening to yet another group of hopefuls mumbling some vague bumper-sticker about 'America finding a bright new day in the sun.' The advantage should be obvious: witness how fragile and faltering civil democracy is all over our world, and then turn around and take a look at the miracle we've preserved for over two and a quarter centuries.
Sure, at times it seems like a wash. Certainly, the system is too limited in choice, too easily corrupted by money. Yes, image always seems to trump content. Too often, those who govern forget that we are the rulers and they merely the executor of our wishes. And, Lord Knows, the poison of prejudice and discrimination in any form will always be the shadow of our national soul.
But we've gotten this far with nothing more than a few words on a piece of paper and some contraband fireworks, so hand me a beer, slap me on the ass and point me towards the future. Maybe the American Way gets a good, solid ass-fucking every once in awhile, but the American Dream is still unsullied - a shining city on a hill that's worth standing in the rain to watch for.
D.
I'd like to take this moment - as all bloggers in the whole damn sphere who happen to have an Earth address in America have no doubt done - just to praise this great, resilient nation and the framers who gave us enough rope to hang ourselves with and enough leeway to come down from the gallows with renewed purpose. The drawback to this is every four years, listening to yet another group of hopefuls mumbling some vague bumper-sticker about 'America finding a bright new day in the sun.' The advantage should be obvious: witness how fragile and faltering civil democracy is all over our world, and then turn around and take a look at the miracle we've preserved for over two and a quarter centuries.
Sure, at times it seems like a wash. Certainly, the system is too limited in choice, too easily corrupted by money. Yes, image always seems to trump content. Too often, those who govern forget that we are the rulers and they merely the executor of our wishes. And, Lord Knows, the poison of prejudice and discrimination in any form will always be the shadow of our national soul.
But we've gotten this far with nothing more than a few words on a piece of paper and some contraband fireworks, so hand me a beer, slap me on the ass and point me towards the future. Maybe the American Way gets a good, solid ass-fucking every once in awhile, but the American Dream is still unsullied - a shining city on a hill that's worth standing in the rain to watch for.
D.
Unfinished Sympathy
Of interest only to Dave completeists - and perhaps Karl - presented for your approval is the list of tunes from the band with no name. Or the band called DeSk, depending on which band member you ask.
Songs with completed lyrics and melodies:
Neutrino
Imperial Evidence
Songs with complete melodies and incomplete lyrics:
Newscast
Surf Beat Twilight
Old Red Towel/Sweet Poison
Songs with incomplete melodies and incomplete lyrics:
Green Light
Songs with no melody or lyric:
6 in 3
Meatloaf
Songs with no song (yet):
Sunrise
Some damn new thing with no title (in D)
March of the Moodies
Songs that are possibly instrumentals:
Pastoral in F
The Sad Keys
The Croce Variations
Hippy-Drippy/Hippy-Trippy
Songs that we cover:
Gigantic
As you can see, the further the song gets away from being completed, the odder the title is. These are what we like to call "working titles," although given that some of these songs have been going by these titles for well over a year, obviously the titles aren't working so well, after all.
It seems as though, in lieu of getting a ribbon or gold star or somesuch, songs in the band with no name/DeSk get rewarded a title as they show progress. Neutrino started life as Waltzina, which is just a mash-up of "Waltz in A Major." Newscast went under Hungarian Restaurant for a while, because the guitar pattern reminded us of an earlier song of ours called Chinese Restaurant - which in turn was just a play on Billy Joel's Scenes From an Italian Restaurant. My favorite footnote to that song is when our drummer, Edz, made out a click track on his PC, the computer automatically shortened the title to Chin Rest, which is the best title EVER.
Other songs come from their title. Surf Beat Twilight - which may yet be renamed - is named so because it sounds a bit like a surf remix of the theme from The Twilight Zone. Imperial Evidence was a misspeak of Karl's, who meant to say "empirical evidence." It seemed liked such an evocative new phrase that I quickly wrote a song to it.
6 in 3 is a shortened version of Shaun's original very descriptive title, 6 Notes in a 3/4 Time. As you can see from that and Waltzina, some titles are merely mnemonic devices. A necessary evil sometimes, when you need to remember just how a piece went before it has any defining characteristics, like a melody, lyric or arrangement.
Other titles are more prosaic. Old Red Towel is so named becuase the jam room, indeed, had an old red towel hanging off a shelf. Meatloaf? Yesenia was cooking dinner while we cobbled that one together from a very loose and bluesy (in a Norah Jones kind of way) chord change from Shaun. It may be the only song ever named after the smell in the room when it was being written, if you discount Livin' la Vida Loca.
Green Light may be the most interesting case study of all, title-wise. The piece had no name when we put it together - it was just a nice sounding minor-key new number with vintage new wave tones. But when I dumped the complete unbanded session disc into iTunes for a quick import, the Gracenote system found a disc from another artist in the database with the title Green Light (Live). This I immediately knew was not only the right title, but the Lynchian imagery mixed with the sound of our new song - I had and have no idea what the other band sounded like - came together so well that the lyric pretty much unfolded itself whole, just from that combination.
Of course, it's still not done - many aren't done - but it's getting close. The time has come to start the rinse cycle on these fuckers, and see what makes it to the album.
Provisionally speaking, for the band with no name with the songs with no titles. Lord knows just what the album is going to be called.
D.
Songs with completed lyrics and melodies:
Neutrino
Imperial Evidence
Songs with complete melodies and incomplete lyrics:
Newscast
Surf Beat Twilight
Old Red Towel/Sweet Poison
Songs with incomplete melodies and incomplete lyrics:
Green Light
Songs with no melody or lyric:
6 in 3
Meatloaf
Songs with no song (yet):
Sunrise
Some damn new thing with no title (in D)
March of the Moodies
Songs that are possibly instrumentals:
Pastoral in F
The Sad Keys
The Croce Variations
Hippy-Drippy/Hippy-Trippy
Songs that we cover:
Gigantic
As you can see, the further the song gets away from being completed, the odder the title is. These are what we like to call "working titles," although given that some of these songs have been going by these titles for well over a year, obviously the titles aren't working so well, after all.
It seems as though, in lieu of getting a ribbon or gold star or somesuch, songs in the band with no name/DeSk get rewarded a title as they show progress. Neutrino started life as Waltzina, which is just a mash-up of "Waltz in A Major." Newscast went under Hungarian Restaurant for a while, because the guitar pattern reminded us of an earlier song of ours called Chinese Restaurant - which in turn was just a play on Billy Joel's Scenes From an Italian Restaurant. My favorite footnote to that song is when our drummer, Edz, made out a click track on his PC, the computer automatically shortened the title to Chin Rest, which is the best title EVER.
Other songs come from their title. Surf Beat Twilight - which may yet be renamed - is named so because it sounds a bit like a surf remix of the theme from The Twilight Zone. Imperial Evidence was a misspeak of Karl's, who meant to say "empirical evidence." It seemed liked such an evocative new phrase that I quickly wrote a song to it.
6 in 3 is a shortened version of Shaun's original very descriptive title, 6 Notes in a 3/4 Time. As you can see from that and Waltzina, some titles are merely mnemonic devices. A necessary evil sometimes, when you need to remember just how a piece went before it has any defining characteristics, like a melody, lyric or arrangement.
Other titles are more prosaic. Old Red Towel is so named becuase the jam room, indeed, had an old red towel hanging off a shelf. Meatloaf? Yesenia was cooking dinner while we cobbled that one together from a very loose and bluesy (in a Norah Jones kind of way) chord change from Shaun. It may be the only song ever named after the smell in the room when it was being written, if you discount Livin' la Vida Loca.
Green Light may be the most interesting case study of all, title-wise. The piece had no name when we put it together - it was just a nice sounding minor-key new number with vintage new wave tones. But when I dumped the complete unbanded session disc into iTunes for a quick import, the Gracenote system found a disc from another artist in the database with the title Green Light (Live). This I immediately knew was not only the right title, but the Lynchian imagery mixed with the sound of our new song - I had and have no idea what the other band sounded like - came together so well that the lyric pretty much unfolded itself whole, just from that combination.
Of course, it's still not done - many aren't done - but it's getting close. The time has come to start the rinse cycle on these fuckers, and see what makes it to the album.
Provisionally speaking, for the band with no name with the songs with no titles. Lord knows just what the album is going to be called.
D.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Temptation Desert
So: walked in to the Apple store today, determined to blow a percentage of my extra cash on a laptop. Walked out ten minutes later full of confusion and doubt, as always. They have six (approximately) models that range from small and powerful to large and even more powerful. Even the lowest end MacBook has about twice the processor speed of the Femputer (our Intel MacMini from April of 2006). That's okay, because the MacMini cost about half as much, but...
Ach! Why can't I just bring myself to spend the money? A lot of it has to do with the fact that supposedly when business picks up at the agency, I'll get a laptop from the business. Which would then not even be a question: the 15" MacBook Pro. But on my own home budget, that little black 2.16Ghz Intel with the 13" screen will do quite nicely.
These are problems? Apparently, because I'm sore beset by them. Anyhow, I'm open to arguments pro and con on which computer I should get, bearing in mind that it has to be at least a Photoshop workhorse, and hopefully also be useful as a music recording/mixing thingamabob. Anybody?
So: A THREE MOVIE DAY! Saw Ratatouille at the mall (fucking brilliant, sweet and satisfying, of course, although Bird might overplay his Shyamalan hand with the critic's mea culpa/conversion at the end), followed by (sigh) Norbit and Ghost Rider at home, with pizza and beer. And my wife. Norbit was about as lame as I thought it would be, but Eddie Murphy at least put in some work on the thing.
Ghost Rider was a major step-up for Daredevil 'auteur' Mark Steven Johnson, and we both liked it a lot. It helped that Nicholas Cage struck just the right note of jackass and sad sack in his performance, but the script was better and the F/X a lot more sensible than in Daredevil. Plus, Eva Mendes has a nice body.
Still, I find I'm getting a little exhausted by these Marvel films. And with the (no doubt) huge financial bonanza of Transformers, I suspect I'm going to be just plain sick of toy-to-film properties with comics histories - get ready for the Rom:Spaceknight and Micronauts blockbusters.
And then... Hello Kitty:Goodbye Waltz
D.
Ach! Why can't I just bring myself to spend the money? A lot of it has to do with the fact that supposedly when business picks up at the agency, I'll get a laptop from the business. Which would then not even be a question: the 15" MacBook Pro. But on my own home budget, that little black 2.16Ghz Intel with the 13" screen will do quite nicely.
These are problems? Apparently, because I'm sore beset by them. Anyhow, I'm open to arguments pro and con on which computer I should get, bearing in mind that it has to be at least a Photoshop workhorse, and hopefully also be useful as a music recording/mixing thingamabob. Anybody?
So: A THREE MOVIE DAY! Saw Ratatouille at the mall (fucking brilliant, sweet and satisfying, of course, although Bird might overplay his Shyamalan hand with the critic's mea culpa/conversion at the end), followed by (sigh) Norbit and Ghost Rider at home, with pizza and beer. And my wife. Norbit was about as lame as I thought it would be, but Eddie Murphy at least put in some work on the thing.
Ghost Rider was a major step-up for Daredevil 'auteur' Mark Steven Johnson, and we both liked it a lot. It helped that Nicholas Cage struck just the right note of jackass and sad sack in his performance, but the script was better and the F/X a lot more sensible than in Daredevil. Plus, Eva Mendes has a nice body.
Still, I find I'm getting a little exhausted by these Marvel films. And with the (no doubt) huge financial bonanza of Transformers, I suspect I'm going to be just plain sick of toy-to-film properties with comics histories - get ready for the Rom:Spaceknight and Micronauts blockbusters.
And then... Hello Kitty:Goodbye Waltz
D.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
The Sound of Young America
Spent several hours working on the dining room ceiling today, and got nothing done. Mostly, it was the discovery that what we thought was going on with the wiring - the layout of it, that is - had nothing to do with reality. Therefore, my hopes of taking advantage of the opened ceiling to replace all the old (old, OLD) wiring are pretty much trashed. Oh, well. Insurance fire claims, here we come!
In fact, 'getting nothing done' was the day's official motto. Just felt tired, and Yesenia slept pretty much all day. For a while, I took a nap as well - on the theory that when I awoke later, I'd be refreshed enough to tackle a couple of projects for work. Ha! Stayed tired, ate dinner, watched Dreamgirls, and still tired. The legendary second wind never came. Or if it did, it bypassed me and went right to Kiko (our cat), who's had 'the crazies' all night. Those of you who have cats or have had cats know what 'the crazies' are. For the rest of you: you feed the cat, cat goes on tear around house, jumps into open closet, stares at spot on wall, runs up and down stairs, goes into the basement and yowls horribly, runs back upstairs, leaps onto the bed and attacks your feet. Then expects to be fed again.
As for Dreamgirls, it made me want to read a history of Motown, so it had that going for it. Nice, slick Hollywood movie musical with great performances, but mostly forgettable songs. Still, good orchestration and set & costume design, so it's worth your time. As many others have noted, it's nice to see Eddie Murphy turn in a real performance, again. This will be immediately overturned, because the other film we have from BLockbuster is INorbit. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Guy needs to get out of the cross-dressing fat-suits and follow the BIll Murray career path.
Seriously, what is it with black film comedians dressing up as violent, grossly obese matrons? Tyler Perry, Martin Lawrence, Eddie Murphy - I'm sure there are many more that I'm unfamiliar with. And what is it with black audiences that want to see this? Are they really clamoring for this? If so, this may be the greatest racial divide in our nation, today. There are some things that just can't leap across cultural boundaries. I guess if white people have A Prairie Home Companion, black audiences have Big Momma's House 3:Big Momma's Mansion.
Still, I'm sure we can all come together in agreement that any film written or directed by of Nancy Meyers is an abomination that should never be screened again. And the soul of a nation shall be healed.
D.
In fact, 'getting nothing done' was the day's official motto. Just felt tired, and Yesenia slept pretty much all day. For a while, I took a nap as well - on the theory that when I awoke later, I'd be refreshed enough to tackle a couple of projects for work. Ha! Stayed tired, ate dinner, watched Dreamgirls, and still tired. The legendary second wind never came. Or if it did, it bypassed me and went right to Kiko (our cat), who's had 'the crazies' all night. Those of you who have cats or have had cats know what 'the crazies' are. For the rest of you: you feed the cat, cat goes on tear around house, jumps into open closet, stares at spot on wall, runs up and down stairs, goes into the basement and yowls horribly, runs back upstairs, leaps onto the bed and attacks your feet. Then expects to be fed again.
As for Dreamgirls, it made me want to read a history of Motown, so it had that going for it. Nice, slick Hollywood movie musical with great performances, but mostly forgettable songs. Still, good orchestration and set & costume design, so it's worth your time. As many others have noted, it's nice to see Eddie Murphy turn in a real performance, again. This will be immediately overturned, because the other film we have from BLockbuster is INorbit. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Guy needs to get out of the cross-dressing fat-suits and follow the BIll Murray career path.
Seriously, what is it with black film comedians dressing up as violent, grossly obese matrons? Tyler Perry, Martin Lawrence, Eddie Murphy - I'm sure there are many more that I'm unfamiliar with. And what is it with black audiences that want to see this? Are they really clamoring for this? If so, this may be the greatest racial divide in our nation, today. There are some things that just can't leap across cultural boundaries. I guess if white people have A Prairie Home Companion, black audiences have Big Momma's House 3:Big Momma's Mansion.
Still, I'm sure we can all come together in agreement that any film written or directed by of Nancy Meyers is an abomination that should never be screened again. And the soul of a nation shall be healed.
D.
Saturday Night's Alright for Slacking
Saturday nights are going to be the wildcard night, I suppose. Some weeks, we'll go long, other weeks - like last weekend, with long days at the hospital and only time enough for paying labor when I returned home in the late evening - are going to be stunningly brief. This one will also only be a placeholder, since we were at Jim's house all evening and only got home about 10 minutes ago - meaning it's almost 2 o'clock.
No worthwhile prose happens at 2 AM, you know. Even the great books that are already written, bound, reviewed, shelved and collecting dust find their pages emptied out and replaced with recipes for Jell-o Loaf and Japanese VCR clock-setting instructions. Moby Dick is replaced with the lyrics from the Zepplin tune (with author attribution going from Melville to "John Bonham! John HENRY Bonham!"), and the entire works of Shakespeare devolve to drunken, half-remembered limericks about women from Nantucket, and other places that rhyme with reproductive acts.
Curiously, at 2:17 - and only for about twelve seconds - the entire oeuvres of Tom Clancy and Edward Said switch, except Jack Ryan disappears from both versions and instead gets shunted over to a copy of The Bell Jar. Perhaps most frightening: he likes it there.
D.
No worthwhile prose happens at 2 AM, you know. Even the great books that are already written, bound, reviewed, shelved and collecting dust find their pages emptied out and replaced with recipes for Jell-o Loaf and Japanese VCR clock-setting instructions. Moby Dick is replaced with the lyrics from the Zepplin tune (with author attribution going from Melville to "John Bonham! John HENRY Bonham!"), and the entire works of Shakespeare devolve to drunken, half-remembered limericks about women from Nantucket, and other places that rhyme with reproductive acts.
Curiously, at 2:17 - and only for about twelve seconds - the entire oeuvres of Tom Clancy and Edward Said switch, except Jack Ryan disappears from both versions and instead gets shunted over to a copy of The Bell Jar. Perhaps most frightening: he likes it there.
D.
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