Another Academy Award ceremony over with. Congratulations to Inside Out and whatever the hell else won. Also a consolation hug to everything that should have won but wasn't even nominated. While I'm at it, thank you to the fifteen percent of Hollywood executives who demonstrate an actual sense of understanding their jobs; and good luck with the imminent financial implosion that the bottom rung consumers know is coming. And I may as well put in a good word for the environment or whatever.
Do you ever scroll through the American Film Institute's lists of greatest lines from movies? A follow-up question: do you ever roll your eyes and think, 'seriously'?
Apparently the criteria they use is for a single line of dialogue to evoke the memory of the movie it's from. That explains why "Rosebud" makes the list, even if it means absolutely nothing on its own. In terms of film, we're clearly talking about Citizen Kane (I mean, duh).
But what about a line like "Well, nobody's perfect"? That's such a common phrase. I realize it's the most memorable moment from Some Like it Hot, but hearing it uttered doesn't immediately recall the movie.
Likewise, is it fair to credit a line like "E.T. phone home" for evoking the movie it's from when it kind of cheats by naming the movie itself? What about a franchise line like "Bond. James Bond"? I don't know about you, but that instantly makes me think My Best Friend's Wedding.
So basically, the system is flawed. And there's no hope of ever putting together a one hundred line list immune to generalized griping. But as an alternative, I suggest it may be time to swap some of the old lines out in favor of equally great (at least) dialogue from some movies that deserve a little more recognition.
Here are five examples to serve a s a revision to the 2005 list.
1. Removed: #61. Say "hello" to my little friend. Scarface (1983)
You almost have to wonder if this line was a deliberate bid for AFI immortality. I'm sure it meant something at some point, but it's been mimicked by every kid who's ever pulled out a water pistol (and never seen the movie) that the phrase is really not going to evoke the drama it intended. We need something stronger.
Replaced with: Well, I'll tell you why not. Clue (1985)
Oh, spoiler alert to those of you who haven't gotten around to seeing a 31 year old comedy classic. This line is in the same spirit as the Scarface. The main difference is, it manages to be a dramatic wham line in the face of one of the most over the top slapstick scenery chewing comedies in cinematic history.
Mr. Green (played by veteran comedian Michael McKean) has been the number one abuse victim of everything from gravity to Tim Curry reviving the hell out of his career. But then in only one-third of the theatrical showings, Green plays his ace. He's an undercover FBI agent, and his marksmanship in the hall with the revolver is the only thing that keeps the villain from winning.
The reason this moment is so great is twofold: Green is the most likable character in the film; and as absurd as the movie has become, reality has a delightfully nasty way of slapping it awake. We'd become so desensitized to death by the third act, it's refreshing that Green shooting Wadsworth can be so poignant. And he gets bonus badass points for not saying "This party's over".
2. Removed: #56. A boy's best friend is his mother. Psycho (1960)
I don't know why the AFI went with this one when "We all go a little mad sometimes" is way cooler. I guess maybe because of how much it reveals about Norman Bates in such a short space; oh yeah, spoiler alert again (jeez, get with the century). We can surmise quite a bit from the way Anthony Perkins delivers this line. Norman is a momma's boy. And there's something off about him. When you combine those two elements it makes everything about the reveal of his motives make sense. That's going to be hard to top.
Replaced with: Why would two hardened KAOS agents...risk the carbs? Get Smart (2008)
I truly hope Steve Carell hasn't peaked already because he was well on his way to being remembered as one of the comedic greats. Maxwell Smart is an iconic character, played to his idiotic best by the late Don Adams. Carell not only makes the character his own, but in my correct opinion makes him even better.
In this incarnation Smart is far from being an idiot, but he clearly has no business being on Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's playing field. That doesn't stop the analyst from wanting the life of a field agent, or believing in himself.
So what we have laced in this single line of dialogue is more layers than some films have. One, Smart has demonstrated his skill and efficiency in translating foreign languages. Two, he has a natural knack for getting inside the heads of CONTROL's enemies to outthink them. Three, Smart's own fear of food due to an obstructive eating disorder (thankfully treated with care for a change) continues to affect him, even at his physical apex. Four, his overconfidence is an obvious mask for a nagging doubt that his boss will ever see him as qualified for the field. And five, in his thoroughness Max misses the significance of the bakery that the KAOS agents are visiting (it's a secret bomb factory). Wow, that's like three more layers than Norman Bates gave us! Comedy wins.
3. Removed: #49. It's alive! It's alive! Frankenstein (1931)
To be fair, this is a really hard line of dialogue to deliver convincingly. You know this moment. Dr. Frankenstein has reanimated the dead, to further the cause of science by doing...I don't know, shut up. Colin Clive is tasked with delivering an unleashed elation and yet strangely controlled (probably for blocking purposes). It's an awakening that clearly changes the flow of the story. The problem is, we can't be happy with him. We know this ends badly. Even in 1931 Universal advertised it as a horror movie, you know going in that Karloff won't be singing Putting on the Ritz.
Replaced with: No, I don't. But...I know someone who does. Galaxy Quest (1999)
In Galaxy Quest Tim Allen plays Jason Nesmith as William Shatner as himself as Captain Kirk. Shatner's relationship with Star Trek fans has been perforated at best. To be fair, the Trekkie spectrum does occasionally cross the line into a level of worship that even the most patient of souls might equate with community psychosis. But it's important to stress that these incidents are the occasions, not the norm. More often, it's like Halloween for adults (or in jock terms, team spirit driven wigs and body paint).
Say what you will about fantasy/sci-fi geeks, but we're nothing short of passionate. We do NASA level research on the things we love, and we roll around on the floor foaming at the mouth when the math doesn't add up because we care so much. Should we care this much? I don't know. The things we love so feverishly really don't matter in the grand illusion of history, but the damage we're capable of inflicting has real world consequences (ask any female videogame developer).
But kept in a healthy check, fandom can be a truly beautiful sight. And that's what this moment is about. We fans may moan and bitch about the entertainment we're given, but we will still shell out the cash for movie tickets and DVDs. The industry stays running because of the consumer. And when Jason Nesmith, in the middle of an intergalactic war, contacts a teenage fanboy for schematics, it's not just a chill inducing comedic/dramatic reveal. It also reads as one of those rare but impactful moments where Hollywood acknowledges its own need for its audience. And says thank you.
4. Removed: #29. You can't handle the truth! A Few Good Men (1992)
I absolutely adore Aaron Sorkin's writing. Any time I do script work I always aspire to Sorkin's level, knowing full well that even missing the mark will still land me in a pretty good place. So here we have Tom Cruise provoking Jack Nicholson into yelling the film's money shot line, that had become a meme back when CIA operatives were dreading the impending Windows 3.1 upgrade. Have you ever actually watched the movie, or even just the scene? The line is actually superfluous. Moments earlier, Nicholson says "I'll answer the question", and it has an impact on the direction of the scene. But people hone in on the loud line that sure sounds important but actually means nothing.
Replaced with: What do you mean, "Flash Gordon approaching"? Flash Gordon (1980)
We need to come to an understanding. This isn't a movie that's so bad it's good. This is a movie that's so good, the things that are bad about it don't matter. Everything from Max von Sydow's convincing sneers to Brian Blessed's bellowing is over the top ham acting to its most poetic extreme. No actor has ever looked as naively optimistic as Sam Jones. No actress has ever topped Ornella Muti's viper with a heart of gold. And I can't even say Timothy Dalton's name without feeling my past life fan girl's voice calling from the void.
And somewhere in the middle of this curiously untapped wellspring for cosplayers, there was Italian actress Mariangela Melato as General Kala, a dominatrix Maleficent. Every line Melato utters in the film is laced with venom, for no reason other than it's in her blood to imbue every action with a cold hatred. All of Mongo views the interloping earthlings as insects to be squashed, but Kala has become the most outwardly irritated with their continued survival.
The scene in question comes after Flash was publicly executed once already, and then left to die in a palace that was blown up from space. Then during Emperor Ming's wedding, the battle room colonel appears on Kala's screen to matter-of-factly inform her that Flash Gordon is approaching. The way she says her reaction line is so...vindictive. There's no fear or surprise, just a complete disbelief that the colonel's words mean what they so obviously mean. By the look on her face, she wants to physically tear through the monitor and strangle the colonel on the spot, and we almost believe she's capable of doing it.
5. Removed: #10. You talking to me? Taxi Driver (1976)
I watched this movie for the first time a few years ago and I honestly don't see what the big deal is. There's this 'voice' among aspiring filmmakers that seems to equate film quality with the ability to bore mainstream audiences. Roger Ebert referred to "You talking to me" as the truest line in Taxi Driver. I would argue that it's the only line that makes an impact. I live with depression, I don't need films to invoke it.
Replaced with: No Biff. You leave her alone. Back to the Future (1985)
All jokes aside, if there's one line in this blog that truly deserves to be on the AFI list, it's this one.
You'd be forgiven for thinking that Back to the Future is a movie about a kid traveling back in time to the 1950's (I mean, not by me. I'll never forgive you for that), but it isn't; it's about this moment. Don't get me wrong, Marty McFly is the hero/protagonist of the story, and Michael J. Fox is electrifying in the role. And Christopher Lloyd is iconic as every lovable mad scientist Doc Brown. But the story is about Marty's father George, the nerd who never stood up for himself and the fallout that happened because of it.
Marty gets accidentally sent back in time, and then accidentally arranges it so his parents don't get together, thus erasing himself from existence. His motivations throughout the movie are justifiably selfish, and he's only ever trying to restore the status quo. But because Marty truly loves his father, he can't help but provide a little extra encouragement that he doesn't even realize he's giving.
And then there's Biff, the bully of all bullies, played by the great yet sadly underused Tom Wilson. Wilson only had to show up and be big to make the character work, but he really pours his soul into Biff, simultaneously transcending him into a metaphor while grounding him into a genuine human being. I find myself hating what Biff is doing to George, but not hating who he is.
So at the climax of this PG rated film, Marty has done everything in his power to restore the timeline, but the pieces have fallen in such a way that Biff is about to drunk rape Marty's mother, and George inadvertently walks in on it. George isn't a lion in sheep's clothing like Lambert, he's an honest to God sheep. There's no lighting strike of Hulk strength forthcoming, and George knows it. But Marty's seeds of encouragement have taken hold, and for the first time in George's life he doesn't back down. Even though he believes he's going to be killed.
The Galaxy Quest line gives me chills. This moment nearly brings me to tears. Every time.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter One -It's a Jungle In Here
On its own merit, a jungle isn't necessarily intimidating. True, the inhabitants can be a tad unpredictable. But to a soul with an adventurous spirit (one who is willing to sacrifice security for experience), the lush wilderness can be rather inviting.
Under most circumstances, Princess Jasmine of Agrabah would have relished waking up in the cool shade of the massive leaves that towered majestically over her; and for a brief moment she resided in a deep peace. But too soon the moment was replaced by the unsettling awareness that she had no idea where she was.
Jasmine sat upright and froze, taking in her surroundings. She was alone, in as much as she could tell. A fear surged through her, but she willed it away from showing up as an expression on her face; to an outsider, she was merely alert.
The princess spent several minutes surveying the unfamiliar world around her, listening carefully for signs that she was being watched. Even though she uncovered none, Jasmine couldn't shake the feeling she was being observed. It could have been paranoia from having woken up in the middle of the jungle with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. In fact, that was probably it.
"Genie?" she called out as casually as she was able. Stranger things had happened, but she usually had a pretty good indicator of the origin without much time passing. This time there was no information.
'Aladdin must be looking for me', she thought. She assumed. It was reasonable. But if her...husband? Prince? Fiancée? Now the fear was beginning to show up. She couldn't remember. Aladdin. She loved him, that much she was certain. But there were massive gaps in her memory that were nudging her dangerously close to panicking.
"Aladdin," she whispered his name to herself trying to jog her memory. "Abu. Genie. Rajah. My father, the Sultan-". She stopped abruptly when she couldn't think of his name. "Genie?" she called louder.
Okay, first thing first. Aladdin was likely to be searching for her. If he had a means of finding her in the middle of an unmarked jungle, then he'd likely be able to find her wherever she happened to be at any given time. So there was no reason she should stay in one place. On the other hand, if he was searching for her blindly, it would benefit them both for her to find a more conspicuous spot. Higher ground it was.
She made her most intuitive guess of direction and started walking. The soft ground below her made for a comfortable stroll, but she was too distracted to notice. Jasmine tried to think about what had happened when she'd gone to sleep the night before, but nothing came to mind. Everything in her mind was a sort of long term jumble of memories. There wasn't anything recent. She felt her head for any indication of having taking an amnesia inducing blow. Nothing. Physically, she felt fine.
Jasmine had only walked a short distance when she became aware of a large black panther relaxing on a low branch. It lifted its head to eye her curiously.
Having grown up with Rajah, Jasmine was well versed in the mannerisms of cats. She gathered from the subtle tail movements this large creature had no interest in attacking her, and it hadn't marked her as a potential meal. It just seemed mildly interested.
She veered a healthy arc around the tree that the beast was lounging in, keeping a careful eye out for any change in demeanor. The panther was only watching, nothing else. When she'd finally cleared what she perceived to be the animal's territory, Jasmine gave herself a moment to admire the size and magnificence of the creature.
"You really are beautiful," she told it.
"Thank you," the panther responded indifferently, lowering its head back to a resting position.
Several moments went by with nothing but the sounds of rainforest tranquility. The panther slowly became aware that the human female was still standing in the same place, with her eyes and jaw wide open. He sighed with a bit of a grumble and turned to face her again.
"Did you just talk?" she asked.
"Yes?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but this human seemed entirely too out of place.
"You-", she stepped closer. "I'm sorry. But, do all the animals talk?"
He grimaced. The poor thing wasn't going to survive the day. "Yes. We all do."
"Forgive me," she moved just below his branch. "Can you tell me where I am?"
The panther huffed. "You're in the jungle."
"Does this jungle have a particular name?"
The cat snickered to himself and sprang down to the ground. "Now what sense does it make to give a name to the jungle?"
"I see." Her eyes drifted downward like she was disappointed in his answer. "My name is Jasmine. I'm the princess of Agrabah."
The panther had no idea what Agrabah was, but Jasmine clearly thought of herself as important. "Bagheera."
"I'm grateful to meet you. Can you tell me if there's a place nearby where, you know, people are? I'm kind of lost."
"I figured that much." Bagheera grinned. "There's the man-village just over the plain."
"Man-village?"
"Yes. Just keep heading in that direction," Bagheera gestured toward the sun. "You should be able to- wait a minute."
It didn't seem right to the panther. The direction he'd indicated without so much as a thought suddenly felt unfamiliar. "No, it must be-" 'This way' were the words that escaped him as he realized he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Bagheera needed to get his bearings.
Jasmine had never fidgeted in her life but her fingers began chasing each other on their own as she waited. Bagheera had told her to wait. And she was waiting. He'd bound off without another word, and frighteningly he hadn't needed to give one. For some reason this talking panther was in the same situation she was. Jasmine knew better than to place faith in coincidence.
Bagheera returned with nothing new except a confused look. "Anything?" asked Jasmine, feigning hopefulness.
The panther shook his head.
"Okay, let's think this through. There's two of us. We both woke up in a jungle that isn't familiar. What's the last thing you remember?"
Bagheera thought hard. "There's Baloo, and Mowgli. Shere Khan came back to the jungle..."
"Do you remember going to sleep last night?"
The panther squinted his eyes trying to recover the information that Jasmine had already predicted was lost.
"You know the jungle. Have you ever heard of any of the plants or anything causing someone to lose their memory?"
"The plants?"
"Like, the release of spores or pollen. Anything like that cause lapses?"
"If there are, I don't remember," said Bagheera. The fact that he clearly didn't mean it as a joke made it all the harder for Jasmine to keep her smirk to herself.
"Until we figure this out, do you think we should stick together?"
"That would probably be wise."
Jasmine smiled at her new companion. And Bagheera might have even returned the sentiment were it not for the untimely arrival of a large man with long black hair, broad shoulders and a chin out to there. He burst through the brush out of breath, with a look of petrification on his angular face.
"Miss?" he said to Jasmine. "Do you know the way to Emperor Kuzco's palace?"
Continued in Chapter Two.
Return to the Table of Contents.
Under most circumstances, Princess Jasmine of Agrabah would have relished waking up in the cool shade of the massive leaves that towered majestically over her; and for a brief moment she resided in a deep peace. But too soon the moment was replaced by the unsettling awareness that she had no idea where she was.
Jasmine sat upright and froze, taking in her surroundings. She was alone, in as much as she could tell. A fear surged through her, but she willed it away from showing up as an expression on her face; to an outsider, she was merely alert.
The princess spent several minutes surveying the unfamiliar world around her, listening carefully for signs that she was being watched. Even though she uncovered none, Jasmine couldn't shake the feeling she was being observed. It could have been paranoia from having woken up in the middle of the jungle with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. In fact, that was probably it.
"Genie?" she called out as casually as she was able. Stranger things had happened, but she usually had a pretty good indicator of the origin without much time passing. This time there was no information.
'Aladdin must be looking for me', she thought. She assumed. It was reasonable. But if her...husband? Prince? Fiancée? Now the fear was beginning to show up. She couldn't remember. Aladdin. She loved him, that much she was certain. But there were massive gaps in her memory that were nudging her dangerously close to panicking.
"Aladdin," she whispered his name to herself trying to jog her memory. "Abu. Genie. Rajah. My father, the Sultan-". She stopped abruptly when she couldn't think of his name. "Genie?" she called louder.
Okay, first thing first. Aladdin was likely to be searching for her. If he had a means of finding her in the middle of an unmarked jungle, then he'd likely be able to find her wherever she happened to be at any given time. So there was no reason she should stay in one place. On the other hand, if he was searching for her blindly, it would benefit them both for her to find a more conspicuous spot. Higher ground it was.
She made her most intuitive guess of direction and started walking. The soft ground below her made for a comfortable stroll, but she was too distracted to notice. Jasmine tried to think about what had happened when she'd gone to sleep the night before, but nothing came to mind. Everything in her mind was a sort of long term jumble of memories. There wasn't anything recent. She felt her head for any indication of having taking an amnesia inducing blow. Nothing. Physically, she felt fine.
Jasmine had only walked a short distance when she became aware of a large black panther relaxing on a low branch. It lifted its head to eye her curiously.
Having grown up with Rajah, Jasmine was well versed in the mannerisms of cats. She gathered from the subtle tail movements this large creature had no interest in attacking her, and it hadn't marked her as a potential meal. It just seemed mildly interested.
She veered a healthy arc around the tree that the beast was lounging in, keeping a careful eye out for any change in demeanor. The panther was only watching, nothing else. When she'd finally cleared what she perceived to be the animal's territory, Jasmine gave herself a moment to admire the size and magnificence of the creature.
"You really are beautiful," she told it.
"Thank you," the panther responded indifferently, lowering its head back to a resting position.
Several moments went by with nothing but the sounds of rainforest tranquility. The panther slowly became aware that the human female was still standing in the same place, with her eyes and jaw wide open. He sighed with a bit of a grumble and turned to face her again.
"Did you just talk?" she asked.
"Yes?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but this human seemed entirely too out of place.
"You-", she stepped closer. "I'm sorry. But, do all the animals talk?"
He grimaced. The poor thing wasn't going to survive the day. "Yes. We all do."
"Forgive me," she moved just below his branch. "Can you tell me where I am?"
The panther huffed. "You're in the jungle."
"Does this jungle have a particular name?"
The cat snickered to himself and sprang down to the ground. "Now what sense does it make to give a name to the jungle?"
"I see." Her eyes drifted downward like she was disappointed in his answer. "My name is Jasmine. I'm the princess of Agrabah."
The panther had no idea what Agrabah was, but Jasmine clearly thought of herself as important. "Bagheera."
"I'm grateful to meet you. Can you tell me if there's a place nearby where, you know, people are? I'm kind of lost."
"I figured that much." Bagheera grinned. "There's the man-village just over the plain."
"Man-village?"
"Yes. Just keep heading in that direction," Bagheera gestured toward the sun. "You should be able to- wait a minute."
It didn't seem right to the panther. The direction he'd indicated without so much as a thought suddenly felt unfamiliar. "No, it must be-" 'This way' were the words that escaped him as he realized he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Bagheera needed to get his bearings.
Jasmine had never fidgeted in her life but her fingers began chasing each other on their own as she waited. Bagheera had told her to wait. And she was waiting. He'd bound off without another word, and frighteningly he hadn't needed to give one. For some reason this talking panther was in the same situation she was. Jasmine knew better than to place faith in coincidence.
Bagheera returned with nothing new except a confused look. "Anything?" asked Jasmine, feigning hopefulness.
The panther shook his head.
"Okay, let's think this through. There's two of us. We both woke up in a jungle that isn't familiar. What's the last thing you remember?"
Bagheera thought hard. "There's Baloo, and Mowgli. Shere Khan came back to the jungle..."
"Do you remember going to sleep last night?"
The panther squinted his eyes trying to recover the information that Jasmine had already predicted was lost.
"You know the jungle. Have you ever heard of any of the plants or anything causing someone to lose their memory?"
"The plants?"
"Like, the release of spores or pollen. Anything like that cause lapses?"
"If there are, I don't remember," said Bagheera. The fact that he clearly didn't mean it as a joke made it all the harder for Jasmine to keep her smirk to herself.
"Until we figure this out, do you think we should stick together?"
"That would probably be wise."
Jasmine smiled at her new companion. And Bagheera might have even returned the sentiment were it not for the untimely arrival of a large man with long black hair, broad shoulders and a chin out to there. He burst through the brush out of breath, with a look of petrification on his angular face.
"Miss?" he said to Jasmine. "Do you know the way to Emperor Kuzco's palace?"
Continued in Chapter Two.
Return to the Table of Contents.
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
The Muppets (TV Series) Review
Beginning with the 2011 film The Muppets, the Disney Studios has been stuck on the question of whether or not the Muppets (specifically the Kermit-Fozzie-Gonzo ensemble, not the Sesame Street or Fraggle Rock franchises) are still relevant. And while the question itself seems to have launched the creative team into a third wave of inspiration, it is at it's own core irrelevant.
The Muppets have never been relevant; in the sense that they're timeless characters, existing outside the scope of such nonsense like relevancy. Historically, the Muppets have always been cool, and somehow always not. Jim Henson's placement in the grand-grand proscenium stage is on par with Chuck Jones and Dr. Seuss. His creations are the embodiment of the human soul, funneled through a simplistic yet accessible medium. And that reflection may fall out of favor with the masses for a while, but it will never go away.
But what about the new series?
You know what's funny? My people (the Monty Python reciting nerds) tend to be highly opinionated whenever something sacred to them gets revisited. For reference see the hatred lobbed at Maleficent, or the boycotting of The Looney Tunes Show, or the dubbing of a Miyazaki film. So I'm about to say something blasphemous, but this is the best TV series the Muppets have ever done.
"WHAT? Moreso than the infallible The Muppet Show? When did Bob Iger buy out your blog, you heathen?" Well to answer your second question first and only, I'm not knocking the original series or suggesting it's any less great than it is. Likewise, The Muppets couldn't be the wonderful new show that it's become without the classic material as a basis.
But, this is to the naysayers, have you watched the old show lately? Pick any episode (not the flawless Alice Cooper one) and do a full survey of what happens. There's always some great stuff, but there's also some weaker material. Most of the humor involves puns, and typically has a character or two being eaten.
Jim Henson intended for the show to appeal to an adult audience, and in a way he succeeded. But you could also make the case that he missed the mark a little. Adults connect with it, but they do so through their inner child. Whenever The Muppet Show re-airs, it's always for the kid's block. Whether or not he wanted to be, Jim was naturally attuned toward a specific sensibility with his comedy.
So when The Muppets was announced as an adult sitcom, it's understandable how people became a bit apprehensive. Was this going to be Avenue Q: the Series? Or was it going to be another Muppets Tonight, sort of playing at the original show without really recapturing the old spark. Thankfully, The Muppets is neither. It's its own thing.
To start with, the Muppets are at their best when they can just be themselves. The characters are so strong, you can just do a thirty minute Q&A with any one of them and it's golden. Here, the slapstick is toned down and the puns are almost non-existent in favor of a more sophisticated brand of humor that focuses on those characters and stems from within the situations. And whereas in the original show where the Muppets were usually tools to make the human guest shine, here the opposite is true. It works.
Some criticism has been lobbed at the early episodes for having too much angry/mean spirited humor. I understand where that opinion is coming from, but I respectfully disagree. It's important for a show like this to be able to develop their pre-existing characters, and the easiest way to accomplish this is by pushing them to their breaking point. And while it's not good to keep them there, it helps to clear the palette.
So what's good about the show? Well practically everything. The pacing, for one. There's never a moment of dead space. Kermit and Piggy's relationship is probably at it's most layered here. Muppeteer Eric Jacobson has always known how to balance Piggy's rough edges with her soft side. Fozzie took a bit longer, but Jacobson has clearly figured the bear's emotional vocabulary out in this incarnation.
Other characters have managed to grow in unexpected ways. Scooter was always a bit of a blank slate, but he really comes into his own in The Muppets. His scenes with Chelsea Handler (Of all people!) feel incredibly natural. Not what I was predicting. There are other supporting players like the Swedish Chef, Dr. Teeth, and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew who only get momentary beats of reveal, but they're solid ones. And it's refreshing to peek behind the clownish exteriors, albeit briefly.
If there's one character who could claim the 'breakout' title, it's Uncle Deadly. He's given one of the most dominant personalities of the batch, and it was a stroke of genius to place him in the most direct contact with Piggy, but to also allow for their collective diva traits to compliment each other as opposed to clashing.
Sam the Eagle is a traditionally difficult fit, but the current production team has found some really interesting uses for him. This time around he seems less prematurely defeated. And his bizarre attraction to Janis is probably doomed, but strangely intriguing.
Bobo. What can I say? Bill Barretta is brilliant as this character. It's not fair to say that Bobo is coming into his own here, because he's always been sharp. But I have to point out that I'd never noticed prior to this series how deadpan this bear is. Think about that in terms of a puppet. Almost always, a puppeteer has to exaggerate to the point of weight loss to get a character to emote. Barretta can pull some of the most laugh out loud moments through this bear's blank stares and mumbles.
Barretta has also revived Jim Henson's Rowlf in full glory. Rowlf is the oldest Muppet star, and the character closest to Jim's actual presence. There's something magical about Kermit (and Gonzo in one episode) seeking out Rowlf for spiritual guidance. The dog is due for a comeback in a big way, and I love how he's treated with a certain 'one of us, but kind of not' respect. And Rowlf's utterance of the word 'damn' in one scene strangely didn't bother me.
So are there any weaknesses? A couple of nitpicks I suppose. Robin's voice stood out as not really working for me. Johnny Fiama and Sal are noticeably absent. But really the big one for me is how diminished Gonzo's presence is. Back in the nineties, Gonzo practically held the Muppets together. There's one purely Gonzo-centric episode, and it's probably my favorite of the whole series. Here's hoping the next film is The Cheapest Muppet Movie Ever Made finally.
The bottom line: if you already hate this series on principle, there's nothing I can say to sway you. On the other hand, if you've missed checking it out and still have reservations, by all means give it a chance. The 'adult' factor has nothing to do with Family Guy jokes like I was fearing. It's about the complexity of emotions relating to breakups, self doubt, and workplace stress. The Muppets have spent their existences preparing to handle those nuances. It's a fresh canvas for them to paint on, and in the end it's a beautiful exhibit.
The Muppets have never been relevant; in the sense that they're timeless characters, existing outside the scope of such nonsense like relevancy. Historically, the Muppets have always been cool, and somehow always not. Jim Henson's placement in the grand-grand proscenium stage is on par with Chuck Jones and Dr. Seuss. His creations are the embodiment of the human soul, funneled through a simplistic yet accessible medium. And that reflection may fall out of favor with the masses for a while, but it will never go away.
But what about the new series?
You know what's funny? My people (the Monty Python reciting nerds) tend to be highly opinionated whenever something sacred to them gets revisited. For reference see the hatred lobbed at Maleficent, or the boycotting of The Looney Tunes Show, or the dubbing of a Miyazaki film. So I'm about to say something blasphemous, but this is the best TV series the Muppets have ever done.
"WHAT? Moreso than the infallible The Muppet Show? When did Bob Iger buy out your blog, you heathen?" Well to answer your second question first and only, I'm not knocking the original series or suggesting it's any less great than it is. Likewise, The Muppets couldn't be the wonderful new show that it's become without the classic material as a basis.
But, this is to the naysayers, have you watched the old show lately? Pick any episode (not the flawless Alice Cooper one) and do a full survey of what happens. There's always some great stuff, but there's also some weaker material. Most of the humor involves puns, and typically has a character or two being eaten.
Jim Henson intended for the show to appeal to an adult audience, and in a way he succeeded. But you could also make the case that he missed the mark a little. Adults connect with it, but they do so through their inner child. Whenever The Muppet Show re-airs, it's always for the kid's block. Whether or not he wanted to be, Jim was naturally attuned toward a specific sensibility with his comedy.
So when The Muppets was announced as an adult sitcom, it's understandable how people became a bit apprehensive. Was this going to be Avenue Q: the Series? Or was it going to be another Muppets Tonight, sort of playing at the original show without really recapturing the old spark. Thankfully, The Muppets is neither. It's its own thing.
To start with, the Muppets are at their best when they can just be themselves. The characters are so strong, you can just do a thirty minute Q&A with any one of them and it's golden. Here, the slapstick is toned down and the puns are almost non-existent in favor of a more sophisticated brand of humor that focuses on those characters and stems from within the situations. And whereas in the original show where the Muppets were usually tools to make the human guest shine, here the opposite is true. It works.
Some criticism has been lobbed at the early episodes for having too much angry/mean spirited humor. I understand where that opinion is coming from, but I respectfully disagree. It's important for a show like this to be able to develop their pre-existing characters, and the easiest way to accomplish this is by pushing them to their breaking point. And while it's not good to keep them there, it helps to clear the palette.
So what's good about the show? Well practically everything. The pacing, for one. There's never a moment of dead space. Kermit and Piggy's relationship is probably at it's most layered here. Muppeteer Eric Jacobson has always known how to balance Piggy's rough edges with her soft side. Fozzie took a bit longer, but Jacobson has clearly figured the bear's emotional vocabulary out in this incarnation.
Other characters have managed to grow in unexpected ways. Scooter was always a bit of a blank slate, but he really comes into his own in The Muppets. His scenes with Chelsea Handler (Of all people!) feel incredibly natural. Not what I was predicting. There are other supporting players like the Swedish Chef, Dr. Teeth, and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew who only get momentary beats of reveal, but they're solid ones. And it's refreshing to peek behind the clownish exteriors, albeit briefly.
If there's one character who could claim the 'breakout' title, it's Uncle Deadly. He's given one of the most dominant personalities of the batch, and it was a stroke of genius to place him in the most direct contact with Piggy, but to also allow for their collective diva traits to compliment each other as opposed to clashing.
Sam the Eagle is a traditionally difficult fit, but the current production team has found some really interesting uses for him. This time around he seems less prematurely defeated. And his bizarre attraction to Janis is probably doomed, but strangely intriguing.
Bobo. What can I say? Bill Barretta is brilliant as this character. It's not fair to say that Bobo is coming into his own here, because he's always been sharp. But I have to point out that I'd never noticed prior to this series how deadpan this bear is. Think about that in terms of a puppet. Almost always, a puppeteer has to exaggerate to the point of weight loss to get a character to emote. Barretta can pull some of the most laugh out loud moments through this bear's blank stares and mumbles.
Barretta has also revived Jim Henson's Rowlf in full glory. Rowlf is the oldest Muppet star, and the character closest to Jim's actual presence. There's something magical about Kermit (and Gonzo in one episode) seeking out Rowlf for spiritual guidance. The dog is due for a comeback in a big way, and I love how he's treated with a certain 'one of us, but kind of not' respect. And Rowlf's utterance of the word 'damn' in one scene strangely didn't bother me.
So are there any weaknesses? A couple of nitpicks I suppose. Robin's voice stood out as not really working for me. Johnny Fiama and Sal are noticeably absent. But really the big one for me is how diminished Gonzo's presence is. Back in the nineties, Gonzo practically held the Muppets together. There's one purely Gonzo-centric episode, and it's probably my favorite of the whole series. Here's hoping the next film is The Cheapest Muppet Movie Ever Made finally.
The bottom line: if you already hate this series on principle, there's nothing I can say to sway you. On the other hand, if you've missed checking it out and still have reservations, by all means give it a chance. The 'adult' factor has nothing to do with Family Guy jokes like I was fearing. It's about the complexity of emotions relating to breakups, self doubt, and workplace stress. The Muppets have spent their existences preparing to handle those nuances. It's a fresh canvas for them to paint on, and in the end it's a beautiful exhibit.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Editorial: The Obstacle of Shallow Faith
I recently took a look at the first three chapters of Kylie Bisutti's I'm no Angel: From Victoria's Secret Model to Role Model. My wife has read the whole book, and she assures me my pre-emptive impressions are the correct ones.
The short version: Bisutti went into modeling, despite having no real interest in it, because people kept telling her how pretty she was. After a certain degree of success, she wound up winning an event through Victoria's Secret; not actually signing a contract with the company as the title of the book would lead you to believe. But after her unsupportive husband kept bursting into extroverted prayer enough times whenever the modeling industry shockingly revealed itself to be intertwined with sex, Bisutti nobly chose to become a role model for young Christian girls; presumably pretty ones who might be in danger of pursuing the career that they want.
Do I sound bitter? Angry even? Let me explain. I'm a Christian. It's how I was raised, and after a period of serious soul searching I realized I agree with the teachings of Christ. Curiously, I tend to disagree with a lot of Christians, so much that at one chapter of my life I tried disavowing my faith altogether. In the end, I came to a reconciliation: God isn't the church, people are. And people have a knack for sucking at the wrong times.
Bisutti's book has tapped into something with me that I can't quite shake off, and I think I can best explain it as a metaphor.
Imagine a wave pool, like at a waterpark. Now this is a huge wave pool, to the point that it may as well be a beach, because the deep end of the pool stretches so far away that it disappears over the horizon. Where is the deep end exactly? I don't know. It's too far away. We're not allowed to bring boats to this wave pool. The only way to check is to swim out there, and you'll probably die before you ever reach the end.
In fact, the curious thing about this wave pool is that it's where our dead go. The waves carry the deceased into these mysterious depths. So what happens? Are they eaten? Do they find Atlantis? Do they just drift indefinitely? Does it even matter? The simple fact is, we don't know. We haven't died yet. We can get in the water and swim around a little bit, or a lot, but we can't KNOW until it's too late to be a part of the living.
So let's focus on what we can know, the ground leading up to the shallow end. Now the problem when you first approach the edge of the wave pool is how many billions of people are standing around speculating what the wave pool is about. Most of them tend to be very pleasant, minding their own business or congregating in small groups discussing possibilities.
But then there are the assholes, and they have megaphones. As loudly as they speak, you'd think they KNOW everything there is to know about the wave pool. Some of them decide that the water is irrelevant and there's no point in even acknowledging it's existence. While others demand that EVERYBODY has to accept a definitive explanation for what the end of the wave pool is, or they'll not be able to take the post death journey. Both of these types of people do absolutely no good, and they have the most potential to start a fight at the water park.
Pushing past them, there is now a barricade of people splashing around the shallow waters of the wave pool. This is where Bisutti is lounging and prattling on about how wonderful the water is. And to a degree, she's right. It does feel good, rolling back and forth against your ankles. Children are put in the water where they chant song lyrics about the waves that they accept without questioning. And why not? They're children. It's as much of an understanding of the wave pool as they're capable of having.
Unfortunately, there's this mass of adults who confuse wading in the shallow end with swimming. They insist that feeling the water is all they need, and all there is. I can accept that they're half right. When you're a shallow person, the shallow waters may very well be all you need. But it's not all there is.
So what do I care? There are Kylie Bisuttis everywhere. Most of them go to church and throw around phrases like "God has a plan" and "we should pray for this person who we're passively judging" (I'm paraphrasing). My wife had a friend who used to write such diverse inspirational/country songs like "God is Great", "God, You're so Great", "Can Everybody See How Great I'm Saying God Is?", and "Thank You God For Your Wonderfully Low Expectations"; and I'm certain they didn't all sound exactly the same to her.
Is there ultimately any direct harm from this? Sure, it's annoying as all hell. I tend to respond negatively to people who treat their faith as 'deep' when it's only coming up to their ankles, and maybe the social energy potentially lures some people away from actually learning how to swim. But is it anything more than a nuisance?
Well...
Here's the trick: the Kylie Bisuttis are usually privileged. The strength of their faith typically goes untested. They experience pain like everyone, but they don't know what hopelessness feels like. And perhaps in this life they'll never need to. But then again, they may get hit by that wave and that undertow. That's a bad time to start learning how to swim.
Now at this point in the metaphor I could shrug my shoulders and say, "Well, people who can't swim, drown. That's first draft Darwin." But maybe for me there's something else at play. I think it was the way I was raised Christian. I grew up in a good youth group where we challenged each other and debated and disagreed, and we always came away feeling like we'd shared an experience even though we didn't come to a middle ground compromise. In fact, one of my most active church friends was openly atheist. What could be more Methodist than that?
I went to a college with a strong religious representation that continued exploring the struggles from my youth group. I may have graduated feeling spiritually broken, but that was never the fault of the institution. That just happened to be the age I was. Unfortunately, after college I never found that spiritual community again. I found too many people with 'answers' that they were convinced of, and I was wasting my time trying to reach through their barriers. They didn't want to be challenged. They wanted to feel comfortable.
The bottom line is, we don't have answers. We don't know what's on the other side of death. We can read tomes on the subject and listen to professionals or celebrity voices, but we only have our own experiences to go on. We accept what makes the most sense. To us. As individuals. There's nothing wrong with that.
But my issue with shallow faith is that it creates an illusion of answers. With answers come the sense of correct and incorrect, and arguments, and exclusivity. It drives us further apart in an already isolated world. I continue to hope for a spiritual awakening of our species, but it's going to require an admission that self proclaimed role-models like Kylie Bisutti honestly know jack shit.
Addendum:
It's been brought to my attention that I may have written this blog from a place from a place other than love, and I'm inclined to agree. I may have come across as spiteful. While I still stand by my opinions, I have to admit there is a real pain in me regards to religion that I hadn't even realized was bubbling up.
My relationship with God is one of distance. It's not that I keep God away from me, I actually strive to become closer. But I sense the distance, and it hurts.
Edgar Allen Poe once described the power of music as being able to accomplish in a single chord interval what it took him thousands of words to convey. And he suggests that when you're moved to tears by a piece of music, it's not because you experience so much joy that it can't be contained. Instead, it's because a deeply rooted pain of separation from the divine (one that we ordinarily are able to repress) has been awakened.
I believe in God, and I believe some part of us will join the Divine when we die. And by that sensibility, I believe this same part of us was already connected at one time to Divinity. But here on this earth, it is disconnected, for whatever reason. Maybe to grow in a way not possible otherwise? I don't really know. But even though that piece of us has no cognitive recollection of being connected, it remembers the feeling.
Think about what drives you. Do you look for groups of people based on a common theme (sports fans, taste in anime, political affiliation) because something compels you to seek out a 'collective' larger than yourself? Are you drawn to images of babies (no) or puppies (awww) because they remind you of a world somehow more beautiful than the one you live in? Have you ever fallen in love with the wrong person because they seemed Divinity incarnate, or put a substance in your body to experience something that might allow you to feel connected, or hurt somebody because you thought it would get you closer to the feeling you wanted?
So, yeah, I think the compulsion exists in all of us, and I think being separated from the Divinity that Christians name 'God' is why. It's already a painful topic for me, and I guess lately I've been feeling a bit more emotionally charged about it. There are wonderful things about faith, and when one is able to find a community to hurt with, often it doesn't hurt as much. But I'm not finding that community anymore. Instead I'm finding Joel Osteen, who is the epitome of 'store your treasures on earth'.
I know there are a lot of amazing, insightful people of faith out there, but I don't seem to find them in churches much. And I suppose that's why Kylie Bisutti's book hit such a nerve with me. I'm not seeing a book about faith, I'm seeing one about success. She had success as a model, and when that started wane she found success selling out the modeling industry, and she's calling that faith.
Faith is about humility. I'm not seeing that from her.
The short version: Bisutti went into modeling, despite having no real interest in it, because people kept telling her how pretty she was. After a certain degree of success, she wound up winning an event through Victoria's Secret; not actually signing a contract with the company as the title of the book would lead you to believe. But after her unsupportive husband kept bursting into extroverted prayer enough times whenever the modeling industry shockingly revealed itself to be intertwined with sex, Bisutti nobly chose to become a role model for young Christian girls; presumably pretty ones who might be in danger of pursuing the career that they want.
Do I sound bitter? Angry even? Let me explain. I'm a Christian. It's how I was raised, and after a period of serious soul searching I realized I agree with the teachings of Christ. Curiously, I tend to disagree with a lot of Christians, so much that at one chapter of my life I tried disavowing my faith altogether. In the end, I came to a reconciliation: God isn't the church, people are. And people have a knack for sucking at the wrong times.
Bisutti's book has tapped into something with me that I can't quite shake off, and I think I can best explain it as a metaphor.
Imagine a wave pool, like at a waterpark. Now this is a huge wave pool, to the point that it may as well be a beach, because the deep end of the pool stretches so far away that it disappears over the horizon. Where is the deep end exactly? I don't know. It's too far away. We're not allowed to bring boats to this wave pool. The only way to check is to swim out there, and you'll probably die before you ever reach the end.
In fact, the curious thing about this wave pool is that it's where our dead go. The waves carry the deceased into these mysterious depths. So what happens? Are they eaten? Do they find Atlantis? Do they just drift indefinitely? Does it even matter? The simple fact is, we don't know. We haven't died yet. We can get in the water and swim around a little bit, or a lot, but we can't KNOW until it's too late to be a part of the living.
So let's focus on what we can know, the ground leading up to the shallow end. Now the problem when you first approach the edge of the wave pool is how many billions of people are standing around speculating what the wave pool is about. Most of them tend to be very pleasant, minding their own business or congregating in small groups discussing possibilities.
But then there are the assholes, and they have megaphones. As loudly as they speak, you'd think they KNOW everything there is to know about the wave pool. Some of them decide that the water is irrelevant and there's no point in even acknowledging it's existence. While others demand that EVERYBODY has to accept a definitive explanation for what the end of the wave pool is, or they'll not be able to take the post death journey. Both of these types of people do absolutely no good, and they have the most potential to start a fight at the water park.
Pushing past them, there is now a barricade of people splashing around the shallow waters of the wave pool. This is where Bisutti is lounging and prattling on about how wonderful the water is. And to a degree, she's right. It does feel good, rolling back and forth against your ankles. Children are put in the water where they chant song lyrics about the waves that they accept without questioning. And why not? They're children. It's as much of an understanding of the wave pool as they're capable of having.
Unfortunately, there's this mass of adults who confuse wading in the shallow end with swimming. They insist that feeling the water is all they need, and all there is. I can accept that they're half right. When you're a shallow person, the shallow waters may very well be all you need. But it's not all there is.
So what do I care? There are Kylie Bisuttis everywhere. Most of them go to church and throw around phrases like "God has a plan" and "we should pray for this person who we're passively judging" (I'm paraphrasing). My wife had a friend who used to write such diverse inspirational/country songs like "God is Great", "God, You're so Great", "Can Everybody See How Great I'm Saying God Is?", and "Thank You God For Your Wonderfully Low Expectations"; and I'm certain they didn't all sound exactly the same to her.
Is there ultimately any direct harm from this? Sure, it's annoying as all hell. I tend to respond negatively to people who treat their faith as 'deep' when it's only coming up to their ankles, and maybe the social energy potentially lures some people away from actually learning how to swim. But is it anything more than a nuisance?
Well...
Here's the trick: the Kylie Bisuttis are usually privileged. The strength of their faith typically goes untested. They experience pain like everyone, but they don't know what hopelessness feels like. And perhaps in this life they'll never need to. But then again, they may get hit by that wave and that undertow. That's a bad time to start learning how to swim.
Now at this point in the metaphor I could shrug my shoulders and say, "Well, people who can't swim, drown. That's first draft Darwin." But maybe for me there's something else at play. I think it was the way I was raised Christian. I grew up in a good youth group where we challenged each other and debated and disagreed, and we always came away feeling like we'd shared an experience even though we didn't come to a middle ground compromise. In fact, one of my most active church friends was openly atheist. What could be more Methodist than that?
I went to a college with a strong religious representation that continued exploring the struggles from my youth group. I may have graduated feeling spiritually broken, but that was never the fault of the institution. That just happened to be the age I was. Unfortunately, after college I never found that spiritual community again. I found too many people with 'answers' that they were convinced of, and I was wasting my time trying to reach through their barriers. They didn't want to be challenged. They wanted to feel comfortable.
The bottom line is, we don't have answers. We don't know what's on the other side of death. We can read tomes on the subject and listen to professionals or celebrity voices, but we only have our own experiences to go on. We accept what makes the most sense. To us. As individuals. There's nothing wrong with that.
But my issue with shallow faith is that it creates an illusion of answers. With answers come the sense of correct and incorrect, and arguments, and exclusivity. It drives us further apart in an already isolated world. I continue to hope for a spiritual awakening of our species, but it's going to require an admission that self proclaimed role-models like Kylie Bisutti honestly know jack shit.
Addendum:
It's been brought to my attention that I may have written this blog from a place from a place other than love, and I'm inclined to agree. I may have come across as spiteful. While I still stand by my opinions, I have to admit there is a real pain in me regards to religion that I hadn't even realized was bubbling up.
My relationship with God is one of distance. It's not that I keep God away from me, I actually strive to become closer. But I sense the distance, and it hurts.
Edgar Allen Poe once described the power of music as being able to accomplish in a single chord interval what it took him thousands of words to convey. And he suggests that when you're moved to tears by a piece of music, it's not because you experience so much joy that it can't be contained. Instead, it's because a deeply rooted pain of separation from the divine (one that we ordinarily are able to repress) has been awakened.
I believe in God, and I believe some part of us will join the Divine when we die. And by that sensibility, I believe this same part of us was already connected at one time to Divinity. But here on this earth, it is disconnected, for whatever reason. Maybe to grow in a way not possible otherwise? I don't really know. But even though that piece of us has no cognitive recollection of being connected, it remembers the feeling.
Think about what drives you. Do you look for groups of people based on a common theme (sports fans, taste in anime, political affiliation) because something compels you to seek out a 'collective' larger than yourself? Are you drawn to images of babies (no) or puppies (awww) because they remind you of a world somehow more beautiful than the one you live in? Have you ever fallen in love with the wrong person because they seemed Divinity incarnate, or put a substance in your body to experience something that might allow you to feel connected, or hurt somebody because you thought it would get you closer to the feeling you wanted?
So, yeah, I think the compulsion exists in all of us, and I think being separated from the Divinity that Christians name 'God' is why. It's already a painful topic for me, and I guess lately I've been feeling a bit more emotionally charged about it. There are wonderful things about faith, and when one is able to find a community to hurt with, often it doesn't hurt as much. But I'm not finding that community anymore. Instead I'm finding Joel Osteen, who is the epitome of 'store your treasures on earth'.
I know there are a lot of amazing, insightful people of faith out there, but I don't seem to find them in churches much. And I suppose that's why Kylie Bisutti's book hit such a nerve with me. I'm not seeing a book about faith, I'm seeing one about success. She had success as a model, and when that started wane she found success selling out the modeling industry, and she's calling that faith.
Faith is about humility. I'm not seeing that from her.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The Wax Buzzard Files: Chapter One -The Prologue's Epilogue
If you want to go back to the Table of Contents, this link will take you there. If you don't want to go back to the Table of Contents, that link will take you to Mount McKinley's gift shop. Choose carefully.
An old college professor I never had, or met, once drunk tweeted me the motto I'd live the rest of my days by. The message read "Atttentoin 2 Dtail iz thf mstresss ofg Tha Czrc7oNNimststs :)". I have it framed in my office even though the phone's battery ran down months ago.
I never figured out what that last word was supposed to be, but attention to detail separated the crocs from the gators. And in the field it could mean the difference between a dead man and a man whose name happened to be Deadman; although to be fair, once he actually died those details wouldn't exactly make for the best example.
Miss Nomer's story had omitted several details that a trained eye like mine could spot miles away. Now that she was miles away, I noticed she had neglected to mention what she wanted from me. Was she hiring me? Playing me for a sap? Did she just want to hang out sometime? I could have just walked away and never looked back, but since this was where I lived I was already in too deep.
It takes a sharp mind to see the big picture before you have any of the pieces, but I knew exactly what I needed; someone with a sharp mind. I knew just the guy, Vincent "the weasel" Smith. He'd tried for years to build a respectable reputation. I was the one who gave him the idea to stop telling people his middle name was "the weasel". Now Vinnie was the senior record keeper at the What's-His-Face Memorial Hospital. If anybody could take a wild guess at how to track down Miss Nomer, Vinnie could; and he owed me a favor. I intended to find out what for.
"Vinnie!" I called as I walked through the door. Pity he wasn't in that room and the people in the board meeting were less than receptive to my charisma. I had to search the hospital for a few hours, but I finally tracked down the front desk clerk and she got me pointed in the direction of the parking lot.
I never found Vinnie, but as I made my way across the street I got this peculiar sensation I was being followed. I glanced behind me and saw nothing but a huge crowd of suspicious looking characters. I started walking.
Yeah, there it was. A string of footsteps keeping perfect pace with me. I stopped. My shadow stopped. I took one step forward and the tail followed suit. I did a hop shuffle ball change buffalo, matched by the synchronized steps behind me. I checked my posture to see if I was leaning really far forward and just hearing my own feet. Nope. Definitely someone there.
I had a decision to make. It was a long time ago and I didn't like it. Now I had another one. Would I whirl around and face my culprit, or would I shrug it off and go do the yard work I'd been avoiding? A third option entered my head. It was technically illegal and required one of those paddle ball toys with the elastic string, and I didn't feel like waiting in the long line at the convenience store across town.
But I had a thought. My shadow was likely a puppet. Not a shadow puppet, but the other kind of puppet, with strings, and someone else pulling them. Who was a shadow. Actually just forget about the shadow metaphor altogether. If this puppet had a puppeteer then those strings would lead me right to him. But how to get my shadow to lead me -I mean the puppet to lead me to the puppeteer when the puppet was clearly shadowing me?
Simple. I walked backwards.
That could have been my fatal mistake.
Obviously it wasn't, but it could have been; that's the point I'm making.
Chapter Two is available, but it's still getting over a serious breakup.
An old college professor I never had, or met, once drunk tweeted me the motto I'd live the rest of my days by. The message read "Atttentoin 2 Dtail iz thf mstresss ofg Tha Czrc7oNNimststs :)". I have it framed in my office even though the phone's battery ran down months ago.
I never figured out what that last word was supposed to be, but attention to detail separated the crocs from the gators. And in the field it could mean the difference between a dead man and a man whose name happened to be Deadman; although to be fair, once he actually died those details wouldn't exactly make for the best example.
Miss Nomer's story had omitted several details that a trained eye like mine could spot miles away. Now that she was miles away, I noticed she had neglected to mention what she wanted from me. Was she hiring me? Playing me for a sap? Did she just want to hang out sometime? I could have just walked away and never looked back, but since this was where I lived I was already in too deep.
It takes a sharp mind to see the big picture before you have any of the pieces, but I knew exactly what I needed; someone with a sharp mind. I knew just the guy, Vincent "the weasel" Smith. He'd tried for years to build a respectable reputation. I was the one who gave him the idea to stop telling people his middle name was "the weasel". Now Vinnie was the senior record keeper at the What's-His-Face Memorial Hospital. If anybody could take a wild guess at how to track down Miss Nomer, Vinnie could; and he owed me a favor. I intended to find out what for.
"Vinnie!" I called as I walked through the door. Pity he wasn't in that room and the people in the board meeting were less than receptive to my charisma. I had to search the hospital for a few hours, but I finally tracked down the front desk clerk and she got me pointed in the direction of the parking lot.
I never found Vinnie, but as I made my way across the street I got this peculiar sensation I was being followed. I glanced behind me and saw nothing but a huge crowd of suspicious looking characters. I started walking.
Yeah, there it was. A string of footsteps keeping perfect pace with me. I stopped. My shadow stopped. I took one step forward and the tail followed suit. I did a hop shuffle ball change buffalo, matched by the synchronized steps behind me. I checked my posture to see if I was leaning really far forward and just hearing my own feet. Nope. Definitely someone there.
I had a decision to make. It was a long time ago and I didn't like it. Now I had another one. Would I whirl around and face my culprit, or would I shrug it off and go do the yard work I'd been avoiding? A third option entered my head. It was technically illegal and required one of those paddle ball toys with the elastic string, and I didn't feel like waiting in the long line at the convenience store across town.
But I had a thought. My shadow was likely a puppet. Not a shadow puppet, but the other kind of puppet, with strings, and someone else pulling them. Who was a shadow. Actually just forget about the shadow metaphor altogether. If this puppet had a puppeteer then those strings would lead me right to him. But how to get my shadow to lead me -I mean the puppet to lead me to the puppeteer when the puppet was clearly shadowing me?
Simple. I walked backwards.
That could have been my fatal mistake.
Obviously it wasn't, but it could have been; that's the point I'm making.
Chapter Two is available, but it's still getting over a serious breakup.
Monday, February 8, 2016
The Carousel: The Call of Mardi Gras
I didn't realize Mardi Gras was so early this year. I've been wanting to get back into writing some Carousel material, and this idea just kind of came to me last night. At this point I have no idea where I'm going with the story but I thought it might be fun to just explore a little.
Enjoy!
Mardi Gras.
More accurately Lundi Gras, but to fifteen year old Becky there was really no difference. Her stepmom claimed she wanted her to have the full Mardi Gras experience, which was really a euphemistic way of saying Fredonna had wanted to go to New Orleans for five days and test her limits on alcohol consumption.
Becky couldn't understand what the big damn deal was about either Mardi Gras or New Orleans. She'd seen several parades, and they were fine if a little claustrophobic inducing. She'd gotten into the spirit to a point, having scavenged for a large handful of beads and three sought after doubloons. But the thing seemed more trouble than it was worth.
The odd thing was, her stepmom seemed to be trying to reconnect with her youth. At the ripe old age of twenty-six. "Who was this holiday supposed to be for?" thought Becky. Not really for a fifteen year old girl. At least, not one who was down there with her stepmother's friends.
It was seven thirty in the morning. Becky woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, but a nearly empty second floor home. Fredonna's best friend Caris had managed to secure renting an enviable location with a balcony. It didn't face any parade routes, but it overlooked one of the side streets where people filtered in and out all day and night. Either most of the women had gone out extremely early or they'd not made it back the night before. And there on the balcony was the unmistakable figure of Zelphina, Caris's girlfriend.
Becky had grown up in a conservatively religious household. Her father was a preacher, and her mother had been an organist when she was alive. While her dad had never spoken down about same-sex couples, she could always feel that he'd had a bit of discomfort about the issue. But Becky loved her dad, and had always admired how he never let his feelings dictate his stance on topics. But Zelphina wasn't just Caris's girlfriend. She was also a demon.
What exactly that meant, Becky wasn't sure. Her dad couldn't explain it either, probably because he knew just as much as Becky did. But almost two years ago, something had happened to Becky that she didn't talk about. She'd become possessed. Becky had never understood by what, but Caris and Zelphina had been there, and they'd saved her life.
"Good morning Becky," said Zelphina, smiling only with her eyes.
Becky nodded silently, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. She had to admit Zelphina had a classic Hollywood beauty to her, even if her demeanor had always been a little intimidating. Much more so once you knew what she was capable of. Becky didn't know how common demons were in the world or why this particular one was reasonably helpful, but being left alone with her in New Orleans the day before Mardi Gras was a concept Becky felt more than a little discomfort over.
Zelphina gestured toward the wicker chair perpendicularly angled next to Becky. "May I?"
Becky nodded. "Where is everyone?"
"The girls are probably out looking for reasons to be irresponsible."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"I agreed to keep you safe."
Becky swallowed a larger bite of dough than she'd intended and had to resort to the milk glass for relief. "I'm fine here," she said.
"Yes. You are fine here. But you're bored."
Becky didn't respond, but it was true. When Fredonna had invited her (practically begged her) to come, she said yes primarily owing to the fact that she had nothing else to do. But she hadn't been connecting with the Mardi Gras experience for three days now, and the whole thing felt pointless to her. She shrugged. "I guess so."
"I feel similarly about this festival. It's strangely fascinating to witness how many people are drawn to this street party with so much joy and pleasure in the feigned debauchery, and yet I experience no attachment to it whatsoever. I've been asking myself why that is."
"Aren't you a demon?"
"I am."
"What do you do for fun?"
"I don't do for fun. I do for instructions. Why? Do you believe I'm missing out on something?"
Becky chewed up the last bite that she was interested in eating. "What if someone instructs you to have fun?"
"I give them a look that dissuades them from giving me that instruction again."
Becky tried to push back a smile, mostly succeeding. "Can you teach it to me?"
"Perhaps. But what do you say to a bit of adventure? You and me. The streets of New Orleans. Maybe discover what the heart of this beast is."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Zelphina. "We explore. You navigate, I protect you, and we go wherever you like. What do you say?"
All things being equal, it's usually a good idea not to agree to a demon's offer. But in this instant...
There was no predicate to that sentence. Becky didn't realize it, but she'd entered into a long, time honored tradition of people who'd said yes to a demon despite being taught to say no. And the rationale was always the same. It began and ended with "but in this instant". Even if this instant was somehow different than any other, at it's core it was self-permission to say yes.
Together they walked down the street.
Enjoy!
Mardi Gras.
More accurately Lundi Gras, but to fifteen year old Becky there was really no difference. Her stepmom claimed she wanted her to have the full Mardi Gras experience, which was really a euphemistic way of saying Fredonna had wanted to go to New Orleans for five days and test her limits on alcohol consumption.
Becky couldn't understand what the big damn deal was about either Mardi Gras or New Orleans. She'd seen several parades, and they were fine if a little claustrophobic inducing. She'd gotten into the spirit to a point, having scavenged for a large handful of beads and three sought after doubloons. But the thing seemed more trouble than it was worth.
The odd thing was, her stepmom seemed to be trying to reconnect with her youth. At the ripe old age of twenty-six. "Who was this holiday supposed to be for?" thought Becky. Not really for a fifteen year old girl. At least, not one who was down there with her stepmother's friends.
It was seven thirty in the morning. Becky woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, but a nearly empty second floor home. Fredonna's best friend Caris had managed to secure renting an enviable location with a balcony. It didn't face any parade routes, but it overlooked one of the side streets where people filtered in and out all day and night. Either most of the women had gone out extremely early or they'd not made it back the night before. And there on the balcony was the unmistakable figure of Zelphina, Caris's girlfriend.
Becky had grown up in a conservatively religious household. Her father was a preacher, and her mother had been an organist when she was alive. While her dad had never spoken down about same-sex couples, she could always feel that he'd had a bit of discomfort about the issue. But Becky loved her dad, and had always admired how he never let his feelings dictate his stance on topics. But Zelphina wasn't just Caris's girlfriend. She was also a demon.
What exactly that meant, Becky wasn't sure. Her dad couldn't explain it either, probably because he knew just as much as Becky did. But almost two years ago, something had happened to Becky that she didn't talk about. She'd become possessed. Becky had never understood by what, but Caris and Zelphina had been there, and they'd saved her life.
"Good morning Becky," said Zelphina, smiling only with her eyes.
Becky nodded silently, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. She had to admit Zelphina had a classic Hollywood beauty to her, even if her demeanor had always been a little intimidating. Much more so once you knew what she was capable of. Becky didn't know how common demons were in the world or why this particular one was reasonably helpful, but being left alone with her in New Orleans the day before Mardi Gras was a concept Becky felt more than a little discomfort over.
Zelphina gestured toward the wicker chair perpendicularly angled next to Becky. "May I?"
Becky nodded. "Where is everyone?"
"The girls are probably out looking for reasons to be irresponsible."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"I agreed to keep you safe."
Becky swallowed a larger bite of dough than she'd intended and had to resort to the milk glass for relief. "I'm fine here," she said.
"Yes. You are fine here. But you're bored."
Becky didn't respond, but it was true. When Fredonna had invited her (practically begged her) to come, she said yes primarily owing to the fact that she had nothing else to do. But she hadn't been connecting with the Mardi Gras experience for three days now, and the whole thing felt pointless to her. She shrugged. "I guess so."
"I feel similarly about this festival. It's strangely fascinating to witness how many people are drawn to this street party with so much joy and pleasure in the feigned debauchery, and yet I experience no attachment to it whatsoever. I've been asking myself why that is."
"Aren't you a demon?"
"I am."
"What do you do for fun?"
"I don't do for fun. I do for instructions. Why? Do you believe I'm missing out on something?"
Becky chewed up the last bite that she was interested in eating. "What if someone instructs you to have fun?"
"I give them a look that dissuades them from giving me that instruction again."
Becky tried to push back a smile, mostly succeeding. "Can you teach it to me?"
"Perhaps. But what do you say to a bit of adventure? You and me. The streets of New Orleans. Maybe discover what the heart of this beast is."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Zelphina. "We explore. You navigate, I protect you, and we go wherever you like. What do you say?"
All things being equal, it's usually a good idea not to agree to a demon's offer. But in this instant...
There was no predicate to that sentence. Becky didn't realize it, but she'd entered into a long, time honored tradition of people who'd said yes to a demon despite being taught to say no. And the rationale was always the same. It began and ended with "but in this instant". Even if this instant was somehow different than any other, at it's core it was self-permission to say yes.
Together they walked down the street.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Heart: Valentine (A Dozen Roses from Ann and Nancy Wilson)
Something I never thought would happen to me just came into being. I bought tickets to see Heart, live in concert.
They're touring with Joan Jett and Cheap Trick, and I was amazed to find that the tickets weren't priced in the hundred dollar range. This collection of performers isn't just amazing, it's a slice of rock and roll history.
It's with a certain amount of shame that I direct attention away from Jett and (um) Trick to focus on the Wilson sisters, but their music has had the greatest impact on me, and their story is one that I find powerful.
Before Anna and Elsa, there was Ann Wilson and her little sister Nancy. As the daughters of a U.S. Marine, the family would have to move around frequently, and the girls turned to music for a sense of consistency. There are some artists who clearly love music, and then there are those who embody it. And there's just something about the Wilson sisters where you can feel the emotions poured into their work. There's a pain laced through every album, from failed relationships to on stage panic attacks, but there's also the unyielding hope that refuses to be snuffed out.
You're undoubtedly familiar with their power ballads from the mid to late eighties (Alone, Never, These Dreams and What About Love), and they were all really good songs. But when you compare them to some of their lesser known or in-danger-of-being-forgotten gems, I think you'll find they may not be the absolute best compositions.
So as a bit of a love letter to the Wilsons, I've put together what I consider, in my superficially humble opinion, to be the ultimate album showcasing Heart's soul. On vinyl, because it sounds better.
Side A:
1 Bebe le Strange (live) -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
The album version of this song is good enough, but when you hear them perform it live it adds a whole new layer of energy. And that's one thing worth mentioning right out of the gate: Heart can play live! And they play the hell out of this song. The lyrics are about a female rock star receiving a fan letter from someone who has been captivated by her. Interestingly, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, but the way she handles her guitar. It's possible this song is based on the fan mail the sisters were receiving themselves, but I prefer to think of it as a fictional account of what drove them into the industry in the first place.
2 Magic Man -Dreamboat Annie (1975)
This is THE definitive Heart song, and the first one you hear if you listen to the albums in order. A woman is being seduced by a man, even against her conscious better judgment. She's doomed and she knows it, but she's addicted. It's all the more poignant by the omission of any details about this man other than his eye color. The guitar is exciting and haunting at the same time. There's more of an emotional arc in this five minute track than Stephanie Meyer's entire body of work.
3 Without You -Magazine (1977)
I hate this song. "Wait, what?" you cry, "Then why do you have it on the album?" First off, there's no need to cry, it's just a blog. Second, I'm talking about the actual Badfinger song written by Pete Ham and Tom Evans, and everyone from Harry Nilsson to freaking Mariah Carey seems to think it's some sort of romantic love ballad. It's not. Whether Ham and Evans realized it during the writing (no joke here: both committed suicide), this is the epitome of an unhealthy one-sided relationship. Ann Wilson is the only singer I've ever heard who sounds like she's singing it from this approach. As far as I'm concerned, that makes this the only version of this song.
4 Barracuda -Little Queen (1977)
Oh boy. The origin of this song is just painful. A Detroit radio promoter flippantly (and sincerely) asked Ann about her lover, referring to her sister Nancy. Ann was outraged, and went back to the hotel room, pouring everything she was feeling into writing this song. Then Nancy heard what had happened and channeled her fury into the melody and bridge. The result was one of the all time great Heart songs, and probably the sister as their most vulnerable.
5 Make Me -Jupiter's Darling (2004)
I literally discovered this song a few days ago. Post-eighties Heart is where the entity of the band really is defined as the Wilson sisters (being the only consistent force since the inception). The eighties was a productive time where musicians and studios had a solid working relationship. The nineties was the decade of the breakup between artists and establishment. "Make Me" has a clear return to roots feel, similar to Pat Benatar's overlooked 1997 sapphire Innamorata. Nancy shows she doesn't need studio technology to kill it on lead guitar, and nobody is going to keep Ann's powerhouse voice down.
6 I Want Your World to Turn -Brigade (1990)
Ann Wilson may very well have the greatest female hard rock voice in music history; I'd certainly support her claim of the title. But little attention has been given to Nancy as a singer. She really could have made it as a solo artist. I've listened to this song since the album came out and I've only just found out that it was Nancy singing lead, not Ann. This is another 'dirty' love song that Heart is so virtuoso at performing. Here we have a woman in love with someone who is openly non-monogamous. She doesn't seem to have a problem with it conceptually, but she's developing a sense of possessiveness. It's a fresh set up, and Nancy's voice is awesome.
7 Wild Child -Brigade (1990)
You can't go into Rock and Roll if you only like nice songs. At its core, rock is about the dark side of passion, but once in a while you get a song like "Wild Child" which feels like it has all of the grit and ash of typical rock, but is actually a purely happy song. Sexually happy, yes, but we're in a place devoid of pain (temporarily anyway). This is just pure, wild, unbridled fun; an inner child released into an adult carnival.
Side B:
1 Dog & Butterfly -Dog & Butterfly (1978)
I take an interest in the order that songs appear on an album, and this beautiful folk song is the perfect way to begin side two (a la "Here Comes the Sun"). I've loved this song since I was a teenager, (even if I had difficulty convincing my peers of its merit) and I still want it performed at my memorial service [There, mom. I finally wrote it down. Happy?]. This is what this song is about. You have a dog and a butterfly (duh). The butterfly can fly, and the dog can't. But the dog forgets this because it's playing so intensely with the butterfly. And when it winds up on its back on the ground, the dog laughs at its own foolishness. And it does it again and again, because the experience of failing at flying is so delightful on its own. Then you wrap that chorus in a few verses of someone experiencing defeat and finding the strength to get back up in this image. It always brings me tears. All the more reason I shouldn't be working on this blog in a public place.
2 If Looks Could Kill -Heart (1985)
The concept of this song is pretty basic, confronting someone who has betrayed you. The execution on the other hand is awesome. It has a fast tempo and a driving guitar riff, making it the most dangerous Heart song to drive in rush hour traffic to. Sadly, that's all I have to say about it. But take my finite word, it's a great song.
3 Mistral Wind (live)/Hit Single/Strange Euphoria -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
Kind of a cheat here, but this has always felt to me like one very long surreal track. "Mistral Wind" kicks us off with a sailing in uncharted waters metaphor. The seven minute piece has an ethereal sound to it, conveying the emotions of someone who feels touched by something 'out there'. Ann's passion (particularly in the live version) comes across as almost agonizing that she can't experience this force all the time. But as the melody fades into a simple music box measure, we move into "Hit Single"; a dreamlike arrangement of outtakes from studio recording sessions. This bizarre tension builds, and then an abrupt silence. And from out of the dark comes...I'm not even sure what this is, but I really wouldn't mind it going on for twice as long. The aptly named "Strange Euphoria" just paints a picture of what a world devoid of ego would sound like. I really can't tell you what happens on this three track journey, but it's something quite special.
4 I Love You -Brigade (1990)
There are so many wonderful Heart songs that I know I'm doing a disservice to by not including them ("Crazy On You", "Heartless", and "Tall, Dark, Handsome Stranger" to name a few), and I very nearly overlooked this one. But then I remembered what it was about. Unlike "Magic Man" or "If Looks Could Kill" where there's a clear 'victim' in the narrative, "I Love You" is about a couple who truly love each other but have also had a fight so huge that they may have irreparably damaged the relationship. This is Ann Wilson of the early nineties, singing from the voice of adult maturity. And while she's not having the adolescent meltdown of "Without You" you can sense the subtext may be coming from the most broken place in any of the songs. The fact that the question of reconciliation remains unanswered makes this song all the more grueling.
5 I've Got the Music in Me (live) -Magazine (1977)
It's kind of a pity that I have to end things on one of the songs the sisters didn't write, but there really is no other song that captures the essence of 'this is what Heart is'. It's another fantastic live song, and when you place it after several of the more painful numbers, it feels like a rebirth. As I said at the beginning, Ann and Nancy's collective claim of having the music in them is more than just a pretty chorus. It's an anthem. Rock and roll is this whole ambiguous world. Thank God for our heroes, or in this case heroines, who can enter that wild realm and bring some of that magic back out for the rest of us.
See you on September 20th!
They're touring with Joan Jett and Cheap Trick, and I was amazed to find that the tickets weren't priced in the hundred dollar range. This collection of performers isn't just amazing, it's a slice of rock and roll history.
It's with a certain amount of shame that I direct attention away from Jett and (um) Trick to focus on the Wilson sisters, but their music has had the greatest impact on me, and their story is one that I find powerful.
Before Anna and Elsa, there was Ann Wilson and her little sister Nancy. As the daughters of a U.S. Marine, the family would have to move around frequently, and the girls turned to music for a sense of consistency. There are some artists who clearly love music, and then there are those who embody it. And there's just something about the Wilson sisters where you can feel the emotions poured into their work. There's a pain laced through every album, from failed relationships to on stage panic attacks, but there's also the unyielding hope that refuses to be snuffed out.
You're undoubtedly familiar with their power ballads from the mid to late eighties (Alone, Never, These Dreams and What About Love), and they were all really good songs. But when you compare them to some of their lesser known or in-danger-of-being-forgotten gems, I think you'll find they may not be the absolute best compositions.
So as a bit of a love letter to the Wilsons, I've put together what I consider, in my superficially humble opinion, to be the ultimate album showcasing Heart's soul. On vinyl, because it sounds better.
A Dozen Roses
Side A:
1 Bebe le Strange (live) -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
The album version of this song is good enough, but when you hear them perform it live it adds a whole new layer of energy. And that's one thing worth mentioning right out of the gate: Heart can play live! And they play the hell out of this song. The lyrics are about a female rock star receiving a fan letter from someone who has been captivated by her. Interestingly, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, but the way she handles her guitar. It's possible this song is based on the fan mail the sisters were receiving themselves, but I prefer to think of it as a fictional account of what drove them into the industry in the first place.
2 Magic Man -Dreamboat Annie (1975)
This is THE definitive Heart song, and the first one you hear if you listen to the albums in order. A woman is being seduced by a man, even against her conscious better judgment. She's doomed and she knows it, but she's addicted. It's all the more poignant by the omission of any details about this man other than his eye color. The guitar is exciting and haunting at the same time. There's more of an emotional arc in this five minute track than Stephanie Meyer's entire body of work.
3 Without You -Magazine (1977)
I hate this song. "Wait, what?" you cry, "Then why do you have it on the album?" First off, there's no need to cry, it's just a blog. Second, I'm talking about the actual Badfinger song written by Pete Ham and Tom Evans, and everyone from Harry Nilsson to freaking Mariah Carey seems to think it's some sort of romantic love ballad. It's not. Whether Ham and Evans realized it during the writing (no joke here: both committed suicide), this is the epitome of an unhealthy one-sided relationship. Ann Wilson is the only singer I've ever heard who sounds like she's singing it from this approach. As far as I'm concerned, that makes this the only version of this song.
4 Barracuda -Little Queen (1977)
Oh boy. The origin of this song is just painful. A Detroit radio promoter flippantly (and sincerely) asked Ann about her lover, referring to her sister Nancy. Ann was outraged, and went back to the hotel room, pouring everything she was feeling into writing this song. Then Nancy heard what had happened and channeled her fury into the melody and bridge. The result was one of the all time great Heart songs, and probably the sister as their most vulnerable.
5 Make Me -Jupiter's Darling (2004)
I literally discovered this song a few days ago. Post-eighties Heart is where the entity of the band really is defined as the Wilson sisters (being the only consistent force since the inception). The eighties was a productive time where musicians and studios had a solid working relationship. The nineties was the decade of the breakup between artists and establishment. "Make Me" has a clear return to roots feel, similar to Pat Benatar's overlooked 1997 sapphire Innamorata. Nancy shows she doesn't need studio technology to kill it on lead guitar, and nobody is going to keep Ann's powerhouse voice down.
6 I Want Your World to Turn -Brigade (1990)
Ann Wilson may very well have the greatest female hard rock voice in music history; I'd certainly support her claim of the title. But little attention has been given to Nancy as a singer. She really could have made it as a solo artist. I've listened to this song since the album came out and I've only just found out that it was Nancy singing lead, not Ann. This is another 'dirty' love song that Heart is so virtuoso at performing. Here we have a woman in love with someone who is openly non-monogamous. She doesn't seem to have a problem with it conceptually, but she's developing a sense of possessiveness. It's a fresh set up, and Nancy's voice is awesome.
7 Wild Child -Brigade (1990)
You can't go into Rock and Roll if you only like nice songs. At its core, rock is about the dark side of passion, but once in a while you get a song like "Wild Child" which feels like it has all of the grit and ash of typical rock, but is actually a purely happy song. Sexually happy, yes, but we're in a place devoid of pain (temporarily anyway). This is just pure, wild, unbridled fun; an inner child released into an adult carnival.
Side B:
1 Dog & Butterfly -Dog & Butterfly (1978)
I take an interest in the order that songs appear on an album, and this beautiful folk song is the perfect way to begin side two (a la "Here Comes the Sun"). I've loved this song since I was a teenager, (even if I had difficulty convincing my peers of its merit) and I still want it performed at my memorial service [There, mom. I finally wrote it down. Happy?]. This is what this song is about. You have a dog and a butterfly (duh). The butterfly can fly, and the dog can't. But the dog forgets this because it's playing so intensely with the butterfly. And when it winds up on its back on the ground, the dog laughs at its own foolishness. And it does it again and again, because the experience of failing at flying is so delightful on its own. Then you wrap that chorus in a few verses of someone experiencing defeat and finding the strength to get back up in this image. It always brings me tears. All the more reason I shouldn't be working on this blog in a public place.
2 If Looks Could Kill -Heart (1985)
The concept of this song is pretty basic, confronting someone who has betrayed you. The execution on the other hand is awesome. It has a fast tempo and a driving guitar riff, making it the most dangerous Heart song to drive in rush hour traffic to. Sadly, that's all I have to say about it. But take my finite word, it's a great song.
3 Mistral Wind (live)/Hit Single/Strange Euphoria -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
Kind of a cheat here, but this has always felt to me like one very long surreal track. "Mistral Wind" kicks us off with a sailing in uncharted waters metaphor. The seven minute piece has an ethereal sound to it, conveying the emotions of someone who feels touched by something 'out there'. Ann's passion (particularly in the live version) comes across as almost agonizing that she can't experience this force all the time. But as the melody fades into a simple music box measure, we move into "Hit Single"; a dreamlike arrangement of outtakes from studio recording sessions. This bizarre tension builds, and then an abrupt silence. And from out of the dark comes...I'm not even sure what this is, but I really wouldn't mind it going on for twice as long. The aptly named "Strange Euphoria" just paints a picture of what a world devoid of ego would sound like. I really can't tell you what happens on this three track journey, but it's something quite special.
4 I Love You -Brigade (1990)
There are so many wonderful Heart songs that I know I'm doing a disservice to by not including them ("Crazy On You", "Heartless", and "Tall, Dark, Handsome Stranger" to name a few), and I very nearly overlooked this one. But then I remembered what it was about. Unlike "Magic Man" or "If Looks Could Kill" where there's a clear 'victim' in the narrative, "I Love You" is about a couple who truly love each other but have also had a fight so huge that they may have irreparably damaged the relationship. This is Ann Wilson of the early nineties, singing from the voice of adult maturity. And while she's not having the adolescent meltdown of "Without You" you can sense the subtext may be coming from the most broken place in any of the songs. The fact that the question of reconciliation remains unanswered makes this song all the more grueling.
5 I've Got the Music in Me (live) -Magazine (1977)
It's kind of a pity that I have to end things on one of the songs the sisters didn't write, but there really is no other song that captures the essence of 'this is what Heart is'. It's another fantastic live song, and when you place it after several of the more painful numbers, it feels like a rebirth. As I said at the beginning, Ann and Nancy's collective claim of having the music in them is more than just a pretty chorus. It's an anthem. Rock and roll is this whole ambiguous world. Thank God for our heroes, or in this case heroines, who can enter that wild realm and bring some of that magic back out for the rest of us.
See you on September 20th!
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