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(08/08/03 5:28pm)
With El-P Presents Sunrise Over Bklyn, Def Jux entrepreneur, El-P, sits in his producer's chair and lends his name to a 12" by The Blue Series Continuum. The group is made up of NYC avant-garde jazz musicians Matthew Shipp, William Parker, Daniel Carter, Roy Campbell, Steve Swell and Guillermo E. Brown. The core of this group already stepped into the hip-hop alliance success with the Antipop Consortium earlier this year, as well as spending time with Chicago South Side legends Fred Anderson and Hamid Drake. \n"Sunrise Over Bklyn" is a composition by El-P, and exemplifies this guy's musical pedigree. Far from the synth-beats of the brilliant single "Stepfather Factory" from last year's Fantastic Damage, "Sunrise" is a jazz composition with live drumming and no rhyming. Instead, it is a mood piece trying to pick up on the early morning ambience of the warehouse side of town. The kind of ambience that is only evident to those unwilling or unable to fall asleep before it appears.\nThe single's over in a nod and wink though, the mood escaping too soon, leaving a fractured experience rather than a fully realized concept. Still, El-P is evidently more prolific than we have all realized yet.
(08/07/03 2:05pm)
Former frontman of American Music Club, Mark Eitzel, has always had success that hinged on the power of his voice. He led AMC into territories where reverb met crooning and a very sarcastic dry wit. Since the band broke up in 1994 (though, plans and songs are being sorted out for a reunion as we speak), Eitzel's solo career has been calming down from the emotional wallop his old band's records used to provide.\nThe Ugly American is a kind of greatest hits collection, encapsulating the span of Eitzel's songwriting career, but with a twist. The songs were re-recorded in Greece with a group of traditional Greek musicians. The Greeks add some extremely pleasing string work over Eitzel's songs, and surprisingly, pull out the ancient American immigrant melodies in his compositions. Think of "The Last of the Mohicans" soundtrack accompanied by a lounge singer and a banjo. The problem is, this lounge singer is drunk, or too careful to really get outside of himself in the way he used to. \nEitzel truly was one of the great American songwriters, and despite the inspired idea that The Ugly American is, it's a little perturbing that he would choose to rest on his creative assets.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
With El-P Presents Sunrise Over Bklyn, Def Jux entrepreneur, El-P, sits in his producer's chair and lends his name to a 12" by The Blue Series Continuum. The group is made up of NYC avant-garde jazz musicians Matthew Shipp, William Parker, Daniel Carter, Roy Campbell, Steve Swell and Guillermo E. Brown. The core of this group already stepped into the hip-hop alliance success with the Antipop Consortium earlier this year, as well as spending time with Chicago South Side legends Fred Anderson and Hamid Drake. \n"Sunrise Over Bklyn" is a composition by El-P, and exemplifies this guy's musical pedigree. Far from the synth-beats of the brilliant single "Stepfather Factory" from last year's Fantastic Damage, "Sunrise" is a jazz composition with live drumming and no rhyming. Instead, it is a mood piece trying to pick up on the early morning ambience of the warehouse side of town. The kind of ambience that is only evident to those unwilling or unable to fall asleep before it appears.\nThe single's over in a nod and wink though, the mood escaping too soon, leaving a fractured experience rather than a fully realized concept. Still, El-P is evidently more prolific than we have all realized yet.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
Former frontman of American Music Club, Mark Eitzel, has always had success that hinged on the power of his voice. He led AMC into territories where reverb met crooning and a very sarcastic dry wit. Since the band broke up in 1994 (though, plans and songs are being sorted out for a reunion as we speak), Eitzel's solo career has been calming down from the emotional wallop his old band's records used to provide.\nThe Ugly American is a kind of greatest hits collection, encapsulating the span of Eitzel's songwriting career, but with a twist. The songs were re-recorded in Greece with a group of traditional Greek musicians. The Greeks add some extremely pleasing string work over Eitzel's songs, and surprisingly, pull out the ancient American immigrant melodies in his compositions. Think of "The Last of the Mohicans" soundtrack accompanied by a lounge singer and a banjo. The problem is, this lounge singer is drunk, or too careful to really get outside of himself in the way he used to. \nEitzel truly was one of the great American songwriters, and despite the inspired idea that The Ugly American is, it's a little perturbing that he would choose to rest on his creative assets.
(07/31/03 4:00am)
Let's get it out of the way that "Spy Kids 3-D" is a terrible movie. Writer, director and 3-D artiste Richard Rodriguez phoned the third film of the series in, creating a movie that is visually nauseating and completely lacking in anything even a child would consider a plot. There is no humor to speak of, unless you consider Sylvester Stallone as a roid-raging hippie funny. \nThe storyline was literally indecipherable. Stallone stars as the Toymaker, some sort of evil genius trapped by the U.S. government in cyberspace. He creates a virtual reality video game that will take over the minds of all children who play it. \n Juni Cortez (Daryl Sabara) returns as a scorned, battle tested pro spy, sent into the video game to shut it down and rescue his fellow agent and sister, Carmen (Alexa Vega), who was unsuccessful at a previous attempt to close down the game. \nJuni, his Grandpa (Ricardo Montalban, in a returning role) and a ragtag bunch of gaming geeks (including the annoying Ryan Pinkston from MTV's "Punk'd") work their way through the 3-D game world in order to save the planet. Plot holes and cameos abound on their journey, and the 3-D graphics (which had my attention before I entered) turned out to be ho-hum at first and then stomach-wrenching as your eyes lose all their normal focal points.\nWhat Rodriguez did is turn his kid's movie franchise into unsubtle, political subversion. Stallone should be seen as George W. Bush, even going so far as to say "bring it on" near the beginning of the film. In the end, when the Toymaker has taken over the White House, hell-bent on revenge, he is lectured by Montalban (yes, the guy from "Fantasy Island") on the reasons that revenge is not the answer. \nI've been told the first and second installments of the "Spy Kids" series are worthwhile kiddie affairs, and surely (as the $32.5 million opening weekend would predict) there are some children who will enjoy this project. But "Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over" is getting by on product name alone, and even liberal commentary and a blazed audience can't save it now.
(07/31/03 4:00am)
Masked and Anonymous is the soundtrack to a film directed by former sitcom writer Larry Charles. Bob Dylan stars in the film as (what else) a former guiding light, singer-songwriter in a Civil War-torn, ambiguously diverse, future America. Without the benefit of viewing the film (which sounds like quite a spectacle as Dylan co-stars with the likes of John Goodman, Luke Wilson, Jeff Bridges and Penélope Cruz) it's hard to make claims for an associated success. What exists instead, is a collection of Dylan covers by world artists, gospel artists, the Grateful Dead and Dylan himself.\nFor these reasons, Masked and Anonymous (the album) will go down as a Dylan rarity in the annals, along with Self-Portrait and his appearance on "Dharma and Greg." The world covers are hard to listen to, as they confirm the worst suspicions of the world beat. The modern, Euro-trash sound infects everything from the Japanese cover of "My Back Pages" to the Italian rap of "Like a Rolling Stone." Even Los Lobos break out some cheesy conjunto accordion and The Grateful Dead sound, even for them, excessively boring.\nBut alas, there is a saving grace -- Dylan himself has four songs on the album, new versions of old songs. He breaks out his lively touring band once again to perform torching renditions of traditional songs "Dixie" and "Diamond Joe," and then they absolutely light a fire under "Down in the Flood" and "Cold Irons Bound." \nThe soundtrack and the movie are meant to explore Dylan's global reach. All it really proves is that nobody can do it any better.
(07/30/03 11:53pm)
Masked and Anonymous is the soundtrack to a film directed by former sitcom writer Larry Charles. Bob Dylan stars in the film as (what else) a former guiding light, singer-songwriter in a Civil War-torn, ambiguously diverse, future America. Without the benefit of viewing the film (which sounds like quite a spectacle as Dylan co-stars with the likes of John Goodman, Luke Wilson, Jeff Bridges and Penélope Cruz) it's hard to make claims for an associated success. What exists instead, is a collection of Dylan covers by world artists, gospel artists, the Grateful Dead and Dylan himself.\nFor these reasons, Masked and Anonymous (the album) will go down as a Dylan rarity in the annals, along with Self-Portrait and his appearance on "Dharma and Greg." The world covers are hard to listen to, as they confirm the worst suspicions of the world beat. The modern, Euro-trash sound infects everything from the Japanese cover of "My Back Pages" to the Italian rap of "Like a Rolling Stone." Even Los Lobos break out some cheesy conjunto accordion and The Grateful Dead sound, even for them, excessively boring.\nBut alas, there is a saving grace -- Dylan himself has four songs on the album, new versions of old songs. He breaks out his lively touring band once again to perform torching renditions of traditional songs "Dixie" and "Diamond Joe," and then they absolutely light a fire under "Down in the Flood" and "Cold Irons Bound." \nThe soundtrack and the movie are meant to explore Dylan's global reach. All it really proves is that nobody can do it any better.
(07/30/03 11:50pm)
Let's get it out of the way that "Spy Kids 3-D" is a terrible movie. Writer, director and 3-D artiste Richard Rodriguez phoned the third film of the series in, creating a movie that is visually nauseating and completely lacking in anything even a child would consider a plot. There is no humor to speak of, unless you consider Sylvester Stallone as a roid-raging hippie funny. \nThe storyline was literally indecipherable. Stallone stars as the Toymaker, some sort of evil genius trapped by the U.S. government in cyberspace. He creates a virtual reality video game that will take over the minds of all children who play it. \n Juni Cortez (Daryl Sabara) returns as a scorned, battle tested pro spy, sent into the video game to shut it down and rescue his fellow agent and sister, Carmen (Alexa Vega), who was unsuccessful at a previous attempt to close down the game. \nJuni, his Grandpa (Ricardo Montalban, in a returning role) and a ragtag bunch of gaming geeks (including the annoying Ryan Pinkston from MTV's "Punk'd") work their way through the 3-D game world in order to save the planet. Plot holes and cameos abound on their journey, and the 3-D graphics (which had my attention before I entered) turned out to be ho-hum at first and then stomach-wrenching as your eyes lose all their normal focal points.\nWhat Rodriguez did is turn his kid's movie franchise into unsubtle, political subversion. Stallone should be seen as George W. Bush, even going so far as to say "bring it on" near the beginning of the film. In the end, when the Toymaker has taken over the White House, hell-bent on revenge, he is lectured by Montalban (yes, the guy from "Fantasy Island") on the reasons that revenge is not the answer. \nI've been told the first and second installments of the "Spy Kids" series are worthwhile kiddie affairs, and surely (as the $32.5 million opening weekend would predict) there are some children who will enjoy this project. But "Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over" is getting by on product name alone, and even liberal commentary and a blazed audience can't save it now.
(07/24/03 2:31pm)
I'm sure that I have healthy sexual attitudes, but Mya's album managed to make me blush even when I was by myself. Of course, this is the standard coming out party for our nation's overprotected young divas. On her third album, Mya intermittently explains that she really is not that innocent and describes (in great detail) how and with whom she's having sex. Supposedly, this is female empowerment, but what is it when a woman sings, "feels soft, wet and creamy / tastes sweeter than honey … let's make a child" over slow, wooden beats while posing in her underwear and next to a stripper pole in the liner notes? \nMya possesses a totally unremarkable voice that exerts itself in breathy whirls of melismas and careful pronunciations. And Moodring is a pathetic album from the start of its lead track and single "My Love is Like … Wo" to the last note of "Free Fallin'" (yes, a cover of the Tom Petty song). \nMya wrote the lyrics on Moodring, following in the tradition of a few pop marionettes that come to mind who mostly, curiously enough, have been serendipitously exposed for the idiots we all expected them to be. My favorite profundity -- "You complete me / like air and water I need thee / and when I'm in your arms I \nfeel free." \nSeriously though, pop stars need to learn that they sink or swim on the strength of their singles and not their artistry. Mya is no mountebank, her charisma is non-existent and though her ass may be like wo, I still find it hard to respect myself after this experience.
(07/24/03 2:30pm)
Macy Gray has been by far the most interesting female voice in the neo-soul movement. She is able to surpass contemporaries Jill Scott, Lauryn Hill, the loathsome Alicia Keys or Erykah Badu with sheer freakiness. Gray is an awkward woman who Jim DeRogatis once described as Betty Boop after too many bong rips. Her main asset is that her voice, a kind of smoky scratch, is quite an original instrument and is put to good work with a gift for diction and alliteration similar to Bob Dylan.\nGray came to us via the superb single "I Try" from her debut album On How Life Is. The album was full of FM fodder, but Gray's irregularities couldn't be contained and the follow-up, 2001's The Id, was hypersexual, drugged out and much less of a family affair. Devoid of the ballads that bring her type success, The Id was a bit of a disappointment commercially and critically (at least to the Entertainment Weekly types who got worked up about "I Try").\nThe Trouble With Being Myself mines similar territory to The Id, combining Gray's brazen personality with her love of '70s R&B, but exists in more humane realities. Gray manipulates Stax-like brass sections and organ, Jackson 5 guitar riffs and string sections (arranged by Beck's dad, David Campbell) in making a particularly old school record, spiced in an overly tasteful fashion with modern hip-hop production. \nDespite some coasting moments, The Trouble With Being Myself manages to hit the highs of her previous albums with its singles. Two of the sweeping ballads, "She Ain't Right For You" and "She Don't Write Songs About You," hit their intended emotional strings and the sing-a-long choruses of the uptempo, feel-good "Screamin'" and "When I See You" follow the schemes of VH1 and adult-contemporary chart success.\nPerhaps relying completely on her own songwriting is a bit of a mistake for Gray, as she fails to capture the self-evident feeling in her voice. Confessional songs like "My Fondest Childhood Memories," in which she describes catching her mother making love to the plumber and her father with the babysitter, and "Happiness," where she sings about her taste for drugs, are musically played as jokes and confine any affective meaning. \nIt's not that The Trouble With Being Myself is wrought with formalities of R&B, because it is manifest that Gray is a complicated character. The album is full of caution, though, and Gray should be unleashed on a delicate synthesis of the right material and a good amount of creative freedom.
(07/24/03 2:12pm)
Here in the bipolar ward if you shower you get a gold star, \nbut I'm not going far till the Haldol kicks in-until then, \nuntil then-I'm strapped to this fucking twin bed and I won't get any cookies or tea till I stop quoting Nietzsche \nand brush my teeth and comb my hair. Days pass slow in slippers and robe, but my ghost still bangs on the roof like John the Baptist in the rain \nwhile the nurses play Crazy Eights.
(07/24/03 4:00am)
Here in the bipolar ward if you shower you get a gold star, \nbut I'm not going far till the Haldol kicks in-until then, \nuntil then-I'm strapped to this fucking twin bed and I won't get any cookies or tea till I stop quoting Nietzsche \nand brush my teeth and comb my hair. Days pass slow in slippers and robe, but my ghost still bangs on the roof like John the Baptist in the rain \nwhile the nurses play Crazy Eights.
(07/24/03 4:00am)
Macy Gray has been by far the most interesting female voice in the neo-soul movement. She is able to surpass contemporaries Jill Scott, Lauryn Hill, the loathsome Alicia Keys or Erykah Badu with sheer freakiness. Gray is an awkward woman who Jim DeRogatis once described as Betty Boop after too many bong rips. Her main asset is that her voice, a kind of smoky scratch, is quite an original instrument and is put to good work with a gift for diction and alliteration similar to Bob Dylan.\nGray came to us via the superb single "I Try" from her debut album On How Life Is. The album was full of FM fodder, but Gray's irregularities couldn't be contained and the follow-up, 2001's The Id, was hypersexual, drugged out and much less of a family affair. Devoid of the ballads that bring her type success, The Id was a bit of a disappointment commercially and critically (at least to the Entertainment Weekly types who got worked up about "I Try").\nThe Trouble With Being Myself mines similar territory to The Id, combining Gray's brazen personality with her love of '70s R&B, but exists in more humane realities. Gray manipulates Stax-like brass sections and organ, Jackson 5 guitar riffs and string sections (arranged by Beck's dad, David Campbell) in making a particularly old school record, spiced in an overly tasteful fashion with modern hip-hop production. \nDespite some coasting moments, The Trouble With Being Myself manages to hit the highs of her previous albums with its singles. Two of the sweeping ballads, "She Ain't Right For You" and "She Don't Write Songs About You," hit their intended emotional strings and the sing-a-long choruses of the uptempo, feel-good "Screamin'" and "When I See You" follow the schemes of VH1 and adult-contemporary chart success.\nPerhaps relying completely on her own songwriting is a bit of a mistake for Gray, as she fails to capture the self-evident feeling in her voice. Confessional songs like "My Fondest Childhood Memories," in which she describes catching her mother making love to the plumber and her father with the babysitter, and "Happiness," where she sings about her taste for drugs, are musically played as jokes and confine any affective meaning. \nIt's not that The Trouble With Being Myself is wrought with formalities of R&B, because it is manifest that Gray is a complicated character. The album is full of caution, though, and Gray should be unleashed on a delicate synthesis of the right material and a good amount of creative freedom.
(07/24/03 4:00am)
I'm sure that I have healthy sexual attitudes, but Mya's album managed to make me blush even when I was by myself. Of course, this is the standard coming out party for our nation's overprotected young divas. On her third album, Mya intermittently explains that she really is not that innocent and describes (in great detail) how and with whom she's having sex. Supposedly, this is female empowerment, but what is it when a woman sings, "feels soft, wet and creamy / tastes sweeter than honey … let's make a child" over slow, wooden beats while posing in her underwear and next to a stripper pole in the liner notes? \nMya possesses a totally unremarkable voice that exerts itself in breathy whirls of melismas and careful pronunciations. And Moodring is a pathetic album from the start of its lead track and single "My Love is Like … Wo" to the last note of "Free Fallin'" (yes, a cover of the Tom Petty song). \nMya wrote the lyrics on Moodring, following in the tradition of a few pop marionettes that come to mind who mostly, curiously enough, have been serendipitously exposed for the idiots we all expected them to be. My favorite profundity -- "You complete me / like air and water I need thee / and when I'm in your arms I \nfeel free." \nSeriously though, pop stars need to learn that they sink or swim on the strength of their singles and not their artistry. Mya is no mountebank, her charisma is non-existent and though her ass may be like wo, I still find it hard to respect myself after this experience.
(07/17/03 4:00pm)
With a haze that recalls Yo La Tengo, hooks that resemble Pavement, song structures and vocals that evoke Elliott Smith and a producer who is duck-call player Jason Lytle from Grandaddy, Earlimart has the attention of the indie crowd which isn't obsessed with originality. And since the album title makes a statement for solidarity, Earlimart sounds like the house band for its forefathers. \nEveryone Down Here is an extremely consistent, concise and decent record from a band that is both dutifully reverent and partially restrained. That the drum sound and doo-hickey effects are stolen from Sumday can be blamed on Lytle, who obviously worked on the albums at the same time. The guitars are noisy at times, but as everyone knows by now, these kinds of bands weren't made to be played at whelming volumes. \nYour problem might be that Everyone Down Here is no better or worse than 15 others you might of heard of or three bands you could see at Vertigo. My problem is trying to come up with enthusiasm for a record I've been enjoying.
(07/17/03 3:58pm)
Following a disappointing Xiu Xiu show, my friends and I sauntered from the bar at Schuba's in Chicago to the stage to begrudgingly watch the following act. We met Devendra Banhart with good-natured shock. The shaggy, playful guy, who was a dead ringer for Cat Stevens, who played a Nick Drake-style of nylon sting picking and had tremendous control over his tenor with a powerful vibrato.\nThe Black Babies is a lo-fi mini-album that hardly does justice to Banhart's stage presence. The tape hiss and double tracking relegates his vocals to sounding shaky and makes his classical guitar sound like a steel string model. \nWhat doesn't get lost is Banhart's wit and beautiful guitar patterns, and eventually the poor recording becomes a rescuing factor for his music. Where he sounded vaudevillian on stage, on record he sounds like a demented backwoods character who drinks moonshine and writes perverted songs about the world inside his head. \nDrake's Tanworth-in-Arden home recordings is the particular homage, but Drake's mysticism was of a more human variety. Banhart (who sings on "Cosmos and Demos," "I've never told this story to another living soul/for fear it might awaken and the story would unfold") works out of a place that combines Dock Boggs with the Chronicles of Narnia.
(07/17/03 3:56pm)
Seriously, so much for the city. These guys sound so sick of the California stock that they feel the need to sonically reference old school retreatists the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. It's kind of perplexing to find out that The Thrills are actually from Dublin.\nActually, the hometown fits because the musicians don't seem quite too sure what they're so upset about. When Conor Deasy sings "those Hollywood stars gotta pay" on "Hollywood Kids," he's not so convincing. Sure, the music is a pretty encapsulation of late '60s country-rock, but when every hip town in the state is namechecked it takes on a by-the-numbers feel. Beachwood Sparks tends to do exactly (seriously, exactly) what The Thrills do with considerable more playfulness and invention.\nWhen the organ swells just in time for a harmonica solo all while being backed by an oppressive string section, it gets just a little tiresome. The Thrills find fascinating hooks that are as good as the bands they are obviously influenced by, the problem is that there is usually one per song and it gets repeated. On the album's single, "Santa Cruz (You're Not That Far)," I counted the tag line 15 times, which gives it a shelf life of about two days.
(07/17/03 3:35pm)
"Spellbound" is a uniquely boring and uncritical look at the National Spelling Bee. Focusing on eight children and their quest for the championship, the movie pries ever so gently into the lives of these kids, barely unearthing their possibilities and disturbing elements. As one mother says, "someone told me this was another form of child abuse."\nThe National Spelling Bee has become an annual favorite on ESPN, whose viewers usually tune in to see the weirdo kids and their reactions as opposed to witnessing their superhuman spelling abilities. There's really no way around the fact that the competitors are dorks, outcasts and malcontents as a general rule of thumb. Director Jeffrey Blitz shies away from focusing on the more voyeuristic side of the tale and insists that this thing is really all about the spelling.\nBlitz introduces kids from a variety of backgrounds as they prepare and then compete in the nationals in Washington D.C. Harry Altman has "Rain Man"-like ticks, a mouth that won't quit and seems to pull his aptitude out of a world most are unfamiliar with. Angela Arenivar comes from a fascinating background. A child of Mexican immigrants who can't speak English, she is a self-taught speller whose cow-herding father cries because he sees his daughter's success as the fulfillment of his hard work. Ted Brigham is the dark and sullen son of Missouri isolationists whose interests include guns and explosives. April DeGideo often studies eight hours a day on her own and worries her parents because she doesn't want to go to the mall. Neil Kadakia looks perpetually sad as he goes over thousands of words with his parents before he practices five times a week with his spelling coach. Nupur Lala comes from Tampa where her teacher says she never met an Indian who wasn't really smart. Emily Stagg is a privileged New Havener who is surprised that her parents aren't going to bring her aupair to the contest. And Ashley White is an African-American from a D.C. housing project.\nBlitz remains bighearted about his subject; any jokes come from the kids themselves. He tries to portray the National Spelling Bee as a way for kids of superior intellect to be normal for a while. This is obviously wrong though, the kids are driven to hysterical extents, and their parents are more often than not pushy. After witnessing many a kid cry at little league games for fear of their parent's wrath, I know the power that a warped perspective can have. I'm scared for these kids and wish that everyone would just calm down.
(07/17/03 4:00am)
"Spellbound" is a uniquely boring and uncritical look at the National Spelling Bee. Focusing on eight children and their quest for the championship, the movie pries ever so gently into the lives of these kids, barely unearthing their possibilities and disturbing elements. As one mother says, "someone told me this was another form of child abuse."\nThe National Spelling Bee has become an annual favorite on ESPN, whose viewers usually tune in to see the weirdo kids and their reactions as opposed to witnessing their superhuman spelling abilities. There's really no way around the fact that the competitors are dorks, outcasts and malcontents as a general rule of thumb. Director Jeffrey Blitz shies away from focusing on the more voyeuristic side of the tale and insists that this thing is really all about the spelling.\nBlitz introduces kids from a variety of backgrounds as they prepare and then compete in the nationals in Washington D.C. Harry Altman has "Rain Man"-like ticks, a mouth that won't quit and seems to pull his aptitude out of a world most are unfamiliar with. Angela Arenivar comes from a fascinating background. A child of Mexican immigrants who can't speak English, she is a self-taught speller whose cow-herding father cries because he sees his daughter's success as the fulfillment of his hard work. Ted Brigham is the dark and sullen son of Missouri isolationists whose interests include guns and explosives. April DeGideo often studies eight hours a day on her own and worries her parents because she doesn't want to go to the mall. Neil Kadakia looks perpetually sad as he goes over thousands of words with his parents before he practices five times a week with his spelling coach. Nupur Lala comes from Tampa where her teacher says she never met an Indian who wasn't really smart. Emily Stagg is a privileged New Havener who is surprised that her parents aren't going to bring her aupair to the contest. And Ashley White is an African-American from a D.C. housing project.\nBlitz remains bighearted about his subject; any jokes come from the kids themselves. He tries to portray the National Spelling Bee as a way for kids of superior intellect to be normal for a while. This is obviously wrong though, the kids are driven to hysterical extents, and their parents are more often than not pushy. After witnessing many a kid cry at little league games for fear of their parent's wrath, I know the power that a warped perspective can have. I'm scared for these kids and wish that everyone would just calm down.
(07/17/03 4:00am)
Seriously, so much for the city. These guys sound so sick of the California stock that they feel the need to sonically reference old school retreatists the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. It's kind of perplexing to find out that The Thrills are actually from Dublin.\nActually, the hometown fits because the musicians don't seem quite too sure what they're so upset about. When Conor Deasy sings "those Hollywood stars gotta pay" on "Hollywood Kids," he's not so convincing. Sure, the music is a pretty encapsulation of late '60s country-rock, but when every hip town in the state is namechecked it takes on a by-the-numbers feel. Beachwood Sparks tends to do exactly (seriously, exactly) what The Thrills do with considerable more playfulness and invention.\nWhen the organ swells just in time for a harmonica solo all while being backed by an oppressive string section, it gets just a little tiresome. The Thrills find fascinating hooks that are as good as the bands they are obviously influenced by, the problem is that there is usually one per song and it gets repeated. On the album's single, "Santa Cruz (You're Not That Far)," I counted the tag line 15 times, which gives it a shelf life of about two days.
