Zwan only somewhat graceful
He's baaaack. He still has that knifing guitar, that keen pop sense and that way with guitar repartee.
He's baaaack. He still has that knifing guitar, that keen pop sense and that way with guitar repartee.
James Clayton (Colin Farrell) is a young, MIT-graduate computer connoisseur with a night job bartending. Walter Burke (good ol' Pacino) is a recruiter for the CIA. When Clayton is approached by Burke and urged to join the agency, he is immersed into a life of training, deception and intrigue where "everything is a test" and "nothing is what it seems." Along the way he gets involved with fellow recruit Layla (Bridget Moynahan), and finds that getting her into bed is harder than the training. Insert plot twist here: conspiracy is asunder as Clayton is informed Layla is a mole and must tail her at all costs to find out who she's working for. We, the audience, sit back and watch who's manipulating who in the field and in the bedroom. Spies, sabotage and sex = fun.
Nowadays, the mainstream music industry just sucks, plain and simple. But, what is to be expected in a world where J. Lo and Christina Aguilera reign supreme? Just what we get, a whole lot of garbage. Thankfully, music moves in cycles, and thankfully it seems that we are deviating from the glory days of N'Sync and Britney Spears. Not to say that these artists aren't trying their hardest to stay on top. Everyone seems to be catching the bug of attempted authenticity, hiring producers like Linda Perry, Timbaland or the Neptunes to make them sound artistically inclined and musically innovative. The other day I heard a snippet of the solo project from that other guy in N'Sync, and guess what, it sounded exactly like Justin Timberlake. Not surprising, considering they both paid the same producers tons of money to make them sound good.
As mayor, I just built a school, bulldozed a residential area to put in a toxic waste dump and authorized the construction of a missile testing site right next to the University campus. Fortunately, I'm not mayor of Bloomington. In fact, I'm not really the mayor of any real-world cities, but I am playing Maxis' latest addition to its "Sim" series, "SimCity 4."
When their independent album "Strange Fire" debuted in 1987, it probably would have seemed overzealous to think in the future they would have recorded with Sheryl Crow and Joan Osborne and shared the stage with REM and the Grateful Dead.
In an interview done for personal reasons with Robert Christgau, the "dean" of American rock critics, I was told, "Michael, God doesn't say there's always going to be new bands. If you look back at the history of the arts, arts ebb and flow... maybe the fact you think they're a good group is a function of your age and your own limitations." So the Warlocks ebb? With a name stolen from the pre-economist Grateful Dead period and riffs just plain robbed from "Sister Ray"-era Velvet Underground, the Warlocks could fool a lot of people's mothers.
Arranging "Batman Beyond" action figures into fighting stances. Taking one's Transformers and converting them from their vehicular to their robotic warrior form. Carefully snapping together Legos to make a town filled with stores, homes and hard plastic yellow-faced citizens.
Many times the question has been asked, just what would Phish sound like if they were a good band? Well, one option might be the Midstates, the band formed from the wake of Novasonic Down Hyperspace. Choosing to sound psychedelic through the studio rather than counting on constant melodic reiteration has always been and will always be a good idea. The Calumet City, Ill. band's debut is a glorious ode to orchestrated pop in the vain of Grandaddy and the infamous Flaming Lips.
Most sequels involve taking one good idea and expanding it to cash in by riding its predecessor's coattails. With the exception of "Teen Wolf 2," never has there been a sequel that is so similar to its previous incarnation as "Final Destination 2."
What else can be said for a band who can't even land a opening on the Top 40 Charts, but instead settles for a No. 7 rating on High Times Magazine's POT 40 list? Hey, you take what you can get, right? Peach Melba is suited only for a bumpy back road trip from Bloomington to Memphis, otherwise, listeners are better off without. No Preservatives is a live album that showcases the bands various styles ranging from rockabilly to bluegrass.
Most sequels involve taking one good idea and expanding it to cash in by riding its predecessor's coattails. With the exception of "Teen Wolf 2," never has there been a sequel that is so similar to its previous incarnation as "Final Destination 2."
Nowadays, the mainstream music industry just sucks, plain and simple. But, what is to be expected in a world where J. Lo and Christina Aguilera reign supreme? Just what we get, a whole lot of garbage. Thankfully, music moves in cycles, and thankfully it seems that we are deviating from the glory days of N'Sync and Britney Spears. Not to say that these artists aren't trying their hardest to stay on top. Everyone seems to be catching the bug of attempted authenticity, hiring producers like Linda Perry, Timbaland or the Neptunes to make them sound artistically inclined and musically innovative. The other day I heard a snippet of the solo project from that other guy in N'Sync, and guess what, it sounded exactly like Justin Timberlake. Not surprising, considering they both paid the same producers tons of money to make them sound good.
Obviously, Super Bowl Sunday has become less and less about the game at hand, and more about the commercials debuting (long live Terry Tate, Office Linebacker!). For film geeks such as myself, summer movie trailers are the real draw of these proceedings. But much to the chagrin of my dorky brethren and I, most of these interstitials blew worse than an extra in one of R. Kelly's home videos.
As mayor, I just built a school, bulldozed a residential area to put in a toxic waste dump and authorized the construction of a missile testing site right next to the University campus. Fortunately, I'm not mayor of Bloomington. In fact, I'm not really the mayor of any real-world cities, but I am playing Maxis' latest addition to its "Sim" series, "SimCity 4."
"The Bourne Identity" hit theaters this past summer relatively void of hype, and what little buzz it garnered was mostly negative (i.e. lensing without a completed script and entirely re-shooting the film's climax). Despite the lack of fanfare, "Bourne" opened to mostly favorable reviews and solid business. Rightfully so, as it's the best spy flick of recent years.
Ben Kweller made one of the best albums of this past year with his solo debut, Sha Sha. Hence, I had no reservations in traveling to Indy's Emerson Theater on Sunday night to see the youthful pop rock prodigy. True to form, Kweller did not disappoint, nor did opening acts The Pieces and Brendan Benson and the Wellfed Boys, albeit to a lesser extent.
Adding to this year's streak of good ole romantic comedies, "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" sticks with the trad predictability of the genre. Although cheesy and farfetched, the movie is also quite funny and succeeds in entertaining.
At first look, "Biker Boyz" appears to be "Fast and Furious" with motorcycles, but Boyz is an exceedingly better film for a few reasons. First, Derek Luke and Laurence Fishburne can act. Also notable is Kid Rock who has a small part as one of the motorcycle club presidents. Secondly, the overall plot of the movie is more down to earth. "Boyz" is similar to "Fast and the Furious" in that it is about people who gather and race in the streets. But "Boyz" is about biker clubs whereas "Furious and the Furious" is just individuals and cars.
James Clayton (Colin Farrell) is a young, MIT-graduate computer connoisseur with a night job bartending. Walter Burke (good ol' Pacino) is a recruiter for the CIA. When Clayton is approached by Burke and urged to join the agency, he is immersed into a life of training, deception and intrigue where "everything is a test" and "nothing is what it seems." Along the way he gets involved with fellow recruit Layla (Bridget Moynahan), and finds that getting her into bed is harder than the training. Insert plot twist here: conspiracy is asunder as Clayton is informed Layla is a mole and must tail her at all costs to find out who she's working for. We, the audience, sit back and watch who's manipulating who in the field and in the bedroom. Spies, sabotage and sex = fun.
Since The Smiths broke up over a decade ago, it might seem obvious to say that Johnny Marr has disappeared from the pop-rock scene. But then, he was always taken for granted and hidden somewhere in the shadow of the other immeasurably influential bandmate Morrissey (well, if not hidden in his shadow, then definitely somewhere in his hair). Though he's an excellent sideman and easily as important to the bands he's worked with as a lyricist, Marr has never had to take on the frontman role.