BOOKS:

John Grisham, A Time To Kill: It’s a miracle I don’t just flat-out hate this book, because it’s pretty easy to name a lot of things wrong with it. It’s the only Grisham book I’ve read, and I’m not sure if I’m going to read his others (despite his books not being made into major movies anymore, he’s got thirty-seven others, just about one a year, so he must still be selling ‘em). The young Grisham wasn’t actually a bad “writer”–he’s generally pretty engaging, his characters, most of them anyway don’t seem to be poorly sketched, and he actually does really well in suspense/violent/action scenes, if you ask me. So it’s generally a readable book and I can’t hate it. But a moral statement? It’s a liberal fantasy at best; the ending, with the black father who kills the two rednecks for raping his daughter going free, is one rung down the ladder from “deux ex machina”; a couple plot threads are just sort of wished away (what happens to the villains?); and then there’s, as Joe said, laughable stuff like the deputy who ends up paralyzed for life forgiving the black father, etc., when you know that wouldn’t hapen in real life Hell, the whole defense for him seems to just boil down to “geez, what would YOU have done if it were YOUR daughter?” repeated over and over again. I’m going to watch the movie but I don’t think it’ll hold up better. If anyone would like to name a better John Grisham book, speak now or forever hold your peace; like I said, he’s not a bad writer.

MOVIES:

Anora: I’m going to hold on to the Criterion copy of this I purchased cold and watch it again next year, but for now I’m not really a fan. The first act is the Cinderella act, with the titular pole dancer meeting a rich Russian twerp and going through a whirlwind romance, the second act is the big comedy act where she endlessly fights with the Russian twerp’s angry family, a bunch of goons who come to his house and bound and gag her and try to annul the marriage, while the twerp runs away. The final act is the pole dancer realizing that the Russian kid she loves is actually just a cowardly man-child unworthy of being loved by Our Heroine. She breaks down and cries after a failed attempt to love one of the goons that came to bound and gag her. End of movie. The midsection goes on too long after I’d stopped laughing and the ending was just obvious and I didn’t feel like the movie was making any particularly stunning points, nor served as a “report” on what life is like for poor pole dancers in 2024, or anything like that. Critics seem to think the movie is really deep because Anora isn’t actually a stupid person, but takes forever to realize that the Russian kid is a twerp, when the audience figures it out right away. I’ll give Mikey Madison her props–she deserved her young-breakthru-actress-Oscar a lot more than Jennifer Lawrence did!–and it’s cool that a Scream killer has an Oscar, but aside from that, the critical acclaim this movie received has mostly mystified me, and I don’t really feel like watching Sean Baker’s other movies unless someone here wants to tell me they’re better.

The Program: The 2015 movie directed by Stephen Frears and starring Ben Foster as Lance Armstrong, a performance for which Foster took actual PEDs just like Armstrong did. Watchable, but not very illuminating, and it’s not like Armstrong was ever a hero of mine. Foster just plays him as a conniving jerk who survived cancer, anyway. It seemed like there was a lot of anticipation for this movie before it came out but after it did, nobody cared. I guess the world was just burnt out on Armstrong? Foster at this point must be the king of strong, hard-working, balls-out Method-actor performances that end up in movies that next to nobody sees (as it so happens, I’ve got some others from him that I’d like to watch.)

Winchester ‘73: Okay, okay, this movie does have a somewhat interesting, left-field way of telling its story–it follows the titular gun through several misadventures as it changes hands from character to character. But it has been called a “Western noir,” and I’m not much seeing it (it didn’t help that it seemed rather confusing on my first viewing.) There’s also the problem with where the movie leads–to a lame twist where we find out that the villain Jimmy Stewart has been chasing the whole movie is actually his brother. Psshht, snort. Reading reviews and whatnot I found that a lot of people easily agreed with me that the work of Shelley Winters in this film is not one of it strengths, either. I guess the final shootout between the two of them is okay, at least, and the dialogue is kinda crackly like a good noir from this period (1950). My apologies in advance to Joe for not liking this more, although it’s not like I hated it or anything. I did watch it twice, I swear!

On The Rocks: I was all prepared to write this off right away as proof of my worst fears about Sofia Coppola: one, that she hasn’t made a good film in twenty years, and two, that she now has more bad films than good ones. But Bill Murray, even if everyone now knows what a dick he’s been over the years (and that he’s been in just as many turds as Chevy Chase), really comes in here and saves this one. It’s a lightweight comedy that starts off with Rashida Jones playing a typical gilded-cage Sofia Coppola heroine, she’s stressed out and thinks her husband is cheating on her, then her dad (Murray) shows up and helps her investigate the husband. It’s okay. Not a great film by any means, but certainly better than the other four piles of dreamy slop she’s made since 2006. Phew!

Down And Out In Beverly Hills (REWATCH): For some reason, I bought a $3 DVD of this used right away when I got my first DVD player in 2005. I really hadn’t had one before then. Just for a sort of anniversary, I rewatched it, although it was online as I’d long since sold the DVD, and because I’d watched the French classic its plot comes from, Renoir’s Boudu Saved From Drowning (1932). Well, it sure has a funny performance from that dog, I guess. It’s REALLY stuck in the 80s, with its fixations on rich people and their kids (androgynous coded-gay son, anorexic daughter, Bette Midler on drugs and gurus as Richard Dreyfuss’ wife) and it’s the kind of “edgy adult comedy” that would have found a home on HBO. I think I’d rather watch the Renoir film though.

ALBUMS:

Bark Psychosis, Independency: An odds-and-ends collection containing most of their A-and-B-sides released before the classic 1994 album Hex–y’know, the album for which the term “post-rock” was actually coined–this has a couple of pretty stunning tracks on it, so if you liked their two proper albums, you really should hear it, as it shows a genre in the process of forming. The eight songs are all from between 1989 and 1992, when all that there was to represent the genre were Slint and Talk Talk, two disparate poles at the end of a genre that had no name yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if a number of big-name post-rock bands were familiar with these songs, though–the biggest classic, “All Different Things,” from friggin’ 1990 (when Graham Sutton, the band’s leader, was allegedly only 17 years old!) is almost literally Mogwai seven years before Young Team, all eerie guitar plunks and a huge heavenly chorus based around monstrous percussion thwacks. It’s amazing, and if you want quieter, darker, dreamier stuff, check out “I Know,” “Nothing Feels,” “Blood Rush,” and “Tooled Up” right next to it. “Manman” is a pulsing driving number with electronic backing in the vein of The Cure’s “Disintegration,” and you know I’m just going ot eat THAT right up. Too bad an overall score for this compilation will have to be heavily diluted by the presence of the final track, the “epic” 21-minute “Scum,” surely the biggest stinker (possibly the only stinker, though there’s some other early stuff Graham Sutton doesn’t even want people to hear) in Bark Psychosis’ tiny catalogue, an entire side’s worth of pure empty arid pseudo-ambient boredom, maybe pointing the way towards “Fingerspit” (the only remotely weak cut on Hex) but really containing even fewer musical ideas than Pink Floyd’s “Atom Heart Mother,” the other 20-minute epic I loathed listening to this year. Seriously, imagine if the last three minutes of Yo La Tengo’s “Night Falls On Hoboken” were the entire fucking song and you’ve got an idea of how boring this thing is. It doesn’t even work as background music! Still, though, that other stuff…if you like post-rock at all, hear it at all costs. I probably should have tried it a decade ago!

Game Theory, The Big Shot Chronicles: Every dog has its day, I guess–after being uniformly disappointed with damn near everything else Game Theory ever did, I arrive at their one truly solid album at the last minute. It’s definitely the closest they got to Big Star, but moreso the sad Big Star from their ballads and third album. Indeed, there’s even a cover of “Jesus Christ” here that I kind of prefer to the original, but even better is the bonus cover of Todd Rundgren’s “Couldn’t I Just Tell You,” just a PERFECT choice for them. Oh and the originals…”Erica’s Word” and “Crash Into June” are more great power pop, “Like A Girl Jesus” and “Regenesiran” are the best of the sad stuff, in fact that last one contends with “Mammoth Gardens” for the best Game Theory song overall. I don’t like the bonus cover of the Peanuts theme (“Linus & Lucy”) but I do like “Too Closely,” “Where You Going Northern” and “The Only Lesson Learned” to pad out the album. I’m very glad to be done with this band, sort of like I’m always eager to be done with any band’s discography, but thank God they finally had a good one to hear first!

The Tubes, The Completion Backward Principle: This is both a 1981 power-pop influenced corporate AOR album and a slight parody of a 1981 corporate AOR album at the same time, but if you didn’t know ahead of time that the Tubes were a tongue-in-cheek band you might not pick up on the irony at all. It’s also a godsend–after being in love with its predecessor Remote Control for over 20 years, I was worried that they didn’t have any other strong albums. This one’s pretty damn good, though–if you’re embarrassed to admit that you like Boston or Journey or Foreigner or Toto or whoever, go here and listen to “Talk To Ya Later” (cowritten with Steve Lukather, natch!), “Amnesia,” “A Matter Of Pride” or the disco-influenced “Let’s Make Some Noise,” because those four are almost as good as the best of Remote Control. “Don’t Wait To Wait Anymore,” “Sushi Girl,” “Power Tools” are some more good songs–I guess they actually got some long overdue commercial success by this point, even a minor MTV clip for “Talk To Ya Later.” There are far more Amazon customer reviews for it too. Catchy stuff, good times! Have a blast.

Frank Zappa, Apostrophe (‘): This apparently sold far better than its predecessor Over-Nite Sensation despite stylistically being pretty much just Vol. 2 of that album–in fact, I think it’s supposed to have been Zappa’s best selling album ever. Initial listens made it seem like it was indeed a better album than Over-Nite Sensation but by the eighth go-around or so I realized I only liked about four songs from it–“Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow,” “Nanook Rubs It,” “Father O’Blivion” and (I guess) “Uncle Remus.” I didn’t get “Stink Foot” at all, or “Cosmik Debris” or the title track…the jammier stuff just seems like the usual Zappa wanking around. Hell, the album just seems like…y’know, another Frank Zappa album. For a guy who did whatever he wanted, Frank sure hit the same notes an awful lot of the time (dirty jokes! silly voices! jazz!), which I think might be what scares people off from doing his whole discography just as much as the sheer size? Am I alone in this? Help?

Bob Dylan, Dylan: This “pile of rejects” from Self-Portrait (!!) and New Morning that the record company released to get revenge on poor old Bob is usually written off as the worst thing he ever released, and that’s only when people bother to review it at all, which is rarely. It’s nowhere near as bad as you’ve been told and I couldn’t muster up any hate for it, but be advised I felt the same way about other barely-an-album reject-piles such as Led Zeppelin’s Coda and the Kinks’ Great Lost Kinks Album. I liked “The Ballad Of Ira Hayes” at least, even though the melody is annoyingly similar to “The Man In Me,” and “Sara Jane,” “Lily Of The West” and “Can’t Help Falling In Love” aren’t bad either. I wouldn’t be able to tell you why these are good Dylan songs, though, which I guess proves what a passer-by I am just hitching a ride through Dylan country, and God knows if I’ll revisit these songs much. But I’d really have no idea what about this album would inspire hate, which just drills the point home further.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Live At Monterey: I can only count it as so much of a plus in this album’s favor that the people who saw Jimi Hendrix perform this in May 1967 must have had their brains blown out of their fucking skulls. I guess maybe only people who had seen the Who or Cream at this point had seen anything similar. And he burnt the guitar, maaaaan. But…all I’m probably ever going to listen to from this ever again is “Killing Floor” and maybe “Rock Me Baby,” because those aren’t on the studio albums. The stuff that IS from Are You Experienced? is…, uh, exactly like the studio versions. Like damn near note for note. I mean, that’s sort of impressive, isn’t it? That his live work could replicate his studio work, because the studio work wasn’t full of overdubs and special effects and crud? Gee, if only the Beatles could have done that! But I digress–it means there’s little real reason for me to listen to them. As for his covers of “Like A Rolling Stone” and “Wild Thing,” you can have ‘em–I don’t want ‘em. So historically, this is very important, but as a listening experience…sorry people, my live-album curse strikes again.

Pere Ubu, 20 Years In A Montana Missile Silo: I listened to this 2017 album out of chronological order with their others in part because it was short (13 tracks, 33 minutes!) and because I mistakenly thought it was their last album, but commercial super-obscurity be damned, David Thomas and company managed to crap out two more albums after this. Sheesh! While it has no classic tunes and doesn’t really expand on their old sound much, it’s still better than turds like The Art Of Walking or even The Tenement Year…maybe the Ubu sound is such that it’s better for them to be doing this kind of music when they’re 65 than 35, huh? At any rate, look up “Plan From Frag 9,” “Monkey Bizness,” “Cold Sweat” or “The Healer” if you want to hear the best tracks from this album…you, and the 14 other people on planet Earth who bothered to listen to it closely, let alone purchase it. I mean, it isn’t terrible, and there’s worse ways to spend your time!

Donald Fagen, Kamakiriad (RELISTEN/PURCHASE): Solo you say? Was this just a substitute Steely Dan album? It’s got Fagen’s name on it, but Walter Becker produced it, cowrote one song and played a bunch of the bass parts, so for all intents and purposes…but I’m not really continuing the mild debate I had with Joe below about Clapton, the real reason this is a Dan substitute is that almost every song on it has an ancestor in Aja. The sun-drenched echoing piano chords of “Home At Last” are used in “On The Dunes.” “Florida Room” bounces along just like “Peg.” The album’s best moment, the descending chorus of “Tomorrow’s Girls,” brings to mind “they call Alabama the crimson tide” from “Deacon Blues.” Hell, TWO songs (“Trans-Island Skyway” and one other one) sound like “Black Cow.” Oh well–it’s still a really good album, maybe a point down from when I heard it a decade ago, but good enough to buy the CD, certainly better than Gaucho or The Royal Scam. The midsection of “Snowbound,” “Tomorrow’s Girls” and “Florida Room” is the best part. It’s a concept album about a futuristic car that grows vegetables and plays smooth jazz, but there’s damn near zero reason to care about that. Whether or not it’s better than The Nightfly I can’t be sure but that was a good album, too. If you like Dan, don’t skip it.