BOOKS:

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World: Aside from the memorable opening with the tour of the artificial wombs and caste-engineering, I’d forgotten everything that actually happened in this book (including the hero’s suicide at the end–I remembered that he fails, but didn’t remember he actually dies). Not because it’s a bad book–I thought it was really good, and after re-reading it, I still do. But I wonder if Huxley is slowly being forgotten as a writer due to his somewhat dated egg-headedness–his books have always sort of read like a guy lecturing you, and it seems as though new readers will have a significantly easier time assimilating George Orwell. One thing of note is that the book is only 177 pages long, and Huxley absolutely blazes through his nova and extrapolations; I’m not sure if this is a plus or a minus. Plus, because this means Huxley gets to the point and doesn’t waste time with a lot of tedious world-building; minus, because his characters, aside from the hero, aren’t terribly well-drawn (just as I’d forgotten the plot, I’d certainly forgotten almost all the characters.) You be the judge–as far as the world Huxley actually creates goes, I bet a lot of people would happily blue-pill the whole thing if it were real.

MOVIES:

The Substance: I do not require movies, or any other art form, to be subtle in order to be good–Fight Club and American Psycho are obvious, and I still love those, and it’s possible as well for a film to aim for subtlety and end up being a bore. Nor am I necessarily going to dock art too harshly for caving in and blatantly quoting other films–there have been times when I’ve liked that, too, even when it’s obvious. But I can’t name a time when I’ve appreciated a work of art that shits where it eats, regardless of how obvious that turns out to be, and in this case it’s excruciating–feminist/anti-beauty message be damned, the director can only indulge in so many shots of Margaret Qualley’s leotard-coated ass-cheeks before I wonder if I really blame young male viewers for getting out their Vaseline. And if a movie shits where it eats, then I can’t really defend or excuse the first two problems, either–stuff like the Dennis Quaid prawn-eating scene just ends up being something I’d have rolled my eyes at when I was 13, and I lost count of how many other films are being ripped off by the climactic show scene–2001, The Elephant Man, Carrie, Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive…that’s just off the top of my head, there’s probably thirty more. If you multiplied American Beauty to the power of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri what you’d get would still be more subtle than The Substance, and I honestly don’t think I’m exaggerating.

Scream 7: Yeah, yeah, went to see this in theaters, hate me for it. It’s getting the worst reviews of the series, but I doubt Scream is done for–creatively it’s probably done for, since they had to go back to using Neve Campbell again after their two new lead actresses and their new director fired/quit over Palestine, and there’s nothing really new for Neve to do. Trouble is, spoiler warning, both she and Courteney Cox are still alive at the end of this, and it made money, so there’ll probably be a Scream 8 and I really genuinely don’t know what there is left. Matthew Lillard, my favorite character from the original, does show up, though the explanation for why he’s there is a little embarrassingly on the nose, even though I liked his few scenes. But the reveal of who the killers actually are is a series low, there are (as usual) way too many forgettable supporting characters, and someone needs to show Kevin Williamson how to light, this movie is way too poorly lit. I didn’t hate this as much as critics did, but I honestly wouldn’t mind if this were the last Scream. It won’t be, though…

It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley: I knew Jeff’s death in 1997 was an accident and not a suicide, nor something that had anything to do with drugs, but it’s pointed out that nobody swims where he swam and his free-spiritedness probably is somewhat to blame. It’s also interesting to note that Grace got some surprisingly weak reviews when it came out (not just the Christgau pan, probably the worst thing he ever wrote) and sold far better in the UK than the US, and that Jeff was having a bad time coming up with a follow-up. The documentary also covers his two-facedness about his father’s work–I knew he only met Tim Buckley once as a kid and was raised under a different name, but I didn’t know he said he’d never perform his father’s work, then did. This is your average, professional, not-too-quirky documentary–decent, but not really stylistically interesting or illuminating enough to be a “must-see.” Grace is a classic, though, for sure!

I’m Chevy Chase, And You’re Not: Well, the dumb-ass overrated Bill Murray fist-fight story isn’t recounted in this documentary for the umpteenth time, which is a plus. Neither is the early film Walk…Don’t Walk (1968), Chase’s psych band Chameleon Church, his failed 1980 album (which got a 2 out of 10 from Prindle!), or a number of other oddities from his career. The Terry Sweeney incident is certainly in the film though, and Chase’s reaction to that being brought up has to be seen to be believed–at first he doesn’t remember it, then claims that Terry Sweeney is dead (he isn’t), then says Sweeney is lying, even though Lorne Michaels says he was in the room when it happened. Chase remains an interesting figure though because it seems like he always has some safety net, even though his outbursts and embarrassments keep happening–he was beaten as a child, he has memory loss from his health problems, his family totally defends him and says he isn’t really like that, people like Jay Chandrasekhar say they’ll still work with him, he’s a legend, etc. etc. My guess is that he’s probably bipolar, or maybe just chaotic…and while he probably won’t be around much longer, as long has he’s still alive, there’s always the high probability that “it” will happen yet again.

ALBUMS:

Michael Jackson, Off The Wall: A likeable enough little disco album that is a total product of its time, mainstream 1979. There are no surprises here sonically, just straight-up Quincy Jones-produced disco-and-dance-pop that sounds exactly like you think it would, with the typical bass-blops and beats and strings and keyboards. Actually, there’s one surprise, and that’s the Stevie Wonder imitation “I Can’t Help It,” which amusingly sounds like Wacko Jacko tried to sound like Wonder by crossing, of all things, “You’ve Got It Bad Girl” with “Visions,” and a hint of the “Creepin’” synth waves–oh wait, Wonder actually wrote the song?!? Hilarious. Well, I like that one, and the title track was kind of a revelation too, I’ll probably be revisiting it outside the album. Oh, and we all like “Rock With You” and “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” right? Sure we do. “Get On The Floor,” too. But, gag, not “Girlfriend” or “She’s Out Of My Life,” which I’d never heard until now–no wonder Eddie Murphy took Jacko to task for that one. I think this album’s sterling reputation is due to people being sick of Thriller–its hits haven’t been flogged to death like Thriller’s, and I don’t see anyone accusing Off The Wall of being “hits plus filler” like they do Thriller. Actually, a note about Thriller: if you didn’t know that that was Jacko’s next album, you wouldn’t be able to guess, because NOTHING here “points the way” to 1982 and MTV, no sir. Hell, “I Can’t Help It” points the way backwards, to like 1973.

Rowland S. Howard, Teenage Snuff Film: I’m a huge Nick Cave fan and thought Howard’s guitar work with the Birthday Party was interesting enough, but it’s the album title that really made me want to hear this, heheheh. Problem is, the music is just second-rate Cave–or, to be more specific, second-rate spaghetti Western Cave, stuff like “Do You Love Me? (Part One)” and “The Singer,” with the twangy guitars and lazy skylarking feel–and, sure enough, all the other instruments barring drums were played by Cave’s lieutenant, Mick Harvey. Bigger problem is, Rowland Howard has about, oh, one-ninth of Nick Cave’s singing ability, sounding exactly like what would happen when a vocally untrained supporting player takes lead. So yeah, this is a pretty mediocre album…though I do like spaghetti-Cave, so it’s not entirely a loss. The best song is called “Shut Me Down,” and it’s actually an extra track; there’s also a Lou Reed cover “Ocean” which gradually turns into “Candy Says.” I could name others, but you don’t really need me to. Meaty Okre!!!

Cardiacs, A Little Man And A House And The Whole World Window: The list of rock-music songs I like that are inspired by circuses or carnivals is pretty short: Primus’ “Professor Nutbutter’s House Of Treats” and a few of those Tom Waits numbers, and that’s about it. And that’s what a lot this sounds like–inspired by clowns and circuses and kooky kiddie music, like Pee-Wee’s Proghouse or something. “Pronk” my ass, there’s little punk influence here, and I’ve read Tim Smith hated that term anyway? Never mind–the classic here is “Is This The Life?,” and God bless George for noticing right away that both the music and vocals sound like The Cure (“The Kiss,” to be precise, from 1987; this album is from 1988), because I thought so too. And it doesn’t sound like the rest of the album at all. Actually, I liked more of this album than I didn’t, which is a miracle because it’s not something I’d find immediately stylistically appealing (stupid album title didn’t help), but stuff like “The Whole World Window,” “Dive” and “In A City Lining” grew on me just enough to get this past the halfway mark. And God knows who even wanted to listen to something like this in 1988–something ten times more “alternative” than Pixies or Sonic Youth or MBV, if nobody wanted to listen to Beefheart or Gentle Giant again by 1980. They sure were trying hard.

The Pretty Things, Freeway Madness: If you’re a big fan of the proto-rock-opera masterpiece S. F. Sorrow that this band released in 1968, and you should be, then…uh, well, this 1972 album (I didn’t feel like listening to something with loads of bonus tracks) might as well be a completely different band, I don’t recognize Phil May’s vocals from that album at all, and stylistically they’ve long since left British Psychedelia behind in favor of…a pretty typical combination of long-haired 1970s goodtime rawk mixed with some of the usual post-hippie folkiness. That being said, if this was a sellout, it’s a pretty acceptable one, there’s a couple lost classics here, like the lovely, strummy, CSN(Y)-worthy “Rip Off Train,” the dumb but pleasant seven minute singalong “Love Is Good,” the Neil Young-dreamy “Country Road,” and a few others. Hey, sometimes turning faceless is good! Too bad little information is available about this album; it’s obviously been mostly forgotten. But hey, at least doing this band’s discography doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a chore at this point.

Simple Minds, Life In A Day: There’s a bleak eight-minute epic here called “Pleasantly Disturbed” which I count as the second-best song on the album (the first is the pleasant “Sad Affair.”) This is because it reminded me of Roxy Music–in particular, somehow, “In Every Dream Home A Heartache,” a song I love. Other than that, this album didn’t make me think of Roxy Music, just a slightly nondescript, slightly romantic post-punk album from a year (1979) in which damn near every major “new” band released something interesting. I’d mark this album on the whole as being pretty mid–Jim Kerr seems like kind of a twerpy vocalist at this point, for starters–barely sounds like the guy who sang that Breakfast Club song everyone knows–but the band seems relatively grown-up and well-motivated instrumentally. I don’t know if I like “Chelsea Girl,” often made out to be the best song, or at least that’s what the three or four reviews I could actually find tended to say (the band doesn’t seem very proud of this album, either, and virtually nobody seems to think it’s a classic.) Don’t ignore the rocking intro song, “Someone,” though, even if it has lame tinny keyboards! Or the title track!

Bob Dylan, Street Legal: I’m guessing this was the first Bob Dylan studio album where you could tell the critics were starting to give up on having anything to write about him, and so this album got unjustly panned. It’s no mind-blower, but “Baby Stop Crying,” “Changing Of The Guards” and “No Time To Think” really got to me, at least. And a couple songs on side two, maybe. I don’t know what to write about this album either, really–it’s got a nice keyboard sound and I read Peg Bundy from Married…With Children was a backup singer, and it’s not a bad album if you’re a Dylan agnostic like me and don’t expect the guy to be God every single time at bat.

Frank Zappa/Captain Beefheart, Bongo Fury: Well, I really liked “Carolina Hard-Core Ecstasy” and “Muffin Man.” That’s a plus. Aside from that, maybe “Advance Romance” can stay. Elsewhere, the usual middling, hard-to-remember Zappa mess, with Captain Beefheart (whom I’m not very much into) fading into the background, if you ask me, which you didn’t.