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February 29, 2008

LOST: Following the Money Trail

Wow, last night's episode of LOST was chock-full of action. There was a love story, time traveling, an art auction, even military exercises in the rain. It was almost as if the creators didn't feel they had enough time to pack everything into one episode.

Time, of course, is the key to the island and why our plucky survivors are still there instead of in balmy Los Angeles. The time difference—now established beyond a shadow of a doubt, though exactly how long it is is still to be determined—is why people are so keen to study the island, and also why it's so darn hard to get off it. But there's still the question of who knows about this time difference and what they are doing, or trying to do, to exploit it. To answer that question, let's use an old journalism maxim: follow the money.

The money trail, at least in last night's episode, leads upward to über-wealthy industrialist Charles Widmore. The evidence: Widmore Corp. is involved with the Hanso Foundation-financed DHARMA initiative, whose 1970s program left the island sprinkled with creepy research stations. Plus, Widmore's corporation sponsored the "round-the-world" boat race Desmond entered, leading him to wreck on the island. Widmore also bought the diary of the captain of the Black Rock, a ship that wrecked on the island centuries ago, for $800,000 at auction.

If I had $800,000, I'd put it on Charles Widmore being behind the freighter that sent "rescuers" to the island. After all, the crew was instructed not to talk to Widmore's daughter, who was looking for ne'er-do-well Desmond. And who has money to send a ship to the middle of nowhere for months at a time? Only someone whose office has distinctive paintings, one of which is strikingly similar to a mural found on the island, another by Claire's old boyfriend (Aaron's father). As we've found on LOST there are no coincidences.

Instead, there are complex, yet incomplete mythologies, clues to the island's bizarre history, and allusions to mathematics and physics. Part X-Files and part Survivor, the series likes to remind viewers that every coincidence is a clue. Every screencap (you can see them here) reveals something about what will happen later on. In fact, the attention to detail is almost compulsive, like the show's creators just can't help themselves. There's so much information, so many hints at so many plotlines, that unless you have an encyclopedic memory, it's hard to keep up.

To help new viewers, or just those who don't have time to think about Charles Widmore's paintings, every week before the new episode airs, there's a re-broadcast of the previous weeks' show that includes pop-up bubbles with facts and trivia. This show, like Twin Peaks is the kind you need to watch twice to get all the nuances. Like Twin Peaks, LOST's paranormal-flavored, detail-saturated plot may make it a cult favorite, but it may leave too many others wondering what the fuss is all about.

Photo courtesy ABC

Dance Beat Sneaking Back Into Hip-Hop

What I wanna do right here is go back: way back, back into time, to the early 1990s, and to a short-lived musical genre called "hip house." Bridging the sonic and cultural gap between the up tempo 4/4 beats of house music clubs in Chicago and Detroit with the energy and lyrical flow of New York hip-hop, the hybrid genre was everywhere for a brief moment. Artists like Fast Eddie and Mr. Lee threw down the party jams, while bands like A Homeboy a Hippie and a Funky Dread and Genaside pushed musical boundaries. And don't forget Technotronic! It seemed like the future, a musical genre that broke barriers of race and sexuality. So, what happened to it?

In the 90s, both dance music and hip-hop seemed to bounce back towards their own extremes: jungle, drum 'n' bass and "electronica" took dance floors to new frontiers of edgy sounds and hyper tempos, while hip-hop slowed down to the glacial speeds and minimal production values of crunk and the macho posturing of gangsta rap. Only in isolated environs like Baltimore and Miami did uptempo hip-hop subcultures survive, unheard by the majority of music fans. But lately, it's almost as if dance music and hip-hop have both reached creative walls, and have rediscovered the other.

Much of this current cross-pollination can be ascribed to one producer: Timbaland, whose tracks somehow incorporate everything from Bhangra to trance while still remaining undeniably hip-hop. Timbaland's 2007 hit, "The Way I Are," uses a straight ahead 4/4 kick drum, and the floodgates for hip-hop with dance beats have since opened. Yin Yang Twins' new single "Drop" features a booming 4/4 beat, as does Pitbull's "The Anthem," which samples a '90s dance song almost in its entirety. Sean Kingston's new release, "Take You There," while technically using a freestyle beat, features stuttery synths and an almost electro feel. Freestyle, the originally Latin-inflected genre, uses only two kick drum beats per measure, on the one and the "two and," and thus feels slightly less frenetic than the insistent 4/4 dance beat (think "Let the Music Play"). It has usually been more acceptable in hip-hop, but even freestyle beats have never been more prominent: Flo Rida's "Low" has been the #1 song in the country since the year began, and even the master of laid-back West Coast style, Snoop Dogg, is on board with his new track "Sensual Seduction," a fizzy little number on which Snoop even sings.

Does any of this mean anything? Is it just the eternal shifting of musical trends, or could it symbolize the softening of the "gangsta" culture, and a return to the optimistic, progressive hip-hop style of the '80s, when artists looked to dance music like Chic and Kraftwerk for their beats and inspiration? It's tempting to think so, but in the meantime, one thing's for certain: hip-hop radio stations sound a lot different than they did even two years ago, and I for one kind of like it.

Yin Yang Twins – "Drop" (from the forthcoming album The Ying to the Yang, 2008)

Snoop Dogg – "Sensual Seduction" (from the forthcoming album Ego Trippin', 2008)

Mr. Lee – "Get Busy" (1989)

A Homeboy a Hippie & a Funky Dredd – "Start the Panic" (1990)

Photo used under a creative commons license courtesy of Flickr user Audunn

February 28, 2008

Is Collecting Records Stupid?

Via Uncut comes news that an exceedingly rare copy of the Beatles' 1968 "White Album" is set for auction this week, and is likely to bring bids of up to £5000 ($10,000). The record has a serial number of 00000007 (kind of like Mr. Burns' Social Security number) and since it's rumored that the first ten copies of the album were all given to band members, that would make this "the lowest numbered original mono copy" that has ever been up for auction. Is this silly, or a justifiable appreciation of a landmark work of art?

I've never had much of a "collector's" mindset when it comes to music, although my preference for vinyl's sound forced me to search (and often pay high prices) for hard-to-find records in the pre-internet days. For a while, the Pixies' Doolittle just wasn't anywhere on vinyl, and when I finally found a copy I paid like $25, which was a lot back then. Jeez, It's still a lot. But for me, it's always been about the music on the record, not the record itself, although I do have to admit to a certain geeky pride when I flip through my stacks and see the rare Warsaw record or a hard-to-find Kraftwerk LP.

However, these days it's harder and harder to justify the shelf space. My 1-terabyte hard drive holds thousands of albums, all of which I can access at the touch of a button, and I have to admit I've downloaded an mp3 of a song I need for a project because the original record is all the way across the room. Even though the physicality and warm sound of vinyl still attracts me, if I have to pack all 3000 of my records up again for another move, I'll probably roll over and die.

So, in this age of WiFi and iPods, it may seem all the more ridiculous to shell out 10 grand for a rare copy of an album you can enjoy for free (or cheap) just about anywhere at any time. On the other hand, does the cheapness of our download culture make rare records, wiped delicately with a dust cloth and placed carefully on a turntable, the "slow food" of today's music distribution system? I'll admit it, there's a part of me that wishes I had $10,001 so I could outbid everybody else. Oh well: la la la la life goes on.

Photos: (1) courtesy Cameo Fine Art Auctioneers and (2) used under a Creative Commons license from Flickr user Peryi.

February 25, 2008

Study: Anything With a Beat Causes Sexism

Via AllHipHop.com, it's a study that appears to connect hip-hop to sexism, but not in the way you'd expect. Political science professors at North Carolina State University placed male and female students in three groups. One listened to Eminem's "Kill You" (representing the "misogynist" team: "Slut, you think I won't choke no whore/ 'til the vocal cords don't work in her throat no more?"), the second listened to the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage" (representing absence of misogyny: "I'm-a set it straight, this Watergate") and the third group "was not exposed to rap music." So did they play them Josh Groban, or just sit them in a quiet room? It doesn't say. Anyway, the study concluded that hip-hop music made people more sexist, no matter what the lyrics were about:

Men in the first group, exposed to overtly sexist Hip-Hop lyrics, via Eminem's "Kill You," and the second group, exposed to Beastie Boys' "Sabotage," a song without any misogynistic lyrics, expressed stronger sexist attitudes after exposure to the music than those in the control group, which was not exposed to rap music at all. "It's like hearing the word 'chocolate' and suddenly having a craving for a candy bar," said [researcher] Dr. Michael Cobb. "Sexism is embedded in the culture we live in and hearing rap music can spontaneously activate pre-existing awareness of sexist beliefs. Rap music, fairly or unfairly, has become associated with misogyny, and even minimal exposure to it can automatically activate these mental associations and increase their application, at least temporarily. … In the absence of explicitly sexist language, the negative associations with rap music are still being primed," explains Cobb. "In this case, however, the receiver is unaware that this process is taking place and therefore to inhibit their reactions. When women listened to Eminem, however, the blatant misogyny is startling to them and it triggers a more careful interpretation and rejection of the premises in the song. Males, who are not the targets, are not as motivated to recognize the mechanisms at work."

So they're saying that even female-appreciating (or, uh, ignoring) hip-hop raises sexist attitudes because it reminds you of all the other misogynist hip-hop? Can I even say "hip-hop"? Yikes. Even though the artists they're using are, coincidentally enough, lily-white, and the researchers said the study proved "rap does not cause sexism," there's something creepy about the conclusion: hip-hop just sounds kinda sexist. It makes me wonder if anti-hip-hop campaigns will now focus on the music, not the lyrics; it'll be just like that old anti-rave "No Repetitive Beats" law! And, conversely, how much dreamy folk music and wonky indie rock is masking vile sexism behind its apparently innocuous musical facade? We need more studies!

Photo courtesy Interscope

Kimmel's "F***ing Ben Affleck" Video: Homophobic?

There's a bit of a comments war raging at gay-oriented blog Towleroad over an elaborate sketch from last night's Oscars after-show. The video in question was the latest installment in a running joke on Kimmel's ABC late-night show: recently his girlfriend Sarah Silverman brought in a video in which she announced she's "f***ing Matt Damon," with the Bourne star himself providing backup vocals. Kimmel scoring (with) Affleck was the only logical response, of course, but they really stepped up the production values, recruiting a slew of stars in a "We Are the World"-style sing-along: Robin Williams, Huey Lewis, Josh Groban?! It wasn't quite as funny as Silverman's bit (which twirled wildly through a pastiche of pop culture and musical references) and relied mostly on the shock value of its guest cameos, but some viewers are also finding that certain parts of the video crossed the line into homophobia. Kimmel and Affleck are dressed in ridiculous outfits that include skimpy jean shorts and a metallic green t-shirt, and they paint their toenails at what appears to be a gay tiki bar. While late-night comedy sketches aren't exactly, you know, hate-crimes legislation, and I typically side with comedians rather than the easily-offended, this one does bring up the question of how to tell when stereotypes are being mocked and when they're being exploited. Watch both Silverman/Damon's and Kimmel/Affleck's after the jump, and then commenters, rant away: are we watching a troubling bit of subtle gaysploitation, or should the PC police chill out and realize that laughing at stereotypes defuses them? And in general, how many times funnier is Sarah Silverman than Jimmy Kimmel?

Sarah Silverman: "I'm F***ing Matt Damon"

Jimmy Kimmel: "I'm F***ing Ben Affleck"

Photo courtesy ABC

February 24, 2008

MoJo on Oscars' Picks (and a Truly Awesome Oscars Moment, for "Once")

A pretty weighty Oscars bill this year. So no surprise that a slew of our picks were nominees. Check out these tidbits: a revealing interview with Iranian exile Marjane Satrapi, the artist behind Persepolis; an inside look at War/Dance; and our review of tonight's winner in the best documentary feature category, Taxi to the Dark Side.

And the feel-good story of the night? Hands down, best-song winners (up against two Alan Mencken powerhouses) Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, who won for "Falling Slowly" from the way-Indy film Once. Irglova, who faced music before she had her chance to get a word in, was later granted time to speak. And she took eloquent advantage: "Fair play to those who dare to dream, and don't give up. This song was written from the perspective of hope, and hope, at the end of the day, connects us all, no matter how different we are."

See Once (and skip Atonement). And like Hansard said: Make Art, Make Art.

February 22, 2008

Lost Focuses on Plot, But Ploddingly So

After last week's action-packed, mind-bending episode of Lost, I had high hopes for this week's installment. I hoped that there would be allusions to physical laws, mathmatical theories, and the theory of relativity. Or that the series, which is now a blogged about by the Washington Post and has legions of intricately-researched fan sites, would give me some new twist to investigate. So did it? Eh, not so much.

The plot did move along, though, in a way it didn't in the last season. But it felt like the writers were simply going through the motions, dutifully moving the plot along, without having much fun along the way.

But, the show's creators, true to their word, did answer questions. They showed us that Claire's baby Aaron makes it off the island, possibly making him one of the Oceanic Six, and that John Locke, the former employee of a box company, is a serious bad-ass. Locke's putting a live grenade in a captive's mouth and having him hold down the pin with his teeth is a tactic even veteran interrogator Sayid would approve of.

There were also some nuanced allusions to the time lag on the island and its other special properties, which I had hoped for more of. There is a reference to the film Hugo watches, Xanadu, which emphasizes the idea the island is in its own space/time bubble. While Hugo watches the movie, Sawyer is reading The Invention of Morel, a novel about a man on an island who creates a machine capable of reproducing reality (a reference to the "magic box" that reproduced Locke's father on the island).

One more nuanced, but notable visual clue to future plot points was Aaron's survival off the island. It reminded me of what the Australian psychic said to Claire before she got on flight 815: "It is crucial that you raise this child yourself." Aaron may be little, but my prediction is he's going to be a huge part of this season's plotline.

Photo courtesy of ABC

February 19, 2008

'Cinema of Truth' Was Born in 1960's 'Primary': NPR on the Invention of Cinema Verite

and why we journalists deserve all the credit. Who knew documentaries sucked before us ink-stained wretches?

From NPR today:

'Cinema of Truth' Was Born in 1960's 'Primary'
by Mike Pesca, NPR

All Things Considered, February 19, 2008 · In 1960, a team of documentary filmmakers descended on the Wisconsin Democratic presidential primary in order to record the campaigning between John F. Kennedy and Hubert H. Humphrey. Politically, the results propelled Kennedy to the nomination. Artistically, the documentarians invented a new form.

Using technology that made cameras lighter and sound equipment more portable, the documentarians took a "fly-on-the-wall approach" in a style that would come to be called cinema verite.

We use the occasion of the current Wisconsin primary to talk about D.A. Pennebaker, Albert Maysles and Robert Drew and their 1960 collaboration Primary.

An-My Lê: War on American Soil

Yesterday at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, throngs of school vacationers made a beeline for the much-hyped Olafur Eliasson exhibit. I didn't quite have the wherewithal to spend 20 minutes on line waiting to see trippy mirrors or whatever, so instead I left the under-10s behind and headed downstairs, where I was happy to find myself in a room with, like, four decidedly sedate adults. This was a good room for me not only because of my misanthropic tendencies, but also because of the photography series I found there: An-My Lê's "Small Wars" and "29 Palms."

Both series are about something we're not used to seeing—war in an American landscape. Not real combat, but rather reenactment and rehearsal: "Small Wars" (1999-2002) chronicles Vietnam war reenactors' staged battles in Virginia, while "29 Palms" (2003-present) focuses on soldiers training for deployment in Iraq and Afghanistan at the Twentynine Palms military base in California. On a purely technical level, this is impressive work. The black-and-white photographs are full of texture and nuance, and the composition—from vast landscapes to detailed tableaus—is impeccable.

But what struck me about these images was not their technical success. Underlying all the clean lines and sharp contrasts was a certain weirdness. The soldiers in "Small Wars" look as if they could have stepped out of 1974 Vietnam, yet instead of rice paddies, they're surrounded by American pine forests. Lê came to the United States from Vietnam in 1975 as a political refugee, and she's spent the better part of her career in this country thinking about landscape. In 2005, she told the L.A. Times:

"Landscape has its specificity in a geological way, but it also holds so much about the history and the culture of a country. I think for anybody in exile it's connected to the idea of home. You think of the landscape and you think of the food, the air, the smells. It's all connected to the land."

The fact that battle isn't a typical part of the American landscape (or hasn't been for a long time) is part of what makes these images so arresting. We don't actually fight here, and yet we still feel the need to experience war—by rehearsing for it and rehashing it—on our own turf.

"Small Wars" and "29 Palms" have appeared in galleries and museums across the country. You can see some of the images here. Check out the Small Wars book here.

(Not So) New Music: Plastilina Mosh

Greetings from Puebla, Mexico, where I just finished the Cinco Tacos special: only 25 pesos for five crazy good tacos al pastor. Insert Homer Simpson blissful gargle noise here. I'm in Mexico this week to do a couple DJ gigs at "warm-up parties" for the MX Beat Soundfest music festival, and while its prominent Marlboro sponsorship gave me pause (I'm an American Spirit smoker!), I guess commercial tie-ins are kind of typical south of the border, and the lineup is reassuringly fantastic, including both international artists like the Beastie Boys and M.I.A. as well as Mexican artists like Los Dynamite and Instituto Mexicano del Sonido. Headlining the event here in Puebla on Saturday is Plastilina Mosh, a Monterrey duo who have a reputation for enthusiastic eclecticism. Their latest single, last year's "Millionaire," connects the dots between loping reggaeton, glitchy Aphex Twin, and, well, Ace of Base, and happily switches between Spanish and English. I haven't been able to get it out of my head all week:

Silly, but the video-game synths are quirky enough to keep it from sliding into complete cheese-land. Back in 1998, one of the band's first singles, "Mr. P. Mosh," was a huge smash here in Mexico, and its straight-ahead hip-hop sound is partially due to their using Cypress Hill's producer:

If you find yourself in the neighborhood of Mexico's fourth largest city this weekend, check out Plastilina Mosh at the Parque del Arte.

(Photo used under a Creative Commons license from Guatevino)

Innovation from the Left

From the Washington Post: Common Cause, Washington Monthly Explore a Common Future

Two of the capital's most venerable institutions -- the lobby group Common Cause and the scrappy magazine Washington Monthly -- are in serious talks about merging.

A decision could come in May, when the Common Cause board plans to discuss the combination.

Officials of both groups said they have not decided how closely they might tie themselves together. It could be a partnership of some kind, or the Monthly could be folded into Common Cause.

What is certain is that conversations have been going on for months and that each side thinks there are good reasons to blend their efforts.

"We all like each other," said Common Cause President Bob Edgar. "We are now doing our due diligence."

Common Cause has been working to revive itself after several years of flagging finances and effectiveness, and sees adding a magazine as a good way to bolster its reputation. The Washington Monthly, while influential among an elite audience, has long searched for a financially stable partner, especially one with lots of members (and potential subscribers) such as Common Cause.

But how, you might ask, can a lobby group and a magazine merge? It sounds pretty strange.

Read the entire piece to learn how feisty the thinking left is and how determined to stay alive. (Full disclosure: a bunch of my journalism homies are at the Monthly)

February 15, 2008

Fear and Loathing in Romania

The film 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days, which tells the story of a woman who helps her friend arrange to have an illegal abortion in Romania in 1987, is an incredibly tense movie-going experience. Its dark, gritty images—and the raw emotions that they invoke—have lingered with me for days after seeing it.

Unlike the much-talked about Juno, which turned the topic of unwanted pregnancy into a fun, snarky journey with a happy ending (and cute little acoustic love songs), 4 Months' handling of the topic is devoid of smiles and wit. The film chronicles one dark day in the life of the two protagonists—and in that one day, we come to realize that the young women's lives will be forever changed by this abortion, and a series of botched plans related to it (not enough money to pay for it, forgotten ID cards, invalid hotel reservations, missed phone calls).

The film reminded me a little bit of 2002's Irreversible, a harrowing, graphic French film about a woman's rape told in reverse chronological order. Although one film is about abortion, and the other rape, both attempt to aesthetically deconstruct taboo issues rather than take a political stance on them. Cinematically, both are a bit surreal—and visually captivating. But unlike Irreversible, 4 Months does not have scenes of actual physical violence. Instead, it conveys fear, panic, anticipation, and stress through long moments of silence, sparse dialog, and close-up, hand-held camera work. Seemingly inconsequential sights and sounds, like ringing telephones, empty hotel front desks, pedestrian walkways, and people talking at a dinner table, help create such anxiety and suspense that I could hardly sit still in my seat. I felt what the two main characters were feeling, as they were feeling it. And it wasn't easy.

In order to have her illegal abortion, Gabriela "Gabita" Dragut has to pay a man she's never met before, who has the necessary medical equipment—and willingness—to perform the procedure, in a hotel room. In addition to money, he also demands that her friend sleep with him as additional payment. And then there are the more universal ordeals that go along with an unwanted pregnancy: dealing with confused boyfriends and clueless parents. All of this is set against the dank, dreary backdrop of a communist Romania: Fluorescent light bulbs flicker endlessly in hotel lobbies, streets are wet and empty, and taxis never come. Hotel clerks and bus ticket-checkers are rude and lazy, and no one is allowed to go anywhere without proof of identification.

To see this film is not to be entertained. It is designed to challenge, provoke, and leave you somewhat exhausted. But this is an emotionally resonant, provocative film that may not be fun to watch, but it is deeply affecting—and a fascinating piece of cinema.

LOST: Finally, This Season Gets Going!

LOST has lost many viewers because they find the series frustrating. It poses myriad questions, has a complex mythology, and lots of confusing flashbacks: All of this moves the plot at a glacial pace. That changed last night, with the third episode of the new season.

Finally, someone's made it off that darn island! And not just in a flash-forward, in real-time. But in typical LOST fashion, the latest plot twist raises as many questions as it answers. Why's Sayid gone all Jason Bourne as a spy for Ben? What's the meaning of Naomi's bracelet? Why does Ben have all those passports in his closet? Why does Charlotte look so much like Nicole Kidman in Dead Calm? Okay, just kidding on that last one, but seriously, about ten new plot lines will now have to be explored.

Thankfully, this latest episode also answered a key question: Yes, the island has irregularities in its space/time fabric. As Daniel Faraday (whose name refers to Michael Faraday, the English chemist and physicist) proved in his experiment, time on the island is about half an hour off from the rest of the world. This, in addition to the reference to Minkowski—George Minkowski on the boat, referring back to Hermann Minkowski the mathematician—the time gap could have something to do with the island's space and time measurements being relative to the position/velocity of the observer. Something physics-related is almost definitely key to the island's irregularities.

My pet theory is that the island is Atlantis or Lemuria (clue: ancient four-toed statue). It's hard to find because time passes differently there than it does in the rest of the world and it's governed by the Faraday effect, which says that an object between two magnetic fields will rotate light. The extent to which the light "bends" depends on what the object is made of. I'm guessing the island, which is known to have some very unique electromagnetic properties, is demonstrating the Faraday effect to the degree that it is almost impossible to see. As scientists have recently discovered, if you bend light far enough, you can make something invisible. We've already seen that the island's magnetic field screws up nearly all modern navigation devices so that even if you could see it, it'd be pretty damn hard to land on it, as the new "boaties" recently found out the hard way.

So the island is hard to find and hard to see. But was it always that way? I don't think so. I think a huge, magnetically-related event jump-started the Faraday effect, effectively making the island "disappear." This event also could have put the island into the strange space/time position it occupies now. I'm guessing this event was volcanic, as we know there's a volcano on the island and volcanic lava has very high magnetism when cooled.

Of course, this still doesn't explain the Smoke Monster, the Dharma Initiative, what Ben wants from the island, or who the last few Oceanic Six are, but that's a subject for another post.

February 14, 2008

Valentine's Day Videos: Heartbreak Songs

Jezebel's got the spirit, using today's holiday as an opportunity for lonely, heartbroken singles (sigh) to express our misery in song. It's satisfying, but honestly, good heartbreak songs aren't hard to find: agony beats ecstasy on the "great songs" tip by like 1000-to-1. Here are five for your viewing pleasure; why not add your favorite (or least-favorite) misery-loves-company tracks in the comments, since it's not like you've got anything else planned tonight.

The Smiths – "I Want the One I Can't Have"
Sure, any Smiths song will do, but this track, from their 1985 album Meat is Murder, expresses the ache of longing better than any. As a teenager I always interpreted it as being kind of, well, gay, but now I realize it's pretty universal:

Marvin Gaye – "I Heard It Through the Grapevine"
While a lot of Motown songs deal with heartbreak, most of them are so irrepressibly bouncy (see "Where Did Our Love Go") that they don't seem to really feel it. Marvin Gaye feels it, though, and this may be the penultimate "holy crap I just found out you're cheating" song:

The Streets – "It's Too Late"
While British rapper Mike Skinner was well-known for his jaunty beats and intricate witticisms, he also mastered wistful melancholy on tracks like "Blinded by the Lights" and this, from 2002's Original Pirate Material, that presaged the current dark dubstep sound a la Burial:

Beck – "Nobody's Fault But My Own"
As Jezebel points out, basically all of Sea Change is about heartbreak, but this track from 1998's Mutations always gave me a lump in my throat, and Beck's live version (accompanied only by a harmonium) is even more haunting:

Sinead O'Connor – "The Last Day of Our Acquaintance"
Of course, she's known for "Nothing Compares to You," one of the most popular breakup songs in history, but while that song's intensity owed a bit to Prince, O'Connor can also write a real tearjerker herself, and this track's understated matter-of-factness makes it all the more devastating.

Snif. Is 3:00 too early for a nice vodka drink?

The Remix: Drowning Pool Saved by DJ Sega

In today's remix-happy culture, you never know where songs might end up; new versions sometimes make songs sound older, dance-pop cheese can take on rock intensity, and a track you thought you hated is suddenly on repeat on your iPod. This remix of of the latter variety. Texas metal band Drowning Pool were known for their 2001 alt-radio hit, "Bodies," whose on-air life was cut short when the 9/11 attacks made the line "let the bodies hit the floor" seem kind of inappropriate. But it's a pretty unbearable song anyway, revolving around a single muddy note and a guttural, screamed chorus that seems designed to repel:

Enter Philadelphia's DJ Sega, who's made a name remixing popular songs in the syncopated Baltimore Club style for Diplo's Hollertronix record label. His tracks are sometimes awkward, forcing pop hits into the jittery tempo. But on his Drowning Pool remix, things are perfectly balanced. He loops the whispered intro line and drops in a smattering of guitar. After a while, the hushed vocals almost start to sound kind of sexy, similar to hip-hop tracks like David Banner's "Play" or Ying Yang Twins "Wait (The Whisper Song)." Before you know it, the song's meaning has changed (back?): Sega's version is called "Bodies Hit the Floor"—that's right, the dance floor.

February 13, 2008

New R.E.M. Sounds Kind Of Like Old R.E.M.

And I mean that in the best possible way. The legendary combo's new album, Accelerate, comes out April Fools' Day, but via Pitchfork comes a just-released single and video, and it's got a little of that old R.E.M. magic. While the intro kind of inverts the start of the Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go," the rest has that wistful sound R.E.M. patented: "And you cry and you cry," sings Michael Stipe, and Mike Mills does that awesome background thing, "ay-ee-iy-yiy!" Kind of makes you want to get out your dusty copy of Murmur and put it on the hi-fi. Anyway, the video's after the jump.

February 12, 2008

Six Words, Six Months to Come up with Them

How lovely. Six word memoirs.

I know. Me, too.

Had to be a crappy ad gimmick or college drinking game, but it's not. It's addictive and sadly beautiful when not slyly sexy or funny or enigmatic. The good kind of enigmatic, not the annoying kind usually meant just to show off.

From SMITH magazine, bathroom reading that may spoil us all for the dreck we usually settle for in...you know...there. No one can resist the challenge. Check this and this and this and this....

I'll never sleep again until I pull this off. And realize I'm depressed by the truth I've managed to tell on myself. Here's a taste (from Ron Rosenbaum's site, above):

Explained Hitler, Shakespeare. Couldn’t explain self.

But there were so many efforts I admired more, ranging from the humorous:

Maybe you had to be there.

—Roy Blount Jr.

to the meditatively profound (I think):

Melancholy marvel at how everything connects

—Lawrence Wechsler

to the sly and sexy:

Catholic girl. Jersey. It’s all true.

—Mary Elizabeth Williams

to the shamelessly smug:

I always suffered fools fairly well.

—Richard Ford

to the sadly romantic:

I waste time looking for love

—Sean Gannett

to the rueful:

Left Aruba for Maryland. Pretty dumb.

—Barbara Phillpis-Seitz

to the self effacing:

Well, I thought it was funny.

—Stephen Colbert

Torchwood: A New Approach to Sexuality on TV?

The BBC hit series Torchwood is a spin-off of a spin-off, really: an extension of the new Doctor Who series that is itself only vaguely related to the classic long-running original. Torchwood's creators were apparently inspired by the still-underappreciated Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a show that used elements of fantasy as illustrations of (and counterpoints to) the characters' lives, and on the surface, the shows have a lot in common: Doctor Who attracted fans as much for its winking humor as its geeky sci-fi, and on Buffy, the satire was built in.

Torchwood has also followed in Buffy's footsteps in another way: towards the end of the latter show's run, two of the female characters fell in love, and their relationship evolved into the most fully-realized same-sex couple on television at the time. In Torchwood, a secretive X-Files-type agency is led by a mysterious (and apparently immortal) guy named Captain Jack Harkness, and he's typically courageous and handsome. He also appears to be gay, or at least bi: his romantic entanglements are with men, whether it's the cute office guy or the interstellar co-conspirator.

Having a stereotype-defying gay lead in a series is definitely ground-breaking (even if it is the BBC), and out actor John Barrowman, who portrays Harkness, has become an outspoken advocate of gay causes, and a minor celebrity, in England. But is it a good show? Part of what made Buffy so compelling was the character development, perfectly calibrated to draw us in and then surprise us. While Torchwood has just started its second season, it seems impatient to have it all at once, loading the characters up with drama before we really know who they are. An early episode featured Captain Jack's office love interest betraying everybody at the agency just to help revive a secret robot girlfriend, yet by the next week all seemed to have been forgotten.

If you followed that last sentence, you'll see that actually most of the show's characters evidence bisexuality. In the second episode, a young woman is infected with an alien being that feeds on sexual energy, and both the male and female characters can't help but have a "snog" with her. (Star Trek famously used the alien-taking-over-a-body queer metaphor at least once as well). In fact, "gay" identity isn't really referred to at all in the show, and same-sex hooking-up is treated as matter-of-factly as opposite-sex. It's refreshing, and according to Kinsey, probably closer to the real truth about human sexuality than our current "Queer Eye"-influenced cultural norms. But, honestly, it seems like a bit too much of a leap forward, its vision of a post-sexual-identity world (or, at least, Cardiff) a little unrealistic. On top of that, Jack and the show's female lead, Gwen, appear to have a smoldering attraction for each other, which could turn out to be the show's "Moonlighting"-style central unrequited love relationship, pushing the queer relationships to the margins.

Maybe I'm being too rough on the show's philosophical underpinnings, when it's just supposed to be a bit of campy, B-movie fun. I'll admit, as well, that Captain Jack's makeouts with a WWII-era soldier and a former fling (played by James Marsters, Spike from Buffy, natch) were incredibly hot. Cute guys, spooky aliens, what's not to love, right? And it's easy to forget that the eventually-superb Star Trek: The Next Generation started out awkward and laughable in its first season. But if someone as tolerant for corny sci-fi as me finds himself rolling his eyes at the incredibly silly twists and turns on this show, you know it's got to be stretching it a little thin, and if nobody cares about your characters, they won't care if they're breaking down the boundaries of on-screen sexuality. Nevertheless, Torchwood is a show to keep your eye on.

Torchwood airs Sunday Saturday nights on BBC America.

Update: Hey, YouTube, you've got everything, don't you? Watch the Barrowman-Marsters makeout scene below. By the way, why Spike is dressed up like Adam Ant, I have no idea.

February 11, 2008

Is Lucy Liu the New All-American Girl?

Last month ABC premiered its new Sex and the City-ish show Cashmere Mafia, starring Lucy Liu as Mia Mason, a high-powered publishing executive in New York City. Not since Margaret Cho’s All-American Girl (also ABC) has an Asian American been featured as a main character. But All-American Girl was criticized by some for exploiting stereotypes for laughs, and Cho and network executives argued over just the right formula of “Asian-ness.” After the whole debacle, Cho spiraled into various forms of self-destructiveness, and the show was canceled after one season. That was 1994.

Over the past few decades Asian Americans have been slowly eking their way into casting rooms and onto sets in Hollywood. (Think Lost, ER, Grey’s Anatomy, Heroes, Entourage, Gilmore Girls, etc.). Exposure is a good thing, but Asian Americans for the most part are still relegated to ancillary roles.

In Cashmere Mafia, Mia isn’t immediately identifiable as the protagonist via voiceovers a la Carrie Bradshaw, but she’s clearly the leader of her pack. And Liu has first billing (plus the most star power out of the cast).

And the show doesn’t ign