Posts Tagged ‘Arts and Entertainment’

Dw. Dunphy On… Criticism

I think you’ve gotten us all wrong, and it’s time to set the record straight.

I’m not going to say there isn’t a contingent of malcontents in the field of criticism, because that would be a lie. There are plenty of people who got into the game because of a grudge against that which they’ve chosen to review. I once knew a movie critic, a local guy for a local newspaper, who frequently and regularly savaged the films he saw. It didn’t matter what it was — comedy, drama, animation, universally lauded, universally panned, the danger money was on him trashing the subject. In the meantime, he shopped spec scripts to agents and sent off treatments to studios. The more he sent, the more he was rejected. The more he was rejected, the nastier his criticism became. His reportage was venomous, like hate notes from a spurned lover.

That, right there, is the underlying truth. Even though that writer was an exception to the rule, approaching everything with aforethought disappointment, most of us critics don’t and it is because we’re still in love, if not with the media of our choosing then with the promise that’s always there. Somewhere in our adolescent lives, we stumbled into a movie theater and saw something that set our eyes on fire, made the blood flow a little faster, gave us something we hadn’t experienced up to that point. For me, it was music and I can’t very well say when it first caught on. Was it my mother’s records of The Coasters Greatest Hits, or The Fifth Dimension or even “Cathy’s Clown” by The Everly Brothers? Was it Dad crooning along to Sinatra and Perry Como on those long, languid summer drives? Was it when we lived in that rental house and I played the 45 RPM record of E.L.O.’s “Can’t Get It Out Of My Head” until the sunset, and I stared at that beige United Artists record label spin ’round and ’round? Was it that weird, unsteady feeling I got when the right chords were strung along, exploding into a surprising and pleasant direction? There is a love there that is almost impossible to adequately describe, but is there in most critics. (more…)

The Producers: Just for Kix, Loading LA Guns, and Scolding Billy Idol

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It has been over two weeks since I sent the two emails to Dee Snider’s web site and to his publicist. No reply so far, so I guess I won’t be holding my breath.

3944[1]I was called by my colleague Derek Shulman at Atco Records (Atlantic) regarding Kix in 1987. I wasn’t very familiar with them, but I did know that they were a high energy band who were very much in the AC-DC vein. I recall the night I first saw them that year, because they were playing at a Long Island rock club on a weekday night, and I had a difficult time understanding why their official start time was 1 AM. Even for a guy who considered himself a nighttime sort, this was absurd. I checked into the hotel next to the Nassau Coliseum, and spent the evening thinking that I should be in my pajamas, but tried to maintain enough energy and enthusiasm to leave the hotel for the night’s activity at 12:30 AM. I think the club was L’Amour’s, but I can’t be sure. It was a gold mine, jammed wall to wall with kids who by the midnight hour were drinking with a fair amount of abandon, and needing to hear some hard rock immediately.

The club was vast, and I waited around in front of the stage for about 45 minutes until the band came on at 1:30 or so. Sure enough, they kicked serious ass in that club, and I really liked their frontman Steve Whiteman. I also liked the guitar players, Ronnie Younkins and Brian Forsythe, who were serious shredders, but had a very calm and easygoing personal manner offstage. In stark contrast to Steve’s humor and Brian and Ronnie’s calm was Donnie Purnell’s angst and paranoia. He was the undisputed leader of the band, and the bass player and main songwriter. He rarely smiled, and seemed to feel that people were naturally going to try to take advantage of him. He was a fine musician and a dedicated professional, but he simply wasn’t very much fun to be around. (more…)

Lost in the ’80s: Les Rita Mitsouko

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French duo Fred Chichin and Catherine Ringer met at a theater production in the late ’70s and an instant musical bond was formed, one that took them from rock to synthpop and back again.  Recording under the name Les Rita Mitsouko, the duo found success in Europe and eventually scored an American record deal with the stateside branch of their European label, Virgin.  In late 1986, The No Comprendo was released and its first single, “Andy” (download) became a bit of an underground dance hit, with Ringer’s over-the-top vocals (she basically sounds like every crazy rock chick ever, from Nina Hagen to Bjork) and Chichin’s funky guitar fighting for supremacy.

While “Andy” was burning up the dance floor, it was the video for “C’est Comme Ça” (download) that most people remember.  MTV’s 120 Minutes played the hell out of the inventive clip, and Happy Mondays completely swiped the video a year later for their “Step On” clip: (more…)

Test of the Boomerang: Sick of Winter Wonderland

Phish – The Clifford Ball (Rhino)

Sherman, set the Way Back machine for that balmy summer of 1996! Jerry Garcia had been gone a year, and a lot of lonesome folks had hitched their wagons to the sound-carnival that was Phish.

The Vermont foursome rented out an abandoned air strip in upstate New York for a weekend of music, music and more music. They called it ‘The Clifford Ball‘ and it became the blueprint for every summer festival that would follow in its wake.

Rhino has released a seven-disc set of the whole shebang just in time for Phish’s 2009 reunion. If you didn’t score tickets to Hampton, this just might help ease the sting. Trey, Gordo, Paige, and Fishman have never really been much to look at, so the important thing here is the music. In 1996, arguably, Phish were at the height of their powers. There’s a fantastic mix of new (at the time) and old songs here. The band is tight, in the pocket, and totally playful. Every note played that legendary weekend has been captured in a brilliant 5.1 stereo mix. From the soundcheck to the mini acoustic set to the 3 a.m. improv jam the band performed on the back of a light-encrusted flatbed truck.

It’s all wrapped up in a very cool package that includes some Clifford Ball postcards and stamps. Fire up your own kind veggie burritos, put some Magic Hat #9 in the fridge, and camp out in your living room with this great package from Rhino. (more…)

Don Dixon and Marti Jones LIVE!: The Official Bootleg

Marti Jones & Don Dixon, circa 1989For a few precious years in the late 1980s and early ’90s, the most communal experience on the pop touring circuit was a family affair. Recording artist-producer Don Dixon and his wife, the singer-songwriter Marti Jones, traversed the nation practically nonstop during those years, giving audiences in rock clubs and small theaters an irresistible two-for-one package: great tunes, of course, and the casual banter of two free – and kindred – spirits who were at the peak of their creative powers and clearly having the time of their lives.

This column represents a first for Popdose: our initial opportunity to post an “official bootleg” recording provided to us by the artists themselves. If you’re a loyal Popdose reader or Dixon fan, you hopefully recall the series of articles my colleague Will Harris and I devoted to him last autumn; in the coming weeks you may look forward to a similar series spotlighting Jones and her career. Today, we’re focusing on the unique alchemy Dixon and Jones created onstage, and the small but dedicated following they built during their touring years – a following of which I’m proud to have been a member.

The high church of the Don-and-Marti cult may have been Washington, DC’s old 9:30 Club, where the pair set up shop at least three or four times a year, often for multiple nights. Since the club’s capacity was only about 450, it wasn’t difficult to pick out some familiar faces at every show – the heavy-set guy who came alone, planted himself in the front row (slightly stage right) and sang along to every song; the slightly built, bespectacled guy who was always close (but not too close) to the stage and never looked like he was having too great a time, yet was always back for the next show. There were several couples we could rely on seeing as well, and my (future) wife Gwen and I would secretly (and competitively) keep count of their appearances at the gigs.

“Those shows at the 9:30 Club were definitely special,” Jones told me last week. “We loved those audiences, because they obviously knew our songs and they were so wonderfully warm to us. We felt like we attracted fans who were a lot like us, so a lot of times it seemed like we were in a roomful of friends. There were a number of places like DC and the 9:30 Club during that time – pockets around the country where we got more airplay and could play larger venues, where we could count on folks showing up who were actual fans of our music. But then there were also times like the show I did at a little club in Detroit, where the marquee said ‘Mary Jones.’ I mean, that’s my grandmother.”

The shows themselves were intimate yet rollicking occasions, Dixon and Jones trading the spotlight and sharing silly asides between songs. Jones would poke fun at Dixon and encourage his self-deprecation; she would even playfully mock his songs (a habit displayed to great effect on Dixon’s live Chi-Town Budget Show CD, on which Jones sings his “Heart in a Box” to the tune of John Denver’s “Annie’s Song.”) Dixon, inevitably, would at some point pick up a towel and wrap it around his head, Lawrence of Arabia-style. They seemed willing, even eager, to give their audiences a real sense of themselves and their relationship, and their set lists flowed almost as though they were being conceived on the fly.

Almost. “If that was the sense you got, that’s a great compliment, because those shows were always carefully structured,” Jones says. “We would put a set list together, we’d label it, and we’d keep doing that same set through a particular batch of shows. We’d organize them based on who had a record out at the moment – we would go on ‘Don Dixon’ tours and ‘Marti Jones’ tours, and whichever one of us wasn’t pitching something would get fewer songs. But then, when both of us were between records, we’d do ‘Don and Marti’ shows where we evened things out. Those were always the best shows, as far as I was concerned, because we had the least pressure on us and the most fun.” (more…)

Popdose Flashback: “Lyle Lovett and His Large Band”

By 1989, Lyle Lovett had already been kicking around for a couple of years. He cut a unique figure from the start, a Texan Eraserhead with a knife-slash mouth, and there was a buzz about his songwriting chops based on tunes like “God Will” and “Pontiac” — perfectly-crafted little gems, both gorgeous and unflinching. But there was, in his earlier records, a sense that Lyle was still a work in progress. His persona shifted variously to the traditionalist and ironist camps. With Lyle Lovett and His Large Band, from its ruthlessly literal title on down, he gets definitive by getting ambiguous. It’s a neat trick.

“Here I Am” (download) stakes out Lovett’s unique territory. A stomping, shouting blues vamp is continually interrupted by a series of surreal, goofy asides. It’s pure vaudeville, of course — extending from a tradition that traces back to “The Arkansas Traveler” and the minstrel show — but rendered with such deadpan earnestness that it creates its own interzone of doubt and indeterminacy: Is he serious? Is he kidding? Maybe both, or neither.

That’s a delicate balancing act. The key is to never let the audience see you wink, and it’s the rare artist who can pull it off consistently. Randy Newman used to own this patch of real estate, back in the 70s — Tom Waits, too; but Newman’s satire has grown blunter with the years, and Waits’s songs have opened up emotionally. David Byrne can still manage it, on occasion, mining the common ground between yearning and absurdity with nerdy intensity.

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How Bad Can It Be?: Mishka

So I’m eating pork rinds naked at my computer, idly wiping my greasy hands on my thighs while the dog slouches in a corner licking her chops, and I come across an e-mail invitation to a CD release party to celebrate the launch of Matthew McConaughey’s new record label.

I’ll pause for a moment to let the full horror of that image sink in: Matthew McConaughey has his own record label.

Matthew McConaughey, that handsome devil whose film career gives new meaning to the word “underperform.” Looking back over his résumé, I’m surprised to note how many good movies he’s made (at least one of them—John Sayles’ Lone Star—genuinely great). The thing is, I completely forgot he was in any of them. What comes to mind, thinking about the guy, is a string of financial or artistic debacles (Amistad, The Newton Boys, Sahara); his terrible performance (and wardrobe) in Contact; the dead-eyed sleepwalking through interchangeable rom-coms. When Failure to Launch opened, you could be forgiven for thinking that it was a documentary about McConaughey’s career arc.

Remember, this was a dude who, after his breakthrough performance in Dazed and Confused, was touted as a New Leading Man. His rugged good looks and laid-back charm drew comparisons to the titans of Old Hollywood—Gary Cooper, Clark Gable, Cary Grant. Instead, he’s turned out to be something of a John Agar: a working actor, name above the title, sure, but not someone who can “open” a movie on his own. So what the hell happened? How did this guy, who at one point looked like a worldbeater, begin his slow slide to mediocrity? Well, listen—I’m not one to tell anybody how they should get their kicks, but let’s face it: Matthew McConaughey smokes a fuckload of pot. Now, call me crazy, but I’m thinking that might have something to do with it. Still a handsome cat, mind you, but he’s starting to get a little… resinous.

Now, when you’ve got that much THC in your system, your decision-making skills are bound to be impaired. You might even forget where you are; McConaughey seems to think he’s still living in the pre-Napster 1990s, when record labels were still remotely relevant and every celebrity was expected to have his own. (He’s also got a clothing line, which is a slightly more ’00s-era business model.)

Okay, we can argue the wisdom of that later; but what about the music? Who has been signed to j.k. livin’ Records? What undercelebrated artist will be the first to benefit from the marketing muscle of Matthew McConaughey’s name recognition factor? (more…)

Touch And Go Records: Certainly The Second Part

Touch and Go RecordsIn sudden and shocking fashion, it was announced today that Touch And Go Records, the venerable Chicago label, would be closing down its distribution wing and, at least for the moment, will no longer be releasing new music.

Touch And Go Distribution, formerly Southern Distribution, moved labels like Merge, Drag City, Thrill Jockey, as well as their own Touch And Go imprint and subsidiary Quarterstick Records. Among the Touch And Go label roster, bands like Slint, The Jesus Lizard, Calexico, Brainiac, The Dirty Three, Urge Overkill found their audiences during their association, with some staying on even when big label money called.

The blame falls, of course, on the bad economy and the ever-dominant digital market making physical product less and less financially viable. While a return to releasing new music may yet happen (in fact a couple of releases are still slated to come out) it is all dependent on a market recovery, something that most analysts are not counting on. Essentially, this could well be the end of one of independent music’s cornerstone institutions.

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Lost in the ’80s: Paul McCartney, “So Bad”

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Oh, some things just write themselves, don’t they?

I kid, I kid. “So Bad” is an overlooked little gem from the Paul catalog, released in the States as the follow-up to “Say Say Say,” his megahit duet with Michael Jackson. (Sorry to put that one in your head. Let’s get back to today’s subject, shall we?)

“So Bad” (download) was taken from Paul’s Pipes of Peace LP (1983), which was mostly made up of leftover tracks from his previous effort, Tug of War (1982). As a result, it shares many traits with Tug, such as producer George Martin and some studio drummer named Ringo, of all things. Oh yeah, and Linda’s on it. Surprise!

Okay, sorry again. That’s two cheap shots in one post about a song I actually quite like. I must be grumpy. The video for “So Bad” is sort of melancholy in light of Linda’s passing. She did the photography for all the posed shots surrounding the band, and that little freeze-frame of Mrs. McCartney winking and smiling near the end of the clip is heartbreaking.

Step off, Heather Mills. You never stood (ha!) a chance. “So Bad” is a cute, if lightweight, ballad (from Paul? Ya don’t say!) that put McCartney’s falsetto to good use. Unfortunately, despite its decent charting, it always seems to get the short shrift when it comes time to package those greatest-hits compilations or retrospectives. Heck, it didn’t even make it onto Wingspan (2001), for Linda’s sake — an unfair snub for a legitimate McCartney hit. You never seem to hear this one on AC or ’80s radio stations either, but boy, you’ll certainly hear “Say Say Say.” Ugh. Which was worse — “Say Say Say” or “The Girl Is Mine”? It’s a Sophie’s Choice of crap!

God, I am grumpy.

“So Bad” peaked at #23 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1984.

Get Paul McCartney music at Amazon or on Paul McCartney

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The Popdose Guide to Peter Himmelman, Part Two

When last we left Peter Himmelman, he was leaving (or being pushed out of) the major-label world, and heading for indier pastures. Far from signaling an end to his career — or even a real slowdown in his hectic release schedule — this move seemed instead to provoke a flood of new Himmelman music.

The five albums we’ll cover in Part Two of our Himmelman Guide may not seem like a whole lot, but they’re really just the tip of the iceberg. For reasons of space and time, we won’t be covering two children’s albums (My Fabulous Plum and My Lemonade Stand), four odds & sods collections (From the Himmelvaults, volumes 1-4), or any of the Emmy-nominated incidental music he’s written for television. Not to mention any of the other cool stuff to be found at his official site.

Clearly, the man has been gifted with an impressive work ethic. But how does the work itself hold up? Let’s go find out.


Stage Diving (1996)
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Peter Himmelman - Stage Diving

Himmelman dealt with his new free-agent status the same way a lot of other artists do; namely, he released a stopgap live album.

I have never been to a Peter Himmelman concert, but by most accounts, they’re not to be missed — he’s known for doing anything and everything to make sure his guests get their money’s worth, from doing impromptu second sets on the sidewalk outside the venue, to inviting patrons out to a post-concert, after-midnight lakeside show, to making up songs on the spot by request. To the extent that this can be said about an artist few people know of, Himmelman’s live act has acquired something approaching legendary status.

Does this come across in Stage Diving? Eh, not really. It’s a good live record, sure, but it draws mainly from Himmelman’s Epic releases, which benefited from fairly “live” production in the first place; the thrill of hearing a great song liberated from a weak studio recording is part of what makes a live album essential, and that doesn’t enter into the equation here. Moreover, there’s only so much of the live experience’s magic that can translate to an audio recording; a lot of it often rests on the interplay between band members, and again, that doesn’t really enter into the equation here.

That being said, up until the release of Himmelman’s recent best-of, Stage Diving stood as the only thing resembling a career-spanning overview for the artist, and these are all fine recordings in their own right. His stage banter is mercifully brief and generally witty, he’s got a gift for feeling the temperature of an audience, and — on “Closer” (download) — he even throws in some passable freestyle rap. Not to mention that this version of “Been Set Free” (download) might even surpass the original.


My Best Friend Is a Salamander (1997)
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Given the overall seriousness of his body of work, a person could be forgiven for regarding the idea of a Peter Himmelman children’s album with a certain degree of skepticism. Certainly, few who had only listened to his studio albums could have foreseen the degree of silliness Himmelman would display on My Best Friend Is a Salamander — or guessed it would lead to a critically well-received parallel career.

We won’t cover the sequels here, but if you listen to Salamander, you get the idea. There’s wonderful, life-affirming stuff the whole family can enjoy, like “You’ll Always Be You to Me” (download), and goofy kid’s stuff like “Larry’s A Sunflower Now” (download). In short, it beats the hell out of sentimental treacle like those Kenny Loggins Pooh Corner records.


Love Thinketh No Evil (1999)
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Himmelman emerged from the longest between-album layoff of his career with Love Thinketh No Evil, a more rock-oriented, sonically adventurous collection than he’d ever attempted. He was rewarded with commercial indifference equally as resounding as any that had greeted his other releases, which is weirdly fitting; it’s just as good as its predecessors, and maybe even better.

The album kicks off with the noisy, vaguely industrial-ish “Eyeball” (download), but for the most part, Thinketh’s experimentalism is a matter of slight degrees. Songs like “Checkmate” (download) and “Forgiveness Shining” (download) wouldn’t have sounded out of place on any other Himmelman album — which is to say, they come from deep places, they’re written with a sharp, empathic eye, and more often than not, they hit the listener right where it counts.

What sets Thinketh apart from other Himmelman albums is the production, which is — comparatively speaking, anyway — fairly dense; certainly, it’s busier than anything he’d recorded since Synesthesia. Where that album was victimized by ’80s overkill, however, Love Thinketh No Evil benefits from the added noise. Guests include Chris Vrenna, Mike Elizondo, Lee Thornberg, and Corey Sipper (whatever happened to her, anyway?)

All of this was no doubt helped along by the fact that Himmelman had signed with Six Degrees Records; had he stayed there, it’s tempting to wonder what a healthy production budget and smart A&R might have done for his future releases. As it turned out, unfortunately, Thinketh was his sole effort for the label.


Unstoppable Forces (2004)
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Peter Himmelman - Unstoppable Forces

For many artists, there comes a point when things like fancy packaging and intricate production need to fall by the wayside in the interest of simply keeping things going. For Peter Himmelman, this point is marked by Unstoppable Forces, a collection of songs as stripped down as its predecessor’s were built up. From the looks-like-it-was-taken-with-a-cameraphone cover photo to the bare-bones arrangements and production, Unstoppable is strictly a no-frills affair.

To some fans, the album was a bit of a letdown; while only Skin was a true concept album, each of his previous releases can be viewed as following a certain theme, be it sonic or lyrical. In contrast, Unstoppable is, for better or worse, really just a collection of songs. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, but particularly after a five-year wait, it’s understandable that some listeners would be disappointed.

The songs themselves are predictably well-written, passionately performed, and focused on matters of the soul. Leadoff track “The Deepest Part” (download) sums up, in under three minutes, Himmelman as a songwriter; “The Scent of Autumn Burning” (download) takes a little longer, but does the same.

I suppose what it boils down to is that a guy in Himmelman’s career marker is, regardless of sales, most likely finished with making grand, career-defining statements. They’ve dug their grooves (or trenches, as the case may be), and subsequent releases are more about mining their richer depths than about exploring new vistas. Hence, an album like Unstoppable Forces: a little of this, a little of that, and at the end of the day — even if it doesn’t shatter the pillars of heaven — not a bad addition to the catalog.


Imperfect World (2005)
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Peter Himmelman - Imperfect World

Being that they were released only a year apart, there’s a certain degree of similarity between Imperfect World and Unstoppable Forces: two-word titles; somewhat painful packaging design; basic production. To put things in perspective, they’re as closely related as any two back-to-back Himmelman releases since Gematria and Synesthesia.

That being said, Synesthesia wasn’t a sequel to Gematria, and neither is Imperfect World really Unstoppable Forces II.

Imperfect is a little punchier and rawer than its predecessor, for one thing; it was recorded with a band that included Pete Thomas on drums, so there’s no small amount of muscle to the rhythm tracks, and Himmelman — who handles all the guitars — has never played with more intensity. It’s a good deal darker, for another. The title track (download), in particular, was inspired by the unexpected death of Himmelman’s sister, and other songs, like “Kneel Down” (download), raise the stakes on the endless spiritual struggle that has taken place in his solo work since the first note of This Father’s Day.

Like Unstoppable Forces, this set of songs acts as a deepening and a refinement of what Himmelman has said and done before — as good an indication as any that fans can safely expect his work to continue to improve with age. He was an old soul in a young man’s body when he cut his first solo album twenty years ago; now, with experiences to match his insight, he has a truly special gift to offer the patient listener.

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