I should cut Whit Stillman some slack. He got his start as a feature filmmaker at age 38 with the acclaimed Metropolitan (1990)—the right time to look backwards with a sharpened pen at the status, conduct, and mating rituals of the young “urban haute bourgeoisie” who interest him. The movie got great reviews, received an Oscar nomination for his screenplay, and just didn’t do much for me, despite my appreciation for carefully crafted comedies of manners. The same goes for 1994’s cross-cultural Barcelona.
We’re both mixed on The Last Days of Disco (1998). It was his most expensive film, with a longer shooting schedule but correspondingly greater angst as the budget tightened. He based it on his own clubbing in the early ’80s, and came to regret recreating those experiences in Jersey City, NJ’s palatial, then-disused Loew’s movie theater, a big space that swallowed extras and production design and distracted him from his usual minimalist aesthetic. Worse, the distributor, smelling a trend in the air, played up the “disco” angle and hustled it into theaters. Remember that same summer’s 54, with Mike Myers as Studio 54 impresario Steve Rubell? Didn’t think so. Disco, and Disco, were dead. (more…)
Back in the day, I spent part of every summer in the vicinity of the Seaside Heights amusement park on the Jersey Shore. The log flume, the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Himalaya ride…magic. The fried and frozen food was to die (and it may kill me yet). If I’d kept all those quarters and dollars spent trying to win tapes, CDs, and stuffed animals I’d be in the chips today. But I wouldn’t trade the fun I had with my family on those vacations for anything, and I look forward to taking my daughter someday (mom will however have to escort her on the rollercoasters; dad’s always been kind of a wuss in that regard).
I always thought it would be cool to run the water balloon races or activate the spinning wheels, all while breathlessly announcing the action. But according to Adventureland, which bows on DVD today, I had it wrong. The rides are where the heat is; the games are for losers, a half-step up from the dunking booth geeks. It’s this ninth circle of hell that James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg) is stuck in when his parents’ drastically changed financial picture forces him to abandon a pre-grad school trip to Europe and get a job at Adventureland, the local park in his native Pittsburgh.
Writer/director Greg Mottola based the film on his own late-blooming coming-of-age misery, and set it in the summer of 1987. James is a virgin, and awkward around the ladies, but his clumsy honesty makes him a better-than-usual catch for Em (Kristen Stewart), who rescues him from an angry customer. (James has to give up an outsized panda, the sort of trophy I once lusted after, violating the cardinal rule of Bill Hader’s rabidly officious park manager.) James’ other asset is a steady supply of low-grade pot, which he doles out to some of Adventureland’s other staff misfits. These include the chronically sarcastic Joel (Martin Starr), the overgrown adolescent Frigo (Matt Bush), and the sexy Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva), who shocks James by asking him out on a date. James is wise to have another possible girlfriend in reserve, as the insecure Em is under the spell of Adventureland heartthrob Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who spins tales of having played with Lou Reed and doesn’t let his marriage get in the way of a good time. (more…)
As those of you who were present during the Jefitoblog days may remember, my original mission statement was “poking pop culture’s soft, white underbelly with a sharp-witted stick” — a goal that, insofar as it was ever truly achieved, was attainable mainly because of my deep and abiding love for said underbelly. We try to be a little more inclusive here at Popdose, but if you’ve followed the site at all, you know we try to focus on things that the other 1,175,000 music sites aren’t already covering — and to that end, we’ve given ourselves free rein to follow our muses all over the map. The less mainstream, the better.
All of which is my way of telling you that, if you live in the Connecticut area, next Friday is your chance to do two things:
Meet up with me, Jason Hare, and our pal Michael Parr from Ickmusic
See television heartthrob Jack Wagner perform live and in concert
What’s that, you say? You didn’t know that the guy who played Dr. Peter Burns on Melrose Place was a singer? Oh, for shame! You must not remember his #2 hit “All I Need,” which clambered up the charts in late 1984 while Wagner was making love in the afternoon as General Hospital’s singer/adventurer/cop/superspy Andrew “Frisco” Jones. Allow me to refresh your memory: (more…)
The concept is simple: come up with a list of great films that didn’t do well at the box office or ones you’ve been told are great and you’ve said to yourself, “Yeah, I should see that,” but you never get around to it. Originally when I was tinkering with such a list over ten years ago I included The Shawshank Redemption (1994), Hoosiers (1986), and Silverado (1985), but enough people have since discovered those movies on home video that I won’t include them here. But if you still haven’t seen those three or anything on the following list, by all means check them out!
Barton Fink (1991). The Coen brothers’ take on writer’s block and peeling wallpaper won Best Director (Joel Coen), Best Actor (John Turturro), and the grand prize — the Palme d’Or — at the 1991 Cannes Film Festival. John Turturro plays a New York playwright hired to write screenplays in 1940s Hollywood. While struggling to write a wrestling picture, the studio puts him up in a run-down hotel where he meets his next-door neighbor, an insurance salesman played by John Goodman. And then, in that typical Coen brothers way, it gets deliciously weird.
Brazil (1985). Think of it as George Orwell meets … well, Terry Gilliam. The director’s take on an Orwellian bureaucracy almost never got released in the U.S. The story is the stuff of Hollywood legend: Universal said the picture was unreleasable. They wanted to completely recut it and change the concept of the entire ending, so Terry Gilliam conducted private screenings against the studio’s wishes. Members of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association attended one of the screenings and voted Brazil best film of the year. Universal then relented and gave it a theatrical release, albeit reluctantly. But beware — the abbreviated, 94-minute cut of Brazil is sometimes shown in syndication, so if you’ve only seen it on TV, chances are you’ve seen the screwed-up version.
California Split (1974). This often overlooked Robert Altman film is a character study of two compulsive gamblers, wonderfully played by Elliott Gould and George Segal. There’s a lot of poker playing in this movie, yet in typical Altman fashion, not one actual hand of poker is shown — the focus is on the people, not the cards. All this plus the usual Altman touches (improv, long takes, and overlapping dialogue) make California Split the most realistic account of gambling I’ve ever seen.
It was a day of unmatched California beauty; a startling and fiery sun perched high above in a crystal blue sky and blazed down promise. It was an essential day, a meteorological marvel meant to be stored away for future reference.
“Dude,” a friend would ask the following week, “do you remember how amazing it was last Tuesday?”
And of course you do. Even if the day itself was all you’d been given, that would have been gift enough. But the weather was merely an underscoring for the occasion, a gilded and golden opportunity to spend an hour with George Harrison. You’ll forget how to breathe before you forget this. Simply saying the words out loud (actually you’re reduced to mumbling them sotto voce because you’re afraid that anything above a whisper might reduce the reality to mirage) – “I am hanging with a Beatle” – is enough to render you stupid.
Then you start considering the notion that maybe Harrison himself ordered up the perfect day as an interview-ambience backdrop. We all knew that he spoke with God all the time (and if He was going to listen to anybody, He’s going to find a minute or two for a Beatle). So, anyone who recalls a glorious Tuesday back in 1974, somewhere around May or June perhaps, the presence of just a soupcon of magic embedded in the sunrays, you can thank George and God (though not necessarily in that order). (more…)
So, I hope you enjoyed last week’s guest post by the lovely Scott Malchus. I also hope that you missed me and are delighted by my return. If you’re not, well, fuck you — I never liked you anyway.
I had considered writing about a space-related film this week in honor of the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission since I’m a giant space nerd. (If you follow me on Twitter, you are well aware of my geekiness and are likely totally sick of my NASA-related tweets.) But I changed my mind once I managed to finally piece together a fairly complete soundtrack for one of my favorite music-related films from the ’80s, Light of Day (1987).
I’ve wanted to write about this Michael J. Fox movie for several months now, after finding a near-mint-condition vinyl copy of the soundtrack album at Half-Price Books earlier this year. That led me to purchasing a used VHS copy of the movie, which is, tragically, not on DVD yet. But since (1) the soundtrack is out of print, (2) I don’t have a turntable I can use to rip my vinyl to digital, and (3) I’ve had a hell of a time finding MP3s of most of the songs elsewhere, I’ve been putting off writing about it, hoping to get it together one day soon. Finally, I have.
Before I wrap up my case against the defendant – that man over there with the plaid sportcoat, golf pants and bad haircut, the one who has refused to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face at any point during these proceedings (or, indeed, during his entire career) – I’d like to congratulate each of you for being selected to pass judgment on the serial crimes committed against rock ‘n’ roll by this defendant, Mr. … Lewis? (Actually, his given name is Hugh Cregg the Third.)
Take a look around you. You, my friends, are the soul of Popdose’s vast readership, the very backbone of music-blog culture! And that makes you – let’s face it – cool. Hip. Happenin’. You are steeped in music history and well-versed in the loose morals and bad attitudes that make rock ‘n’ roll what it is and always has been, at its best: Cutting-edge. Rebellious. Dangerous. You know perfectly well which music lives up to those standards, and which does not. You know which artists have provided major contributions, and you know – perhaps more than anyone – that with a fat recording contract and a complacent rubber-stamp from radio, a swill merchant like Mr. Lewis can do enormous damage to this music, this culture, this … industry of cool in which we are all invested.
And make no mistake – the crimes we’re discussing here are not trivial ones. The defense has tried to convince you that Mr. Lewis was just making “good-time music,” having fun, giving the people what they want. But the fact is that Mr. Lewis and his band, having built their career by stringing together a nice series of hits while presenting themselves as a bunch of regular Joes – a run-of-the-mill bar band made good – proceeded to engage in years of shameless, chart-topping hackery. (more…)
Tori Amos is a powerful woman, and a very influential lady. She’s the reason many people love music; she’s the reason many people play music. Her ability to inspire and evoke emotion is unparalleled, and her unequivocal passion, honesty and commitment to her own muse have moved audiences the world over. On her tenth and latest studio album, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, the minister’s daughter takes on the role of liberator by redefining sin. Exploring how we come to be controlled, she offers a new concept to the dialogue – erotic spirituality – and, through the women in her songs, reclaims power from the patriarchal belief systems that use their definition of sin to shame and control. The result is an album that’s as uncompromising as it is emotionally salient, purposeful and full of transformative power, much like the artist herself.
Drawing from the diverse sonic architecture she’s amassed over the course of her two-decade career, Amos brings out the full arsenal of instrumentation on Sin’s 17 tracks, and continues to push her own boundaries on the production and compositional fronts. The carefully crafted album features haunting piano balladry (“Curtain Call”), classic Tori waltzes (“Ophelia,” “Maybe California”), spacey synth baths (“Give”), proggy Zeppelin-esque riffs (“Strong Black Vine”), showtune flare (“That Guy,” “500 Miles”), and sometimes all of the above (seven-minute closer “Lady in Blue” and single “Welcome to England”).Neil [Gaiman] is still there when you need him – “Neil is thrilled he can claim he’s mammalian / ‘But the bad news,’ he said, ‘Girl, you’re a dandelion’” (“Not Dying Today”) – and another influential character, Doug Morris, Amos’ mentor at Atlantic Records whom she credits for breaking her into the mainstream, returns behind the scenes for the first time in 14 years via her new joint venture with Universal Republic.
The album hints back to the logic in art and packaging of Scarlet’s Walk(Epic, 2002) with its secret website and accompanying 16 “visualettes,” or silent movies. Directed by Christian Lamb, these visualettes are comprised of footage he shot during Amos’ American Doll Posse tour, along with live footage and new material, and were integral to the process of Sin.
Popdose caught up with Amos on the phone at her home in Cornwall, England as she prepared to take Sin on a three-month world tour, which kicked off in Seattle Friday, July 10. (more…)
I’d just like to start this very, very belated follow-up to my piece on Wonderboy’s Napoleon Blown Apart album with a profound and heartfelt apology to the man who sat still for an extremely long time and answered my every question: Robbie Rist. We had a great conversation about his entire career, and I felt like I couldn’t do it justice unless I split it into two parts. The problem, however, was that I kept setting aside the second part of the conversation and intending to transcribe it when I got a free moment. What I forgot was that I never have free moments…and as a testimony to this fact, I am typing this intro while my three-year-old daughter is leaning against my arm, asking, “When are you going to be done, Daddy? Because I want to show you the seashells I got at the beach today.” Clearly, I’m a terrible father.
Okay, wait, she says, “No, you’re not.” So let’s just say I’m a dedicated journalist.
Anyway, I hope everyone who enjoyed the first half of my conversation with Robbie returns to check out this second half, as we discuss various artists he’s worked with during his career in music, and we also finally get around to asking him about his acting…and, yes, that includes Cousin Oliver. So let’s get back to where we left off, having just chatted about Napoleon Blown Apart and starting to ask about some of his other work…
I wanted to run through a couple of other albums that you played on. I hope to do a column about the Barry Holdship Four’s The Jesse Garon Project, because I love that record.
Oh, right on! Yeah, I did some playing on that. He’s an awesome guy. (more…)
Chicago, Illinois, April 1977 — I knew what I was in for ten seconds after Guitar Player said to me: “We want you to interview Led Zeppelin.” My head filled with the clarion call of screaming guitars and in a moment of epiphany I saw it all: Jimmy Page would be my touchstone. Every story I’d ever written or ever would write would be measured against this one.
“Screw this up,” I also remembered muttering to myself, “and the closest I’ll ever get to another guitar player is looking at his picture on the cover of an album!”
I silenced the voice and plodded ahead. GP had only made one cursory call to Zeppelin’s record company offices in New York, and had left the rest up to me. I contacted Swan Song immediately. The baton had been passed and I ran with it like Forrest Gump.
“Run, Rosen, Run!”
What I thought would be a sprint turned into a marathon.
The next seven months were devoted to making phone calls and leaving messages. Dealing with Zeppelin’s demands and strange requests became a daily ritual. In many ways, they may have been testing my resolve, some sort of acid test meant to reveal just how truly motivated I was. (more…)
As those of you who were present during the Jefitoblog days may remember, my original mission statement was “poking pop culture’s soft, white underbelly with a sharp-witted stick” — a goal that, insofar as it was ever truly achieved, was attainable mainly because of my deep and abiding love for said underbelly. We try to be a little more inclusive here at Popdose, but if you’ve followed the site at all, you know we try to focus on things that the other 1,175,000 music sites aren’t already covering — and to that end, we’ve given ourselves free rein to follow our muses all over the map. The less mainstream, the better.
Barton Fink (1991). The Coen brothers’ take on writer’s block and peeling wallpaper won Best Director (Joel Coen), Best Actor (John Turturro), and the grand prize — the Palme d’Or — at the 1991 Cannes Film Festival. John Turturro plays a New York playwright hired to write screenplays in 1940s Hollywood. While struggling to write a wrestling picture, the studio puts him up in a run-down hotel where he meets his next-door neighbor, an insurance salesman played by John Goodman. And then, in that typical Coen brothers way, it gets deliciously weird.
Brazil (1985). Think of it as George Orwell meets … well, Terry Gilliam. The director’s take on an Orwellian bureaucracy almost never got released in the U.S. The story is the stuff of Hollywood legend: Universal said the picture was unreleasable. They wanted to completely recut it and change the concept of the entire ending, so Terry Gilliam conducted private screenings against the studio’s wishes. Members of the Los Angeles Film Critics Association attended one of the screenings and voted Brazil best film of the year. Universal then relented and gave it a theatrical release, albeit reluctantly. But beware — the abbreviated, 94-minute cut of Brazil is sometimes shown in syndication, so if you’ve only seen it on TV, chances are you’ve seen the screwed-up version.![460px-George_Harrison_1974[1]](http://popdose.com/wp-content/uploads/460px-George_Harrison_19741.jpg "460px-George_Harrison_1974[1]")
It was a day of unmatched California beauty; a startling and fiery sun perched high above in a crystal blue sky and blazed down promise. It was an essential day, a meteorological marvel meant to be stored away for future reference.
So, I hope you enjoyed last week’s 
![RS430~Huey-Lewis-Rolling-Stone-no-430-September-1984-Posters[1]](http://popdose.com/wp-content/uploads/RS430Huey-Lewis-Rolling-Stone-no-430-September-1984-Posters1.jpg "RS430~Huey-Lewis-Rolling-Stone-no-430-September-1984-Posters[1]")
Take a look around you. You, my friends, are the soul of Popdose’s vast readership, the very backbone of music-blog culture! And that makes you – let’s face it – cool. Hip. Happenin’. You are steeped in music history and well-versed in the loose morals and bad attitudes that make rock ‘n’ roll what it is and always has been, at its best: Cutting-edge. Rebellious. Dangerous. You know perfectly well which music lives up to those standards, and which does not. You know which artists have provided major contributions, and you know – perhaps more than anyone – that with a fat recording contract and a complacent rubber-stamp from radio, a swill merchant like Mr. Lewis can do enormous damage to this music, this culture, this … industry of cool in which we are all invested.
Tori Amos is a powerful woman, and a very influential lady. She’s the reason many people love music; she’s the reason many people play music. Her ability to inspire and evoke emotion is unparalleled, and her unequivocal passion, honesty and commitment to her own muse have moved audiences the world over. On her tenth and latest studio album, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, the minister’s daughter takes on the role of liberator by redefining sin. Exploring how we come to be controlled, she offers a new concept to the dialogue – erotic spirituality – and, through the women in her songs, reclaims power from the patriarchal belief systems that use their definition of sin to shame and control. The result is an album that’s as uncompromising as it is emotionally salient, purposeful and full of transformative power, much like the artist herself.
I’d just like to start this very, very belated follow-up to my piece on Wonderboy’s 
![jimmy002_silverdome-april1977[1]](http://popdose.com/wp-content/uploads/jimmy002_silverdome-april19771.jpg "jimmy002_silverdome-april1977[1]")
Chicago, Illinois, April 1977 — I knew what I was in for ten seconds after Guitar Player said to me: “We want you to interview Led Zeppelin.” My head filled with the clarion call of screaming guitars and in a moment of epiphany I saw it all: Jimmy Page would be my touchstone. Every story I’d ever written or ever would write would be measured against this one.