Oh wait, that's Lady Gaga looking like a damn fool at the VMA's. Not gonna lie, I thought she sounded great in the live rendition of her paparazzi love/hate ballad. But her costumes looked like one major wardrobe malfunction after another. I also was not feeling the crazy wheelchair girl and bloody chest stunt. It looked like a mash-up of the True Blood season finale (disappointing) and an old Madonna performance (but way less good).
Monday, September 14, 2009
Where the Wild Things Are: Sneak Preview
Oh wait, that's Lady Gaga looking like a damn fool at the VMA's. Not gonna lie, I thought she sounded great in the live rendition of her paparazzi love/hate ballad. But her costumes looked like one major wardrobe malfunction after another. I also was not feeling the crazy wheelchair girl and bloody chest stunt. It looked like a mash-up of the True Blood season finale (disappointing) and an old Madonna performance (but way less good).
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
That Soft Focus Ain't Foolin Anyone
By my calculations (random guessing), the members of the backstreet boys are well into their late thirties. Some may be hovering around 42. And this new vampire-themed video of theirs reeks of riding the coat-tails of a pop-culture trend to get a little attention.
One of the "boys" is almost entirely bald, but you'll have to look closely, as he never takes center stage. (the cue ball can be glimpsed in their I-youtubed-old-New-Kids-concert-footage dance sequence.)
I'm feeling a little depressed for my "generation," even though, ahem, I'm way younger than these douches, it was my cohort that brought them to fame. I may have even played a song or two of theirs in my car on the way to school. I said MIGHT.
I don't know why they can't just catapult one member to fame, one to homo outer space, and the rest into self-hating obscurity like N'Sync? It seems the logical thing to do.
One of the "boys" is almost entirely bald, but you'll have to look closely, as he never takes center stage. (the cue ball can be glimpsed in their I-youtubed-old-New-Kids-concert-footage dance sequence.)
I'm feeling a little depressed for my "generation," even though, ahem, I'm way younger than these douches, it was my cohort that brought them to fame. I may have even played a song or two of theirs in my car on the way to school. I said MIGHT.
I don't know why they can't just catapult one member to fame, one to homo outer space, and the rest into self-hating obscurity like N'Sync? It seems the logical thing to do.
Monday, August 31, 2009
In Other News from 1996, Oasis Splits.
Noel Gallagher resigned from his band of brothers, Oasis, citing "violent and verbal intimidation," a story on MTV.com says. Um, just wondering, didn't this already happen?
Who even knew these morning glories were back together, and what fans are expecting an apology for the breakup? I think anyone who still cares is probably like "yeah, great, finally." The split brings some bittersweet relief, like watching your friend's on-again-off-again relationship finally end.
"Oh really, it's over? Cool. I'll be waiting for your Sears Family Portrait x-mas cards."
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Word of the Day
Parental Bailout.
Def: When you make like GM and bankrupt yourself with poor decisions, undeserved management bonuses (aka shopping sprees and Starubucks stops) and need a higher power to step in and set things right.
Sure, kids have been getting money help from the 'rentals for ever. But in these trying times, such bailouts are coming in some interesting forms and figures.
Like a "we'll help you pay off your debt, but the second you step into Starbucks, the deal is off." It's almost like congress determining that Bank of America can not continue to raise interest rates on all their loan recipients, if they're using the Gov's money to "help" these people. Right?
Have you ever gotten a parental bailout before? How did it work? What kind of conditions did it come with? I'm sure having fiscally irresponsible children is exhausting. To all the p-rents out there, how have you dealt with it? Hmm.
Def: When you make like GM and bankrupt yourself with poor decisions, undeserved management bonuses (aka shopping sprees and Starubucks stops) and need a higher power to step in and set things right.
Sure, kids have been getting money help from the 'rentals for ever. But in these trying times, such bailouts are coming in some interesting forms and figures.
Like a "we'll help you pay off your debt, but the second you step into Starbucks, the deal is off." It's almost like congress determining that Bank of America can not continue to raise interest rates on all their loan recipients, if they're using the Gov's money to "help" these people. Right?
Have you ever gotten a parental bailout before? How did it work? What kind of conditions did it come with? I'm sure having fiscally irresponsible children is exhausting. To all the p-rents out there, how have you dealt with it? Hmm.
Erykah Badu at Governors Island
On Tuesday, August 4, AEG Live presented Erykah Badu as the first summer show at The BEACH at Governors Island. The sometimes flaky Badu was on time, and no worse for the wear after the birth of her third baby (in her Brooklyn home) this February. With the exception of sound issues during opener Janelle Monae’s set, the kickoff went smoothly.
Added as part of a reinvention of the historic island off of Manhattan, the new waterfront venue is hoped to bring tourists and New York fun-seekers out to green space, with a beach-like plot of sand, beer venders, full bars, hot dogs for days and a capacity of 3,000. With skyline views and sweeping lawns long forgotten by the city folk, Governors Island provides an idyllic summer concert location, one that AEG plans to utilize from May to October every year.
Erykah Badu brought her sig smooth-jazz-meets-rough-soul sound and toothy grin to the stage, while attendees sat on sheets-cum-beach blankets in the sand. Perhaps a function of the ticket price ($72 once water taxi and ticketmaster fees were added), the crowd was decidedly older and calmer than one might expect, and even while she belted out “Puff,” the air was clear. Most didn’t even seem to get it when she quipped about hitting a drive-through to order “a large everything” in the middle of the song.
As is her wont, Ms. Badu jumped from song to song, sometimes mid-verse, or by swapping one song’s bridge for another, but stayed mainly in her melancholy set including, a favorite among couples in the crowd, “Love of My Life.” The melee she’s known for (songs like “Bump It” and “Bag Lady”) were saved for the encore, for which barely a third of the crowd stuck around.
The young ones who lasted to the bitter end were treated to Badu’s rendition of the Jackson five’s “Nine to Five,” and soundbites from Slick Rick’s “Ladi Dadi,” adding “I knew y’all were some conceited bastards!” to the “mirror, mirror” line. Aside from donning a “Bite me I’m vegan” T shirt, Badu stayed away from her sometimes preachy rants. She did thank her band profusely, saying “they make my thang come together,” right before reminding the audience that “one smile can make a mill…” which blossomed right into the hook “a millie, a millie, millionaire,” from Lil’ Wayne’s hit of the same name. The crowd erupted into the first moshy dance fest all night and, as if through a puff of smoke, Erykah disappeared.
N.E.R.D., Mos Def and Lupe Fiasco are also on Governors Island’s summer lineup, along with a Sublime tribute band and hipster dance-anthem group, Brazilian Girls, to provide an intentional variety of sounds. I'll be at all of them, in my dreams. But at $72 a pop, I may have to copy the folks who pulled a motorboat up to the side of Govs Island to watch the show from the water.
What do you think? Another great green space for New Yorkers, or exclusionist, elitist day-cation spot?
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Call me Betty
"What's your favorite song" is a question that has haunted me most of my life. Seriously. Choosing one to love and honor above all others was just something I couldn't do. But recently, on several long walks to work, I've figured out what I think the BEST song is, factually speaking.
"You Can Call Me Al." No, I'm not kidding. I realized while doing all I could not to participate in the whistling interlude that this is the peppiest damn song that ever lived, and it manages not to be obnoxiously happy.
"He doesn't speak the language, he holds no currency, he is a foreign man, he is surrounded by the sound. The sound. Cattle in the marketplace, scatterlings and orphanages," These lyrics are no "Barbie Girl" (possibly the other most peppy song alive, and one that makes me want to incite violence). The lines magically flow into one another like a poetic collection of really vivid scenes. For example, "Angels in the architectures spinning in infinity" reminds me of that building in Salamanca, Spain with all the gothic relief work that some witty restoration artist added an astronaut to in the mid nineties. And the song was written well before that happened, though I guess the "angels" were still spinning in infinity. It also has a bit of angst which I may or may not be projecting, but when I want to hear it in a sad way I just focus on the verse about a man in the midst of some kind of crisis who, spurning his wife and family, ducks back down an alleyway with a roly poly little bat-faced girl. I'm not quite sure what roly poly and bat-faced actually mean, but it feels plenty sad when I need it to.
The tune also has a healthy dose of nostalgia for most of my cohort because it was on heavy enough rotation in our childhood homes, you'd think payola was involved. I've seen so many copies of that vinyl, each worn down like the back pockets on your best pair of jeans, with Garfunkel's orange 'fro hovering in between taupe and sienna instead [ed. note: I realize this song was on Graceland, not an S&G record. What am I thinking of, Bridge Over Troubled Water? Eesh. I hope not). And I've danced in friend's livingrooms to it when we got to that year in college when we first really started appreciating our parents' taste in music. And I've brought it on uncountable roadtrips. And I walk to work with it, and let it put an obvious bounce in my step. And I whistle, outloud. And I feel like I'm privy to some kind of inside joke when the backwards bassline blurs past and I know that's exactly what it is.
It's not my favorite because I'm just not capable of that kind of commitment. But it's definitely the best.
"You Can Call Me Al." No, I'm not kidding. I realized while doing all I could not to participate in the whistling interlude that this is the peppiest damn song that ever lived, and it manages not to be obnoxiously happy.
"He doesn't speak the language, he holds no currency, he is a foreign man, he is surrounded by the sound. The sound. Cattle in the marketplace, scatterlings and orphanages," These lyrics are no "Barbie Girl" (possibly the other most peppy song alive, and one that makes me want to incite violence). The lines magically flow into one another like a poetic collection of really vivid scenes. For example, "Angels in the architectures spinning in infinity" reminds me of that building in Salamanca, Spain with all the gothic relief work that some witty restoration artist added an astronaut to in the mid nineties. And the song was written well before that happened, though I guess the "angels" were still spinning in infinity. It also has a bit of angst which I may or may not be projecting, but when I want to hear it in a sad way I just focus on the verse about a man in the midst of some kind of crisis who, spurning his wife and family, ducks back down an alleyway with a roly poly little bat-faced girl. I'm not quite sure what roly poly and bat-faced actually mean, but it feels plenty sad when I need it to.
The tune also has a healthy dose of nostalgia for most of my cohort because it was on heavy enough rotation in our childhood homes, you'd think payola was involved. I've seen so many copies of that vinyl, each worn down like the back pockets on your best pair of jeans, with Garfunkel's orange 'fro hovering in between taupe and sienna instead [ed. note: I realize this song was on Graceland, not an S&G record. What am I thinking of, Bridge Over Troubled Water? Eesh. I hope not). And I've danced in friend's livingrooms to it when we got to that year in college when we first really started appreciating our parents' taste in music. And I've brought it on uncountable roadtrips. And I walk to work with it, and let it put an obvious bounce in my step. And I whistle, outloud. And I feel like I'm privy to some kind of inside joke when the backwards bassline blurs past and I know that's exactly what it is.
It's not my favorite because I'm just not capable of that kind of commitment. But it's definitely the best.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Seriously?
There are certain things we stop congratulating ourselves for in adulthood: reading a chapter book, distinguishing between print and cursive, and using the potty to name a few. So why is it that this crop of children's (OK, I'll give you "young adult") books have come out, taken the adult world by storm and all of a sudden everyone's proud of themselves for reading.
Harry Potter. I'm sure it is "way different from those other fantasy novels," but since when is anything written in 20-point font acceptable reading matter for grownups? It's not. There are plenty of folks who just want to be a part of whatever's big at the time, but then do we need to boast about it? "I read a book [written for eight-year-olds] IN TWO WEEKS FLAT!" Seriously? Get a life.
And now Twilight. If my practically un-researched assumptions are correct, this one's about an underclassmen living out her "bad boy" fantasies with one who happens to be a vampire. I'm pretty sure high school protagonists are best suited for middle school readers. Remember Sweet Valley High and The Babysitter's Club? Even the Babysitters Little Sister Series was tailored to like 7 year olds. Why? Because you can't sell the rest of us on how awesome high school is. We've been there. And we know that the bad boy plays out more like a depressing after-school special involving an "apartment" above your parents' garage and making weed butter to melt over ramen noodles.
Maybe it's because so many of us stop reading when the requisite summer book lists stop coming from English teachers, but we never let go of the "reading level" we're handed in grade school. Oh wait, that can't be it. You read Shakespeare and Richard Wright and the Odyssey in highschool. So... I can't think of a single reason for this crap. Let's be done with it.
Why am I actually mad? Because blithering idiots become millionaires on the sales of a single book (that sucks). You know who you are, people. Stop buying into the hype and make me some ramen.
Harry Potter. I'm sure it is "way different from those other fantasy novels," but since when is anything written in 20-point font acceptable reading matter for grownups? It's not. There are plenty of folks who just want to be a part of whatever's big at the time, but then do we need to boast about it? "I read a book [written for eight-year-olds] IN TWO WEEKS FLAT!" Seriously? Get a life.
And now Twilight. If my practically un-researched assumptions are correct, this one's about an underclassmen living out her "bad boy" fantasies with one who happens to be a vampire. I'm pretty sure high school protagonists are best suited for middle school readers. Remember Sweet Valley High and The Babysitter's Club? Even the Babysitters Little Sister Series was tailored to like 7 year olds. Why? Because you can't sell the rest of us on how awesome high school is. We've been there. And we know that the bad boy plays out more like a depressing after-school special involving an "apartment" above your parents' garage and making weed butter to melt over ramen noodles.
Maybe it's because so many of us stop reading when the requisite summer book lists stop coming from English teachers, but we never let go of the "reading level" we're handed in grade school. Oh wait, that can't be it. You read Shakespeare and Richard Wright and the Odyssey in highschool. So... I can't think of a single reason for this crap. Let's be done with it.
Why am I actually mad? Because blithering idiots become millionaires on the sales of a single book (that sucks). You know who you are, people. Stop buying into the hype and make me some ramen.
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