Like Kingdom Come

One of the best commercials I've seen in some time, thanks in part to the inclusion of an instrumental cover of Depeche Mode's "I Feel You."

A Hipster Epiphany

As part of a lengthy blog post about his ill-treatment by security guards at Saturday's Vice Magazine Halloween Party, Titus Andronicus frontman Patrick Stickles has his microcosmic Siddhartha Gautama moment under the night skies of Williamsburg.

We are being choked and beaten and sexually assaulted, and all the while, my peers dance and snort cheap coke and photograph each other for the hundreth time. I scoff at it all now from atop my high horse, but I was there too, because I am poor and when people want give me money to play my guitar, I can't ever say no.

Kids, we are blowing it. Everything they say about us is true.

"A crying woman is a scheming woman."

A horror flick masquerading as art house cinema, Lars von Trier's "Antichrist" succeeds where Neil LaBute's "The Wicker Man", an art house film artlessly propped up as Hollywood fare, so gravely failed. It is well worth comparing these two movies, considering frequent accusations of misogyny against their directors. With a markedly wooden Nicolas Cage as its leading man, "The Wicker Man" built suspense like a good mystery should, yet fizzled out thanks to an overwrought (and over-thought) plot stuffed with Wiccan mysticism and over-the-top misandry. "Antichrist", bolstered by a far more talented male lead in Willem DaFoe, drinks from a similar well of influence, yet leads viewers to its shocking, violent, and vulgar third act without forcing its slowly revealed thesis down the audience's collective throat.

That much-discussed third act is preceded by three fantastic others, each pushing forward the storyline of a couple caught in the throes of grief. The film's elegantly stylized slow-motion prologue begins with passion and ends in tragedy, a child's death that occurs seemingly at the point of his parents' coital climax. We are next brought to the child's funeral, where his mother, the talented Charlotte Gainsbourg, collapses and suffers great emotional pain. DaFoe, with a somewhat aloof affect, attempts to care for his wife as best he can, which is ultimately to both of their detriments. A therapist, DaFoe breaks one of the most basic tenets of his field by treating Gainsbourg as his patient. Relentless in his newfound role, he is almost numb to his wife's charges of arrogance for thinking he is somehow best suited to cure her, though barely able to withstand her inappropriate and unsettlingly aggressive sexual advances. When Gainsbourg engages in a form of self-harm, comparatively mild in the context of what is yet to come, DaFoe grows frustrated enough to change locales to Eden, an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere. This is the place where, as an as-yet unseen character reveals, "chaos reigns."

What follows is a procession of events both plausible and supernatural, fueled in part by emotionally daunting therapeutic exercises and the weight of a failing marriage. Mood swings can explain some of these, but certainly not all. Something more sinister is at work here in these woods; something that at least one--and maybe both--parties were privy to prior to arriving. The plentiful amount of graphic sex that occurs throughout the film could be dismissed as gratuitous--that is, until the unexpected first of a series of savage acts involving the flesh. Indeed, were DaFoe and Gainsbourg's genitals not so flagrantly displayed throughout, these next scenes would be downright preposterous. In context, however, their nudity makes sense, even as things edge towards familiar terrain covered by the "Saw" and "Hostel" franchises. Actually, torture porn is perhaps the best description for "Antichrist", and I can only hope that fans of that horror subgenre will come around to this film when it is eventually released on DVD. Though seemingly sluggish in its approach, the final twenty-or-so minutes would satiate the escalating bloodlust of moviegoers growing weary of and desensitized to Jigsaw's latest contraptions.

This leads back to the question of misogyny. I'd make the case that "Antichrist" and "The Wicker Man", respectively, serve as responses to the longstanding charges levied at their directors by feminists and film critics alike. The difference is that von Trier does so by revealing evil as something natural and inherent, while LaBute poorly portrays the banality of evil with his "difficult" women. When DaFoe despairs, one empathizes with him; when Cage does, you can't help but laugh.

"I Can Transform Ya."

Earlier this week, the New York Times's Jon Caramanica reviewed a radio station concert that Chris Brown headlined. Clearly the writer is as stunned as I over how accepting the R&B audience seems given this unremarkable singer's well-documented brutal assault of ex-girlfriend Rihanna.

In recent months Mr. Brown has been steadfastly inarticulate about his situation, whether on TV with Larry King, in print in People magazine or on the radio with Angie Martinez. Or maybe underarticulate: he says little and appears to be aiming to say even less. That’s probably why Mr. Brown’s D.J. did most of the talking on Tuesday night, lest Mr. Brown get lost in an attempted mea culpa. After asking how Mr. Brown was doing, the D.J. played a few bars of Clipse’s “I’m Good” while Mr. Brown danced. Later Mr. Brown took a moment: “I wanted to thank everybody for coming out tonight, despite my past and stuff like that. I appreciate all y’all. I really am going to change for every one of y’all and be a better man.” But this crowd — filling only two-thirds of the arena — was no jury, having appeared to move past forgiveness and on to rabid lust.

What is it, then, about Brown that has kept him from becoming a music industry pariah like the infinitely more talented Ike Turner? Caramanica has a theory on that:

Perhaps in a genre where moral boundaries have already been stretched thin by the tribulations of R. Kelly, Mr. Brown has more room to maneuver.

It's an interesting point that Caramanica makes, this notion that despite the leaked photographic evidence of Brown's violence, his fanbase has somehow become desensitized to this. R. Kelly has maintained a successful career despite graphic charges of statutory rape. Though ultimately the legal system worked in his favor, the stigma of that still sticks to him, though curiously as a source of humor instead of disgust or disdain. Brown's crime, while in-and-of-itself despicable by society's standards, apparently is subject to the same such exoneration in the court of public opinion.

The irony, however, is that R&B largely serves romantic ends, both thematically by the songwriters/performers and practically by its consumers. Our lives are complicated and so too are our sins. Perhaps it's just easier to give in to the hedonistic enticements of the music than to dwell on the sins of the messenger.

THE STATE, FOR KIDS

I am more than slightly disturbed that Michael Ian Black, irreverent comedian behind such subversive programs as The State, Stella, and Michael And Michael Have Issues, has a side-career writing children's books. The above video shows him reading from one called Chicken Cheeks, which is apparently just an illustrated list of funny animal anuses. Before you ask, yes, this is a real book.

Mr. Black has a new one coming out in December entitled The Purple Kangaroo. Apparently, his publisher is running a contest with other books, which people can vote in. The book that wins gets inclusion in Cheerios boxes next year. I've voted. You should too.

Emoh-tive

The other night I went to New York's worst music venue Terminal 5 to catch a fully reunited Sunny Day Real Estate play for an hour-and-twenty-minutes. The set was heavy with material from their classic duo of Sub Pop albums, Diary and LP2, both of which have been recently remastered and reissued. The folks at BrooklynVegan have done a short photo-filled recap of the show, so there's little need for me to comment further on the performance, except to say that "In Circles" is still one of the greatest songs ever written. Check out the live version from the show:


My mood has been... well... interesting lately, and while this isn't a pour-your-big-stupid-heart-out kind of blog, I'll reveal that I've had a craving for the softer side of music lately to contrast with the metal and noise rock I typically subject my eardrums too. For instance, I recently rediscovered my Toad The Wet Sprocket CDs, which have sat idle for years, heretofore only seeing action during moves from apartment-to-apartment. Dulcinea is still a favorite, but I'm saving the big guns (Fear) for just the right moment.

Another artist I'm becoming more interested in is Lou Barlow, the bassist for Dinosaur Jr. and frontman for a handful of projects like Sebadoh and The Folk Implosion. He's got a new solo album coming out next week entitled Goodnight Unknown. What first drew me to this record was the fact that Melvins drummer Dale Crover plays drums on most--if not all--of the album, which seemed a change of pace for the living legend. Check out the video for "The Right," the album's first single:

In The Company Of Men, Part 2

Ms. Aniston’s character, Eloise Chandler, is a poker-faced floral designer he bumps into in a hotel corridor. The next time he sees her, she responds to his flirtatious overture in sign language. This gratuitous quotation from Mr. Eckhart’s breakthrough film, “In the Company of Men,” like many of the movie’s stabs at humor, is simply bizarre.

It's disturbing enough that Aaron Eckhart, infamous among cinephiles for his jarring portrayal of a scheming misogynist in Neil LaBute's "In the Company of Men," has parlayed his talents into two romantic comedies: "No Reservations" and now, "Love Happens." To actually reference that role in such an overt way suggests a particularly dark and misanthropic mindset on the part of screenwriters Brandon Camp and Mike Thompson. Not surprisingly, this actually makes me want to see "Love Happens," on the off-chance that it possesses more hidden undermining of the romantic comedy template.

my DJ sets from Precious Metal NYC - 8/24

Set #1
Moutheater - The Big Breath Before The Deep Plunge
Helmet - Renovation
Mudhoney - Touch Me I'm Sick
Porno For Pyros - Tahitian Moon
Alice In Chains - Would?
Down - Pillamyd
Iommi w/ Henry Rollins - Laughing Man
Ministry - Filth Pig

Set #2
Hole - Celebrity Skin
Foo Fighters - Podunk
Fugazi - Back To Base
Dwarves - Motherfucker
Husker Du - New Day Rising
Killdozer - Man Of Meat
Clint Ruin & Lydia Lunch - Why Don't We Do It In The Road?
ANDREW WK - I GET WET
Atari Teenage Riot - Kids Are United
Nine Inch Nails - March Of The Pigs

Set #3
The Melvins - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Big Business - Hands Up
Unsane - Scrape
The Austerity Program - Song 18
Minor Threat - Filler
Hole - Over The Edge

Set #4
Porno For Pyros - Pets
Nirvana - Rape Me
Melvins - Honey Bucket
Norma Jean - Dilemmachine
Today Is The Day - High As The Sky
Foetus - Mighty Whitey
Helmet - Bad Mood
16 - Monday Bloody Monday
Zozobra - In Jetstreams
Shellac - My Black Ass
Iggy And The Stooges - Search And Destroy

Profiles In Excellence

Today, the ladies of the Reign In Blonde blog have posted an interview with me. You should probably go there and read it.

If you've come here after reading it, here's a cookie.

Wacko Wing

There has been a concerted effort by right wingers to find ways to de-legitimatize the presidency of Barack Hussein Obama, including charges that he is a Muslim (and thereby, by some stretch of the prejudiced imagination, a terrorist) and that he wasn't actually born in the United States. That's one thing when it comes from cuckoo crazies with blogs, but it's entirely different when it comes from an American Congressman! Watch the video above and see blowhard Chris Matthews do his job in taking jerkwad Rep. John Campbell (R-CA) down a few pegs.