Be Ehh-talian

When I saw the trailer for 'Nine' a few months ago, I immediately sent it to my brother Kevin and my friend Pete because we are all obsessed with Daniel Day Lewis. We all believe he is the best actor of this generation and he is incapable of giving a non-electrifying performance.

Then I read the reviews--37% from top critics at rottentomatoes.com. Even with the cast and the record of Director Rob Marshall, everyone confirmed that it still sucked. Needless to say, Katie and I still wanted to see it and figured we would just go in with low expectations. After viewing it last Wednesday, our strategy did not help much. I never thought I would say this, but DDL failed to pull it off. Never once in the film did I not think he was himself trying to portray a Fellini-esque, Italian director. Couldn't nail down the accent. Couldn't really carry a note. Just didn't exude an Italian demeanor; something the main song of the film, 'Be Italian' demanded.

It wasn't just DDL though. The story simply failed to deliver. There were only two decent songs and the rest were completely forgettable. The best performance was definitely by Fergie, and the fact that she was the only cast member who has legit singing talent was definitely apparent.They seemed forced, as opposed to Chicago where they fit into the plot and dialogue perfectly. Most of the numbers either made no sense or were just flat out boring.

The cinematography was still good and there is some stunning imagery throughout the film. But that's about it. Even with the slam-dunk concept and the amazing cast, it was a pretty lame show. Marshall didn't fool anyone.

Real Estate released their self-titled album over the summer and I just picked it up. Very relaxed, beachy, trippy sound with muted vocals and I can't stop listening to them. They hail from Jersey but have a very island sound. The album is mixed with some catchy surf tracks like "Beach Comber" and "Fake Blues" and deep, melting tracks like "Atlantis" and "Suburban Dogs" that can float you away. I'll occasionally get some glimpses of Weezer in there, but it's some pretty original, refreshing stuff. Will be perfect for summer afternoons.

The Road

I read Cormac McCarthy's The Road in the winter of 2008, shortly after I moved to New York. I was living in the basement of a Hell's Kitchen apartment and it was cold and dark. I was under two comforters, wore ski socks and a hoodie with the hood pulled up. Perfect conditions for reading this book. I get into books, but I reached on new level with this. At 1:30 AM on a Tuesday I would still convince myself to read a few more pages. The book is darker than holy hell, at times disturbingly terrifying, but it maintains a hopeful undertone throughout. It shows how humans can survive and endure the most horrific times imaginable through love, determination, trust and hope.

Needless to say I could not wait for the movie to come out, and I had to wait a long damn time. Originally scheduling the release for fall of '08, the Weinsteins felt the film was a little too morbid for the economic situation and ended up pushing it back over a full year. I was finally able to catch it this past Saturday.

Usually I think it's best to look at books and their film versions as two seperate pieces and that they should not be compared. This one is an exception. Having watched this on a dark, rainy Saturday morning, I was happy I had read the book and understood its message of human perseverance because don't think the film is going to be able to accurately convey it to fresh viewers. Sometimes books are 'unfilmable.' On the other hand, this book was just too good not to make a film out of it.

Over the past couple of months the studio has put a hopeful spin on the trailer. The origial trailer showed an action-packed, post-apocalyptic thriller. The latest tells a tale of inspiration and grit and is actually pretty cheesy. After seeing it however, I can kind of sympathize with the studio--this film must have been really difficult to market. It has to be hard to get the average American want to watch a man and his young son run from cannibals in a savage wasteland.

But the film is great. The acting, the dialogue and the imagery were perfect. It was exactly how I imagined it, down to the cannibals' house and front yard. Viggo was perfectly cast and the costumes were amazing. The film wasn't too long but you still felt the length of the journey by The Man and The Boy. It seemed like all the pieces were there for the film to be just as powerful as the book and it got as close as it possibly could.

I think the gist of it is this: this story is as bleak as it gets. What makes the reader not want to reach for the razor blades upon its completion is a combination of McCarthy's remarkable prose and the depth of the relationship between the father and son he allows the reader to reach. The film does everything it can but cannot reach this level or convey McCarthey's message as effectively.

This is still one of the better films of the year and definitely worth seeing, if not for the perfomances alone. You just might want to pick up the novel first.

Not Too Sharpe

Last week we checked out Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes at Chicago's Lincoln Hall, the latest venue of the Schuba brothers. The place is awesome, a large front bar, wrap-around balcony and large main floor. And just like Schubas, plenty of beers (including Schlitz) on tap and a great juke box.

The show was scheduled for 10 but the THREE opening acts pushed Sharpe's set to start at 12:15. This, I believed, was horseshit. One well-hyped debut album does not give a band an excuse to make everyone wait over two hours to see them. You would also think that after creating such anticipation among the sold out crowd would motivate the band enough to come out with a tight, well-prepared set. Not with these guys. They lazily pushed their way through each song (the four I had the patience to wait through) and allowed up to a full minute in between songs to figure out which one they were going with next. This isn't the best strategy to fire up a crowd and it was apparent. But instead of getting his own shit together, Alex Ebert turned it back on the audience, saying that 'This room needs a first aid kit.'

Maybe we did. Maybe he should have smoked less pot before the show. Either way it made for a pretty crappy concert and I was happy when I left. Up from Below has some great tunes, but whether or not this band is legit remains to be seen.

Stumblebum Brass Band

After a worthless yet amazing Sunday of drifting in and out of sleep on the couch while watching football games I don't care about, I sucked it up and went for a run through the neighborhood. I found these guys playing for a decently sized crowd in Thompson Square Park. Very raw and cool, with the lead singer doing the vocals through a megaphone, giving it a phonograph-type sound. Kind of a mixture of punk and jazz. Perfect example of what to expect from the East Village on a fall Sunday.

Monsters in Manhattan

Jim James, Conor Oberst, M. Ward and Mike Mogis’s superband took the stage at the Beacon Theatre this past Sunday night on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. I’ve been listening to the album consistently over the past several months and really cannot stop playing it, so needless to say the expectations were high.

M. Ward led the first act of the concert, playing a couple songs solo before bringing back out the rest of the band. I’ve never gotten that into M. Ward but thought he brought a lot to the show. He had kind of an Elvis-like stage presence—doing some serious hip-jutting and guitar slapping. His soothing, throaty voice eased the audience in the meat of the show and we all knew we were in for something special.

The show was passed around between Ward, Oberst and James, each playing several of their own, and some of them completely solo. The chemistry between the five on stage was unbelievable; acting and sounding like they’ve been playing with each other for years. Oberst, Ward and James in particular seem to share almost a brotherly-like relationship. Oberst being the troubled, tortured youngest also known for exploding into manic fits. M. Ward kind of has the cooler older brother vibe and seemed to control the pace of the show, and then there is James, the wild-card middle child with the most talent. The three really seemed to have a common affection towards each other, even physically, as James and Oberst showed their brotherly love as they locked heads during the last seconds of I Will Be There When You Die.

Although some of Oberst’s solo acoustic performances brought the show to small lull, it soon started rolling again with the thundering Map of the World. It all climaxed with the entire band rocking Smokin’ from Shootin, with James and Oberst trading the verses. The balcony crowd that could have been lulled to sleep by Oberst’s melancholy droning just moments earlier was brought to its feet, screaming back at the band with fists pumping.

The band closed the three hour set with a powerful, light ridden His Masters Voice. As they belted out the last notes, the curtain dramatically dropped, which I thought was a really cool effect and one that I have never seen at a concert. It rose again as each member bowed in unison to a standing ovation. A special end to a special performance.

Throughout and after the show I felt very relieved; thankful that there are still artists who just seem to really get it. Sometimes I get a little fearful about what’s next to come in music, or in what direction or misdirection it’s headed. A few weeks ago, my roommate had a great point about “the future” when we caught Animal House on TV. He said that as soon as kids start to think that this film or the type of humor it represents is not funny, or if they don’t understand it, all is lost. I guess I feel the same way about music. Sunday night reminded me though—that there will always be bullshit to deal with. There will always be Nicklebacks. But this band really gives off a hope and understanding that the good stuff will also always be there too.

Take Me Out to Mermaid Ave

The trip down to Coney Island, where Wilco played with Yo La Tengo on Tuesday, didn't take as long as I thought but I still managed to get there a song and a half late. The show was set up at Keyspan Park, where the New York minor league team The Cyclones play. Sporting the blue Cubs hat to ensure some Chicago representation, I walked in during the final minute of Shot in the Arm so fired up and genuinly happy to be there (first time I've seen them live in almost two years) I didn't even think to grab a beer.

They nailed the set list (with the exception of Deeper Down which I don't think I'll ever warm up to), finally getting the at-first unenthusiastic crowd to respond during the sing-along melodies of Jesus, etc. Tweedy for some reason seemed to love the fact that they were playing in a hoaky minor league baseball stadium, even inspiring an all-crowd crooning of Take Me Out to the Ball Game.

Lesley Feist gracefully appeared on stage for "You and I" and showed some great chemistry with the band, air-strumming the song's chords with Jeff. They even introduced Grizzly Bear's Ed Droste (who got a huge response from the Brooklynite-laden crowd, shocker), for a fantastic rendition of California Stars, a perfect song for a warm summer evening by the ocean.

They topped things off by playing a suped-up version of Hoodoo Voodoo, a song that would have been a pretty random closer in any other venue, especially in a double encore. Considering the stage is about a five-iron away from the song's birthplace on Mermaid Avenue, it could not have been a more fitting ending.