Friday, November 06, 2009

"Kids Go" for They Might Be Giants! (Adults like 'em, too)

They Might Be Giants has long been among my favorite bands, producing a lot of memorable music over the past nearly 30 years. Although Lincoln remains my pick for their best work, they continue to put out clever, catchy music that is never less than entertaining. The documentary on the band, Gigantic, ranks with the best rock and roll films. It shouldn’t surprise anyone who’s followed their career that TMBG also produce engaging kids’ books and music.

Kids Go! is a colorful easy-reader book, brightly illustrated by Pascal Campion, encouraging children to get off the couch and be active. The accompanying DVD animates Campion’s kinetic illustrations to a horn-driven track that finds TMBG sounding like (not unlike) Was (Not Was). Although billed as a “sing-along” book, the 2:37 song’s so brisk, it’s a challenge just to turn the pages on pace. It’s lively and fun.

Much as I enjoyed the book and video, our kids are no longer within the target demographic for this work. That’s why I got three of my young nieces and nephews to weigh in on the book, song, and video. To spare them the embarrassment of appearing in one of my reviews, I’ll refer to them as A (age 5), B (age 6), and C (10, and something of a TMBG fan).

JAG (your reviewer): Do you like the song?
A: It’s good! It makes me want to jump!
B: Go! (he has been doing an extreme version of jumping jacks since the song started) Go!
C: This track must smoke, live.

JAG: How do you jump like a jumping bean?
B: Like... (pants) this... (starts doing a pogo-type move).
A: Those beans jump ‘cause they’re full of worms.
C: Must be Linnell singing, but it doesn’t really sound like either of the Johns.
B: I can really feel my heart-beep! Phew. (still pogo-ing)
C: It reminds me of “Walk the Dinosaur.” This has a better video, though.

JAG: Will you read the book again if I give it to you?
A: Yes! I can read all the words!
C: Campion’s drawings have awesome energy. You should see him draw Wolverine.
B: (pants)

Kids Go! has a good message, a great beat, and is easy to jump to. It’s fun for the young and those who read it to them. Another success for They Might Be Giants.


Note: The above review originally appeared on Blogcritics (BC), with a typo I've now fixed. BC supposedly has a blanket statement that keeps its writers out of hot water
with the FTC for all the extravagant swag and plugola showered on us by studios,
publishers, and record companies.
So I suppose I should note, with protest for its stupidity and inapplicability to the lowly likes of me, the publisher GAVE ME A COPY OF THIS BOOK.
Free gratis, as a former secretary of mine would say.

Had it not been free, I would have been more likely to note that the suggested retail
price for Kids Go! is $20, which strikes me as steep for a DVD with a 2:37 running time.
The book, however, is printed on high-grade glossy paper, and the production values of
the package, in general, probably make this a reasonable price.
Don't ask me; I was born in the Fifties.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Why can't I have a rocket as big as Dirk's?

RiffTrax' "Missile to the Moon" . . . Finally, a science fiction film that asks, “Why can’t you have a rocket as big as Dirk’s?”

For years, I gazed longingly at the satellite dishes in my neighbors' yards. Why? Certainly not out of aesthetic jealousy over those NORAD-inspired monstrosities. This was in the day when a dish required about a quarter-hectare of land and looked like Godzilla's spaghetti bowl.

And yet, I longed for one so that I could view Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (MST3K, as it's called by MISTies). The few Joel episodes I did manage to view, through friends' VHS tapes, were gems, his understated (some would say, Romilar-influenced) delivery still the benchmark for effective MISTing. Unwilling as I was to plant Paul Bunyon's soup bowl in my front lawn, we eschewed satellite TV during the MST3K years.

Fate is never so cruel as cable providers, as I became aware when our cable finally picked up a station carrying MST3K. It was during the last gasp, when licensing the original films they were ribbing was running out, so a dwindling handfull of episodes repeated, until ... nothing.

Since the demise of MST3K, the various of the staff and cast have gone on to similar wisecracking projects. RiffTrax, the latest, is centered around Michael J. Nelson, Joel Hodgson's (subpar, some would say) replacement on the original movie heckling series. Now, in addition to their online commmentaries, available for purchase as MP3s, RiffTrax is issuing DVDs of them doing the MST-thing, only minus robots and skits.

Does it seem odd to anyone else that RiffTrax can get us to pay for something that annoys most people? Back in the days when
Missile to the Moon was first-run material, in 1958, talking during the showing of a movie could get you tossed out of the theater, or at least harshly shushed by an indignant usher. (Nowadays, of course, this behavior is more likely to get you shot, and if an usher walks the aisles at all, it’s either to find the source of the pot smoke or whoever’s bootlegging the film with their cell phones.)

Yes, Missile to the Moon is the product of a very different time, back when, as the RiffTrax commentary reminds us, “the Government used to come over to your house and give you some good-natured ribbing.”

RiffTrax also hearkens back to an earlier time, when the crew of the Satellite of Love were subjects of an evil science project, forced to view dreadful movies while orbiting in space. That was the high concept for Mystery Science Theater 3000 (a.k.a. MST3K), the lamented TV series that introduced audience commentary as entertainment. On MST3K, one human astronaut and his two robot crew members cut up over screenings of such infamous stinkers as Manos, Hands of Fate and Monster A-Go-Go, and public domain shorts like A Case of Spring Fever.

Other than the MST3K’s original songs and skits, RiffTrax is identical, down to cast members Mike Nelson (who originated RiffTrax on the Web), Kevin (Tom Servo) Murphy, and Bill (Crow T. Robot) Corbett. And likewise, relies on unearthing appropriate subjects for their ridicule, their quick wit, and their facility with cultural and popular references. Missile to the Moon is a stereotypical '50s sci-fi cheapie, its cheap sets, broad acting, and ludicrous dialog making it ideal for the riffers. It’s the kind of movie where the moon has a breathable atmosphere, is populated by beauty queens, and looks a lot like the American southwest.

MST3K is often imitated and rarely equaled, leaving RiffTrax an imposing legacy to live up to. The early going on Missile is not promising, with original movie credits (“Art Direction: Sham Unlimited”) more entertaining than the riffs about them. And then, after a long, awkward set-up, a play on “missile/missal” falls flat.
Thankfully, Missile is only a slow starter, not a total failure to launch. Once they’ve compared two escaped cons to the Everly Brothers, promised “neutering followed by vivisection,” name-checked Fluffernutters, and suggested a cop scuff up his new nightstick on someone’s skull, it’s evident the RiffTrax gang is back in top MST3K form.

The film, a near-remake of the 1953 Sonny Tufts vehicle, Cat-Women of the Moon, gives them plenty of ridicule-ready material to work with. Running gags throughout the film play on scientist-astronaut Dirk, be it his desk with a gun in every drawer or his “ten-pound can of Dirk-flavored whup-ass.” True to form, the RiffTraxers pounce on unfortunate dialog, like which of the escapees is the “shrewd one” and which is “smart, too smart.” With cultural references as varied as Harvey the pookah, The Honeymooners, Rick Astley, ALF, and the Baconator, the riffers allow very few slack moments during Missile’s brisk 77 minute runtime.

One disappointment is the change in cast from the Web version of RiffTrax Missile to the Moon, which featured Nelson with Fred Willard. Willard’s low-key delivery was reminiscent of MST3K alum Joel Hodgson’s, and perfect for many of this film’s riffs. Still, for anyone suffering MST3K withdrawal, this disc comes highly recommended.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

"You Kids, Get Off My Lawn!" How Woodstock Looks to Me Now

One thing I've learned about HDTV (and large screens) is just how telegenic most humans truly are. That is, not very. Facial pores at that size . . . well, "lunar baedeker" isn't just a poem to me anymore.
At least I feel better about the prominent, throbbing veins in my temple now that I've seen Steve Carell sporting a couple.

Recently, I watched the Woodstock film again, only the second time I'd seen it since the original theatrical run. (Even I was struck by the fact that virtually none of the tech I was using--a laptop, using a wireless router to access work files on a remote office computer; HDTV; satellite receiver--existed when the concert took place.) The Woodstock Experience CDs I've encountered (Sly, Janis, Airplane), which pair the artists' contemporary albums with their 'stock performances, take advantage of tech advances to offer better sound, and are presented in vastly superior packages than any previous releases.

Now that I've heard some of the music in enhanced editions, seeing the film again makes me wonder, why haven't they upgraded it?
As I said, I saw the movie on its first run (yeah, that pegs me as an antiquity) and, at the time, watching the vast numbers of music- and scene-lovers assemble, space out, groove to the tunes, and generally refuse to go Lord of the Flies, was a novelty. It could even be uplifting. In all the spectacle and "bad brown acid" announcements and "wow, man, that cat is wasted" (and prototype twirly dancing), the music is often treated as secondary.

While I'm not suggesting Woodstock is deficient as a documentary film, it sure ain't an exemplary concert film. Of its contemporaries, perhaps only Gimme Shelter* employs worse camera angles of the performers. (* That would be the film that features a performance by The Flying Burrito Brothers that manages to, not once, show more than a glimpse of Gram Parsons. From the back.)
It was maybe five minutes into looking up at Alvin Lee's rubber-lipped facial contortions that I wanted to ask the filmmakers, would it have killed you to, oh I don't know, put a camera on the same level as the band? I mean, if I want to look up a lead singer's nose, I'll buy festival seating tickets and risk my life in front of the stage at a live show. Why bother filming a view no better than the one from the mosh pit?
And why am I looking at Lee's face through maybe nine minutes out of ten during "I'm Going Home"*? It was a star-making performance not for facial expressions so grotesque they must have inspired the career of Jim Carrey. Why don't we get more than a few glimpses of how he's throwing off several thousand notes per minutes from that guitar?
* As a lifelong superfluous keyboard player, I had to laugh in sympathy at poor Chick Churchill, Ten Years After's fifth wheel on this performance, whose B-3 chording is audible only briefly, and appropriate in this song, not at all.

Concert presentation has made leaps as incredible as the one from VHS to Blu-Ray.
What Woodstock deserves is a new cut as a concert film. Lose everything but the performances, use performances that didn't make the cut, in favor of mud slide shots. There were some peak performances (Sly & the Family Stone were reportedly never better; Hendrix and Janis were debuting new bands; Santana introduced their fresh take on Latin-flavored rock and roll) by several of the defining performers of the past forty years. There has to be more, and better footage lying in the vault.

Maybe the quantity and quality of modern concert films, and hearing the remastered discs, have made the existing Woodstock film a frustrating viewing experience for me. Maybe the "oh, wow, man" hippietude" wafting over it like patchouli in a head shop brings out the fist-shaking old man in me now. Maybe I could never relate to most of the concertgoers, and can even less forty years on.

Whatever the reason, just about every second of Woodstock that isn't spent on the music is like an eternity in line for a Port-A-Potty for me.

[Just to show I'm not a total crank, I do think it's wonderful that the couple pictured on the cover of the original Woodstock OST were recently featured on CBS Sunday Morning, still together.]

Monday, June 29, 2009

Cancer Patient Benefit: Fundraiser for Tony Bratton

A fundraiser is being held for Tony Bratton, to help with his ongoing medical bills as he continues his fight against stage IV lung cancer.

The benefit will be held on Saturday, August 1, at American Legion Post #57, Fowler, Indiana. Doors will open at 2 p.m. (EST), and the auction will begin at 3:30 p.m. (EST).

Following the auction, enjoy live rock and roll music by Midwest recording artists, Illicit Affair:

Dean Childress, guitar and vocals
Jim Gardner, keyboards and vocals
Ryland Gardner, bass and vocals (guest musician)
Dave Goetz, drums
Jeff Holt, vocals
Kent Stembel, guitar

Sound will be provided by Smith Sound, the area's leading sound reinforcement company.

A main dish will be available. Please feel free to bring side dishes.

If you would like to make a cash donation prior to August 1, to donate items for the auction, and for further information, please contact:

Kim Bratton: (765) 918-5384 or (765) 884-0337
Brenda Donahue: (219) 297-3955

Come enjoy a day of fun and music, with all
funds being donated to everyone's friend, Tony Bratton.

Friday, June 26, 2009

How to Roll When It's "Hit Record Time"

Last post in January?! Well, I would hate for Blogger to assume this is an abandoned blog and delete it. And although posting here feels disturbingly like talking to myself, I'm going to put some stuff up here that has appeared, in different form and less rambly, on Blogcritics.

A couple of my favorite movies are American Grafitti and That Thing You Do. Both deal with a period for which I have what is likely an unhealthy level of longing. Both are about rock and roll and youth culture at a time when it was becoming a force for the grownups to reckon with. Now I have seen a film that belongs on my dream triple-bill with them, My Dinner With Jimi.

Among the fortunate few who saw director Bill Fishman’s My Dinner With Jimi on the big screen, at a film festival or in its limited theatrical release, this DVD has been eagerly anticipated. For the rest of us, who had only read praise for the film, the wait for this award-winning, low-budget quickie (shot in 12 days) has been agonizing. Now the DVD is here, and guess what? Entirely worth the agony.

My Dinner With Jimi is a factual account of a brief period in 1967 when the Turtles made the transition from opening act to stardom, however short-lived, with the number one hit, “Happy Together.” The first half of the film depicts the band’s struggle to achieve greater success than their modest hits to date, and to avoid the military draft. Their place in the L.A. rock and roll pantheon of the day is pointedly made when they are worthy of a 16 Magazine photo shoot, but get bumped from the cover in favor of the Monkees. The film’s second half plays out the Turtles’ first night in England, culminating in the title event, Kaylan’s early morning dining, drinking, and rap session with guitarist Jimi Hendrix, who was a personality on the hip London scene, but yet (prior to his first album’s release) unknown to America.

Unlike most Sixties rock and roll films, this one has the advantage of being told by the story’s central figure, Turtles’ singer Howard Kaylan, who wrote the screenplay and fully acknowledges the possibility of memory lapses, and the likely causes. The casual attitude about drug and alcohol abuse adds to the film’s feel of authenticity, and it’s to Kaylan’s credit that he didn’t attempt to downplay it. In fact, extreme drug and alcohol intake figure prominently into his and Mark Vollman’s draft aversion tactics, which also felt quite authentic, although that lengthy sequence bogs down an otherwise snappy 90 minutes.

My Dinner captures the brief, breathless time when the scenario played out in That Thing You Do (a film that shares the same buoyant, delirious prevailing mood)—of a bunch of kids putting together a neighborhood band, making a record, and having a number one hit—was not only feasible, it was happening all over the world. The immensely likable Turtles’ wide-eyed, star-struck naivety adds to the realism of the pivotal scenes in London’s exclusive Speakeasy Club. One of the film’s greatest strengths is in these scenes that show us the human dimensions of larger-than-life cultural figures like Hendrix, Brian Jones, and The Beatles.

With few exceptions (such as “Graham Nash’s” dodgy accent and some of the worst wigs and beards this side of my high school’s production of Gone With the Wind), the cast pulls off the difficult task of celebrity impersonation, compensating for marginal resemblance with spot-on voices and mannerisms. The most impressive is Royal Watkins as Jimi Hendrix, who convincingly plays the coolest cat in the place, even in the presence of John Lennon and Brian Jones. Even if Hendrix never suggested that Kaylan perform “all done up like John Steed of The Avengers,”*** Watkins is utterly convincing giving this advice. The film’s best line, and its best-delivered, may be when Hendrix tries to talk Kaylan out of getting married, saying, “Don’t do it. This is hit record time.”

While scenes like the one in Cantor’s Deli, featuring Jim Morrison and a pickle, stretch credulity, they are so charming and funny, you won’t care about the “higher degree of accuracy” that producer Harold Bronson claims this film has over most films “based on actual events.” Accurate or not, My Dinner With Jimi captures the look and feel of the Sixties at their swinging-est. It’s a gas!

Turtles completists, take note, the film includes a couple of mixes Bronson did just for it, "Outside Chance" (by Warren Zevon, who Kaylan speaks about on the commentary track) with the lead vocal higher in the mix, and "She'd Rather Be With Me" (at the end, in the Speakeasy club), minus the horns, for a more "live" sound.

Extras include Howard Kaylan’s commentary, with Harold Bronson; their anecdotes add considerably to the story. Among other contentious comments, Kaylan repeats the claim that, unlike the Beach Boys and most every other L.A.-area band, The Turtles never used studio musicians (like Hal Blaine and the Wrecking Crew), but played all the instruments on their records, presumably not including horns and strings. He's a little rough on Jim Tucker, who left the band in 1967, and he does some other interesting name-dropping. It truly enhances the film.

It would be wonderful to see more films like this, which attempt to depict actual events from rock and roll's golden era, realistically and with human dimensions. My Dinner With Jimi -- it's a treat.

*** Strangely, Kaylan and Bronson talk on the commentary track about the lengths they went to with the Smothers Brothers' "Happy Together" recreation, getting the set and costumes just as they were in the original. After finding the clip on YouTube, however, I found that the recreation is amazingly accurate . . . except for Kaylan. In the actual clip, he seems to be taking Hendrix' advice as to dressing like John Steed (albeit with top hat and cane, rather than derby and brolly); in the film, he's hat- and cane-less and wearing a grossly ill-fitting suit! Which I thought must've been true to the original until I saw it. Also strangely, in the Speakeasy club footage at the end, where the Turtles perform "She'd Rather Be With Me," Kaylan is wearing the John Steed look!

No matter . . . it's a great film, and after a dozen attempts, I think I've determined what "Paul" and "John" say to each other in that last scene. Something like:
Paul: This would make a great story. Wonder if someone will write it someday.
John: Yeah, it's great.
Paul: You better hope not. You come off as a prick.
There's no way Kaylan, performing onstage, could have heard that conversation if it took place, but (like Morrison and the pickle) it's funny enough, and in keeping with the film's tone, who cares.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

What's Best . . . Bears, Beets, Beatles?

Which former Beatle drummer put out the Best album this year?
Hint: It's not the one who told his fans to leave him alone.

I posted this review on Blogcritics after requesting a review copy of Haymans Green, by the Pete Best Band, from their label. You'll understand how I became aware of the album if you read the review. It was a very refreshing way to experience new music, almost like when you used to be able to hear cool new rock and roll when you walked into the local record store, or hearing it on the radio, back before "narrowcasting" and the ten song playlist.

What makes Blogcritics fun for me, on the rare occasions that I get read at all, is when someone like "Travis" stomps his little foot in outrage at me taking a "cheap shot" at a exploitative, crummy record he happens to like. Like? Revere, from the tone of his response. So I'm including his comment and my reply.
In the extremely unlikely circumstance that "Travis" reads this blog entry, I encourage him to contact me here. I'd genuinely like to know what he finds worth defending in Ringo's "Liverpool 8."
And then I'll ask him when he last read Emily Post. 'Cause I have, and I know from "rude" and "cheap shots."

REVIEW: 2008 has been a year of surprises for me, and like most everyone else, the recent jolts in my life have not been especially pleasant. In trying times, we seek the aural comfort food of good pop music more than ever. For a prime example, take the unprecedented response to the Beatles when most Americans first heard them on the Ed Sullivan Show, just a few months after the assassination of JFK. This album may not be Meet the Beatles, but it is a very pleasant surprise.

Nothing I knew about Pete Best’s career after he was unceremoniously kicked out of the most famous band in history led me to expect Haymans Green, a set of original tunes written by Best and his band and recorded at his Liverpool studio, in the former Casbah Club (site of many formative Beatles performances). Not only is this album an unexpected bright spot in an otherwise dismal period, it’s the better of two albums this year from former Beatles’ drummers.

When samples of three Haymans Green tracks were posted to a music group I belong to, in a blind “taste test,” group members were reminded of various late-Sixties sounds, mentioning the Byrds, Donovan, and even early Pink Floyd. None of us successfully identified the source, despite pervasive Beatles influences, as the Pete Best Band. And why would we? There is nothing especially distinctive about Best’s drumming—unlike, say, Keith Moon’s. And unlike Ringo, Best doesn’t sing, so his records can’t be identified by his voice.

The musicians Best has surrounded himself with though, more than compensate for his lack of distinctive musical characteristics. Pete is undoubtedly a solid player, which makes second drummer, Best’s brother Roag, seem superfluous. Phil Melia, Paul Parry, and Tony Flynn (on guitars, keyboards, and vocals) are well versed in melodic, Sixties-flavored fills, soaring vocal harmonies, and hook-filled, power pop songwriting.

COMMENTS: #1 — December 26, 2008 @ 15:52PM — Travis Comparing Pete Best's album to Ringo's is ridiculous, considering Pete uses another drummer and doesn't even sing. That's a low, unnecessary blow. There are some good songs on Ringo's album, and he's earned his place in history and had a fine solo career. Perhaps Pete's album is good, but your rude comparison is cheap.

#3 — December 27, 2008 @ 08:59AM — James A. Gardner [URL]

Travis, you may consider my comparison of Pete's and Ringo's albums to be ridiculous--that's certainly your right. Rude? Sorry, I don't see anything rude about comparing the two; comparing two artists is a legitimate critical practice, especially when the two have held the same place in a band.
I did find the dismissive AMG review (as quoted) of Pete's album to be rude. And I was personally offended by what struck me as Ringo's insensitive lyrics and his treatment of his fans this year.
I appreciate your comment, however, and would respectfully suggest that our notions of what constitutes good manners and rudeness are very different.

Ok, so long as I've gone down this road (and since I cannot imagine anyone reads this, even
the scum who post spam comments), I'll include a comment from someone who thinks I might
not be so rude and ignorant, after all:

#5 — December 31, 2008 @ 16:20PM — tj

thanks mr gardner for specifically calling out the insults inherent in Mark Deming's AMG review. MD would have benefitted from the same blind taste test that you experienced; instead, he approached Haymans Green with a hearty bias that became blatantly obvious after his review had actually started off on a positve note. HG surprised me, with every track- whether a rocker or a ballad- quite enjoyable. The auto/biographical theme of the album makes it even more interesting to listen closely to the lyrics to learn what parts of beatles history and/or personal history are being described. Seriously, I'd if you have the CD, do a similar blind taste test with someone you know, and see their reaction AFTER you tell them who it is.
Very cool review Mr Gardner. Ya hit the nail on the head.


Monday, January 05, 2009

just in case it didn't hurt enough . . .

We lost our school, get to pay $1M extra just to have it located in the middle of a busy intersection of stop-sign-runners, and have the additional pleasure of paying more than 200 grand to demolish it.
But someone didn't think that was quite enough to ensure that we felt sufficiently miserable about it, so they had to desecrate our school, too:

/

This really feels like the kind of thing you'll have to account for, someday.