Conan O'Boren

Conan O’Brien, TBS at 10 p.m, November 16, 2010

                Conan O’Brien has been the red haired night in shinning armor for many a late night television viewer but his switch to TBS feels like it may be the death of all things Coco. After a recent viewing of O’Brien’s new late night show on the Law and Order-centric t.v. station TBS all hope for the 10 p.m. timeslot was lost.

                Things started out with a positive bang as O’Brien’s monologue was rife with his witty humor and the enjoyable and timeless puppet dance but things got awful, fast.

                Prior to the first commercial break the gangly ginger was beaming oodles of positive praise for his new television home but all the words that left his mouth seemed forced and unnecessary. Adding to the awkwardness was Richter. The duo is generally dweeby and strange yet always in sync and hilarious but things were without a doubt off on November 16. After the initial commercial break O’Brien and his loveably chubby sidekick Andy Richter started making things uncomfortable.

                Once the show returned from commercial break Richter and O’Brien announced a multiple car and air freshener give away. What? Really? Why? Were obvious questions running though the heads of loyal fans. Along with the announcement came an on air commercial for the Chevy Cruze. Richter was flailing about in and around the car, a feeble attempt to liven up the outrageously dull experience. The decision to do a car give away was quite possibly the worst decision ever made-- the moniker of all things sold out and used.

                If only things would have gotten better from there, than and only then would the give away have been forgotten. But they didn’t get better, at all.

                It is understandable that talk show hosts will inevitably get a dud of an interviewee that makes his interviewing skills look atrocious and the overall experience strange-- think Joaquin Phoenix and Letterman. O’Brien’s Phoenix was Harrison Ford.

                Aside from the peculiar petting of his chair and random incoherent answers to O’Brien’s sparse questions it was as if Ford had recently been removed from frozen carbonite and brought back to life in a strange world.  This odd encounter could have been comic gold but O’Brien and Richter seemed apprehensive about straying too far off the prompted questions.  Imagine the disappointment when Indian Jones and Conan fail to produce anything enjoying.

                Luckily for the viewers there was a quick reprieve from the atrocity unfolding on the boob tube in the form of a commercial break. The break gave viewers the opportunity to weigh the options of staying up to hopefully see something humorous in this mess on TBS or fading into sleep, sleep won.

Neil Young- Take two

Neil Young “Le Noise” (Reprise Records, 2010)

            Neil Young is a master of reinvention. He has the ability to transform his music with each new release and yet sustain an audience that exists amongst a variety of generations. His latest album “Le Noise” is yet another positively fantastic transformation.

            The original concept for “Le Noise” was to record the album entirely acoustically. After careful consideration and complete excitement over the echoes in producer Daniel Lanois home, Young decided to change things up completely by recording the album electronically. The decision deemed itself successful. This little nugget of information stands out considering that the content and structure of the record seem to align perfectly with the lyrics. Young and Lanois’ decision to record this album in the manner that they did was an excellent choice.

             With over 40 records released, Neil Young is no stranger to experimental risks. His most notable and most horrifying risks were taken while recording under the regime of David Geffen of Geffen Records. Both “Everybody’s Rockin” and “Old Ways” were Young’s larger than life failures but they were also figurative middle fingers to the bureaucratic crap of mainstream musical production. “Le Noise” seems to mirror the same sort of outside the box, F-you but only with a delicate subtext of masterful lyrics and an excellence that could not be reach with the late to the game rockabilly of “Rockin” and “Old Ways.”

            The subject matter of “Le Noise” is much more apparent than on his previous albums. This is not to say that Young has never used his records as a vice for personal expression but that the newest Young creation is a slap you on the head, Cliff Notes sort of approach to the life of a drug addicted man searching for recovery in a tainted world.

            The most obvious indication of this is on tack six “The Hitchhiker.” The slow moving, autobiographical song is accompanied by soft spoken words: “ I was living on the road/And a little cocaine went a long/Long way to ease that different load/But my head did explode,” Young preaches.

             Young’s shaky and unmistakable voice seems to have aged like cheese—a little moldy but still fresh. Yet, Young’s voice radiates this sense of authority that compels you to hang on to every word that stumbles of his mouth.

            Considering the emotional baggage that “Le Noise” carries with it, it is peculiar how short the album is. With only eight tracks and a little over 36 minutes of play time the album seems to be a precursor to something more to come.

            For a 64-year-old musician with rock-star status Young could have easily produced an album that was simple, thoughtless and unnecessary but that’s not Mr. Young’s style. “Le Noise” is a beautiful and honest synopsis of a living legend.

           

Outline:

1: Intro

2: Background/genre

3: About the album

4: Why you should listen

Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks"- Art Institute of Chicago

     Edward Hopper's “Nighthawks” is a striking piece of artwork that provokes the mind to imagine and question. Each member is you or someone you know, but the correlation between you, your acquaintances and these fictional characters is hard to identify. At first glance the picture sort of makes you nostalgic for the good ole days. The early fortys look makes you want to listen to the Rat Pack and start chain smoking. A closer look propels your mind into thought-who are these people?

            While you are intently looking at “Nighthawks” each member of the painting seems to be living their own lives; contemplating some seemingly tragic event or hoping that the burning coffee will make their night’s drinking magically disappear.  The waiter reminds you of that handsome, young kid that used to work at your local dinner, always wanting to know what’s on your mind but leaving himself a complete mystery, creepy yet perfect. The restaurant’s monotonous colors and lack of detail make it completely relatable, completely yours.

            As you walk away from the painting you hope to keep it clear in your mind so you can figure out what exactly makes it enjoyable. Unfortunately, the ‘artists’ who wish to make a profit off of their own opinions have tainted this painting. While envisioning this painting the only vivid image you can conger up is a tacky, mass-produced version found at your local Dog ‘N Suds. The faces of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley have replaced the relatable patrons and the tackiness of the distasteful reproductions makes your head wrench and your stomach churn.  Finding the nearest bench, you steady yourself and breathe away the frustration that have made you ill.

            In order to restore your health, you return to Hopper’s “Nighthawks.” The familiar faces calm your heart and soothe your stomach. The painting, although simple and seemingly easy to make, holds this sort of magnet. Everyone wants to know what it’s really showing. What is it proving?

            Perhaps Edward Hopper had some deeper, hidden meaning for this piece. Perhaps, but hopefully not, these nameless faces are supposed to represent famous people before their big boom.  It seems as if Hopper was attempting to make a piece that makes you, the museumgoer, feel as though you can relate. A piece that makes you wonder who you are looking at-is it the artist? Is it you? Is it everyone you ever looked passed? That is what makes “Nighthawks” such a memorable piece of artwork.

            

Almost Famous

“Almost Famous” (Directed by Cameron Crowe 2000)

            “Almost Famous” is the ultimate feel-good film for aspiring journalists and the music obsessed. At times it’s a little too lame, a little too predictable and perhaps a little too unbelievable but it’s fun and that’s what really matters.

            The film’s main character William Miller (Patrick Fugit) is a 15-year-old, dweeby, adorable, music obsessed kid who finds his future in the guidance of rock-critic legend Lester Bangs (Phillips Seymour Hoffman). Through Miller the audience gets a bird’s eye view at the supposed life and times of Cameron Crowe, the director and reason for “Almost Famous.”

            The entire film is filled with several sort of magically satisfying quips that seem to click and make sense for any moment in anyone’s life. Early in the movie Miller is riding in a car with the matriarch of the “Band-aides,” Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) and she offers him the line, “ I always tell the girls, never take it seriously, if ya never take it seriously, ya never get hurt, ya never get hurt, ya always have fun, and if you ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends.” The quote is undeniably cheesy but incredibly true. Music is a comfort that almost everyone enjoys and feels nostalgic towards and if there’s no feeling of happiness or satisfaction from a song or an album your problems are larger than taking life too seriously.

            Perhaps the most romantic and lip-quivering quote comes from Bangs near the end of the movie. While on the phone with a deflated Miller, Bangs says, “The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you’re un-cool.” This line is perfect. Fanatics the world over are all tragically un-cool but it’s a united front that bring the music scene to life on a day-to-day basis.

            Coinciding with the satisfyingly cliché, feel-good dialogue is the Grammy award winning soundtrack. Each song properly brings to a point the moment and movement of the film. The portion of the film’s music that stands out is the Elton John “Tiny Dancer” sing-along on the bus after the lead guitar player of Stillwater, Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup), has a crazy, acid filled night out without the band. The sense of unity is rewarding and the urge to join in is undeniable.

            Moving along with the precise dialogue and soundtrack would have to be the acting. Luckily for Hudson this movie was pre “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” so the looming sense that she’s a romantic-comedy only sort of leading lady is left at the wayside and an undeniable talent is revealed. Hudson’s charisma is complimented by Fugit’s perfect pass as a teenager trying to figure out the world and himself. Along with Fugit and Hudson are Crudup’s love to hate him rock-n-roll giant and Jason Lee’s bigger than life ego- both played to a ‘t.’

            “Almost Famous” will leave you with a silly smirk on your face and an overwhelming urge to sing “Tiny Dancer” on the top of your lungs; an admirable accomplishment for a semi-biographical film.

Dracula Don't

“Bram Stoker’s Dracula” (Directed by Francis Ford Coppola, 1992) falls short of being even remotely enjoyable. “Dracula” starts with an extended yawn, moves to a catnap and ends in a deep snore.

The movie starts with Vlad III Draculea (Gary Oldman) slaying the anti-Christians only to come home to his sprawling, gothic castle to find his beloved Elisabeta (Winona Ryder) dead after leaping to her death once receiving a faulty letter about her fiancé’s death. The Catholic priests, one of them being Anthony Hopkins, tell Draculea that Elisabeta will not go to heaven because she has killed herself. Draculea, devastated by the news, denounces his catholic faith and crosses over to the dark, hairy and bloody vampire side.

            And so the story starts with blood flowing from crosses, candles and angel’s eyes. Draculea births Count Dracula and officially becomes an undead vampire in order to reunite himself with the love of his life.

            There was hope that the story would bulk up with a bounty of gore, greatness and some semi-decent acting but no, not with Keanu Reeves and Ryder leading the bill.

            It’s at the point where London based attorney Jonathan Harker (Keanu Reeves) journeys to Transylvania to sign off on a real estate deal for homes in London for Count Dracula that things start to get a little too campy, lame and strange. The journey is filled with Sleepy Hallow-esque carriage drivers, evil dog-like werewolves and fiery blue flames popping up on the trail to the dark and demonic castle.

            Harker’s voice echoes a letter from Dracula as he travels through the cavernous terrains of Transylvania whilst Dracula’s scheming eyes are etched in the red sky, blinking as Harker stares aimlessly at the foreshadowing letter. It’s with Harker’s blank stare that cinematic greats like “Bill and Ted” and “Point Break” start to come into the forefront of the mind and the impending doom of boredom that will inevitably ensue make the two-plus hour film seem like it will drag on for infinity; drag on it does.

            Time seems to be lost once Dracula regains his youth and goes in search of Harker’s fiancé Mina Murray (Rider) who is the spitting image of his beloved Elisabeta. Everything moves at a snail’s pace once Murray and Dracula meet each other’s acquaintance and the ending never seems to come.

            With myriad of characters and big name actors big things were expected of this film but the film leaves an overwhelming sense of loss and disappointment; loss for the 218 minutes of life that were wasted on the film and disappointment in the overall content within the film.

Sugar Sweet Tales and Bitter Twists

Gesine Bullock-Prado’s writing debut Confections of a Closet Master Baker: One Woman’s Sweet Journey From Unhappy Hollywood Executive to Contented Country Baker (Crown Publishing Group, 2009) is a sugar-woven tale of the ups and downs of the bakery business and the bittersweet memories that come along with each and every homemade delight.

            Bullock-Prado leads the reader on her exodus from the Hollywood Hills to the countryside of Vermont.  As she battles her urges to escape Hollywood and the shadow of her famous sister, Sandra Bullock, she finds her bliss in baking and Vermont.

            “No road rage, no cell phones, no fake tits or tans, no prestige handbangs, no billboards, no stop lights, no breaking, no traffic, no nothing. Welcome to Vermont. Just heaven,” Bullock-Prado boasts.

            Bullock-Prado is not shy in offering up sound advice to her readers about the unrelenting task of becoming a baker and owning a business. But Bullock-Prado never ends a chapter on a sour note.

After she outlines her years and summers in Germany with her opera-singing mother and grandmother and her decision to move from West to East, Bullock-Prado offers up a recipe for one of her masterful delicacies with writing constructed in a fashion much like the steps in baking.

She pre-heats her audience with minute descriptions of almond croissants and Parisian macaroons and then progresses to the chemistry. She starts with wet, juicy and sugary details about her morning routines or summers in Germany. She then sifts together the dry and binding details, then slowly mixing the wet with the dry to harmonize the abstract with reality. A tedious, yet needed process in order to achieve the precise taste desired.

Bullock-Prado uses the pages of her book as a memoir of her past and a reliving of her mother who passed months before she opened the doors to her bakery in Montpellier, Vermont.

Her words are sweet and sincere, but ultimately leave the reader wondering whether or not she’s truly happy. Then, at the very end she utters into her audiences’ ears that the glory of the baking world is in the process of production and the simple smile on a satisfied customer’s face after they’ve devoured a warm cherry tart.

Confections of a Closet Master Baker is a pleasant reminder of the magic that accompanies a homemade sweet.

            

Seaman gets it

After riffling through a compilation of comments on the age-old question “what makes a critic a critic”, Donna Seaman’s sometimes longwinded but always genuine responses seemed to hammer home the true essence of what it means to live, breath and consume like a critic.

“Passion first and foremost,” Seaman answered to Time-Out’s Kris Vire’s question “what qualifies someone to be a critic”. The first word to leave Seaman’s mouth pops up over and over in the ten-page excerpt; passion, it seems, is the key ingredient to Seaman’s approach to critical writing.

Seaman, a book reviewer for several online and print outlets, approaches her opinion pieces with the same vigor and attention to detail that one may find in an author or painter. Throughout the Time-Out piece, Seaman offers to her chat-mates and readers that reviewers should immerse themselves in whatever art form they are attempting to critic. 

“... Passion must lead to discipline and immersion,” Seaman said. “ Expertise is gained from sustained attention.”

Going hand in hand with Seaman’s passionate approach to reviewing is continuous education on the subject matter. The coupling of passion and education yield to the title of expert, a much-needed epitaph for anyone hoping to gain entrance into the critical-elite.

To round out Seaman’s overall approach to writing a review is clarity.

“I’m always hoping for clarity,” She stated. “ The best criticism is rich in unexpected connections.”

Applauded by a fellow reviewer, Seaman’s statement, “criticism is rich in unexpected connections,” floats off the tongue with ease and precisely depicts what Seaman and others hope to gain from reading a review.

Although some agree whole-heartedly with Seaman’s yearning for comparisons others make mention of how some critics can overdo the whole thing. Ultimately Seaman agrees with the “overreaching” of some reviewers but it seems as if her overall opinion of what makes a critic a critic rides on the idea of balance. Seaman looks to strike an equilibrium between what she finds lovely or ugly about a piece and what she wishes were or wasn’t staring her in the face.

“A critic has to be able to imagine many responses, and see the experience in a greater context,” Seaman said. 

If a reviewer has the ability to see a piece from 360 different perspectives they not only formulate their own personal feelings towards a piece of art but they can clearly identify what hits the mark and what leaves a person wondering what the hell was that.