Friday, March 13, 2026

All My Children in the Daytime, Dallas at Night (2007; w/Steven Rubio and Scott Woods)

Phil Dellio said...

Steven -- It's the Bill James fan in us that makes us want to play this game: we must be the only two people in the world who bother to nitpick over this dog-and-pony show. While I realize that the absence of any hip-hop artists has made for a gaping hole the past few years, I really don't see a strong case for Grandmaster Flash on the merits, no matter how important "The Message" is. When the time comes, Run-D.M.C., Public Enemy, Dr. Dre, and the Beastie Boys, obviously; L.L. Cool J and Eminem, probably; De La Soul, Jay-Z, Missy Elliot, Outkast, and a dozen others, too soon to say. But unless they're placing a great deal of weight on "White Lines," which obviously isn't the case, one song doesn't equal Hall of Fame. Bill Haley is also in there, which is something of a joke. (From the Hall's official bio: "Yet his impact in the early days of rock and roll went well beyond that milestone..." Yes--people are still coming to terms with "See You Later, Alligator" fifty years later.) Schoolly-D is not, and never will be, but in view of where hip-hop's been the past 10-15 years, I don't think it's farfetched at all to say that Schoolly's first LP was just as much of a benchmark as "The Message." Maybe I'd feel differently if "The Message" meant as much to me as it does to most people, and next to the likes of Blondie, the Dells, and James Taylor--who, I always enjoy pointing out, doesn't even play rock and roll (and I like him fine)--sure, why not? But I really think they jumped the gun in their understandable haste to get a hip-hop artist in there.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 01:51 PM

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Steven Rubio said...

For me, the only slam dunks of the five were Patti Smith and R.E.M. I don't know enough about Van Halen to pass judgment on that choice. The Ronettes and Flash and the Five were of the "peak" school of inductions...great at their peak, not particularly long-lasting. If I had to guess, I'd say the Ronettes got in at least in part because of the fondness of a lot of men for Ronnie Spector, with a tip of the cap to Hal Blaine's drums on "Be My Baby."

Which leaves the hip hopsters. "The Message" is the high point, but they had some good party-style tracks before they got serious, "White Lines" is terrific. But those belong to the Five, in particular to Melle Mel...I'm not sure that Flash is even on those tracks.

"The Message" gets credit for "first socially-conscious rap song" or whatever, but I think the real reason these guys get in first is "The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash on the Wheels of Steel." Which is to say, I think Grandmaster Flash is the Ronnie Spector of the group: without him, somebody else would have been the first hip hop artists to get inducted.

"Run-D.M.C., Public Enemy, Dr. Dre, and the Beastie Boys, obviously; L.L. Cool J and Eminem, probably; De La Soul, Jay-Z, Missy Elliot, Outkast, and a dozen others, too soon to say." I'm hoping my son chimes in...he's the hip hop expert in the family. I have no quarrel with the first four, although I think Eminem belongs with that group, too. Not sure De La will be there, but the others are certainly possibles. I'd say Jay-Z has already moved beyond the "too soon" label. One question is, who will be the first gangsta rappers to get inducted? I won't count Dre, who will get in as a producer...well, he'll get in as an artist, but it's his production skills that will be the reason. Off the top of my head, I'd say the candidates are N.W.A, Ice Cube, Geto Boyz, Snoop, Tupac, and Biggie. There are a few more recent ones, but I'm trying to guess the first. Geto Boyz have never been taken seriously by critics, so they're out. N.W.A might get in as a way to work both Dre and Ice Cube in at the same time, but they've only got one album that mattered, in the end. Biggie didn't last long enough...Tupac recorded a lot, but I'm not one who thinks the posthumous stuff is all that (my son will disagree). I think Snoop will be the first gangsta rapper to get inducted. And as soon as I say that, I'm sure I've forgotten a dozen other candidates.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 02:16 PM

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Phil said...

I forgot all about "Wheels of Steel," which I barely know at all but understand how significant it was. I guess that and "The Message" together make for a reasonable case. "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" got loads of attention from Marcus, and also in my old fanzine Radio On, but no, the Geto Boyz needn't wait by the phone. Too bad--I'd love to see Bushwick Bill in a tux, breaking bread with Billy Joel and Annie Lennox. Outside of Dr. Dre, I doubt that there'll be a big rush to induct anyone gangsta-affiliated. Gangstas might be the equivalent of those Colorado Rockie guys with the inflated stats: until there's a valid test case, a Larry Walker or an Andres Galarraga, it's hard to say how much support there'll be.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 03:24 PM

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Steven said...

Biggie is probably the most highly regarded, critically. Well, I can look...Acclaimed Music has something of a white-guy bias, but nobody else I know is so scrupulous about collating data. They list 14 acts as "gangsta rap" that have made their lists.

Eminem: #71 ranking amongst all artists
Jay-Z: #135
Dre: #152
N.W.A: #189
Biggie: #197
Snoop: #294
BDP: #310
Ice Cube: #340
2Pac: #384
Mobb Deep: #699
Geto Boys: #847
Ice-T: #953
Schoolly D: #1351
Big Pun: #1511

So if you consider Eminem and/or Jay-Z to be gangsta rappers, which is reasonable, and if you assume as I do that they will both get in, then it becomes a case of who might get in before them. Dre seems the obvious choice, but again, I think of him as a producer, not a rapper. Biggie only released two albums in his lifetime; N.W.A recorded even fewer tracks than Biggie, although they certainly get the "influential" vote. All of which brings us back to Snoop. He has street cred, he has sales, he has at least some critical favor. And it shouldn't matter but probably does in the voters' minds, Snoop has a different image than he used to. Heck, he did a couple of episodes of The L Word!

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 04:50 PM

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Scott Woods said...

Back to the old school for a second....I think Grandmaster Flash is worthy, and I definitely think he should be the first rap inductee (though was it just him or was it Flash & the Furious Five?--it should be all of them, really). Aside from the important singles you've both mentioned, it shouldn't be forgotten that in the first couple years of rap even existing as a vinyl medium, Flash and the Furious Five were putting out great singles consistently. "Superrappin'," "Birthday Party," and "Freedom" came before "The Wheels of Steel"; after that, they did the Tom Tom Club rip, "It's Nasty," which for a period was very well known and got them a lot of media attention (incl. a New York Rocker cover); even after "The Message" they continued the streak with "White Lines," and some good--though definitely waning in popularity by this time--followups like "New York, New York" and "Flash on the Beatbox." Obviously, to the majority of younger hip-hop fans, and probably to most HOF voters (and inductees), most of these songs are not well known if even heard of, but they definitely were big (in a kind of "underground" way) at the time, and in the years preceding Run-DMC they definitely overshadowed every other rap act releasing records. I personally might prefer the two Spoonie Gee hits of 1980, and Funky 4+1's "That's the Joint" still might be my favourite of the bunch, but the only other early rap group I can even think of that released more than a couple worthy tracks is the Treachorous Three (who spawned Kool Mo Dee), and truthfully, their impact wasn't in the same league at all.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 07:45 PM

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Scott said...

It also seems philosophically or conceptually just to me to make the first rap inductee a DJ (which doesn't cancel what I said about the Furious Five). I'm hugely in favour of philosophically/conceptually correct choices insofar as these things are concerned. To me, the minutae of stats and sales and those sorts of factors only tells a fraction of the story.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 07:49 PM

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Scott said...

By the way, in terms of "merit," I don't really see a hugely strong case for Patti Smith. Or let's put it this way, I don't see a stronger case for her than I do for Grandmaster Flash. She made a big splash with ONE album, and each successive album mattered less and less (she had one very minor top 40 hit, written by Springsteen). By the time her initial run was over, she had four albums, only one of which garnered universally strong reviews, and I'm guessing maybe two of which people still actually listen to (I don't even think there's consensus about which other albums of hers are good; they all have glaring weaknesses, far as I recall). I'm kind of playing devil's advocate here, because I definitely think she belongs--again, for philosophical/conceptual reasons--even if I've come to care less and less about her personally over the years. But I don't see any obvious reasons based on merit why she shold be in there and Flash shouldn't.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 08:18 PM

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Steven said...

The thing about stat minutiae is that it helps us try to figure out who will get in, not necessarily who deserves to get in. The first gangsta rapper to be inducted will, I believe, have to be someone with at least some critical support. Acclaimed Music gives us a ballpark figure, if you will, of what the critics think of gangsta rappers. And I think the list above is pretty representative of critical thinking...consensus critical thinking, sure, but I just can't believe the first gangsta rapper to be inducted will be someone who is not on that list.

I think Eminem and Jay-Z will get in, I think Dre will get in as a rapper but the votes will be for his production, and so the question in my mind is whether or not Snoop gets in before Eminem or Jay-Z. Not talking about who SHOULD get in, just who WILL get in. Which is not always the same thing, or George Harrison wouldn't have been inducted for his solo work.

Anyway...I think Flash would agree with a lot of what you are saying...he spoke in particular about the entire culture of hip hop, and how it was sad that only DJs and rappers were recognized, that tag artists and breakdancers and the rest were all part of the culture.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 08:20 PM

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Steven said...

Patti Smith could waltz in under the "influential" category alone. First person to do a good job of blending poetry and rock and roll since Jim Morrison (if you like Jim Morrison, if not then she's the first, period). First punk to make an explicit, proud connection between what she was doing and what the Stones were doing...most punks quite rightly bashed their 60s predecessors, but Patti Smith channeled Keith Richards and Bob Dylan. First lady of punk...OK, some would argue, I can see votes for anyone from Debbie Harry to Poly Styrene, but Patti Smith was there v.early, she arrived with a startling immediacy (first "Piss Factory," then Horses, even the early singles where she again took over the 60s for punk purposes..."Time Is On My Side" and "My Generation" being the most obvious along with the inevitable "Gloria"). She's an inspiration to the riot grrrl movement...so is Joan Jett, I'm not saying Patti Smith is the only person to do this stuff, but there's so much of it, it accumulates.

As for the actual music...her comeback stuff is good compared to the comebacks of others, but nonetheless, her reputation rests on the first four albums and the early singles. I think Horses is one of the great albums of all time, and I'm not alone...those cursed archivists at Acclaimed Music calculate that Horses is the 23rd most acclaimed album ever. They've got Patti Smith the artist at #88. Nothing could match that album, and Radio Ethiopia didn't. It plays better today, because its best tracks are terrific and its worst tracks suck, so it's tailor made for rip-and-shuffle play. Easter splits the difference: it's best stuff is even better than on the previous album, its worst stuff is better, too, but it's not quite as good as Horses. It's a great album, though, worthy of a HoFer. Wave is the least successful of the four, but even it has "Dancing Barefoot," a candidate for her best song ever.

So that's me making her case. My biases are two-fold. First, while I spend so much time on shuffle play now that I barely know what an album looks like, I was raised on albums, and so I likely underestimate the importance of a band like Flash and the Five. I bought many of their 12" singles in the day, played "Wheels of Steel" all the time, but when I think about these things, I'm too album-centric. The second bias is a baby-boomer thing. Outside of maybe Bruce Springsteen, it's hard to imagine a more perfect boomer rock critic's wet dream than Patti Smith. She was an uber-punk but she loved and respected the sixties. Horses was unlike anything we'd ever heard, yet in retrospect, it almost seems like someone programmed a computer to make boomer rock critics happy and came up with Horses. The freshness of punk...produced by one of the Velvets...a cover version of "Gloria"...a long Doors-y poem/song that suddenly turned into "Land of a 1000 Dances"...even the presence of actual rock critics in the band (not just Lenny Kaye, but Patti herself). All of which is to say that I love Horses and I love Patti Smith very much, but it's pretty easy to see how people like me would overrate her greatness.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007 at 08:43 PM

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Phil said...

Scott knows about 300 times more than I do about any hip-hop that predates Licensed to Ill and Raising Hell, and he makes a pretty convincing case for Grandmaster Flash. Once you get into the grey area beyond the Beatles and Chuck Berry and the like, I think you run into the same wall that Bill James found behind every Cooperstown argument: if you're not 100% clear on what the criteria for induction is, it's something of a subjective guessing-game. In my own fantasyland, the Pet Shop Boys and Yo La Tengo are automatic first-ballot picks (PSB 2011, Yo La Tengo 2014). I somehow don't see that happening.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 10:16 AM

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Scott said...

Phil's Yo La Tengo/Pet Shop Boys scenario and Steven's future hip-hop inductess guessing game makes me think the whole institution could in fact become a lot more interesting in the years ahead, given that there just aren't as many obviously dominant figures in pop music as there used to be--I mean, dominant in both a critical and commercial sense, dominant in terms of having an acknowledged across-the-board appeal, dominant in the sense of having a major impact on stuff that came afterward. Sure, there are some obvious popular-critical inductees ahead, like Madonna and Nirvana, and some critically acclaimed types will likely have nothing to worry about either (i.e., Sonic Youth). But the picture really does get pretty fuzzy from around the mid-80s onwards, and it's not hard to imagine that there will be serious fights over the likes of the Pet Shop Boys, Yo La Tengo, Liz Phair, Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, Smashing Pumpkins, Beck, Bjork, Outkast, Beyonce, et al. I think all those people could eventually find their way in, but none seem like obvious shoo-ins, and their support will be very fragmented.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 03:31 PM

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Steven said...

If I were a betting man, out of that list, I'd take OutKast if I could only choose one future inductee. OutKast, or Beck. Of the others, I can't imagine Mariah Carey will ever get in, Liz Phair's career moves were too unappreciated, Beyonce too soon to tell. A case could be made for all the rest, and I'm not the one to make it...others could speak better to their strengths.

OK, now that I wrote that, I'll look and see what Acclaimed Music says. Again, this isn't to establish the artistic merit of these acts, just to see how critics have judged them over the years. Artist rankings:

Beck: #38
OutKast: #54
Bjork: #64
Pet Shop Boys: #100
Smashing Pumpkins: #106
Yo La Tengo: #154
Janet Jackson: #336
Liz Phair: #349
Beyonce: #477
Mariah Carey: #1408

It should be noted that Acclaimed Music doesn't just collate annual polls and ratings, but also adds in the various "Best of X" thingies. Based on what I've just posted, I'm right about OutKast and Beck, Bjork is closer to being in than I would have thought, and Mariah Carey ain't ever getting in (unless they also consider the best thing she ever did in her career, WiseGirls). As for the predictive value of this stuff, a quick eyeballing tells me that every one of the top 40 artists on the Acclaimed list are either in or have yet to qualify. (#41 is Roxy Music.)

Among those eligible for the first time this year: Africa Bambaataa, Beastie Boys, Ice-T, Janet Jackson, Jimmy Page, Lionel Richie, Madonna, Metallica, Sonic Youth, and Sting. Madonna's a lock. As for the rest, I think a lot of them will eventually get in, but voters seem to change their minds over the years, so maybe Metallica won't make it right away. Sonic Youth, same thing...I have no doubt that those two bands will get in, but I don't have the slightest idea when. Sting's probably in since they don't seem to mind awarding someone more than once (it was v.weird when Stephen Stills was announced as "the two-time Hall of Famer"). Beasties also for sure, also not necessarily in first year. Lionel Richie? Maybe. Bam? I don't know, to me he's less influential than Flash and the Five. Ice-T? My son thinks yes, I don't think he has a chance. Janet Jackson is hard to call, Jimmy Page probably not.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 03:59 PM

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Scott said...

Do you mean Jimmy Page, solo artist? To me, that would be unbelievably ludicrous and just plain wrong (it would also just confirm my worst impressions about all of this).

I don't think Bambaata's a long shot, just because his reputation is so massive among hip-hop scholars. I like his two big singles, and recognize his momentary importance, but I don't consider him that deserving myself (the truly deserving member is producer Arthur Baker). If Bambaata gets in before Kraftwerk, then I think the committee's priorities are definitely screwed up. (Now THAT'S an induction speech I'd love to be present for. "Ladies and gentlemen, turn on your cellphones for a text message from Ralf and Florian!") I'm with you on Ice-T---he seems kind of forgotten as a musician now (he's also better on TV than he ever was behind the mic anyway).

You're probably right about Mariah Carey--obviously, the critics who vote will do whatever they can to keep her out, but do sales matter at all in this? (Is the vote split between critic types and "industry" folk, which is what I've always just assumed?) If not, then strike one against Lionel Richie as well, at least for many years to come. And Whitney, too.

Pet Shop Boys: well, if Roxy Music isn't in yet, then I guess it will be some time before Neil & Chris get the call.

Not actually being familiar with the inductee list, I'm also curious about what significant earlier artists still aren't in--and could they (or the lobbyists on their behalf) fend off some of the newly eligibles? For instance, obviously the Beach Boys are in--but are Jan & Dean? The Ronettes are now--when will someone push for the Shangri-las? etc.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 06:22 PM

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Phil said...

Yes, it'll definitely get more and more unpredictable as they start drawing from the '80s and '90s. If Bjork or the Smashing Pumpkins ever go in, please, put a pistol to my head. (I'm trying to think of a baseball equivalent of Bjork...if I say someone like Steven Kemp, it doesn't work, because he was actually pretty good for a couple of years.) It occurs to me that Husker Du made their first LP in '81, and were therefore eligible last year. They should absolutely go in--they're qualified in every conceivable way except for commercial success--but, I don't know, do they even have a chance? The Replacements also debuted in '81; their case is somewhat less compelling to me, but someone else might argue the reverse. I do hope they construct a special wing for Sister Hazel, Harvey Danger, Third-Eye Blind, and all those other Radio On favourites. John Popper of Blues Traveller can provide security on induction night.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 06:33 PM

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Scott said...

I could be wrong, but I think it'll be some time before Husker get their due (sorry!). I dunno, they just seem like a real long shot to me. I have a hunch (and it's only a hunch) that their critical support has dwindled somewhat over the years (you just don't hear much about them; Black Flag seem more revered, no?), and I don't get the feeling they've had much exponential success, either, the way, say, My Bloody Valentine or Pavement have (I mean, I'm guessing, but based on their respective reputations, I bet Loveless and Slanted and Enchanted continue to sell very respectably and much better than any of the Husker Du albums) (granted, they're more recent, but not THAT much more recent). Anyway, I don't remember hardly anyone at the record store--staff or customers--talking about Husker Du, though that stint did end six years ago, so maybe it's different now (there was more interest than in the Replacements).

Phil will probably put the pistol to MY head if a make a Bjork/Mark Fidrych comparison, so I won't...

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 09:13 PM

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Steven said...

Pavement goes for sure, is my guess.

Somebody from SST has to go, so I suppose it depends on who was your fave. I was a Husker man myself...they're in my personal Hall of Fame, and New Day Rising is probably in my top 20 albums ever.

Neither Jan & Dean or the Shangri-Las are in. Similar artists that are in: Del Shannon and the Shirelles.

One problem with the baseball analogies...and I like to make 'em, myself...is that artists don't release new music every year. A Hall of Fame baseball player might have four peak years along with a few formative years and several fading but still good years, at the end of which they'll have a 15-year career. A rocker might have only made 7 or 8 albums in 15 years, maybe only 2 or 3 during their peak. So if we start comparing Bjork to whoever, that's a problem. Take Patti Smith, since we've been talking about her. She had her formative years, when she was doing poetry with Lenny and writing rock criticism, then she had her peak years, then she stayed home with her family for a long time, then she had a nice comeback. It's a career kinda like, say, Willie McCovey's. But McCovey doesn't have a decade-long hole in the middle of his career. People look at McCovey and they see 500+ homeruns, and they don't think "oh, but some of those homers came in off years." 500 homers is 500 homers. But Patti Smith ends up being judged entirely on four albums, and if you don't think those albums are good enough, then you don't think she belongs. A Willie McCovey gets credit for every homer, but a Patti Smith only gets credit for the homers in her good seasons.

Or take my fave, Bruce Springsteen. He's been recording since 1973...in the ensuing 34 years, he's released a grand total of 14 new studio albums. Even if every one of them was a classic, which isn't true, he wouldn't compare well to a baseball superstar, because the baseball player wouldn't spend 2/3 of his career sitting on the bench.

Here's a sabermetric version of this discussion. There are some players who will never get into the baseball Hall of Fame, but who are highly regarded by stat heads. Not talking someone like Ron Santo or Bert Blyleven, whose names are always in the public eye. I'm talking about someone like Bobby Grich or Darrell Evans, guys whose production makes them Hall-worthy, or at least worthy of discussion, but who are off the HoF map for a variety of reasons. So, who is the Grich or Evans of rock and rollers? The people who had a few top ten hits but never made #1, who made several albums that finished relatively high in critics polls but never made the top ten, who sold enough to make a profit without ever making the Forbes list. It would have to be someone who wasn't a critic's darling, because they could sneak in on that basis (yes, I'm thinking about you, Sleater-Kinney). I guess it's someone like Roxy Music, who could be the 41th most acclaimed artist ever and still not make it into the Hall. Someone like The Specials, or the New York Dolls, or even a local guy like E-40, influential and successful but mostly ignored outside of the Bay Area.

Thursday, March 15, 2007 at 09:54 PM

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Phil said...

I wish I could post a couple of photos side-by-side (I tried but couldn't figure out how): Bjork at the Academy Awards in her preposterous swan get-up, and Fidrych on the cover of Sports Illustrated in 1977 alongside Big Bird. I hope that's what Scott had in mind--otherwise, no, no, no, a thousand times. Actually, recent comeback notwithstanding (which is only two-fifths of the group anyway), I think the New York Dolls make a very good match for Fidrych: absolutely mercurial at the outset, followed by a lengthy decline phase brought on by, um, health problems. I know the pop/baseball analogies aren't perfect for some of the reasons Steven mentions, but I think at the basic peak value vs. career value level, you can find any number of comparable pairings (underscored by one of my favourite bits of arcana, that Babe Ruth and Elvis both died on August 16). Mind you, I don't think anybody has been or ever will be turned away from the Rock and Roll HOF because of substance abuse.

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 07:12 AM

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Steven said...

Baseball doesn't care about influence, though, which can make a musical equivalent of Mark Fidrych more important than the Bird. The New York Dolls only made two albums before the recent comeback, but 1) they are great albums, 2) they are just as much a precursor to punk as was the Stooges, and 3) don't know if this counts, but if it does, the Dolls gave us two artists of import in their own careers: David Johansen is still pretty damned interesting (OK, I'm biased, I was in one of his videos once), and Johnny Thunders' guitar playing would have been even more influential except I'm not sure anyone else could ever master that amazing ability he had to sound like he and his guitar were about to fall off the face of the earth but first let me get this one last monster sludgy power chord in (David Johansen's first solo album, so good and full of songs left over from the Dolls, features a reasonably decent band, including Syl, but it really misses the near-anarchy of Johnny's guitar).

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 08:30 AM

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Phil said...

Can you tell I'm on vacation? Can you tell I'm need of what's called a social life? They've kind of boxed themselves in with this screwy idea that a number of people need to be inducted first as part of a band, and then again as a solo artist. I can think of one clear instance where it's justified: the Jackson 5 and Michael Jackson both go in. (And even there, if they had limited it to Michael Jackson--who would seem to have had more to do with what's great about "I Want You Back" than Tito, Jermaine, Murray, or Mortimer--that would have been fine.) Maybe you can also make a case for Lennon (peak value) and McCartney (career value), and maybe there's a need for multiple inductees from the whole Dominoes/Drifters/Clyde McPhatter/Ben E. King constellation. But if they do want to have it that way, I think there should be a clear demarcation between the two bodies of work: Johnny Thunders, solo artist, shouldn't get any credit for New York Dolls, and the New York Dolls shouldn't get any credit for So Alone. Otherwise, each of them feeds off the other exponentially, and anyone who ever took part in a band/solo artist career at either end (i.e., Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin end up getting credit for every Neil Young album) gets a significant advantage. There's one obvious case where influence played a part in someone's Cooperstown induction. Jackie Robinson would have been an automatic first-ballot pick on the merits alone, but I'm sure that in the minds of voters, he got at least some credit for the careers of Mays, Aaron, and every other great black player who followed in his wake. But generally speaking, no, influence doesn't matter when screening baseball players. Maury Wills was a (borderline) borderline case on the merits, and if influence mattered (and substance abuse didn't), he'd be in the Hall of Fame. He isn't.

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 04:26 PM

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Scott said...

Have we scared every last citizen of Rubioville away yet? I shudder to imagine what the others must be thinking...

Lennon & McCartney: I agree that a credible case can be made for their dual group-solo status. And though the Drifters/Dominoes/etc. "constellation" has always confused me somewhat, I assume there's a case there as well (albeit not as obvious as the Beatles/ex-Beatles). Beyond that, it's hard to come up with worthy solo-group candidates, based on Phil's entirely reasonable demarcation criteria. I wouldn't have a problem with the following:

* Buffalo Sprinfield/Neil Young (the former is kind of borderline in my view)

* Simon & Garfunkel/Paul Simon

* Cream/Eric Clapton (though I don't personally care for anything Eric Clapton has ever put out under his own name--at least not that I can think of offhand; I like a fair number of Cream, Derek & the Dominoes, and Blind Faith tracks, but solo, he strikes me as just about the most boring human being to walk the planet in the last 40 years)

* Supremes/Diana Ross (maybe Ross is borderline, but I think she had enough of a solo hits career, spread out over a decade, to merit inclusion eventually; she's in many ways an underrated seventies disco artist)

* Stooges/Iggy is a stretch in my view, though I do love those Berlin albums lots, so maybe I'm okay with that one as well

* Velvets/Lou Reed--I'd make the case in the sense that Lou's solo career has been interesting and weird and distinct enough, even if I only like parts here and there; Velvets/John Cale is probably more just, though it won't happen.

Police/Sting? Psshhhhaw. Sugarcubes/Bjork? Hmmm.

The most meaningful (to me personally) group/solo combination I can think of is Roxy Music-Bryan Ferry. I'd like to believe Roxy will make it in to the HOF eventually, but as long as the institution exists in Cleveland and not in Portsmouth or London, solo-Ferry won't even come close, never mind that he'd be the first inductee who wouldn't even need to rent a tuxedo. It's not that I couldn't choose between Roxy Music and Bryan Ferry (I'd go with Roxy, ultimately, at least when examining their respective peak periods, album for album), but the point is that they're both in my personal canon and would be even if the other didn't exist, which I'd suggest is as good a measure of the demarcation principal as anything. I wouldn't say the same of Beatles/solo Beatles, truth be told.

Thanks for the back and forth, you guys, it's been way more fun thinking about all this than I would ever have guessed. (It's been a kind of downer week, so I'm grateful to have had something other than real life to think about.)

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 10:26 PM

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Scott said...

Clarifications:

By my last Beatles point, I obviously meant to say that it's solo Beatles who don't mean much to me, though I like a bunch of singles, and if there could be one collective induction for "solo Beatles" I'd be in favour of that.

Eric Clapton: He's an odd case the more I think about it--maybe an exception to the demarcation rule. Cream belong there, for sure (I think they're historically important enough, if nothing else). Solo Clapton doesn't (well, in my view--the fogies would disagree), nor do Derek & the Dominoes or Blind Faith. I think a very strong case can be made for Clapton, however, if you allow that those two groups were basically his vehicles (I don't know if his involvement in the Yardbirds confuses things or solidifies the argument; I'm not really sure which of their material actually features him). There's probably an auteurist connection of some sort.

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 10:47 PM

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Steven said...

I don't mean to be rude...well, it ain't like Slowhand is gonna stop by and see this...from an artistic standpoint, if he'd OD's after Layla, he'd be right up there with all the other '60s icons who croaked. The Yardbirds were my favorite group when I was a kid, although without knowing it at the time, it was the Jeff Beck Yardbirds I liked best. Cream...well, FWIW, our garage band tried v.hard to be like Cream. I don't know how well that band's music holds up, although of course I like the pop psychedelia. Blind Faith at the time wasn't seen as a vehicle for Clapton...Stevie Winwood was his equal in that band, not to mention Ginger Baker.

But Layla...I love that album so much, I pretty much forgive Clapton for everything that's come since. And in my book, what's come since is almost completely crap. 461 Ocean Boulevard was nice, he can still rip off a great solo, but basically it's all a waste.

It kinda makes you wonder...if Jimi and Janis had lived, would we be saying the same thing about them? My guess is Clapton would fare the worst of the three. He can play the blues until he dies, but that JJ Cale influence was fatal in his case. Jimi would still be innovating...he'd probably jam with Sonic Youth. Janis would be a broad...doing a tour with Etta James. She wouldn't innovate, but she'd entertain. So you'd have Jimi the artist, Janis the entertainer, and Eric the one who puts you to sleep at the end of the night.

But for one album, he was the shit. OK, Duane gets a lot of credit, too, but then, he's another one I'm a sucker for who didn't live long enough for me to get tired of him. And Jim Gordon wrote the piano part for "Layla" so he gets a lifetime pass, too.

Friday, March 16, 2007 at 11:05 PM

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Phil said...

Every time I think I'm out, Steven pulls me back in...I don't think some of these posts through enough before putting them up. Clapton is a definite case where duplicate and triplicate inductions are required. On the whole, I'm a bigger Cream than Yardbirds fan--it's close--but I'm glad they're both in. And though I know very little of Clapton's solo work (favorite: "Let It Rain"), and never had much feeling for Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, common sense tells me he belongs there on his own, too. He's the clearest counter-example to some of what I wrote in my last post: I think you have to give him partial credit for a whole bunch of different projects along the way (in addition to everything already mentioned, there was also Delaney & Bonnie). I'd probably also endorse Lou Reed on his own: lots of career value, with two huge critical successes (one of which, Street Hassle, I like a lot, and the other, The Blue Mask, not much at all) included. Even though Paris 1919 is my favourite solo-Velvets LP, I'd be hugely surprised if Cale ever got in. I'll leave Bryan Ferry to Steven and Scott; honestly, I just don't see where he's had a huge impact outside of Roxy Music. Which segues into something we haven't mentioned: while the Baseball Hall of Fame only makes sense as an American institution, a British Rock and Roll Hall of Fame would undoubtedly look very different once you got into the second tier of inductees. Two names that immediately come to mind are Marc Bolan and Nick Drake; also, we wouldn't be debating about whether or not Roxy Music belong...Nothing to do with anything, but I was at Toronto's Cinematheque tonight for a screening of Two or Three Things I Know About Her. A couple of quick comments. 1) This somewhat loud and obnoxious guy arrived with his wife and friend 10 minutes before start time and sat in the row in front of me. Just before the film was about to start, I caught the following: "Tonight's film? Um... Two or Three Women? Two or Three Things Women Know?" I'm not sure if I hated him more or less after hearing this. 2) In the scene in the restaurant where the student quizzes the writer, there's one of those old-style table jukeboxes sitting center-frame between them. I strained and strained, and was able to make out one of the selections: bottom left-hand corner, the Beatles "Girl" backed with "Drive My Car." I was so proud of myself.

Saturday, March 17, 2007 at 09:07 PM

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Steven said...

You have to be careful with that kind of thing. I remember watching The Royal Tenenbaums, and when Gwenyth Paltrow puts on the vinyl Between the Buttons and "Ruby Tuesday" follows "She Smiles Sweetly," I was thrown completely out of the movie, because I couldn't quit thinking "that song doesn't come after that song!"

Which leads me to the next anal question: how did they get "Girl" and "Drive My Car" on the same single?

Saturday, March 17, 2007 at 09:23 PM

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Phil said...

As excellent as Fast Times at Ridgemont High is in almost every way, I always have a similar problem with one detail of Ratner and Stacy's big date. In the previous scene, Ratner's been schooled in Damone's five rules for bedding down girls, one of which is to always have side one of Led Zeppelin IV at the ready; cut to Ratner and Stacy in the car, and he's got "Kashmir" on the tape deck. I'm never sure if it's Ratner or Amy Heckerling who messed up...I had to look hard, but I'm 99% sure it was "Girl" paired with "Drive My Car." I couldn't find a listing for any such single in either Billboard's Top 100 book or Goldmine's 45 price guide, but I'd point out three things: both songs did appear on the British Rubber Soul; this is a French jukebox in a French film, so who knows what was pressed over there; and I'm guessing that record companies at the time issued certain singles meant only for jukeboxes.

Sunday, March 18, 2007 at 12:30 AM


(Originally published in the comments section of Steven Rubio's Online Life)

 

Okay, We Get It--Yup (2007)

2006 YEAR-END BALLOT

1. “Poppin’ My Collar,” Three 6 Mafia: They inspired John Stewart’s one moment of genius on the Academy Awards (“For those of you keeping track at home: Three 6 Mafia, one Oscar, Martin Scorsese, zero”), a line that I may or may not remember longer than my favorite song of the year. They’re again doing some heroic pleading on behalf of misunderstood pimps everywhere, one of the last special-interest groups in our society without adequate advocacy. This is leagues above “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp,” though--there’s a near-apocalyptic urgency about that exotic female chorus in the background, ditto the basso-profundo guy who handles the chorus, and, true to its genre, great romantic lines abound. My favorite today is “She might as well have gone ahead and sucked on my wood/And let me whisper somethin’ in her ear if I could,” but, you never know, that might change tomorrow.

2. “The Warning,” Hot Chip: This little wisp of nothing is the most beautiful thing I heard this year, even if, as advertised, it’s a warning about the band breaking your legs and putting you under the ground--all of which is pretty funny when you think about what Poindexters the people who put this record together must be. The anomalous interlude where they skronk around in their mechanical music museum for 30 seconds always jars, but I’ve learned to negotiate my way through it. I think it even serves a purpose: when they come back for one last verse of the real song, it all seems even more beautiful than before.

3. “The Race Is on Again,” Yo La Tengo: I got the album with the express purpose of finding something I could put on this list, which is not the way you’re supposed to do it, but “The Race Is on Again” is so good, I’m glad it didn’t slip by unheard. That it’s a song they could probably do in their sleep doesn’t much matter either. I do all my best work while sleeping too.

4. “Mr. Me Too,” Clipse w/Pharrell Williams: I don’t know if Michael Richards’ meltdown will be good or bad for charmers like Clipse: the ugliest word in the English language has regained its taboo value after years as ho-hum-part-of-the-scenery, and sure enough, I got a listener complaint when I played this on the radio two weeks ago. I’m 95% sure the caller was black, and seeing as he asked if I’d play some Captain Beefheart or Frank Zappa instead, I’m assuming he was bothered by “Mr. Me Too”’s barrage of N’s rather than all the F’s. (Or maybe not even that--his specific complaint was that his kids were listening.) Which is fine--it’s a word that should upset people, and if black comedians and black hip-hop artists are being put on alert by Al Sharpton, that’s a good thing. But, for better or worse, when all the hate comes packaged in something as musically arresting as “Mr. Me Too,” it’ll always have a strong pull on me--and now that the taboo’s back in place, the pull is that much more visceral. Additionally, there are some great bits between all the N’s and the F’s. I love “Bof’us laughin’” when the singer and P-Diddy deplane in Aspen, and nobody comes up with better verbs than these guys--”juice-and-ginnin’” and “neck-and-chinnin’” on “When the Last Time” a few years ago, “dunce-cappin’ and kazooin’” on “Mr. Me Too.”

5. “Me & U,” Cassie: Seemed that I used to vote for the same kind of icy etherealness on a regular basis--Soul for Real’s “Candy Rain,” Hi-Tek’s “Round and Round,” and Ashanti’s “Happy” are three that come to mind--but it’s been a while. They put a spell on me then, they put a spell on me still.

6. “Dance Like a Monkey,” New York Dolls: I heard this for the first time when they did it on Letterman, and it passed the debacle test instantaneously and with ease (which, if you’re an optimist, amounts to “Please don’t let this be embarrassing”; if you’re a pessimist, it’s more like, “How embarrassing is this going to be?”). There’s a little too much “Lust for Life” about it, but it’s also got some of the old “Frankenstein” in there, especially in the emblematic din after the line about inheriting the wind. I’ve got a friend who produces an arts show for a local television station, and a few months ago, Johansen and Sylvain were in his building doing an interview. He tracked down Sylvain and got him to autograph his old copies of the first two LPs, mentioning that he was there for the group’s show at Toronto’s Victory Burlesque Theatre in 1973, with Rush opening. Johansen arrived soon after, and Sylvain reminded him of the long-ago show. Johansen’s response: “Geddy Lee...he’s a funny guy!” I like the story as much as the song.

7. “London Bridge,” Fergie: Speaking of Frankenstein, not all monstrosities are created equal: Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man” makes me hide under the couch and ponder the abyss, “London Bridge” I love. What’s more, even though I’m the usually the last person to pick up on such things, I’ll preempt Frank Kogan and say there’s as much New York Doll here as there is in “Dance Like a Monkey.” It’s all in code, sort of, but the subject seems to be a pop-music perennial: The Invention of Sex, Part 3,017.

8. “Roger and Out,” Neil Young: I’ve only heard “Impeach the President” once, and it didn’t make much of an impression on me. I suppose that anyone who likes it would say that the war and Bush have reenergized Neil Young, but I don’t know, on the evidence of things like that awful 9/11 song a few years back, I think I like him better de-energized these days--I like him just fine when he’s got no energy at all. On “Roger and Out,” he and his “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” choir are drifting down something called “the hippie highway,” where Neil observes that “it feels like yesterday.” Yes, it does, and it also sounds just like yesterday, too, on this miniature “Cortez the Killer”: half as long and half as good, which means good enough for the lower reaches of a Top 10.

9. “Sexyback,” Justin Timberlake: How exactly does one twerk? Not a masterpiece like “Rock Your Body,” but it’s got a hypnotic pull of its own thanks to the frantic “Take ‘em to the bridge” guy and the hardest production white money can buy, and, for me, it also has some high comedy value--specifically, the “Them other fuckers don’t know how to act” line. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a bid for thug credibility, or if thug credibility is something Justin Timberlake already has among teenagers, but it’s as if Carol Brady had walked into the kitchen one morning and said, “Fix your own fuckin’ breakfast, Mike, I’m spent.”

10. “It’s Goin’ Down,” Yung Joc: This is crunk, right? Maybe that’s the subliminal message behind the weird spelling of “Yung,” which I really think ought to have some umlauts in any case--it’s a known fact that teenage hip-hop fans are crazy about umlauts. Just like Hot Chip above, Young Joc’s another instigator ready to “knuckle- up, any time, any place.” This is a warning, Joc, I’ll spell it out for you: don’t be messing with Hot Chip.

Thursday, March 12, 2026

Space Travel's in My Blood (2006)

When your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through, well, you can always come up with a list. I started counting down my 100 favorite songs on the radio this morning--my show's only 90 minutes long, so it'll take four or five weeks to finish. I got as far as #76 today, and will resume in three weeks' time (because the guy who normally alternates with me needed today off, he'll be in for the next couple of weeks). The last time I drew up a Top 100 was for the second issue of Radio On 15 years ago; I did a radio countdown on CIUT a couple of years before that. I was thoroughly gung-ho in both instances, but, in all honesty, the new one's mostly an excuse to fill up four weeks of programming. I used a couple of things to guide me: the mixworthy picks from the record inventory and, even more so, scanning the songlists of mix-CDs I've made for various people the last two years. There's hardly any overlap with the previous two lists. I don't think my tastes are necessarily becoming more conventional, but I am well on my way to turning into a doddering old folkie. I decided to start with new picks for Al Green and Gene Pitney, holders of the #1 spots on the Radio On ("It Hurts to Be in Love") and CIUT ("Let's Stay Together") Top 100s.

100. "I'm Still in Love With You," Al Green (1972)
99. "Last Chance to Turn Around," Gene Pitney (1965)
98. "Nothing Has Been Proved," Strings of Love (1990)
97. "The Kind of Boy You Can't Forget," Raindrops (1963)
96. "Echo's Answer," Broadcast (2000)
95. "No Regrets," Tom Rush (1968)
94. "Food," Chefs (1979)
93. "Friends," Bette Midler (1972)
92. "Perfume-V," Pavement (1992)
91. "You Showed Me," Turtles (1969)
90. "Bonita Applebum," Tribe Called Quest (1990)
89. "All the Young Dudes," Mott the Hoople (1972)
88. "Yes, I'm Ready," Barbara Mason (1965)
87. "Answering Machine," Replacements (1984)
86. "He's in Town," Rockin' Berries (1964)
85. "Draggin' the Line," Tommy James (1971)
84. "Ode to a Keyring," Monade (2003)
83. "Violets of Dawn," Eric Andersen (1966)
82. "Going Nowhere," Dumptruck (1987)
81. "Family Affair," Sly & the Family Stone (1971)
80. "Can't Get Used to Losing You," Andy Williams (1963)
79. "Forming," Germs (1977)
78. "On the Banks of the Owchita," John Fahey (1965)
77. "Ode to My Favorite Beer," Basehead (1991)
76. "On Your Way Out," Merry-Go-Round (1967)
75. "Perversion," Stereolab (1992)
74. "These Days," Nico (1968)
73. "See," Scrawl (1993)

72. "Eye Know," De La Soul (1989)
71. "Where Have All the Good Times Gone," Kinks (1965)
70. "Ce Matin La," Air (1998)
69. "El Watusi," Ray Barretto (1963)
68. "Nobody's Fault but My Own," Beck (1998)
67. "Split," Liliput (1980)
66. "Slurf Song," Michael Hurley (1976)
65. "What If?" Bongwater (1991)
64. "Making Time," Creation (1967)
63. "Beautiful Stranger," Madonna (1999)
62. "Out in the Dark," Lurkers (1979)
61. "I'm Into Somethin' Good," Earl-Jean (1964)
60. "Frontline," Pharcyde (2000)
59. "The True Wheel," Brian Eno (1975)
58. "Little Martha," Allman Brothers Band (1972)
57. "The Amerikan in Me," Avengers (1978)
56. "Sweet-Lovin' Man," Magnetic Fields (1999)
55. "Rang Tang Ding Dong (I Am the Japanese Sandman)," Cellos (1957)
54. "Anti-Pleasure Dissertation," Bikini Kill (1995)
53. "If You Really Love Me," Stevie Wonder (1971)
52. "No Looking," Raincoats (1980)
51. "He's a Whore," Cheap Trick (1977)
50. "Outta Control," 50 Cent w/Mobb Deep (2005)
49. "The Samurai in Autumn," Pet Shop Boys (2002)
48. "I'm So Glad," Cream (1966)
47. "What a Shambles," Bananarama (1984)
46. "Something in the Way She Moves," James Taylor (1968)
45. "Raised Eyebrows," Feelies (1980)
44. "It's Gonna Take a Miracle," Royalettes (1965)
43. "Carpe Diem," Fugs (1966)
42. "Stop Killing Me," Primitives (1987)
41. "Don't Look Away," Who (1966)
40. "Reality Used to Be a Friend of Mine," P.M. Dawn (1991)
39. "Here Comes My Baby," Cat Stevens (1967)
38. "Heroin," Velvet Underground (1967)
37. "How Can I Say Goodbye?" Barbara Lewis (1965)
36. "Drive Car Girl," Beat Happening (1988)
35. "Sway," Rolling Stones (1971)
34. "Not Me," Shoes (1978)
33. "The World Is a Ghetto," War (1972)
32. "Alabama Bound," Charlatans (1966)

31. "Roadrunner," Modern Lovers (1975)
30. "You're One," Imperial Teen (1996)
29. "Take a Giant Step," Monkees (1966)
28. "Getting Away With It," Electronic (1990)
27. "Mexico," Jefferson Airplane (1970)
26. "Motor Away," Guided by Voices (1995)
25. "Sugar Town," Nancy Sinatra (1966)
24. "Often I Wonder," Spikedrivers (1966)
23. "Tell Me What You See," Beatles (1965)
22. "A Rainy Night in Georgia," Brook Benton (1970)
21. "Sea Child," Hot Tuna (1972)
20. "Do It Right," Maureen Tucker (1989)
19. "I'll Keep It With Mine," Bob Dylan (1965)
18. "I Wanna Make You Happy," Margaret Mandolph (1965)
17. "Satellite," Yo La Tengo (1992)
16. "Wedding Bell Blues," 5th Dimension (1969)
15. "Kooks," David Bowie (1971)
14. "Divorce Song," Liz Phair (1993)
13. "Smiling Faces Sometimes," Undisputed Truth (1971)

12. "Colours," Donovan (1967)
11. "Dr. Baker," Beta Band (1998)
10. "Rikki Don't Lose That Number," Steely Dan (1974)
9. "Any Other Way," Posies (1990)
8. "She Don't Care About Time," Byrds (1965)
7. "Mannequin," Wire (1978)
6. "I Saw the Light," Todd Rundgren (1972)
5. "Books About UFOs," Husker Du (1985)
4. "Another Girl, Another Planet," Only Ones (1978)
3. "Take the Skinheads Bowling," Camper Van Beethoven (1986)
2. "Cinnamon Girl," Neil Young (1969)
1. "You Wear It Well," Rod Stewart (1972)

2005 Movie Survey (2006)

Tell me a little something about your moviegoing self:

a) How many new movies do you estimate that you watched in 2005?

b) How many older movies do you estimate that you watched in 2005?

c) Of the new movies you watched, how many do you estimate that you watched in a movie theater?

d) How many do you estimate that you watched on video or DVD?

e) How many, if any, did you watch more than once? (And what were they?)

f) Do you most often go to the movies by yourself or with someone else? Do you have a preference?

g) If you see movies with other people, do you tend to talk at length afterward about what you've just seen?

a) I've made a list and count 32, including a couple of late 2004 releases and three more that came out last year but got their first screenings in Toronto in 2005.

b) That's something I don't do nearly as much as I used to, primarily because the Festival rep-houses in Toronto have more or less stopped screening anything older than six months. I saw maybe 10-15 at the Cinematheque.

c) Except for No Direction Home on PBS, all of them.

d) None.

e) Mad Hot Ballroom was the only one--once on my own, once with my grade 7 class. (So technically the answer to the previous question is one, although the first time I saw Mad Hot Ballroom was in a theatre.)

f) Now you're getting into my Travis Bickle-like shadow existence...I probably saw about half of the 30 with other people, half without; my friends who have wives and girlfriends (wives or girlfriends--I don't think any of them have both) still put up with my movie invitations, and I count three movie dates off the list. Okay, two--Wedding Crashers I saw with my mom. My preference by a wide margin nowadays is to see a film with someone else; through my 20s, seeing a film alone wasn't such a big deal, but at 44 it feels very, very wrong.

g) Yes--talking about a film over coffee afterwards is as much a part of the night as the film itself.

-------------------

Provide a list of your 10 favourite movies of 2005, with comments:

1. Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room: Obviously indebted to Michael Moore, especially Roger and Me, but I don't think Moore's muckraking has uncovered anyone as blandly creepy as Ken Lay or Jeff Skilling. I only knew the Enron story in very broad outline going in--the workings of corporate finance are a foreign language to me--so I found the nuts and bolts of Lay's and Skilling's machinations quite compelling and reasonably accessible. I will watch their trial with interest when it begins. I hope they get sent away for a long, long time. (My friend and I were killing ourselves over the one lower-level executive who had a fondness for strippers, met one and married her, and got out of town just before the big fall.)

2. The Squid and the Whale: I felt like I'd seen something unique leaving the theatre, and it continues to stay on my mind. Something odd I related to: the nasty competitiveness between Jeff Daniels and his oldest son when they play ping-pong. My family used to own a ping-pong table, and I remember a time in high school when I'd play my dad and, because I thought I was pretty good, get infuriated if he beat me; I vaguely recall hurling a racket at the wall after one game, much as Daniels does in the movie. There's one music-related point that stretches credulity: that a high-school kid could play a well-known song from Pink Floyd's The Wall at a school talent show in 1986, claim it as his own, and not have a single student call him on it. The film's good enough that it's a minor conceit.

3. New York Doll: I liked this just slightly less than the Ramones documentary from last year, but it was really good in ways I didn't expect; I'm going to place it behind two films I was less predisposed to like, but this could just as easily occupy the #1 spot. I'll again bring up Michael Moore (enough already, Phil!) in connection to director Greg Whiteley's treatment of Arthur Kane's Mormon co-workers. They all come across as sane and articulate, and even with the two older ladies who generate some laughs, one of them has a beautifully dignified moment when Arthur dies. I think they would have been caricatured in the hands of Moore; not necessarily cruelly, but I think he would have handled them condescendingly, and would have treated their religion as a joke. (It's true that Whiteley's a Mormon himself, but, based in part on a Q&A he did after the screening I saw, I think his balance is more a matter of temperament.) The scene that will stay with me the longest from New York Doll is when David Johansen arrives for the first time during the Dolls' practice sessions for their London reunion show. First of all, it's hard to find words that adequately convey the depths of Johansen's cragginess--I even had to consult the dictionary to check "cragginess." And the way he saunters into the room as the band plays "Out in the Street" and slowly starts to join in--still the star of the show, the guy who knows that all eyes are on him (especially Arthur's, having waited a couple of decades for this moment) but kind of half-pretends to be just one of the guys--is brilliant; possibly staged to one degree or another, but brilliant anyway.

4. Mad Hot Ballroom: It's amazing how much this is conceived and structured in the shadow of Spellbound, right down to the introduction of a wild-card contender for the crown at the last possible moment. It's not as good as Spellbound--the kids aren't as indelible, and obviously dancing just isn't as kinesthetically exciting as spelling--but I liked it a lot, and so did my class. Favourite character: the young teacher who's like an Oprah/Dr. Phil self-parody, all choked up because her boys and girls are turning into "little men and women" before her very eyes. When her dancers are eliminated in one of the qualifying rounds, they start blubbering uncontrollably. It comes as a real shock.

5. Inside Deep Throat: Boogie Nights was a recreation of the '70s pornography industry, and this is a recreation of Boogie Nights; if life imitates fiction, then it stands to reason that a documentary might do the same. Lenny Camp, Deep Throat's "location manager" ("Okay, Lenny, listen up--for scene #7 we need an unnaturally barren room with beige walls and a couch"), is something to see: in a narrative film you'd accuse him of chewing up scenery shamelessly, but he's not, he's just a helpless nutcase. I wonder if Mark Felt got a chance to see this.

6. The Last Mogul: The Life and Times of Lew Wasserman: This look at the former head of MCA is the mirror image of that creepy Robert Evans vanity project from a couple of years back (which looked much worse when I watched some of it for a second time on TV). It was Evans who had a hand in The Godfather, but it was Wasserman's life that could have served as the blueprint for Puzo and Coppola's invisible-hand conception of Mafioso power: so circumspect that there was virtually no existing file footage of Wasserman, but reputedly powerful enough that even after Wasserman's retirement, director Barry Avrich still had a hard time finding anyone willing to be interviewed for his film. (Evans is more like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas and Casino, a free-wheeling showman with the self-destruct switch permanently turned on.) I was especially interested in the big scandal concerning MCA cutouts that Wasserman was implicated in during the late '80s; I bought a number of John Coltrane LPs on MCA/Impulse for three and four dollars around that time which must have filtered down from that.

7. March of the Penguins: A friend told me this wasn't anything special if you spend any time watching the Discovery channel; I don't, so I found it thoroughly absorbing. I used to be afraid of penguins thanks to Burgess Meredith and Danny DeVito, but now I'm a big fan.

8. Crash: This got a lot of great reviews early on, and then a backlash seemed to set in; when you turn on the TV and see Oprah Winfrey devoting a think piece-type show to it, that can't help. I feel like I've got a "politically naïve" sign hanging around my neck for saying so, but I thought at least two scenes--Terrance Howard and Thandie Newton's confrontation with the cops, and Newton's admittedly trumped-up rescue from her car wreck--were harrowing and moving. It all falls apart about three-quarters of the way through--Ryan Phillippe's sudden meltdown is especially implausible.

9. No Direction Home: I taped this, and I need to watch it a second time; I was really tired the first night and drifted in and out of sleep for about an hour. You quickly realize it's Dylan's film and not really Scorsese's, which is just fine, it's a grand enough story that it's got its own momentum.

10. Los Angeles Plays Itself: I'm listing this for all the great film clips, but I didn't think it was nearly as good as its first-place finish in last year's Voice documentary poll had me anticipating. The biggest problem for me was the director's narration, which I found oppressive--he seemed to complain about every last misrepresentation (according to him) of L.A. in the movies, no matter how trivial.  Admirable, in a way--I can get pretty nitpicky too about certain subjects--but I've discovered that the signage at some L.A. intersection in 1953 isn't one of them. The Speed network was showing the original Gone in 60 Seconds (1972) the other night, which gets a lot of attention in Los Angeles Plays Itself; I was kicking myself for not finding out until well after it had started.

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What were the two or three worst new movies you saw in 2005?

To call them te worst would be misleading, meaning they obviously weren't inept or anything--I see so relatively few films, it's rare that I see anything that actually strikes me as inept--but the two that annoyed me the most were A History of Violence and Last Days, while the biggest letdown was Broken Flowers. I was a big David Cronenberg fan through most of the '80s. I think The Dead Zone is one of the most underappreciated films of the past 25 years (considered, I believe, to be a regrettable bid for commercial success by many of his admirers), and The Fly was great as allegory, as romance, and as science-fiction. Dead Ringers was masterful too, but something deadening started to creep into his films at that point (non-fans would say it was there from day one), and they all seem to be such joyless affairs now--not his choice of subject matter, which has always been grim, but in their delivery. And then there's William Hurt...Last Days is another variation on Truffaut's famous remark that cinema should be about either the joy of making movies or the agony of making movies: Gus Van Sant, like Todd Solondz and Todd Haynes, makes films that are about the agony of watching movies. Whatever you think of Kurt Cobain, and I don't think I harbor especially protective feelings about him myself, it's sad to see his story hijacked for somebody's obscure art purposes. (For a much smarter, more nuanced, and, god knows, much more lively meditation on Cobain, I'd recommend Imperial Teen's "You're One" from their first LP. There are similarities to Van Sant's movie--Cobain is never explicitly named; it's written from a gay perspective--but the Imperial Teen song feels like a work of empathy, of understanding. Last Days feels like a sterile film-school thesis, and it goes on for several lifetimes longer.) Finally, Broken Flowers was disappointing for exactly the reason I'd expect from Jim Jarmusch: he takes what was modulated just perfectly in Bill Murray's performances in Rushmore and Lost in Translation, adds another two or three layers of anomie, and nullifies Murray right off the screen.

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What were some of your favourite performances in 2005 (either by a main or supporting actor)?

Jeff Daniels in The Squid and the Whale really stands out--very unusual performance--and I also liked his two kids in the same film. Terrance Howard is good in Crash, but I thought his character in Hustle and Flow was a real drag. Vince Vaughn is on auto-pilot through Wedding Crashers and Thumbsucker, but somewhat reluctantly I'm a fan. Naomi Watts hadn't made much of an impression on me before, but she gives the one good performance in King Kong. (Actually there are two, and I'm sure I don't need to name the other.) David Straitharn in Good Night, and Good Luck is dead-on from the clips I've seen of Edward R. Murrow; precise mimicry is not my favourite kind of performance, but if he wins any awards in the next few months, that'll be OK. One more: the scarecrow villain in Batman Begins is terrifying. I'm not sure there's a whole lot of acting prowess on display, though; basically he's the Unknown Comic plus special effects. I still need to see Capote.

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What were the two or three best uses of music in the movies in 2005?

New York Doll, not surprisingly, has two or three, especially the Shangri-Las' "Out in the Street" to signify that Arthur don't hang around with the gang no more, he now prefers the company of elderly Mormon women. I don't recall specific songs from Inside Deep Throat, just that I thought the soundtrack was effective. There's folky stuff by Bert Jansch in The Squid and the Whale that's nice--I had to check the credits to see who it was.

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What was your favourite movie trailer of 2005, and what was so good about it? (Also, did you end up seeing the movie, and did it live up to the trailer?)

A few years ago, I was seeing a lot of good trailers--I wrote about them on my homepage--but nothing comes to mind recently. I'd be interested in seeing the trailer for The Squid & the Whale; the best joke in the film is where the older son tries to impress a girl by calling "The Metamorphosis" Kafkaesque, and I'm thinking that might not play so well in a trailer.

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How did the movies of 2005 compare to the movies of 2004? (i.e., Was there any discernible difference in quality? Were you compelled any more or any less to see new movies in 2005 than you were in 2004?)

Pretty comparable, I'd say--maybe a slight edge to last year. I tend to evaluate a year by how much I care about the films at the top of my list--give me one Rushmore or Crumb and it's a great year--so to that end, last year was a little better: I liked The Mayor of the Sunset Strip and the John Kerry documentary better than Enron, and I liked Sideways better than The Squid and the Whale.

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What was the best older movie discovery you had in 2005?

I'll mention Godard's Histoire(s) du cinéma here, which I saw over three nights at the Cinematheque. Typically, much of it was a struggle--not boring in the way that most of his films have bored me, there are too many film clips cascading by to ever feel bored, but a struggle to make sense of, to connect all the elliptical narration to what you're seeing. (Another ongoing source of frustration is that, big surprise, clips aren't identified; that's one thing I appreciated about Los Angeles Plays Itself, Thom Andersen's stodgy insistence on identifying everything.) So you're looking at 265 minutes of a very obscure rumination on something or other, with the director making sure that you're not allowed to give in and revel in all the images the way you might in some other context; it's like an austere counter to those now tiresome collages you get during the Academy Awards broadcast. At the end, you feel as old as the movies themselves. But you know you've seen something, and I was more genuinely moved by the way a couple of the segments ended than by anything else I saw this year: first, when Godard's only comment on his closest contemporaries (Truffaut, Chabrol, etc.--seems like you spend the first half of the film waiting for some acknowledgement of Truffaut) is "These men, they were my friends," and then, right at the end, by the parable about waking from the dream, the perfect grace note to everything that has come before.

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Which movie critic (or critics) did you most enjoy reading in 2005, and why?

I keep up only sporadically now. I read Hoberman most every week in the Voice, and I check Sarris fairly regularly in the New York Observer, where his reviews are posted each Wednesday; there's no set timetable that I can figure out anymore as to when Kauffmann's reviews go up on the New Republic site, so I only remember to check him periodically. I usually don't see Edelstein's reviews in Slate until a few weeks after they run--it's just not a site I look at--but I enjoy reading him. Simon's disappeared. Kael's dead. Clyde Gilmour, the Toronto Star's film critic through the '70s and the first I ever read, is very dead.

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Politics came into last year's discussion a fair bit (mainly in reference to Fahrenheit 9/11). Do you believe there's a strong co-relation presently between politics and movies? Did movies in 2005 reflect or portray or allude to political events in a way that was both aesthetically and historically satisfying? (Is such a thing even important to you?) Any other thoughts on this admittedly broad subject (particularly as it relates to the present day)?

From my Top 10, my number-one film is explicitly political, three others are tangentially so (Inside Deep Throat, Mad Hot Ballroom, and Crash), and there's a case to be made--and has been made, many times--that politics can be read into just about film this side of Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (which I haven't seen, so maybe that's a cleverly disguised allegory about Iran-Contra). But generally speaking, it's the last thing on my mind when I sit down to watch a movie.

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In "Take 7," the 7th annual film critics poll conducted by the Village Voice, the Top 10 movies of the year, as chosen by 103 movie critics are:

1. A History of Violence
2. 2046
3. Kings and Queen
4. Grizzly Man
5. The World
6. Tropical Malady
7. The Squid and the Whale
8. Caché
9. The Holy Girl
10. Last Days

How many of these movies did you see? How do your own tastes match up overall to the critics? Also, feel free to say anything you care to about the poll itself.

I saw #1, #7, and #10, and I very much want to see Grizzly Man. Truthfully, I'm drawing a blank on #3, #5, #6, and #8. Some years my favourites do very well in the Voice poll--The Straight Story, Lost in Translation, Ghost World--other years they've had #1s (Far from Heaven, A History of Violence) that baffle me. With A History of Violence and Last Days bookending this year's Top 10, a lot of films I don't know on there, and only one from my own list, I don't feel much kinship with the poll this year.

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As of December 27, the following ten movies were ranked by Box Office Mojo as the most popular movies of the year:

1. Star Wars: Episode III--Revenge of the Sith
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
3. War of the Worlds
4. Wedding Crashers
5. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
6. Batman Begins
7. Madagascar
8. Mr. & Mrs. Smith
9. Hitch
10. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

How many of these movies did you see? How do your own tastes match up overall to other moviegoers? (Feel free to answer this question bearing in mind other more recent blockbusters such as King Kong.)

I saw #3, #4, and #6, plus King Kong over the holidays. (My answer to this question, therefore, is virtually identical to my previous answer. I've decided I'm the ultimate middlebrow.) That's about normal for me; there are four or five films a year where my own interests intersect with the box-office leaders. I'm pretty sure I don't go or not-go to a film based on whether or not it's expected to make a lot of money, and there are sometimes cases (I think Sideways would have been one) where you see what starts out as a relatively small film, and then it starts making money when it gets nominated for and/or wins some awards.

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Anything else relating to movies in 2005 you feel like mentioning that didn't get covered here?

Yes: if you're a member of Toronto's Cinematheque and you're reading this, cancel your membership and don't renew until they acknowledge Brent Sclisizzi's death in an upcoming program. Like Albert Brooks says in Lost in America: "Quit your job--I did!"


(Originally published in rockcritics.com)

Drinkin' Hand Grenades (2006)

2005 YEAR-END BALLOT

1. "Outta Control," 50 Cent featuring Mobb Deep: In my comment on “99 Problems” last year, I did something I try to avoid: I started generalizing about the state of music, specifically the kind of hip-hop that knows of no world beyond some ubiquitous club that may or may not be fictitious, but which is of minimal relevance to the life of a white middle-aged grade-school teacher in any case. Even as I wrote, though, there was a part of me that thought about tacking on a disclaimer at the end based on a lifetime of listening to the radio and being surprised: “My favourite record of next year could very well be set in that same club, which is why it’s stupid to start generalizing about the state of music.”  What I get from “Outta Control” is the same thing I once got from Naughty by Nature’s “Hip Hop Hooray”: a pause, a celebration, a record so beautiful in all that happens between the words that I’m tempted to call it something lofty like a meditation on the club, even though those words primarily consist of the usual stuff about getting your drink on and swallowing (um, not the drink) and gunning you all up. (Also, if I call it a meditation on the club, that would make it a club meditation, which sounds too much like Club Med.) A week after a 15-year-old shopper was randomly shot and killed on Boxing Day outside the same Toronto record store I used to rush down to on Boxing Day when I was 15, the gunning-you-up line suddenly seems real in a way I wouldn’t have expected it to; fantasyland or not--and I usually don’t have any difficulty separating the music I love from its real-life implication--I wouldn’t want to have to explain to that girl’s family why this is my record of the year and that not to worry, it’s all showmanship. In a way, 50 Cent takes care of that himself in my single favourite moment of 2005, when the piano comes in for the first time on the line “Trust me, man, it’s okay.” Again, I’d have a hard time explaining why, but those two or three seconds seem incomparably wise and serene to me.

2. "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People," Legendary K.O., and  4. "Gold Digger," Kanye West: The timing of the Kanye West single--if I remember correctly, it was starting to get a lot of play in the couple of weeks leading up to Katrina--had to have been the most politically serendipitous since the release of The China Syndrome right before Three Mile Island 25 years ago. I specifically mean West’s chorus, which was just waiting there for anyone who wanted to do something with it after Katrina (hinging on a word I’m always reluctant to quote), and also, of course, his televised condemnation of Bush in the immediate aftermath. I only caught it on replay, but it was something to see how nervous and agitated West was as he forced himself to say what he wanted to say; it felt like the only such instance since Sinead O’Connor’s SNL debacle where a pop star had actually departed from the script for a vertiginous leap into no-man’s land. (If nothing else, I hope we’re at least in agreeance that West’s ambush was more surprising than Fred Durst’s war-is-bad bombshell a few years ago.) Legendary K.O. takes the template of a great record and some controversy and fills in all the details, with his first order of business (title notwithstanding) to change West’s “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” to “George Bush don’t like black people,” a much harsher indictment that happens to scan much better in a song. Funniest line easy is “Five long days, five long days, and at the end of the fifth, you’re walkin’ in like ‘Heyyyyyyyy,’” and “He would have been up in Connecticut twice as fast” is pretty great too. I don’t know if we’ll ever hear from Legendary K.O. again or not. Senator Bobby had a cover of “Mellow Yellow” out within two months of “Wild Thing” in 1967, but the moment has already passed for a “Brownie, You’re Doin’ a Heckuva Job” follow-up.

3. "1 Thing," Amerie: Dense, urgent, cataclysmic: there’s so much going on, I still don’t know what the one thing is that’s got Amerie trippin’ (if it’s even verbalized at all; I don’t think it ever is), nor have I been able to figure out why she’s moved to blurt out “gobble-gobble-gobble” every so often. Soon after this came out I played it on the radio show I’ve been doing the past year, and it felt as thrilling in that context as when I did the same with “Sweet Child O’ Mine” on my old show in 1988.

5. "Girl," Beck: “My sun-eyed girl”? Until I double-checked a lyrics site a minute ago, I thought it was “My southern girl,” and that the title had been shortened to “Girl” out of deference to Cheap Trick. Apparently not--Beck was just keeping one of his old-fashioned clunky lyrics hidden from view. The song is no less nimble or appealing because of it, just as “Pay No Mind” was evocative enough to exist apart from its awful lines about manure and overflowing toilets. Once again, I’m happy that Cheap Trick was Cheap Trick. “Sun-eyed girls, you got nothin’ to lose” doesn’t work so well.

6. "Since K Got Over Me," Clientele: The Crystals are plain as day, as they were in “Love Will Tear Us Apart”’s fadeout 25 years ago, and I think I also hear a bit of “Waterloo Sunset.” That’s the kind of referencing that asks for, and possibly deserves, a response of “big deal,” but these little reminders of the past--#5 and #10 are stuck there too--are about the only thing I’m getting from (for lack of a better word) rock music at the moment. The Decembrists and the Hold Steady and the Arcade Fire and Franz Ferdinand are more forward-looking, I guess, and, based on the singles and albums I’ve heard from each, I kind of hate them all. (Or maybe they’re not, maybe their referencing just isn’t in sync with my interests.) Not that I’m generalizing about the state of music, because that’s a stupid thing to do.

7. "Ring Ding Ding (Frog)," L.O.C.: I’ve never heard “Crazy Frog,” and I’m not really even clear on what the whole ringtones phenomenon is all about; I heard L.O.C.’s answer song for the first time a week ago, when six of my students played it four or five times at our class Christmas party. Tajah told me it was the Ying Yang twins, I guess because “Ying Yang” sounds a little bit like “Ring Ding”; it it’d been 1970 she would have told me the Bells, 1985 and she’d have said the Alarm. Took me a couple of days to sort all that out, but I eventually tracked the song down and also got filled in on the “Crazy Frog” backstory. There’s stupid, and then there’s Super-Stupid, and L.O.C. are a super-sized hunk of Super-Stupid. The shelf life of such inanities is precarious; my guess is that I’ll be sick of this one by last week.

8. "Pimpin' All Over the World," Ludacris: Travelogue pop in the tradition of Chuck Berry’s “Back in the U.S.A.” and the B-52’s “Roam”--not as good, but good enough. The big attraction for me, of course, is the pitstop in Toronto, alerting the rest of the world to something I’ve been telling everyone for years: the pimpin’ here is top-notch, absolutely first-rate.

9. "Hung Up," Madonna: A lazy vote, I know--however high it finishes will be too high. When Madonna turned wistful and elegiac 15 years ago, she’d do a ballad and generally do a really good job of it; she’s far enough along now that anachronistic mid-tempo disco achieves more or less the same effect, and if I were as sensitive to her virtues as I think I am to the Pet Shop Boys’, I’d probably find this as moving as “The Samurai in Autumn” or “Flamboyant.” I’m not, but as Nixon used to say that Teddy Roosevelt used to say, she’s still in the arena.

10. "Fall to Pieces," Velvet Revolver: Speaking of anachronistic, this goes back to 2004, but it didn’t find me until the middle of last year, when I was wandering in a reverie one afternoon inside Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. I was over in the Wishbone Ash/“More Than a Feeling” wing, and it just kind of materialized out of the ether.

One last thought having to do with the radio show I mentioned earlier. College radio hasn’t changed a bit in 15 years. I used to get grief then for mixing in Janet Jackson or Vanessa Williams--not a great deal, I did an overnight and was pretty much left alone, but the guy who did the show in front of me, for one, would have been happy to see me run over by a transport. I’m a lot more circumspect now about sneaking in something hugely popular (a change that’s paralleled my own listening habits, so it’s been an easy adjustment), but sure enough, when I played Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” a couple of weeks ago, the metal girl before me called me on it; she wasn’t overly confrontational or anything, but she did want me to justify why I was playing commercial hip-hop. “Because it’s a great song?” wasn’t good enough, so I pointed out that I’d heard New Kids on the Block played on the Saturday afternoon dance show a couple of months ago (true), and that the station’s hip-hop shows played the likes of 50 Cent all the time (I made that one up). Playing New Kids on the Block is acceptable, it turns out: “But that’s retro.” Oh. I can’t think of word, or a concept, that creeps me out more than “retro.” I’m guessing that virtually anyone who writes about music feels the same. Whatever I love at any given moment always exists in the here and now, whether it came out last week, 10 years ago, or in 1963. “Outta Control”’s main competitors for my favourite song of the year were the Spikedriver’s “Often I Wonder,” the Cellos’ “Rang Dang Ding Dong (I Am the Japanese Sandman),” Hot Tuna’s “Sea Child,” Yo La Tengo’s “Satellite,” and a dozen other going, gone, or long-gone things that felt every bit as wondrous as 50 Cent’s record. (That his gave up nothing to any of them is why he’s #1.) Really, it’s a completely meaningless distinction to me.



Ciao (2005)

I'm going to take a couple of days off from the album inventory to pay insufficient tribute to Brent Sclisizzi, a good friend who passed away last week at the age of 42. Like anyone who knew Brent but didn't know anything of his long-term health problems, I'm stunned that this could have happened.

I met Brent 20+ years ago at university, where we were both enrolled in the University of Toronto's film studies programme. I think we maybe took two or three courses together, although the only one I specifically remember is the production course we took with Gino Matteo at St. Mike's. Brent served as cameraman on the two student films I made. One was shot inside the McGibbon Hotel, famous in my hometown of Georgetown because somebody was supposedly once murdered there, perfect for a would-be splatter film entitled Wild Christmas. For travelling shots, I pushed Brent around in a wheelchair. I'm not sure if he made any films himself for that course--if so, I never saw them.

We lost touch after graduation, but a few years later I ran into him at a rep screening somewhere around town, and within another few years we began getting together fairly regularly for films--once every month or two for the next decade, usually at the Cinematheque.

Movies were the foundation of our friendship, but being almost exactly the same age, we also had a lot of the same stupid reference points from the '70s in common. When I looked through one of Brent's photo albums the other day, it was like looking at photos from my own life, right down to the old black-and-white novelty shot taken inside the Fantasy Island jail. His grade-school class photos may as well have been my own. Call it whatever you want--life experiences, psychic landscape--but looking through that album, it really hit home with me that we came from the same place.

Brent's taste in films always fascinated and puzzled me. This is a simplification, but his enthusiasms basically carried him in three different directions. He loved a lot of foreign directors I either didn't care for (Fellini, Bunuel) or knew nothing about (he always named Raul Ruiz as his favorite director). There was also Saturday-matinee Brent--literally; he regularly went to the Cinematheque's Saturday afternoon screenings--who loved the Marx Brothers and film noir and Casino Royale (his favorite movie). Finally, the one tangent I could never figure out, he'd faithfully rush out and see the junkiest first-run fare imaginable. Dude, Where's My Car? is the first film I think of along those lines; seems we had a number of conversations where he tried to explain to me why I needed to see Dude, Where's My Car?

My original idea was to incorporate commemoration of Brent right into the album inventory, but I've either already bypassed all his favourites--Jethro Tull, Genesis, Philip Glass--or don't own any of the more obscure ambient and 20th-century music he was passionate about. We had everything and nothing in common when it came to music. Last Christmas, I sat with Brent and his girlfriend Tara and excitedly played Danger Mouse's mash-up of Jay-Z's "99 Problems" and the Beatles' "Helter Skelter" for them. With a smile, as always, Brent suggested I might be too old to be listening to such things. It was so funny and good-natured the way he did so, it never even occurred to me to bring up Dude, Where's My Car?

Brent worked for the CBC, where I attended an in-house memorial this afternoon. He obviously had had a huge effect on the people he worked with. The thing that kept coming up again and again from the different speakers was a view of Brent I share whole-heartedly: how even-tempered he was. In the twenty-plus years I've known him, I never saw so much as a flash of anger or sourness about anything. His calm was almost eerie, and I think one of the things that always amused him about me was all the whining and complaining I did. The most inspiring thing I heard this afternoon, though, was hearing one of his co-workers eulogize how Brent always took a week or two off in September to volunteer with the Toronto Film Festival. Well...it's true that he always booked off work during the Festival, and it's also true that he voluntarily saw as many films as humanly possible during that time, but I think he's maybe been putting one over on his employers for years. Good show, Brent.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Sir Busta Rhymes! (2005)

2004 YEAR-END BALLOT

1.  “99 Problems,” Jay-Z/“99 Problems,” DJ Danger Mouse: Jay-Z’s original was easily the song that most knocked me out this year, and after coming to DJ Danger Mouse’s version late and spending a couple of weeks with it, I’d have to say it’s every bit as good. (Just to make sure, I got out the Ouija board and consulted with retired Jay-Z scholar George Wallace: “Ain’t a dime’s worth of difference between them,” he concurred.) Of hip-hop’s two polarities, socially-minded versus novelty--Public Enemy vs. Tone-Loc, more or less (my points of reference are so up to date)--I’ve never thought one was inherently better than the other. There’s stuff I love and hate at both extremes, and anyway, Public Enemy had jokes, and Tone-Loc had some very philosophical--well, Public Enemy had jokes. Having said that, at a time when 97% of the hip-hop I hear is in-the-club-this and in-the-club-that, and every video I see has the same Bluto Blutarsky surrounded by the same six gyrating Pam Griers, “99 Problems” probably would have caught my attention just by virtue of having a narrative and some connection to the actual world the rest of us live in. But it’s so much more than just what-it’s-not--it has the authority and mastery of “Ohio,” and the Rick Rubin original is the hardest hip-hop I’ve ever heard on mainstream radio. (Almost too much so: past a certain volume that’s lower than what I usually like to play my favourite radio hits at, it simply becomes too distorted and I have to turn it down). Jay-Z’s complaints about radio stations not playing him are a little melodramatic--he’s all over Toronto's 93.5, and really, who cares anyway--but his confrontation with the MFL is brilliant, a highwire act pitched somewhere between mock-Stepin Fetchit and Johnnie Cochran, conjuring up the Coasters (the cop is pure “Charlie Brown”) and Sammy Hagar (bet he wouldn’t have been pulled over, and he’d have been clipping along at well over 60) along the way, with a spectacularly withering “uh-huh” from Jay-Z buried somewhere in the back-and-forth. The verse that sends him to jail, well, I’m still trying to negotiate my way through that one. I wore out “Helter Skelter” in high school, but DJ Danger Mouse jolts it back to life like he’s John Travolta resuscitating Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. If only he’d overdubbed one line, just to fuck with the head of one very old Beatles fan sitting in jail: “You crazy for this one, Charlie!”

2.  “Hear My Name,” Armand Van Helden: I haven’t liked a dance hit this much since Madonna’s “Beautiful Stranger,” maybe even since Mel & Kim’s “Respectable.” Naturally it’s hypnotic, most great songs in this vein are, and also beautifully elliptical--it takes place in some unnamed “here” where time is ending, where the singer’s mind is empty, where she’s going to stay. It’s about dancing, or sex, or something. The spoken interlude (“say my name now, baby, loud and clear”) sounds like it could be Kim Gordon, a striking juxtaposition. I can’t figure out the ongoing alternation between “say my name” and the “hear my name” that gives the song its title--she seems to be speaking to the same person throughout, so is she asking him to speak her name and then listen to the sound of his own voice? Or maybe she’s speaking to everybody: “Doesn’t anybody want to play?” The “she”, I’ve learned, is a pair of girls who go by the name of Spalding Rockwell, who I believe was also the American League’s rookie of the year in 1953.

3.  “Compton,” Guerilla Black & Beenie Man: The best joke of the year has to be Guerilla Black’s assertion that “no one is like me--no, that’s unlikely.” Yes, yes, very unlikely, Guerilla, which explains why I spent a week trying every possible search permutation of “Notorious B.I.G. + Beenie Man” in trying to get the name of this, before “Biggie + Beenie” led me to a record review that cleared up the matter. (I used to complain that radio DJs didn’t identify songs with enough regularity. They’ve since evolved--they don’t identify anything anymore.) Four years in the making and worth the wait: “To usher in a new millennium/My mind process raps like a Pentium.”

4.  “One Call Away,” Chingy & Jason Weaver: I’m debating whether or not to put this on the mix-CD I plan to give my grade 7 students at the end of the year (meaning I’m worried about parents, not kids). Let’s see... “sex,” “thong,” a little basketball, “ho”--oops. Sex and thongs and basketball are OK, and if that’s all there were, this would practically pass for Bobby Vee at the moment, but hos (hoes? ho’s?) are red-flag all the way; as the old saying goes, better stay away from those/who carry on about the hos. Too bad, because “One Call Away” is exceptionally evocative puppy love, Mini-Pops Snoop Doggy Dogg to Guerilla Black’s Mini-Pops Notorious B.I.G., even if, from what I’ve seen, Guerilla’s not all that mini-anything. Chingy’s “Balla Baby” was just about the dumbest song I heard in 2004, but, uh, welcome aboard, Chingy!

5.  “1980,” Est’elle: One day I’ll make an effort to listen closely to all the biography Est’elle meticulously details, but for now I just love the sound of this, as urgent as it is serene. It’s a song that’s part of an evolving story: Liliput’s “1978” is great, “1979” is as great as the Smashing Pumpkins ever got, and now “1980” moves the genre ahead another year. Next up: Eddie Rabbitt’s “1981.”

6.  “Dip It Low,” Christina Milian: She comes on like your mom for the first six or seven lines, counseling caution and deliberation and all-in-due-time, but that’s not gonna fly, it’s all a ruse, so she starts going nuts posthaste--dipping, poking, rolling, popping, even a line dance celebrating anal sex. Amazing.

7.  “Was a Time,” Whigfield: All the melancholy white people, where do they all come from? All the melancholy white people, where do they all belong? Not on--well, I guess I can’t say “radio,” since radio barely exists anymore (my Jay-Z comment notwithstanding, even I’ve started to burn my own music, and I always figured I was one of the last people participating in these polls who got his new music from the car radio), so I’ll call it the “pop consciousness” instead, which is just a pretentious way of saying what-people-pay-attention-to. Whigfield had a big hit 10 years ago with “Saturday Night,” but now she's relegated to the fastest-growing genre in pop music, That Which Is Insufficiently Hip-Hop. She must still be newsworthy somewhere if this managed (via a friend) to reach me, but Saturday Night for music like this, for the time being at least, seems to have given way to a sombre, very uncelebratory Sunday Morning. Watch out, Whigfield, the world’s behind you.

8.  “Move Ya Body,” Nina Sky: I don’t really know what to say about this one. 1) It’s better than Nina Hagen. 2) It can be thoroughly enjoyed while sitting still at a desk.

9.  “What’s Happenin’,” Method Man & Busta Rhymes: Ghostface’s “Run” is good too, but I’m glad “What’s Happenin’” is the better and weirder-sounding of the two, because I have a hard time processing Ghostface’s bizarrely empathetic “If you sell drugs by the school zone, RUN!” line, and that would be a lame reason in and of itself not to vote for it. Busta Rhymes used to drive me up the wall pre-“Woo-Hah!!!”, but on this and Joe Budden’s “Fire,” he gets the Danny Kortchmar Session-Guy-for-Hire Award for 2004. (Budden prefaces his entrance with a nicely placed “Guess who’s coming?”) I like “What’s Happenin’”’s Boyz N Tha Hood allusion, too, one of my favourite films of the past 15 years. Police sirens are prominent on both “What’s Happenin’” and “Run”--taking their cue from Jay-Z, records like these ought to append “Featuring the Motherfuckin’ Law” to their artist credit.

10. “Naughty Girl,” Beyonce: Hysterical. An abstraction of an abstraction, single black female addicted to retail, madly in heat, wants me to say her name, wants me real bad. If you’re having girl problems, I feel bad for you, son--it’s so obvious from “Naughty Girl” and “Dip It Low” that there’s this whole universe of voracious Jayne Mansfields out there just dying to have wild sex 24/7. Run! Run!