Ryan Adams & The Cardinals, ‘Follow the Lights’—and Other EPs I Love

Ryan Adams’ latest release is satisfying and frustrating for the same reason: If a few of the songs found here had made their way onto “Easy Tiger,” the prolific singer/songwriter’s full-length release from June, that album may have ranked as one of his best efforts.

I have no idea why the mercurial Adams decided to leave both “Follow the Lights” and especially the sublime “My Love for You Is Real” off “Tiger,” but these songs alone make this seven-track EP more than worth the five bucks it costs. The latter is a splendid straightforward love song Adams has been carrying around in his big bag of gems for the better part of a decade; it’s rapidly becoming one of my favorites. A song written during the “Gold” period (I'm pretty sure, anyway), “My Love for You” is definitely reminiscent of that point in his career with its focused, polished, yet still adventurous vibe. It starts out quietly, growing in passion and intensity as more instruments join the fray for an extended electric/acoustic jam. The track would have fit in so nicely with the fabulous opening trio from “Easy Tiger,” but thus is the give-and-take of loving this man’s music—you never get exactly what you want when you want it.

This new EP also features a killer country version of Alice in Chains’ “Down in a Hole,” which Adams has been trotting out to rave reviews while on tour this year. A man very publicly recovering from substance abuse, Adams makes this song wholly his own, and his version holds its own against anything he’s ever recorded. This is an absolute must for any AIC fan—or Adams fan, for that matter. “Hole” is coupled with another cover, Willie Nelson’s “Blue Hotel,” which hails from the country legend’s “Songbird,” an album produced by Adams last year.

The remaining three songs are reworkings of Adams’ own songs, and they achieve varying levels of success. “This Is It” is the lead track off 2003’s “Rock N Roll,” Adams’ ill-fated attempt at gutter rock. This version is far superior, proving once again how valuable the Cardinals are to Adams as a backbone to his music.

This EP only fails with its final two entries. First up is a stripped-down approach to “If I Am a Stranger,” one of the best tracks off 2005’s “Cold Roses.” The song is so good it’ll play well no matter how Adams records it and the slightly altered arrangement here is fine, but I don’t really see the point of including it. Same goes for the barely-discernible differences in the re-arranged “Dear John” (from 2005’s “Jacksonville City Nights”), which closes the EP. These two tracks are fine, I guess, but for a guy who writes songs like breathing, I find it odd he wouldn’t dig up a couple more new tracks for an official release. These last two kill the momentum of the disc and end an otherwise excellent EP with a bit of a whimper.

Grade: B+

***

Between this post over at Fuel/Friends and the strength of new EPs from Adams and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, I’ve been thinking a lot about the format recently. Know what I’ve discovered? I love them, despite myself.

I’ve always thought of EPs as lesser releases, wishing the band would have just pushed on for a full album of new material. Plus, it kinda annoyed me to listen to them on a practical level; they’re over so quickly it was barely worth putting them in the CD player. But with the advent of the iPod, where it’s so easy to jump from album to album, the EP has undergone a reawakening in my musical rotation. It surprised me to find on further contemplation how much I love some of those in my collection, and how high they rank in the catalogs of some of my favorite artists. Here’s a list of some of my favorites:

“Chulahoma,” The Black Keys (2006)—You’d be hard-pressed to find a better collection of six guitar-driven, brawny blues tracks than those included on the latest release from this excellent two-piece band. Someone sent me “Meet Me in the City,” the third song off this EP, on a mix CD and I was hooked instantly. If The White Stripes are Led Zeppelin, then the Keys are Stevie Ray Vaughn—a bit mellower and more down-to-earth, but enthralling all the same. Also recommended (and equally excellent): 2004’s “Rubber Factory.”

“So Impossible,” Dashboard Confessional (2001)—A concept album in four songs, this release vividly describes all the nervous and exciting stages of newfound love—from the silent pining of “For You to Notice,” to the this-might-just-work hope of the title track, to the pre-date jitters of “Remember to Breathe,” to the triumphant glee of “Hands Down.” This is my favorite D/C release.

“Recently,” Dave Matthews Band (1994)—Five songs of perfection, “Recently” is DMB at their best. Every cut—recorded live—is a band classic played with incendiary fervor. Revisiting this disc now (also my favorite of their entire catalog), it’s easy to remember why this was one of my favorite groups for a long period of my life. They’ve fallen a long way in the intervening years, but the “Recently” EP remains untainted in its greatness.

“Merkinball,” Pearl Jam w/Neil Young (1995)—One of the most powerful one-two punches in Pearl Jam’s catalog, the two songs found here—“I Got Shit” and “Long Road”—deliver on the tantalizing promise of PJ’s work with their godfather, Neil Young, that wasn’t quite fulfilled with “Mirrorball,” Young Neil’s full-length from earlier that year that featured PJ as the backing band. These are without question two of Pearl Jam’s best songs, and I feel their work with Young set a new course for the band that resulted in two stellar follow-up albums, “No Code” and “Yield.” There’s a reason why these songs continue to pop up with regularity at shows more than a decade later: “Merkinball” is essential Pearl Jam listening.

“7,” U2 (2002)—This Target exclusive came completely out of nowhere but delivered some choice cuts from U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” period. First and foremost is the alternate version of “Walk On,” which features the “Hallelujah” outro chorus—one of my favorite moments of U2’s entire catalog. Also included here is an alternate—and far, far superior—acoustic version of “Stuck in a Moment,” stripped of all the studio cheese found on the official release two years prior. “Summer Rain” is a fun b-side, and “Always” showed us what “Beautiful Day” evolved from. I also love the inclusion of the “Elevation (Influx Remix),” since the band used this as its walk-on music for the 2001 tour of the same name. This EP is probably forgotten by now to most of the U2 community, but I still return to it regularly.

“Wide Awake in America,” U2 (1985)—An albeit abridged companion piece of the “Unforgettable Fire” tour, the two b-sides on this quickie are actually rather forgettable. It’s the two live cuts that make this disc essential: the always thrilling “A Sort of Homecoming,” and a version of “Bad” that I remember reading somewhere described as the defining recording of this classic song.

“Is Is,” Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2007)—Not much to add here from what I wrote last month. This is definitely one of my favorite discs of 2007, and maybe even better than the band’s last full-length, 2006’s “Show Your Bones.” As soon as it finishes, I just want to listen to it again. And again. And again.

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, ‘Raising Sand’

Let me say right off the top I don’t have the musical history or dexterity to decompress in detail the brilliance that is “Raising Sand,” an inspired album of covers from Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. If you’d like a song-by-song breakdown, I refer you to the excellent review from All Music Guide.

What I can give you is my personal reaction to this album, which is something along the lines of perfect bliss. When I first heard about this effort several months ago I was caught off guard by the randomness of it. But after the initial shock wore off, the fervent anticipation kicked in. “Raising Sand” doesn’t disappoint; if anything, it exceeds my lofty expectations.

Plant and Krauss possess two of my favorite voices in all of music. The former baptized me in rock and roll as a child; the first time I heard his call to arms on "Black Dog" was, quite literally, a life-changing event. I didn’t come across Krauss until hearing her on the “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” soundtrack, but I’ve been in love with her heavenly pipes ever since.

On “Raising Sand,” these two icons blend perfectly. The album is, on the whole, a quiet affair, but not in that whispery indie way that I abhor. Instead, it sounds like the gentle meeting of two like-minded musicians who are trying, unselfishly, to make room for one another, feeling their way as they go. Their respective powers aren’t diminished; they simply don’t feel the need to call down the hammer of the gods to prove their mettle. That power is bubbling just below the surface, though, and the restraint and intimacy of these recordings is what gives “Raising Sand” its core strength. On several cuts one singer serves as the primary vocalist while the other drifts in and out of the frame, filling in the gaps with complementary goodness.

My favorite song on the album is “Please Read the Letter,” a throwaway from Plant’s 1998 collaboration with Jimmy Page, “Walking to Clarksdale.” Slowing the tempo, stripping away the electric guitar bombast of that earlier treatment, and adding Krauss’ voice and sterling violin transforms this piece into a sweeping acoustic masterpiece.

But, really, there’s no wrong turn on “Raising Sand,” where every song is a standout for its own reasons. I’ll recommend Krauss’ haunting lead on “Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us”; the bluesy, Zeppelin-esque “Nothin’,” where Plant’s voice meets Krauss’ violin in some otherworldly realm; and “Your Long Journey,” a hymnal and more traditional duet. The album is peaceful yet exciting, instantly accessible yet challenging. It rewards multiple listens, and is without question one of the best releases of this or any other year.

Grade: A+

The Assassination of The Smashing Pumpkins by the Coward Billy Corgan

Last week, I received an e-mail promoting The Smashing Pumpkins' latest "release," a re-issue of "Zeitgeist," which came out only three months ago. You may recall from my RELEVANT review that the original "Zeitgeist" itself was issued in five different formats through separate retailers, each disc holding one "exclusive" track each. It was a horrendous money-grab to try and milk die-hard fans for more album sales.

This is even worse. The new re-issue collects a couple of those exclusive tracks, plus adds one more unreleased song and throws in a DVD documentary (as if I want to learn more about this cheapened "reunion")—all exclusively at Buy More, er, I mean Best Buy. I cannot believe how far Corgan has fallen in less than a decade. Remember, in 2000 this same man released the band's then-final album, "MACHINA II," for FREE to select fans with his blessing to distribute it—again, for FREE—throughout the Internet. Now in his vainglorious return, he's bilking those same fans for all they're worth. I bought one copy of "Zeitgeist" (the one from Target), listened to it enough times only to give a fair review, and haven't touched it since. The album sucks, and I'm glad I haven't plunked down any more dough to see this bastardized version of a once great band on tour—Corgan doesn't deserve any more of my money.

Contrast this Pumpkins fiasco with Wilco, one of the most fan-friendly bands on the planet. Wilco is re-releasing its latest album, "Sky Blue Sky," in Europe with an extra EP of live and studio cuts that weren't on the original. But here's the thing: If you've already bought the CD (which, of course, I have), all you have to do is stick it in your computer, go to Wilco's web site, and you can download the EP for FREE. (They did the exact same thing with 2004's "A Ghost Is Born.")

Not only that, but on the most recent leg of Wilco's North American tour, they actually allowed fans to send in song requests via the Internet, then did their best to play some of those requests at their shows. Of course they still stuck with their basic set for the "SBS" tour, but if you check out the recent setlists over at WilcoBase, it's plain to see they honored several of those entries. Tweedy said now that the band finally has settled into a stable lineup, this has been a great way to force his relatively new bandmates to go back and learn some of Wilco's older material; and, of course, there's the added benefit of interacting with the audience.

I know making records is a business, and I'm certainly not one of those DIY maniacs. The term "sellout" is so overused, it's basically meaningless at this point. But you couldn't find two clearer examples here of how to treat your fans with respect, or how to screw them out of every last penny. Not surprisingly, the band that gets it right time and time again is still artistically viable; the band that didn't is nothing more than a rehashed shadow of its former greatness treading on past successes.

Sign of the Apocalypse No. 2

Russell Freakin' Crowe is in the "Monday Night Football" booth. Right now. And he's already corrected Mike "The ESPN Toad" Tirico on a mistake. And they're talking about … rugby.

This is surreal. And ridiculous. He looks just the right mixture of mild irritation/boredom, and is dripping with just the right amount of condescension.

I love this guy. I cannot WAIT for "American Gangster."

Sign of the Apocalypse No. 1

Never thought I'd see the day, but my boy Tobin is now a member of the blogosphere. Check out "Eric's random thoughts" (mostly about sports, so far) over at http://erocstrat.blogspot.com.
Congrats, Tobey-Wan Kenobi. Welcome to the neighborhood.

The Hives: Live at the Black Cat, 10.17.07

The Hives’ hyped reputation as live performers is well earned, as they proved Wednesday night with a nuclear set at the Black Cat in D.C.

The Swedish quintet is touring this fall with Maroon 5, an unlikely pairing that serves as an attempt to spread its version of dance punk rock to the pop-loving masses. Not content to sit on their laurels in between shows, however, at certain cities during this run the Hives are doing their own thing at small clubs like the Black Cat, a venue that seemed barely able to contain the band’s manic power.

Well, really, it couldn’t. Aptly named frontman Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist was all over the stage during his band’s blistering 70-minute set, frequently hanging from a well-used metal pipe above the stage; at one point near the end of the show he went back and stood on the drum kit, his head up between the ceiling’s rafters.

Almqvist is a sight to behold on stage, dressed like his bandmates in a matching black suit. He never stops moving, whether he’s leaning into the crowd, spinning the microphone a la Roger Daltrey, or delivering jump kicks to punctuate his band’s fiery tempos. He also maintained a constant chatter between songs, playing on he and his band’s charming egomania—“Yes, it is true. We are here in person,” he quipped early in the show. “You can touch me if you like.”

I wasn’t taking notes so I unfortunately can’t offer up an official setlist, but I know the Hives blew threw most of the songs you’d expect and want from their catalog: “Main Offender,” “A.K.A. I-D-I-O-T,” “Walk Idiot Walk,” “Die, All Right!”, “Supply and Demand,” and, of course, “Hate to Say I Told You So,” their breakthrough hit from 2000’s “Veni Vidi Vicious.” A 70-minute show might seem a little short, but considering this band’s albums barely crack half an hour, they were able to power through quite a bit of material in such a short time. That included a few choice cuts from the forthcoming “The Black and White Album” (it’s already out overseas but doesn’t hit Stateside until next month). From the sound of things Wednesday night, this should be another excellent collection.

The biggest thing I took away from this week’s show, though, is how much pure joy and fun the Hives seem to be having onstage, and how much of that translates to the audience. The frenetic music is upbeat, Almqvist is undeniably charismatic, and you get the feeling they’re perfectly comfortable playing to 1,000 people in a little club or 20,000 at a big arena. Set ’em up, and the Hives will knock ’em down. I was wearing a huge grin most of the night, because this band attacks with everything they’re worth; you’d have to work really hard not to have a good time at their gig. What more can you ask from a rock and roll band?

Bruce Springsteen, ‘Magic’

Jon Landau is a liar.

In the runup to the release of Bruce Springsteen’s latest record, “Magic,” the Boss’ longtime manager, collaborator, and friend claimed the album isn’t dominated by politics. That’s frankly and utterly untrue: “Magic” is actually the most overtly political and partisan album of Springsteen’s long and storied career.

It’s not surprising that Landau would employ such a strategery. It’s his job to make sure Springsteen makes money, and he knows this album is going to alienate a large chunk of its potential customers. The blatant partisanship on display throughout goes a long way toward negating the feel-good vibes associated with the reassembly of the vaunted E Street Band (this is the first Springsteen release to feature his beloved mates since 2002’s “The Rising”).

But it’s also ironic, disingenuous, and downright hypocritical that Springsteen’s advocate and spokesman would shade the truth about an album accusing politicians of doing that very same thing. The CD’s title track isn’t referring to anything ethereal or otherworldly; Springsteen’s focus is the method behind the trick—deception, illusion, misinformation. One look at Bruce’s scowling, grizzled visage on the front cover should tell you this record isn’t about having fun.

The majority of “Magic’s” 11 tracks touch on Springsteen’s feelings about the current state of the union in one way or another, informed seemingly chapter and verse from the tired, standard liberal talking points of the day. “Gypsy Biker” tells the story of family and town dealing with the returning corpse of a solider in a “fools parade,” on whose blood “speculators made their money.” The supposed loss of freedoms in the name of homeland security crops up throughout the record, most blatantly during “Long Walk Home.” “Livin’ in the Future,” meanwhile, references Springsteen’s participation in the 2004 Vote for Change tour, where “I opened up my heart to you/it got all damaged and undone/My ship Liberty sailed away on/a bloody red horizon.” And after all that effort, he still “woke up Election Day/skies gunpowder and shades of gray” and had to suffer the indignity of watching President Bush “come walkin’ through town/Your boot heels clickin’/Like the barrel of a pistol spinnin’ ’round.”

The aforementioned “Magic,” sung from the perspective of, presumably, President Bush, warns:

I got a shiny saw blade
All I need’s a volunteer
I’ll cut you in half
While you’re smiling ear to ear
And the freedom that you sought’s
Driftin’ like a ghost amongst the trees

(On a side note: It continues to mystify me how the president’s critics believe he’s a moron and a master deceiver and manipulator all at the same time.)

And then there’s “Last to Die,” a piece of utter propaganda whose oft-repeated chorus blares: “Who’ll be the last to die for a mistake.” This phrase sticks out like a sore thumb; for a man who accuses the president of trading on the emotions of 9/11 and the blood of our fighting men, how is Springsteen’s use of wounded and dead soldiers to make a point any different? A line like this is beneath the Boss.

The one place he gets it right is finale “Devil’s Arcade,” a sympathetic, heart-stopping story of a wounded veteran back home with his beloved after surviving the horrors of battle. It begins with a subdued organ, then violin, and continues adding pieces of the E Street Band until building to a thrilling climax. We’re left with the soldier wanting to feel nothing but the beating of his lover’s heart—and all the while Mighty Max Weinberg’s drums hammer and thunder away to close the record.

That’s the real shame about this album. Landau was right-on about one thing: The E Street Band is absolutely on fire, sounding even better than it did on “The Rising.” There are bits and pieces of just about every phase of Springsteen’s 35-year career represented here: The Clarence Clemons-driven “Livin’ in the Future” is a distant cousin of “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out”; “Magic” is a quiet acoustic number of spellbinding power reminiscent of the best moments of “Nebraska” or “Ghost of Tom Joad”; “Radio Nowhere” is one of the meanest, hardest-rocking songs Springsteen’s ever written; “Girls in Their Summer Clothes” is a pure pop masterpiece; “Gypsy Biker” and “Long Walk Home” are simply gorgeous, expansive rock songs on every conceivable level—in other words, what Springsteen does best.

As a whole, the album is most like his 1984 pop/rock smash “Born in the U.S.A.”—without the cheesy synthesizers. These new songs rarely stretch past four minutes, and—learning a valuable lesson from the overlong “Rising”—“Magic” powers along and breezes by in 45 minutes. And I don’t know what kind of magic producer Brendan O’Brien pulled off in the studio, but Springsteen’s voice hasn’t sounded this steady and clear in two decades.

But I just can’t get past the lyrics. I don’t care how much you hate George W. Bush (I’m certainly not a fan, even though I held my nose and voted for him last time around), you and I aren’t from the same planet if you can absorb blatantly political songs into your soul. If someone had written a similar record 10 years ago bashing Bill Clinton, I certainly couldn’t see myself still listening to those songs. These tracks are all great for riding in the car—when the words are more difficult to make out—but Springsteen’s naked intent casts a pall over much of this record that is too hard to get through.

My favorite song on the entire album doesn’t even appear on the track list. “Magic’s” 12th and final entry is simply named “Terry’s Song,” a basic piano/guitar/harmonica tribute to another longtime Springsteen collaborator, Terry Magovern. Sounding like it’s straight off Neil Young’s 1972 classic “Harvest,” this beautiful and haunting eulogy will stop you cold with its honest emotion and love—no point to make, other than honoring a friend.

The “Magic” sessions were so prolific for Springsteen, there’s talk of a whole other album’s worth of material left over that didn’t fit the mold and mood of this release—there’s even chatter we could hear these songs as early as next spring. My hope is that Springsteen said all he wanted to about the president and the war on this record, and the remaining songs are on his brilliant down-to-earth level. Because “Magic” truly is a fabulous listen if you can tune out the partisanship. I would relish hearing more of where these songs came from.

Grade: B+

***On a related note: The Springsteen community is abuzz this week with the news that Win Butler and Regine Chassagne, the husband-and-wife team that founded Arcade Fire, joined Springsteen for two songs during Sunday’s set in Ottawa, Canada (the Fire are from Canada, you see). In the encore, the Boss brought them onstage for the long-lost “State Trooper” and then covered the Fire’s “Keep the Car Running.” The latter is not only my favorite Arcade Fire song (it hails from this year’s “Neon Bible”), but maybe the best song I’ve heard all year. It’s fitting, too, because Springsteen was the first influence I thought of when I heard the song for the first time. I haven’t been fortunate enough to see the Fire live yet, but from everything I’ve read and heard, Springsteen could do a whole lot worse in the pass-the-torch category. I’ve only found a rough recording of the “Running” performance so far, but the E Street Band powering this anthem still gave me chills. Here’s hoping there’s a good tape about to surface somewhere.***

New Blog: Riding the Metro

This weekend I launched a new, more traditional blog. I dubbed it "Down With the Freaks and the Ghouls" (bonus points for whomever knows where that line comes from), and you can find it at ridingthemetro.blogspot.com.

The new site is pretty self-explanatory, but basically it's going to be a personal record of the insane things I see riding Washington, D.C.'s subway system every day. The first few posts up there are just things I remember from the past few days—I meant to start doing this years ago and the idea never came to fruition for some reason. But it's just too much good material to leave unwritten. The goal is to update it on a daily basis, as soon as I get home from work.

You're in my world now, Grandma.

‘Heroes Die,’ by Matthew Stover

I recently finished reading “Heroes Die,” an excellent sci-fi/fantasy novel by Matthew Stover. I don’t post much about books around here, but this work is so fascinating, it requires a mention.

Stover wrote one of my favorite Star Wars novels, 2002’s “Traitor,” a crucial entry in the sprawling “New Jedi Order” series. “Traitor” stands out among the morass of SW fiction because it’s so different from all the others, eschewing straightforward storytelling for more nonlinear, challenging, and thought-provoking prose; nothing about it wrapped up into the typical nice, neat bundle by the end. And even though it remains Stover’s only entry in the post-“Return of the Jedi” Star Wars Expanded Universe, “Traitor” nonetheless irrevocably changed the tone of the NJO and continues to affect the current (albeit middling) “Legacy of the Force” series some five years later.

“Traitor” was also a big deal for Stover as an author, as it effectively put him on the sci-fi/fantasy literary map. Although his first novel, “Iron Dawn,” was published in 1997, “Heroes Die” is his only work still in print (more’s the pity).

“Heroes Die” is a heady brew of gut-clenching action, social and political commentary, and romance. Here's a description to make your head spin: The novel is a combination of William Gibson’s Sprawl trilogy, Terry Goodkind’s “Sword of Truth” series, and Robert Ludlum’s Bourne trilogy. It’s set in a not-too-distant future, presumably after some cataclysmic event has forever altered global society (keep in mind, this was written in 1995, pre-9/11). To get away from the horrors of daily life, where a good number of Earth’s population are little more than slaves, citizens turn to entertainment, and technology has advanced to the point where they can virtually live through created characters’ lives. Here’s the catch: What the characters go through isn’t make-believe. When they’re out on Adventure and get stabbed, they really do get stabbed. No stunt doubles, collapsing blades, and fake blood here.

The Actors’ Adventures occur on Overworld, a planet in an alternate universe that’s straight out of a medieval fantasy novel. Like Goodkind’s “Truth” series, this is a violent world ruled by an all-powerful godlike figure who, though ruthless as a Hitler, believes he’s doing the work of a god for the benefit of his people. And like Gibson’s use of “flipping” into a virtual realm, the Actors in Stover’s novel are actually physically transported to this Overworld and dropped into the middle of strenuous situations; while they engage in their Adventures, the folks back home see and feel everything as though they’re riding right behind the Actors’ eyes.

The fabulous main character is an Actor named Hari Michaelson, whose Overworld persona Caine is a legendary knife-wielding assassin in the mold of Jason Bourne. In “Heroes Die,” Stover pits Michaelson/Caine against the powers-that-be in both worlds; as he struggles to save his wife’s life from the sword-and-sorcery of Overworld, he must simultaneously navigate the politics of Earth and, somehow, try to not get dead on either side.

Don’t expect to gain any moral insight from “Heroes Die,” because Stover makes it quite clear in a Q&A included in the back of the most recent paperback edition that he believes morality is nothing more than a social construct, there is no God, yada, yada, yada (oh, and Republicans are the source of all evil in this country—what a shock). But his novel works on both the visceral and the intellectual level. In the way that Gibson predicted cyberspace and virtual reality 25 years ago, in “Heroes Die,” Stover effectively predicted how reality television would make the horrible misfortunes of a few entertaining for millions. This novel also hints at the astounding emergence of online role-playing games, where some participants seem to feel more comfortable in a simulated nether-world than in their own skin. The future of entertainment Stover paints here doesn’t really seem that far off, and that’s a disturbing notion.

As much as I loved this maelstrom of a novel, I can’t wholly endorse it to everyone because in his attempt to go through the looking glass, Stover uses a mix of first- and third-person narration that forces his readers to actually become the viewers that are so abhorrently portrayed in the book. The action is so intense and thrilling, you can see why millions would want to view it, even as you cringe away from it; Stover has studied several different forms of martial arts, so his depiction of hand-to-hand combat is spot-on brilliant (one fight actually brings to mind the astounding scene in the hotel room from “The Bourne Ultimatum”). “Heroes Die” is incredibly violent, and features a couple characters in particular that are so vile, it’s hard to read through their passages—I almost put this book down for good a few different times.

“Heroes Die” is most certainly NC-17. The brutality and degradation are similar to that of Goodkind, only in Goodkind’s world the darkness is always balanced by light and nobility; in Overworld, there are only dark and darker shades of black, where the best you can cling to is the anti-hero code Caine lives by.

Eddie Goes Solo, the Murphys Come Roaring Back, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs Continue to Impress

‘Into the Wild,’ Eddie Vedder

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat: “Into the Wild” is not an Eddie Vedder solo album. It is most definitely a soundtrack—a very good soundtrack—but not an album. It’s more like a solo EP, with a few really good songs and a few more really good ideas for songs that were never finished.
While there are 11 tracks listed on the back of the CD, four of the cuts don’t even hit the two-minute mark, and of those only two have lyrics. I love the wide-open vibe of opener "Setting Forth" and the banjo work on its follow-up, "No Ceiling," but both of these just sort of … stop. Abruptly. This happens, apparently, because Vedder wrote this music for specific points in a film with very specific purposes; it’s not like he delivered a batch of songs inspired by “Into the Wild” and then let director Sean Penn edit them and weave them into a score. From what I understand, it seems Vedder watched pieces of the film Penn needed music for then molded these tunes around those frames.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the marketing machine from pitching “Into the Wild” as a “solo album,” a point backed by the leaked single “Hard Sun,” which is a brilliant five-minute epic. For anyone expecting more of the same—forget it. Because of the hype, my expectations were way too high, leaving my initial reaction to the CD somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
Fast-forward two weeks and much of that chagrin has melted away as I’ve gotten used to what “Into the Wild” is, rather than what it isn’t (taking the CD in the car with me a couple times certainly helped). When “Hard Sun” hit the Internet several weeks ago, its naked, raw, powerful beauty knocked me back a step, a feeling that certainly hasn’t diminished in the interim. This is without question one of Vedder’s best vocal performances on record in any format; the first verse/chorus still gives me chills, with his voice settling into an absolutely perfect groove of previously unheard depth and worldweary richness. And then later when the electric guitar kicks in and he layers a wavering moan on top of it … wowowowow.
Vedder’s voice is in top form throughout “Into the Wild,” in fact, and it is the No. 1 reason that makes this, er, album a worthwhile addition to his body of work; his delivery throughout brings mostly mediocre songs up several notches. This is most notable on “Society,” another cover, whose rather terrible lyrics are nearly forgotten in the wake of Vedder’s “Ghost of Tom Joad”-style interpretation.
Other standouts include “Far Behind,” a galloping acoustic rocker that stands as the only song here I could picture Vedder performing with Pearl Jam. “Rise,” meanwhile, marks his best work on the ukulele to date; I haven’t really liked any of his previous uke songs, but this one is downright gorgeous. “Guaranteed” closes the set on a graceful note with just Vedder picking on an acoustic guitar as he explores every nook and cranny of his range.
I haven’t seen “Into the Wild” yet, so I’m sure some of the shorter cuts will sound better after they’re put in context. But even without the movie, Vedder’s work here is a sign of good things to come—it gives me hope for what he’s capable of when Pearl Jam finally runs its course (not that I want that to happen any time soon, mind you). It’s not the pure solo effort I was hoping for, but his voice reaches out and virtually demands listening through a good pair of headphones.
Grade: B+


‘The Meanest Times,’ Dropkick Murphys

The Dropkick Murphys’ new album opens with a school bell ringing and children screaming in delight at their release. It’s an apt metaphor for this Celtic-influenced punk band from Boston, because their albums are nothing if not pure, freewheeling fun.
This is the Murphys’ follow-up to 2005’s “The Warrior’s Code,” whose classic “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” was used to such great effect in Martin Scorsese’s Oscar-winning film “The Departed.” When I first heard the band was releasing a new album this fall, my first thought was: Can they possibly do anything to top that? The answer is, well, no, but they come darn close with “The State of Massachusetts,” the best song on this 15-track set. With its bouncy mandolin-led melody and dueling vocals from Al Barr and Ken Casey, “Massachusetts” is four minutes of pure energy (despite its rather melancholy subject matter).
Even though “Meanest Times” isn’t quite as exhilarating as its excellent predecessor, there are plenty of highlights here, including “Fairmount Hill,” “Flannigan’s Ball,” and the Irish-folk-on-steroids of “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya” (the track most reminiscent of fellow Celtic punkers Flogging Molly). The Murphys don’t really change their winning bagpipes-and-blasting-guitars formula from album to album (or from track to track, really), but it’s refreshing to let them get your blood pumping anew every couple years.
Grade: B+


‘Is Is,’ Yeah Yeah Yeahs

With this five-song EP (released this summer), the fiery New York trio provide a perfect mix of the thrashy, trashy garage punk of 2003’s “Fever to Tell” and the art-punk glory of last year’s “Show Your Bones.” Every song on this release is an absolute gem, perfectly mixing the contrasting styles of band’s two previous albums into one glorious whole.
“Rockers to Swallow” opens the set with the staccato interplay of drummer Brian Chase and one of rock’s most underrated guitar virtuosos, Nick Zinner, who plays the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ The Edge to lead singer Karen O’s Bono. “Swallow” leads into the shimmering “Down Boy,” one of the best songs in the band’s quickly deepening catalog.
Middle track “Kiss Kiss” is a thrill ride in 2 minutes 45 seconds, merely serving to whet the appetite for the stomping fury of “Isis.” Karen then opens final track “10X10” with a lilting intro before making way for a roiling brew that does Led Zeppelin proud.
“Is Is” will be one of the best 17-minute stretches of rock music you’re likely to hear all year—or any year, for that matter. Combine this quintet with the equally stellar epic “Sealings” from the “Spider-Man 3” soundtrack, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are having one heck of an “off” year.
Grade: A

‘3:10 to Yuma’

“3:10 to Yuma” is just about everything you could hope for in a movie.
It’s a throwback Western of the best kind, without any of the “modernization” or “reinvention” or any of the other buzzwords Hollywood likes to throw around. And, most importantly, it’s apparently one of the rare dramas this fall not steeped in political statements.
It’s simply the story of two men trying to make the best of the bad cards they’ve been dealt by a hard, cruel world. Dan Evans (Christian Bale)—a Civil War veteran, rancher, husband, and father of two boys—went the way of the straight and narrow, working his small tract of Arizona farmland for all he’s worth (which, apparently, isn’t much). And then there’s Ben Wade (Russell Crowe): A gunslinging robber of stage coaches and killer of men whose wit is just as fast as his draw. In short: A legendary outlaw.
The movie pits these two archetypes against one another in a struggle for freedom—Wade fighting the quite real manacles of the law, Evans fighting for financial independence. See, it’s Evans’ job to get Wade on the 3:10 train to Yuma so the latter can rejoin his fellow cons in prison. If Evans succeeds, he’ll be paid a handsome sum that will ease his financial woes and give his beloved family a big boost toward a better life. The only thing standing between him and that train, of course, is Wade’s gang, a half dozen of the most dangerous and deadly animals in the West.
The best part about this movie is its two leading men. I can think of no better marquee actors working today than Crowe and Bale; both utterly disappear into their characters, a rare ability for stars of their stature. The great thing about “Yuma” is that the two are on screen together almost the entire time, and the way they work off each other is something to behold. I hope there are more projects involving Crowe and Bale in the future—for once the rambunctious Aussie may have met his match.
“3:10 to Yuma” hit theaters almost 50 years to the day of the original 1957 film, which was based on a story by legendary crime novelist Elmore Leonard. This masterful update is directed by James Mangold, who is on some kinda roll after 2005’s spectacular Johnny Cash biopic “Walk the Line.” Like he showed in that film, Mangold knows how to get out of the way and let his actors work. His direction in “Yuma” is simple yet elegant, with sweeping scenescapes that establish the film’s dusty, wide-open feel without trying too hard. He and screenwriter Michael Brandt strike just the right balance between gunfights and character development. There’s plenty of action to keep you on the edge of your seat, but the movie unfolds at a perfect pace allowing multiple revelations about its characters. Evans and Wade certainly don’t end this movie in the same place they started—and I’m not talking about all the Southwestern terrain they cover on horseback.
I don’t really have any objections to speak of with this film, other than maybe the lead characters dodge a few too many bullets to be believed (but, hey, this is a Western, after all). My only other “problem” with it isn’t really a problem at all as much as an unfulfilled expectation, as “Yuma” never quite hit that extra gear the way I hoped it would—it didn’t bewitch me body and soul, to quote one of my favorite films of the past couple years.
Still, I can’t recommend “3:10 to Yuma” highly enough, especially for anyone longing for a good ol’ fashioned Western. This is one of the best movies I’ve seen all year.
Grade: A-

It Could Have Been Me … It Could Have Been My Family … It Could Have Been My Friends … It Could Have Been …

… anyone.


"You're Missing," by Bruce Springsteen (from 2002's "The Rising")

Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall
Mama's in the kitchen, baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing

Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep, you're not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But you're missing

Pictures on the nightstand, TV's on in the den
Your house is waiting, your house is waiting
For you to walk in, for you to walk in
But you're missing, you're missing
You're missing when I shut out the lights
You're missing when I close my eyes
You're missing when I see the sun rise
You're missing

Children are asking if it's alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?

Morning is morning, the evening falls I have
Too much room in my bed, too many phone calls
How's everything, everything?
Everything, everything
You're missing, you're missing

God's drifting in heaven, devil's in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops

UPDATE: More Music This Fall

My previous post about upcoming music releases came off the top of my head, so in the few days hence I've realized a few omissions. Here are a few more albums I'm looking forward to:

Pearl Jam, "Immagine in Cornice"/"Picture in a Frame" DVD (Sept. 25)
This portends to be a true documentary, the first behind-the-scenes look at Pearl Jam since 1998's "Single Video Theory," which documented the recording of the band's classic fifth album, "Yield." Since then, PJ have released several excellent concert DVDs (my favorite: "Touring Band 2000"), but the trailer looks like this could provide a look at the band fans have never seen. Exciting stuff.

The Hives, "The Black and White Album" (Oct. 9)
Though their albums only last about a half-hour, it still takes this Swedish punk/rock outfit a long time to come up with a new album, so that means they're usually good. Judging by lead single "Tick Tick Boom," it sounds like not much has changed, and that's a good thing. I'll be seeing these guys in a small club the week after the album comes out, and can't wait since I've heard they're an awesome live band. We shall see.

Flight of the Conchords, new full-length album (January 2008)
So January technically isn't the fall, but I wanted to put a plug in here for this New Zealand folk/comedy duo who have one of the best shows on TV right now. Their eponymous HBO series (sadly coming to a close soon, but thankfully renewed for another season) is dry wit at its hysterical best. Bret and Jemaine play themselves as wide-eyed naive moron musicians trying to make it in New York City. The hallmark of the show occurs about twice an episode when the guys drift into inner monologue, portrayed as an aside music video. YouTube is full of "Conchords" clips if you're curious, and the band just released an EP, "The Distant Future," with Song of the Year candidate "Business Time." Like Tenacious D without the raunch, I can't recommend the Conchords and their show highly enough.

Bruce Springsteen, "Radio Nowhere"
And, last but not least, "Radio Nowhere" is the lead single off Springsteen's new album and it hit the web this past week. I love it. Maybe I've just been listening to too much Gaslight Anthem recently, but "Nowhere" sounds like the closest Bruce is ever going to get to writing a punk song. No, I'm not saying it IS a punk song, just that it gives off that vibe—call it the most "modern" he's ever sounded, if you like. A straightforward rocker akin to "Further On (Up the Road)" from "The Rising" (a song that's only gotten better with age), I especially love the little hitch he puts in his voice at the end of several lines. Ironically, given the hubbub about Springsteen recording with the E Street Band again, this doesn't sound much like an E Street sound to me, despite a scorching sax solo from Clarence Clemons; it's more like extra-brawny solo Springsteen. Regardless, this bodes well for the new album.

Armchair Box Office Quarterbacking Isn’t for Everyone

Including me. Back in January I took a stab at predicting this summer’s box office totals and came up almost completely wrong through and through. In review, here are a few things I learned:

1. “Spider-Man 3” benefited more than I expected from being first out of the gate.
2. It seems ridiculous that $300 million-plus is somewhat disappointing for “Pirates 3,” but Disney might have been better served leaving the final (?) installment on the shelf for another year to let demand build a bit.
3. Michael Bay is the luckiest director in Hollywood. I gave “Transformers” a B- right after I saw it, but upon further reflection that was probably too high. Bay really trashed those characters and the movie was a C+ at best (yes, in my mind there’s a big difference between those two grades). He did, however, manage to ride Gen-X nostalgia, good trailers, a midweek Fourth of July holiday (which basically meant a full week that acted like a weekend), and generally positive we’re-just-glad-it’s-not-a-sequel reviews like mine to a monster payday. No one—and I mean NO ONE—thought just four months ago that this movie would best “At World’s End” by summer’s end. It’s still a mystery to me.
4. Even Pixar can’t make rats that cute. I’m still a bit stunned, though, that “Ratatouille” is having to scratch and claw its way to $200 million—the studio's lowest domestic gross in nearly a decade (1998's "A Bug's Life" made $162 million). It will be interesting to see if Pixar changes course at all in the future because of this.
5. People will come. Sequel fatigue and a crowded schedule may have hampered the end runs of several movies, but the opening weekends were still gigantic right through to the end. The fact that “Simpsons” and “Bourne” both raked in $70 million to open was surprising; I thought the moviegoing public might be worn out by then, but the films were good and people love the respective characters.

All in all, summer 2007 was excellent as summers go. I went to the theater more in the past four months than I probably had in the previous year and a half—and not out of some sort of pop-cultural obligation, but because I actually—shockingly—wanted to see these flicks (well, except for “Fantastic Four,” but even that was still a fun 90 minutes). And I didn’t even get to “Die Hard” or “Rescue Dawn”!

So here’s how my summer shook out, in order of preference (click on the titles to read my reviews):

1. “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix”—This movie had it all.
2. “The Bourne Ultimatum”—James Bond may be reinventing himself, but he can’t hold a candle to Jason Bourne. Paul Greengrass delivered yet another excellent film that cements the Bourne trilogy as one of the best in movie history—forget limiting it to just the spy genre. The car chases got all the hype, but my favorite scene was the close-quarters fight in the Tangiers hotel; it’s arguably the best combat sequence I’ve ever seen. Damon was once again perfect (and Oscar-worthy, even though that will never happen) and the script kept me leaned forward and engaged all the way through as it seamlessly weaved the conclusion in and around the first two movies (impressive considering it was composed almost on the fly). I had two complaints: David Strathaim’s CIA administrator was too much of a cliché (with some painful lines of dialogue, to boot), and the conclusion was a tad underwhelming and politically jingoistic after three movies’ worth of buildup. It’s not that I didn’t like the final reveal (even if it does make America look like the bad guy—what else is new?), but it wasn’t handled with the same deft dexterity as the rest of the film. What a shock: A message overwhelming the craft. Still, “Ultimatum” is the epitome of what an action thriller can and should be. Grade: A-
3. “Ratatouille”—Brad Bird rules. Much funnier and eye-popping than even I expected.
4. “Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End”—Screw the whiny critics who couldn’t follow along. This movie was gutsy and glam all at the same time.
5. “Spider-Man 3”—The rare occasion where superb action sequences make up for a wordy script.
6. “The Simpsons Movie”—The fact that this movie even made it to the big screen amidst the enormous pressure put on the writers is an achievement in and of itself. The fact that it’s flat-out hysterical is truly something. I guess those who haven’t seen it by now aren’t likely to anytime soon, but I still don’t want to give anything away—there’s even a laugh-out-loud joke before the movie even begins. The movie’s sizeable central flaw was the lack of screen time for key supporting characters. I realize Springfield is populated with literally dozens of fan-favorites, but you have to figure out a way to get Mr. Burns and Ralph Wiggum more than one or two lines apiece. You just have to. Still, there are so many jokes packed into this film’s 90 minutes I’ll probably have to watch it two or three more times to catch even most of them. Grade: B+
7. “Ocean’s Thirteen”—Matt Damon had a great summer. Thankfully he and his boys seemed to do more actual work this time around than partying.
8. “Transformers”—See above. Please let someone else direct the sequel. Michael Bay doesn’t even like these characters.
9. “Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer”—Better and funnier than I expected.

It’s sure going to be hard for Hollywood to top itself next summer, but hopefully the studios will space tent poles out a little more to give us all a little breathing room. Then again, this summer is probably going to be the most lucrative on record and next year we’re due for the return of Indy, Batman, and the kids from Narnia, so you can always count on Hollywood to run something into the ground—this time it may be the ticket-buying public.

Good Music (Hopefully) for the Fall

Eddie Vedder’s solo album/soundtrack for “Into the Wild” (due Sept. 18) is just one of several new releases I’m looking forward to this fall. Here are a few others to put on your calendar:

PJ Harvey, “White Chalk” (Sept. 24 in the UK, no US release date yet)
This is the visceral British singer/songwriter’s first album in three years, a follow-up to a slightly subpar “Uh Huh Her.” The latter was an album that turned out to be less than the sum of its parts. While it was a return to her minimalist and harsh early days and featured several good songs, the overall impact was lackluster. “White Chalk” is supposedly yet another dramatic shift, this time a piano-based album. Haunting first single “When Under Ether” can be heard here.

Dashboard Confessional, “The Shade of Poison Trees” (Oct. 2)
Founder/frontman Chris Carrabba is supposed to be returning to his roots on his band’s fifth full-length. Early buzz says this is an acoustic album, which would mean a shift away from the electric pop/rock of the past two albums. It’s unclear if this will be just Carrabba and a guitar like 2000’s “The Swiss Army Romance,” or a full-band version circa 2001’s “The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most”—or maybe a mix of both. “Poison Trees” hits just more than a year after “Dusk and Summer,” an album that certainly didn’t blow me away when it came out but has actually aged rather well. As I said in my review of that album, I’m still curious to see how Carrabba’s songwriting will change now that he’s in his early 30s. The band has been in a bit of a downturn this past year, so this could me a make-or-break album.

Bruce Springsteen, “Magic” (Oct. 2)
Springsteen’s 50s have been good to him, because this has been some decade for the Boss. “Magic” is the first Springsteen album to feature his beloved E Street Band since 2002’s excellent “The Rising,” but it’s not like the guy’s been idle. In 2005 he dropped “Devils and Dust,” a better-than-decent solo record, then followed up last year by reinventing himself with the tremendous folk/rock album of Pete Seeger covers, “We Shall Overcome.” Now he’s back again with the group that helped make him a legend, and that is, of course, cause for celebration. More exciting to me is longtime manager and confidant Jon Landau’s pronouncement that “Magic” is not overtly political. Hooray!

“Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock” (Oct. 21)
This is the third full installment in what during the past year has become my favorite videogame franchise of all time. And in true rock-star fashion, No. 3 promises to be bigger, louder, and (hopefully) better than ever. Just one look at the confirmed tracklist has my fingers twitching and my foot tapping in anticipation. This game has built from the ground up just like a real band—the original started building buzz in 2005, leading to the sequel’s big hit last year. Now momentum is building to a crescendo and “Guitar Hero” has become so successful the producers have the clout they need to get original tracks of some truly epic songs. I’m particularly aflutter over the idea of playing AFI’s “Miss Murder,” The Smashing Pumpkins’ “Cherub Rock,” the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage,” The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black,” Metallica’s “One” (how on Earth will that even be possible?), and, of course, “Even Flow” from Pearl Jam and one Mr. Mike McCready.

Finally, there’s a great deal of chatter about a massive box set from Ryan Adams also out this fall. No official release date yet so it’s a believe-it-when-I-see-it situation, but if it does come to pass it could be special. I’ve heard upwards of seven discs (at least) that would include cuts diehards drool over. I’m not inclined to slobbering over every scrap of Adams material, but I certainly would be interested in plowing through this material.

It’s a Muuuusical Journey: My 15-year love/hate relationship with Pearl Jam

I can’t point to any specific date when Pearl Jam became my favorite band, but it had to be somewhere in the “Vitalogy” era of 1994/95, because it was full-on obsession by the time “No Code” came out in summer 1996.
So over the past decade I’ve had plenty of time to continuously refine how I respond to a band so diametrically opposed to my political beliefs. I’ve written about that other places (here and here), and that’s not the point of this entry. This past month has merely reminded me with vivid clarity the dichotomy that exists between me and the five liberals from Seattle whose music I tend to adore and admire.
Let’s start with Thursday, Aug. 2, the day PJ played a fanclub-only show at Chicago’s small Vic Theatre as a warm-up for their headlining gig at Lollapalooza a few days later. One of the reasons I continue to follow, support, and love Pearl Jam is their commitment to loyal fans like me, an M.O. that goes way beyond any other band their size—or just about any size, for that matter—and continuously proved through their visceral live performances. One look at the Vic setlist will tell you this was a unique show, as the rundown eschewed the hits for a lineup existing almost entirely of rare and/or lesser-known cuts. Even for a band that never plays the same set twice, this performance was an exception; they knew who they were playing to, and they tried to provide what they thought diehards would really like. And, of course, they were right, judging by message board traffic, anyway. I’m not necessarily a rarities freak and as an outsider looking in the setlist seems a little awkward; but the attempt is the key—these guys have been treating their fans right for more than 15 years. And, of course, I would have loved to see that show.
So that brings us to Lolla a few nights later, which was webcast live via AT&T’s Blue Room. I was overjoyed to discover the show would be broadcast—for free and in its entirety—because it meant getting to see the band perform without having to visit O’Hare and stand amongst thousands of sweaty, smelly bodies.
The set was an absolute barnstormer, as PJ powered through hit after hit in a mass-appeal show. There was a bit of a dustup the day after, though, when the band discovered a snippet of its performance was “censored” during the simulcast. It is standard practice during “Daughter” for Eddie Vedder (the lead singer, for the one person in a million who might not know) to vamp his way through an extended jam, pulling out lines from other songs. On this night he chose Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Part II” and substituted a couple lines to jab at President Bush (“George Bush, leave this world alone”). The line didn’t make it out over the web, though, because apparently the one person manning the broadcast’s “dump” button edited it out.
Just why the line was cut still isn’t exactly clear. When fans let the band know what happened, Pearl Jam started crying “Censorship!” and AT&T quickly apologized, saying it’s not the company’s policy to censor political statements, only excessive profanity. I can understand being a little irritated, but the band, as is their wont, used the edit as a way to pound home once again the “free speech is under attack” mantra Eddie has been spewing for the better part of a decade. Nevermind the fact he performed several other politically-charged songs at other times that evening—one protesting an oil company, and two others the war in Iraq. None of these were edited in any way.
To this longtime fan, Pearl Jam came off looking ridiculously thin-skinned and diva-esque, as the band usually does when engaging in this type of “commentary.” I’ve heard more of these snippets than I care to recall over the years, and except for rare occasions Eddie usually sounds like a drunken buffoon. If you’re going to protest, do it the right way by playing Dylan’s “Masters of War” (which is always excellent when they do it) or “Worldwide Suicide” (which they DID play and was NOT edited). I shook my head and chuckled at the quips during the show; the post-show drama pissed me off a bit. Give me a break: You have been engaging in anti-Bush rhetoric since 2000; everybody knows how you feel, and no one’s shutting you up, even if we wanted to. Yes, it was a stupid thing to do, but it was one guy, pushing one button, at the end of a very long weekend, who may have just thought—personally—that he was sick of Eddie’s crap. We’ll probably never know, but the Internet continues to bring us more unfiltered music than ever—heck, anybody in the whole wide world could log on and listen to Eddie protest the war. It was one line. Get. Over. It.
Of course, nothing helps me get over incidents like this than what drew me to the band in the first place: Their music.
Right around the time of the Lollapalooza show, I also discovered a batch of Pearl Jam demos/alternate takes/unreleased tracks that showed up online the last week of July. Included in this collection is “Puzzles and Games,” the antecedent of “Light Years” from 2000’s “Binaural.” Now, I really, really like “Light Years,” but after hearing “Puzzles,” I have trouble understanding just what the band was thinking when they moved away from this sprawling, swirling, epic potential classic. “Light Years” retains some elements of “Puzzles,” but—to these ears—it just doesn’t measure up to what “Puzzles” could have been—we’re talking “Corduroy” or “In Hiding” here. I’m thrilled to have this rough cut, though.
And as if that wasn’t enough of a pleasant surprise, today Spinner.com started streaming what I’m tentatively calling Eddie’s best vocal performance on record—ever. Yes, I know what that says—go listen to it. The song is “Hard Sun,” a cover of a rock/folk song by little-known Canadian singer/songwriter Gordon Peterson. It hails from the soundtrack to “Into the Wild,” a film directed by Sean Penn, who asked Eddie to write songs for inclusion in the movie.
What this means is that we finally have ourselves an EV solo record. If the rest of the effort sounds even close to “Hard Sun” … well, I can’t let my hopes get that high just now, but this is one of the strongest reactions I’ve ever had to a Vedder song. His voice is simply perfect on this track—thick and deep and vibrant and soaring. He wraps it around and through the melody without a trace of strain; it gave me goosebumps the first time through and instantly reminded me of his fabulous lo-fi cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “One Step Up” from the pre-PJ days (oh, and that’s Corin Tucker, formerly of Sleater-Kinney, on background vocals, which only sweetens the deal that much more). I could use this song as Exhibit A for why I love this man’s music so much (as if these weren’t enough). I’m now about as excited for this album as I’ve ever been for a Pearl Jam record.
So there you have it: The ying and yang, highs and lows, embarrassment and pride, distaste and excitement of a month being a Pearl Jam fan. What will next month bring?

***The batch of demos can be downloaded here***
***A lesser quality version of “Hard Sun” can be found at www.intothewild.com***

Music Reviews: Summer 2007

Ryan Adams, ‘Easy Tiger’
Is it possible for an album to be too good for its own good? If so, then it’s fitting the prototype for such a paradox should come from the untamable Ryan Adams and his new release, “Easy Tiger.”
The record’s quite amazing in that its 13 tracks offer an effective snapshot of the many different facets of an artist who’s issued nine albums since 2000—and in less than 40 minutes, much less. The results certainly seem a clear sign that the recently-sober singer/songwriter has a newfound focus. This is the sharpest Adams has sounded since his 2001 breakthrough “Gold,” and lead single “Two” is a pitch-perfect pop/rock ditty that would have been right at home on that record. “Goodnight Rose” and “Everybody Knows” are reminiscent of the rockabilly shuffle from 2005’s glorious “Cold Roses,” while “Halloweenhead” is as good (or better?) a dirty rock song as anything on 2003’s “Rock N Roll,” an album full of dirty rock songs. And “Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.” offers up the quiet intensity found on Adams’ 2000 breakthrough classic “Heartbreaker.”
These songs comprise the first five on the record; unfortunately, after that Adams takes the foot off the gas, to the album’s detriment. Don’t get me wrong: There isn’t a bad song on “Easy Tiger,” but there is a definite downshift in momentum for the remainder and he’s never quite able to recapture the wide-open energy of the album’s opening sequence. Highlights from the second half include bluegrass ballads “Pearls on a String” and “These Girls,” as well as “I Taught Myself How To Grow Old,” the mellow set-closer that could have been straight out of the sessions for 2003’s “Love Is Hell.”
Again, “Easy Tiger” certainly is a strong effort from Adams—the best since “Cold Roses.” But it’s just a bit too quiet for my liking. Ironically, an alternate take of “Whatever, Etc.” floating around the Internet offers exactly the type of uptempo vibe I’m talking about—for a track that works perfectly well as a quiet, contemplative number. Too bad he didn’t test that tack with a couple others, but, as usual, Adams confounds as much as he inspires.
Grade: B+

Feist, ‘The Reminder’
One of the year’s most highly acclaimed albums didn’t exactly live up to the hype for me, but that’s no surprise given my aversion to “indie” music.
Leslie Feist’s sophomore solo album, “The Reminder,” reminded me why I don’t particularly care for the genre. It’s too precious, too pretty, too cute, too perfect, and too restrained. That being said, the style works better for women than men; where guys like Sufjan Stevens or Death Cab for Cutie’s Ben Gibbard come off sounding wimpy, the quiet atmosphere suits Feist’s silken voice much better. Still, even on this album’s breakout hit, the undeniably catchy and fun “1 2 3 4,” I wish she’d just let it rip a little more.
Naturally I’m drawn to “The Reminder’s” more romping numbers, and there are plenty of goodies here, including “I Feel It All,” “Sea Lion Woman,” “Past in Present,” and “My Moon Man.” After “1 2 3 4” in the ninth slot, though, the record drips to a close through four barely distinguishable mopey tracks.
“The Reminder” brings up another interesting issue, though: Songs in commercials. U2 took a hit from many back in 2004 for appearing in an iPod promo featuring their new song “Vertigo” (the commercial was awesome, by the way—better than the “official” video they shot for the single). The “sellout” hubbub was squelched somewhat when it came out the band didn’t take any money for the ad; since rock and roll on the radio is basically dead, U2 saw the iPod ad as a new way to reach new fans. And it worked, of course, as “Vertigo” and the album it’s found on “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb,” were huge hits.
Some never forgave them, though, for appearing in a TV spot, but it’s interesting now to see the Irish supergroup was, yet again, ahead of its time. Look no further than Feist and Wilco—the latter allowed Volkswagen to use cuts from its new album, “Sky Blue Sky,” in various commercials. And I would never have bought Feist’s record (“1 2 3 4” didn’t wow me that much) without hearing “My Moon Man” on a recent Verizon spot. I don’t know if Feist or Wilco took the money or not, but I can’t say I blame them for following in U2’s footsteps—they are in the business of selling records, and these commercials give them way more exposure than they ever would have gotten on their own. I admit hearing the Wilco songs on a car commercial is off-putting (I tend to switch them off), but I guess these are the times we live in. Listening to their respective albums, I don’t think of Feist or Jeff Tweedy as compromising any of their artistic integrity, and it’s not like the commercials splashed their names all over the screen (which U2 did, actually). It is no doubt a tricky line to walk, and will be an interesting trend to observe in the future.
Anyway, back to “The Reminder”: I give it a B+

The Gaslight Anthem, ‘Sink or Swim’
I don’t actually buy much music from iTunes (other than hard-to-find b-sides, for which the online provider is brilliant). But the digital store does play a very important role in my musical decisions, as I constantly use its 30-second preview feature when investigating potential purchases. This isn’t a full-proof method, of course—sometimes those 30 seconds can sound better than the band actually is, and other times it’s not nearly enough to get an adequate sense of a band.
And then there are those times when I know I’m buying the album from the first five seconds.
Such was the case with The Gaslight Anthem, a New Jersey punk/rock band I’d never heard of until it was recommended to me earlier this summer. It only took the first few bars of opening track “Boomboxes and Dictionaries” to know I was buying this record. When I finally got to hear the entire thing, it didn’t disappoint.
The Springsteen influence is undeniable, and not because the band hails from the Garden State; “Sink or Swim” is populated with common-man manifestos in the Boss tradition, with songs about driving all night, listening to the radio, and “jukebox Romeos” who “dance with the girls with the stars in their eyes.” Frontman Brian Fallon’s gravelly voice also hints at Springsteen along the way, and the Boss’s galloping, epic musical style a vital part of the Anthem’s core. On the surface, the band is more like a mix of Hey Mercedes, the Dropkick Murphys (without the bagpipes), and New Jersey legends The Bouncing Souls (reviewers also cite punk rockers Against Me!, but I can’t confirm as I haven’t listened to them).
There’s only one subpar track on the whole record, the annoying “Red in the Morning,” but that single flaw is more than made up for by the fact that every other song basically rocks your face off. And “Sink or Swim” scores extra points for its closer, “Red at Night,” an artful homage to “Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key” from the Billy Bragg/Wilco collaboration “Mermaid Avenue.”
This is a stunningly mature debut for a band that’s only been together for a couple years. I can’t wait to hear what’s next, but The Gaslight Anthem certainly have set the bar high.
Grade: A
Note: Last I checked, “Sink or Swim” wasn’t available at major retailers. To find it, go to the band’s web site, where there is information on how to purchase the record. There’s always iTunes, I guess, but I still prefer the real thing.

Gasoline Heart, ‘You Know Who You Are’
It’s nice to see we’ve gotten far enough away from the seminal modern rock acts of the ’90s that new bands can be legitimately influenced by them, as opposed to the cashing-in hack clones that populated much of the late-’90s and early part of this decade (that’s you Creed, Nickelback, 3 Doors Down, and oh so many others).
Florida-based Gasoline Heart is as good and straightforward a new American rock band as you’re likely to hear. Their sound is a mix of Tom Petty and the lighter side of Pearl Jam and the Foo Fighters (think “Betterman” or “Learn to Fly”), while lead singer Louis Defabrizio’s voice sounds like a perfect blend of Petty and Dave Grohl. It’s also worth noting “Who You Are” was produced by Steve Albini, who was responsible for Nirvana’s swan song classic, “In Utero.”
This album actually came out last August; it’s been one of my favorite records of the past year, but for some reason I never got around to writing about it despite a bevy of quality tracks—“All the Way” and “Steam (A Well Dried Up)” are particular favorites, but there’s really not a bad song on the whole thing. “Who You Are” doesn’t break any new ground, but it might just be revolutionary for reminding you of what traditional American rock and roll has to offer. Another awesome debut.
Grade: A-
Go to www.freemvs.com (the band’s label web site) to download a few free tracks—including the aforementioned “Steam” (you have to register first, though).

Bruce Springsteen with the Sessions Band, ‘Live in Dublin’
And to think I almost didn’t buy it.
When this two-disc live compilation was announced, I wasn’t overly excited because the Seeger Sessions songs that appeared on last year’s stellar “We Shall Overcome” were recorded almost live anyway.
Then it hit me: Duh, there are Springsteen originals on here, too, dummy! Like, say, a little ditty called “Atlantic City” that just happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time, Springsteen or no. “Further On Up the Road” continues to climb that list, as well; this “Rising” rocker was remade beautifully by Johnny Cash on last year’s posthumous “American V,” and it gives me goosebumps here, too. And there’s no need to even comment further on the awesomeness that are “Open All Night” and “Blinded By the Light” in their Sessions Band incarnations.
Not to be outdone, the songs from “Overcome” offer new quirks, too. They’re all even more raucous, fun, and freewheelin’ here; Springsteen’s stompin’-and-hollerin’ enthusiasm comes through just fine, and the crowd is even mic’d nicely.
My only complaint is the track list, which is expected, I guess, considering this is an official Boss live compilation and that’s ALWAYS the complaint. I fail to understand why “Highway Patrolman,” “Long Time Comin’,” and “Growing Up”—three cuts that vary little from their original versions—made the record while more dramatic reworkings of “The River,” “You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch),” “Bobby Jean,” and “Johnny 99” were left on the bench. And even worse is leaving off “John Henry,” one of the best tracks off the Sessions album.
That said, “Live in Dublin” remains an excellent collection documenting Springsteen at a new artistic height.
Grade: A-

The Smashing Pumpkins, 'Zeitgeist'

My review of the new album from the “Smashing Pumpkins” is now up here at RELEVANT. It’s a shame the first thing I’ve ever written about this band had to be so unflattering (“Zeitgeist” earns a “C” at best), because this piece certainly doesn’t summarize how I feel about the group as a whole. In an effort to set the record straight …

I never listened to the Pumpkins in their heyday. As seems to always be the case with me and bands I end up loving, I came to them late. This pattern in my musical life stems from being an oldest child, I think—I never had somebody like Patrick Fugit’s sister in “Almost Famous” to set me straight at a young age, so I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. When most people my age were listening to Billy Corgan’s band, I was just discovering The Beatles.
Anyway, I liked the Pumpkins songs I heard on the radio (it seems odd to think of listening to FM now) and the videos played on a seemingly continuous loop on MTV certainly were interesting, but none of it ever got me over the hump to actually buy one of their albums. That didn’t occur until 1999, which just happens to be the year I met my future wife, who just happens to love the Pumpkins. You can do the math: 20-year-old boy wants to talk to girl; boy finds out girl loves Smashing Pumpkins; boy almost immediately buys a Smashing Pumpkins album so he has something to talk about with girl; boy not only likes what he hears, but starts to see the Smashing Pumpkins through the eyes of girl; boy falls in love—with band and girl.
But as I said, I was late to the party. The following year—before I even had a chance to purchase all of their albums—the Pumpkins released “MACHINA: The Machines of God” (which I really liked), went out on tour, and broke up. We (that would be me and the girl) saw them twice in 2000, and that’s what cemented my affection for the band. The first show was on April 18, at Purdue, and it was great. Relatively small venue, excellent seats dead-center in the first row of the balcony, cool setlist, and I even got to shake Corgan’s hand afterward (he was, surprisingly, quite affable, making sure to shake hands with and/or sign autographs for all of the hundred or so people who hung around behind the venue after the show).
Later that year, though, Corgan called it quits and announced the band would play two “farewell” shows in Chicago on Nov. 29 and Dec. 2 at the United Center and the Metro (a small club), respectively. Somehow, miraculously, I pulled a pair of tickets to the UC show—they were almost at the roof of the building, but at least they were right alongside the stage. And, really, I didn’t care because the show sold out literally in like five minutes, so I was just thrilled to be allowed in the building.
That night the Pumpkins played one of the best concerts I have ever attended. It started with a six-song acoustic set, then Corgan dashed offstage, changed from an all-white outfit to an all-black getup, and let loose with guitars blazing for the remainder of the night. The final tally ended up about three hours long, two main sets and three encores, and 27 songs. That show, along with the Pearl Jam set from less than two months earlier that still stands to this day as the top live music experience of my life, cemented Chicago as my second musical home and made me a Pumpkins fan for life.
The odd thing is, because that show meant essentially the end of the band, it was hard to keep the fire burning. After the glow of that night wore off in a few months, I moved on to other things; that happens, I guess, in the aftermath of a dissolved band. But because I knew them for so short a time, I never quite got to that obsessive, buy-everything-they’ve-ever-recorded-and-listen-to-them-all-the-time fever pitch I’ve had with so many other groups. In fact, until this past weekend, I’m ashamed to admit I’d never actually listened to the Pumpkins’ renowned debut album, “Gish,” all the way through.
So that brings me back around to the original point of this little missive. I wish Corgan had left well enough alone and not called “Zeitgeist” a “Pumpkins” album, because it doesn’t really feel like one at all. But one good thing has come of it: Preparing to write the aforementioned review forced me to go back and listen to the band again for the first time in a long while, and it reminded me of how great they were, how much I loved (and still love) their music, and the role their songs played in my life. There’s a lot to be said for that, and nothing Corgan does now is going to taint it or take it away. I only hope he comes to his senses and either invites James back into the band, or drops the Pumpkins moniker once again. Or, at the least, get back to writing the type of songs that made everybody love his music in the first place.
With that in mind, here are my 10 favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs, in order:

1. Muzzle, from 1995’s Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
2. Mayonaise, from 1993’s Siamese Dream
3. Drown, from 1992’s Singles soundtrack
4. Stand Inside Your Love, from 2000’s MACHINA
5. Untitled, from 2001’s Rotten Apples greatest hits collection
6. The Everlasting Gaze, from 2000’s MACHINA
7. Landslide, from 1994’s Pisces Iscariot (Fleetwood Mac cover)
8. Ava Adore, from 1998’s Adore
9. Frail and Bedazzled, from 1994’s Pisces Iscariot
10. Blew Away, from 1994’s Pisces Iscariot

The White Stripes, 'Icky Thump'

You can find my review of the new White Stripes album, "Icky Thump," over here at RELEVANTmagazine.com. It's an "A."

‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’

For any who may be disappointed with the 2007 crop of summer movies, I give you … “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” not just the best movie of the season, but the best of this franchise, as well.
The fifth installment of author J.K. Rowling’s magical (in more ways than one) seven-part series, “Phoenix” covers the darkest subject matter yet, which makes it ideal for a more adult audience. This is the first film in the franchise that someone could walk in off the street without having seen/read any of the previous chapters and still really enjoy. The movie, obviously with a lot of help from the source material, has it all: Action, adventure, wit, charm, humor, emotion. It’s the story of a boy who finally embraces his talents and his destiny, and in so doing takes his first step into manhood. For the first time, the now 15-year-old Harry doesn’t stumble through challenges using his previous concoction of raw power, big heart, and seemingly blind luck; in “Phoenix” he takes command not only of his own skills, but helps his young classmates harness theirs, too. After watching this kid suffer under the weight of being “The Boy Who Lived” for four years, it’s thrilling and emotionally rewarding to finally see him believe in himself.
“Phoenix” is helmed by relative newcomer David Yates, a 44-year-old Englishman with a mix of TV and film work in his background, and none of it anything most people have ever seen. Thus this film marks a rather stunning big-budget debut, especially considering he trimmed Rowling’s longest novel into the franchise’s shortest movie (“Phoenix” clocks in at a relatively short 2:18). I have nothing to offer most of you out there in the way of changes from the source material, however, as I choose to see the movies first and then read the books later. From my perspective, screenwriter Michael Goldenberg (“Contact”) did a masterful job with his condensed version; the plot moves well and all elements are explained to satisfaction. For someone who didn’t know what was coming, the dynamic story moved along with no sluggishness whatsoever.
And, wow, am I glad I didn’t know what was in store. Rowling has provided some great climaxes in this series, especially in the previous two chapters, but “Phoenix” certainly boasts the best yet. Gates translates the written word into a visual tour de force that I would put up against any of the special-effects-laden cinematic clashes of the past decade.
I could barely get through the first two “Potter” movies, but looking back I must give Christopher Columbus, who directed those installments, a great deal of credit for handling the most important job of them all: casting this crew. I cannot imagine anyone at this point other than Daniel Radcliffe (Harry), Emma Watson (Hermione), and Rupert Grint (Ron) in the lead roles; all three continue to just get better with each movie. The supporting cast is equally superb, especially Alan Rickman as the not-so-sinister-anymore Professor Snape. Gary Oldman, a true chameleon, continues his excellent work as Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black (can you believe this is the same guy who played James Gordon in “Batman Begins”?). And Imelda Staunton steals every scene as buttoned-up professor-turned-Hogwarts-dictator Dolores Umbridge.
I really can’t say enough good things about this movie. It’s utterly captivating, exciting, infuriating (in all the right ways, especially its commentary on government-run education), uplifting, heartwarming, and tear-inducing. It’s the first movie I’ve seen this summer that I wanted to get right back in line and watch again.
And, for what it’s worth, I saw it with two people who HAVE read the books (and whose opinions I respect), and they loved it just as much as me.
Grade: A

‘Transformers’

Never send a Bay to do a man’s job.
Seriously: How does director Michael Bay keep getting such high-profile gigs? There is so much to love about his latest movie, “Transformers,” until the end when he can’t help but blow everything up the way he has in every other movie he’s made. Maybe it’s fitting, though, that a story about toys was made by a guy who treats filmmaking like playing with them.
I know not to take “Transformers” too seriously. I know it’s just a summer action pic. But I can’t help but wonder what could have been had ANYONE but Michael Bay been at the helm. Because this flick is pretty stinkin’ good for the first, oh, hour and a half. Credit screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, two “Alias” alums, for elevating the story beyond just big robots bashing one another.
And wow, speaking of those robots, it’s the Transformers themselves who save this movie. They are, in a word, awesome. My hat’s off to George Lucas’ special effects company, Industrial Light & Magic, for turning ’80s cartoon icons into 21st century visions of wonder. They are something to behold, especially when transforming from vehicle to robot while on the move. The Transformers make this venture worth watching.
But then Bay obviously steps in and leaves his “mark,” meaning a nonsensical conclusion featuring explosion after explosion after explosion, all of them lacking anything close to a point. Throw in a few cheesy lines of dialogue and—wrap! There’s a way to do spectacle with class—think Peter Jackson, Ridley Scott, or Sam Raimi—where the action has an ebb and flow and, shockingly, moments of quiet. Bay heeds none of this; he’s like a monkey throwing his own crap at the screen. He basically wastes the evil character Megatron, and what should have been an epic fight between the Decepticon leader and noble Optimus Prime barely registers amongst the chaos.
That’s just the last half-hour or so, though. The rest of the movie is good enough to make it worthwhile, especially to see Prime and his fellow Autobots in all their gleaming metal glory. It’s just a shame these beloved characters were entrusted to such a clod who certainly has nothing more to offer than meets the eye.
Grade: B-

‘Ratatouille’

The geniuses at Pixar have built their company’s reputation on many hallmarks, but perhaps the most important is their ability to take us into other worlds. Over the past 12 years we’ve gone under the sea, under the earth, and into the toy box. We’ve explored realms run by monsters and saved by superheroes, and we’ve seen our beautiful country through the eyes of cars. And now … rats?
Believe me when I tell you: The studio’s latest near-masterpiece, “Ratatouille,” is the ballsiest endeavor its ever attempted.
In an industry driven to tears and fears by the bottom line, it’s amazing an idea for a movie about nature’s ugly little scavengers was even discussed, much less made, and much less by two companies—Disney and Pixar—whose stock and trade is cute. But only the guys at Pixar (did I mention they’re geniuses?) could pull something like this off. In “Ratatouille,” writer/director Brad Bird (“The Incredibles”) accomplishes the impossible—he makes us care about rats.
First and foremost, this movie is flat-out hilarious. It takes a little bit to really get going (pacing is a problem throughout), but once little Remy the rat makes his way to Paris and meets up with fellow (although human) garbage boy Linguini, things really start cooking. Linguini yearns to be a chef, but finds himself in the unfortunate circumstance of having no talent; Remy, on the other hand, also yearns to be a chef but finds himself in the unfortunate circumstance of being, well, a rat. Rat and food—they don’t exactly go together like peas and carrots.
As you’ve no doubt seen from the trailer, Remy and Linguini work out a system whereby the rodent communicates his culinary commands by pulling on Linguini’s hair. But this certainly isn’t one of those times when the best scenes are used in the preview. Far from it. The training montage is rib-popping funny, as is any time the rats are discovered (think of that scene in “Little Mermaid” where Sebastian the crab is discovered in the kitchen, only even funnier).
“Ratatouille” is Pixar’s eighth full-length film, and as has become tradition the studio improves its craft with each outing. The scenery in last year’s “Cars” was stunning, but “Ratatouille” is even better, especially in the backgrounds—there are times when you’ll swear these animated characters have been superimposed on the real Paris. “Camera”-work is also spectacular, as Bird effectively switches between rat and human perspectives; it feels like you’re the one sitting on Linguini’s head.
This is without question Pixar’s most adult-oriented film. It deals with themes of deceit, ego, loyalty, the work-vs.-family dynamic, and even children out of wedlock, just to name a few. There is plenty of slapstick humor to keep the kiddies entertained, but there are also long sections without a whole lot of yuks—fine for adults, but kids might wander off. It feels a shade long at 110 minutes, as Linguini and Remy have one too many falling outs/reconciliations.
Still, “Ratatouille” ends on such a high note and with a series of unexpected twists, I can certainly understand the rumors of nationwide applause after screenings. Nobody makes movies of more consistent quality than Pixar, and Bird in particular seems to be the studio’s master chef.
Grade: A-


Other movies I’ve seen so far this summer:

“Ocean’s Thirteen”
You certainly can’t say George Clooney, Steven Soderbergh & Co. don’t learn from their mistakes. After the mish-mash train wreck that was 2004’s “Ocean’s Twelve,” the crew of lovable scoundrels returned this summer with a back-to-basics approach with “Ocean’s Thirteen” that made the 2001 original (itself a remake) such a charmer.
The boys are (thankfully) back in Vegas this time around with more revenge on their minds, as they’re out to ruin a new venture by casino mogul Willie Bank (a slimy little man played winningly by Al Pacino in a very un-Pacino sniveling performance), who screwed over the crew’s mentor, Reuben. After going through the motions in the predecessor, Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and all the rest are back on their games here. Damon is especially good, playing up the visual comedy of his enlarged prosthetic nose (the Nose plays!).
By its very nature a sequel in this series will suffer because we already know how clever and cool this crew is and don’t get the pleasure of discovery as we did in “Eleven.” But a streamlined script and—what’s this?—a bit of a heart, makes “Thirteen” a winner.
Grade: B+

“Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer”
I guess the best thing I can say about this superhero flick is that it was better than I thought it would be.
With this sequel, director Tim Story (“Barbershop”) and writers Don Payne and Mark Frost went for a comic book movie for the whole family, which is refreshing in a way. It’s nice to see superheroes who actually enjoy their powers, as opposed to the tortured souls who populate basically every other comic book adaptation since 1989’s “Batman.” This tone leads to some witty banter between the Human Torch (Chris Evans, who could pass for Chris O’Donnell’s brother) and The Thing (a fun turn by Michael Chiklis), but doesn’t leave much room for a gripping story (the movie hustles along in just 92 minutes).
The Silver Surfer (voiced by Laurence Fishburne) is undeniably cool, and I could be convinced to go see a spinoff featuring just him, which is probably in the works. But he’s balanced by the utter lack of chemistry between Jessica Alba’s Invisible Woman and Ioan Gruffudd’s Mr. Fantastic, whose scenes fall utterly flat throughout.
Still, for those after a whimsical, blow-’em-up adventure fueled by superpowers, “Rise of the Silver Surfer” adequately fits the bill.
Grade: C

Meeting the Man Who Created Bauer

I never intended my tiny corner of the Internet to be a traditional blog, but occasionally things occur in my life that force me to make an exception. This week was one of those times.

On Wednesday morning, I was on assignment at Six Flags Great America in Gurnee, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. The objective: To interview Joel Surnow, co-creator of “24,” who has produced a stunt show for the amusement park making its debut this week.
This was an absolute dream-come-true situation. Not only is Surnow responsible for one of my favorite TV shows of all time, but he’s also a conservative, which by default makes him one of the gutsiest guys in Hollywood and one of my personal … “hero” isn’t the right word, but let’s just say I admire him a great deal for being a stranger in a strange land.
This was, as you might expect, a personal thrill and one of the highlights of my professional career to this point, but I tried not to get my hopes up; meeting famous people you respect from afar is a dangerous thing—if they turn out to be jerks, that encounter can cause a huge backdraft.
If, however, the guy turns out to be even cooler than you could have possibly hoped … well, it just doesn’t get better than that.

When I arrived at the park around 7:30 Wednesday morning, Surnow was already at the stunt show amphitheater, waiting for a live shot with a local Fox station scheduled for 8 a.m. Just by the way he was handling himself, I started to get a good vibe—he was talking casually with the actors/stuntmen in the show, taking pictures with them and looking generally congenial. I took that as a good sign.
After the live TV interview, I got my shot. I didn’t know what to expect—some bigwigs can make you feel like they’re doing you a favor by granting a five-minute interview. But Surnow was totally laid back and generous with his time. I think it may have helped that I introduced myself as not just a “24” fan, but a conservative as well. He seemed to light up a bit at that, letting out a big “duuuude!” (I kid you not). We talked about the new stunt show, “Operation SpyGirl,” for about six and a half minutes, and he answered all of my questions thoughtfully and completely.
I then asked one last question: What’s up with the “reinvented” “24”? He said—with a big just-you-wait grin on his face—next year is “going to be wild, it’s going to be amazing,” and “not like any season we’ve done before.” He said Day 7 will break some of the show’s own rules, go to other locales besides L.A., and have “a whole new look.”
So, with that excellent reply under my belt, I was ready to get out of his hair—and I told him as much. But he said he didn’t have anything to do just then, so we just kept on talking for five more minutes or so, about all sorts of issues: conservatives in Hollywood, global warming, the 2008 presidential election, and he even asked me what I thought of the finale of “The Sopranos.” Joel Surnow, asking ME what I thought of a major television event. I was stunned.

I know this whole thing sounds ridiculously gushy, but I don’t care. Pretty soon another reporter came up seeking an interview, ending our conversation, but I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. Surnow was the exact opposite of what you would think the typical Hollywood bigshot would be like, and it makes me respect him even more. He could have just gone through the motions to get me out of his face, but this was a real, live conversation, not just some canned answers. He was actually listening to what I had to say and responding to it.

I’m on the record that Day 6 of “24” was certainly the weakest of the series’ seasons, but I’m pumped to see what this guy can come up with for Day 7. And regardless, those 15 minutes justified for me all the time and money and emotion I’ve invested in his show. After getting to meet the man behind “24” and have that encounter be such an amazingly positive experience, I’m in it for the long haul, come hell, high water, or the occasional misguided plot twist. Surnow has said in previous interviews that as soon as “24” flops, they’ll run him out of Hollywood. Well, I now have confirmation for what I always thought/hoped: He’s worth rooting for.

***As a side note, I got to hang around after the interview for a “SpyGirl” dress rehearsal. It was the first time Surnow saw the show start-to-finish, so it was fascinating to watch him get down to business, Jack Bauer-style. He was as nice as he could be while everyone was meandering around that morning, but as soon as the rehearsal was over, he got down to business, and fast—no screwing around.***

Wilco, 'Sky Blue Sky'

My review of Wilco's new album, "Sky Blue Sky," is now up on RELEVANT here. I'd say it's a solid "B" effort.