Arts & Film

There are some times you watch TV and you realise you’re watching lightning being bottled in front of your eyes. The entire fourth season of the Simpsons was one of them: every week you tuned in, knowing full well that a classic would be unveiled before your eyes. This was the season the Simpsons really hit its stride, and there’s a great run of classic Simpsons episodes: “A Streetcar Named Marge”, “Marge vs the Monorail”, “Lisa’s First Word”, and “Mr Plow”, among others. Part of this was the recognition of that the secondary characters could carry episodes: “Selma’s Choice” focused on Selma babysitting Bart and Lisa and finally deciding she didn’t want kids, settling for Jub-Jub the iguana instead. Part of it was the willingness to throw in huge production numbers - “A Streetcar Named Marge” alone has both the sidesplitting “Oh, Streetcar!” musical number and Maggie’s Great Escape-style flight from the Ayn Rand School for Tots. And the greatest part of it was, quite simply, a writing team that was on fire combined with vocal talent that was settling into its prodigious range.

Drink up, baby, stay up all night. With the things you could do, You won’t but you might. The potential you’ll be, That you’ll never see, The promises you’ll only make.

The Rules A song in this list must have the city name, or, even better, a specific part of the city in the title (sorry, “Under the Bridge” or “Dirty Water”; sorry, a dozen hip-hop songs that describe life in various projects). No regions, provinces, or states (sorry, “Midnight Train to Georgia”). Song cannot be crap (sorry, “San Francisco (Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair)” and “MacArthur Park”). London

Salon.com has a list (note: premium content) of the top 10 comedians in the spirit of Lenny Bruce. From #10 to #1: Upright Citizens’ Brigade Louis CK Chris Rock Eddie Izzard Sacha Baron-Cohen David Cross Sarah Silverman Aaron McGruder Rick Shapiro Howard Stern So, you’re reading up to #1, and then you go, Howard Stern? In terms of following Lenny, Chris Rock and Sarah Silverman are probably two of the best in the world at skewering racial and sexual pieties, Sacha Baron-Cohen at exposing hypocrisy through the comedy of discomfort (though the amount of time he can continue with the Ali G veneer is probably limited), and Aaron McGruder (together with Tom Tomorrow) at sussing out the polemical possibilities of a hitherto apolitical genre i.e. comic strips. But then we get a switcheroo at the end: it turns from a list of comedians whose style is most like Lenny’s to one whose life - specifically the political persecution of indecency aspect - is most Lenny-like. Strange.

Dir. Walter Salles If you had to choose an actor to play Che Guevara, Gael García Bernal would be near the top of that list (he apparently already did so in a TV show). As anyone who saw Y Tu Mama Tambien knows, he’s got charisma to burn; as anyone who saw the 2003 Oscars knows, he’s got the lefty politics. The Motorcycle Diaries is about a cross-continent trip the youthful Ernesto Guevara (played by Bernal; the “Che” name came later as a reference to his Argentinian origins) took with his companion Alberto Granado (Rodrigo de la Serna). The motorcycle of the title is a beat-up Norton 500, Ernesto and Alberto’s tool in their 8-month journey from their Argentinian home to Caracas, but The Motorcycle Diaries is not really about the art of motorcycle maintenance, but the awakening of Guevara’s social consciousness. (Indeed, the Norton, worn beyond repair from the strains of the journey, has to be abandoned at an early stage of the trip.) Together, pretending to be leprosy specialists, they criss-cross the continent, and the journey leaves the comfortably middle-class Guevara faced with incontrovertible evidence of the lack of progress among the native peoples, who are forced by economic circumstances to work in mines and whose every effort to organise is put down.

(This is a full transcription of an interview I did for the Harvard Crimson with Jacques lu Cont, aka Les Rythmes Digitales, back in 1999. Lord knows what became of him.)

“One chance, one shot, well that’s all anyone ever got” Frente, “Labour of Love” Revisiting an article I once wrote on the beauty of ephemerality, the beauty of the band that grabs you for three to five minutes, etches itself into your unconscious, and then fades away. The following is a personal list of my favourite one-hit wonders, disposable yet unforgettable.

I was thinking about the bleak tone of Saturday Night Fever, where the disco serves as Tony Mareno’s only bulwark against utter hopelessness, and these songs came to mind: ecstasy twisted out of despair, their relentless beats fighting against the hopelessness of the worlds described in their lyrics.

By Bill Brewster and Frank Broughton Compared to The Ground Beneath Her Feet’s stifling view of popular music, I was glad for the breath of fresh air that was Last Night a DJ Saved My Life, which is all about the evolution of the DJ as a major force in hip hop, house, and other musical genres. (There’s a slight bias here, of course, since I do like to dabble with the decks.) Brewster and Broughton write about block parties in the Bronx in the early 70s with Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash, and Afrika Bambaataa - the three pioneers of hip hop DJing discovering there was certain portions of records that (the ‘breakbeat’), discovering how to mix songs together, modifying equipment and bringing huge sound systems to compete with each other. While they were local idols, all that time almost no one in Manhattan or in the media, knew this movement was going on a few subway stops away from them. So you never know what might bubble up and become a national music movement.

Hit the subway with a copy of Salman Rushdie’s The Ground Beneath Her Feet in hand: 575 pages – should do nicely for a few morning commutes. The back cover has a quote from the London Times, claiming it’s “the first great rock ’n’ roll novel in the English language.” And indeed, Rushdie is a linguistic genius, and his descriptions of Bombay are sublime. But it doesn’t rock.

Whether deliberate or no, the generic title of this Boston-based quartet’s third album (recorded at Fort Apache here in Cambridge) reflects their music. None of the melding of musical styles so popular in modern rock occurs here: straight-up three-chord rock is the name of the game. When done well, as in the tight, focused first single, “Telescope,” the standard guitar-bass-drum combination still retains the feel of energy unleashed. Singer Will Claflin also acquits himself well, with a hard-edged voice and decent enunciation, something all too often forgotten in the genre. Unfortunately, there’s only take so much similar-sounding alternative/grunge songs one can take, and the album’s 11 tracks begin to blend into each other. It doesn’t help that the sound kept fading in and out on the review copy. Still, the band deserves more than the missing “E” in their name for a grade. C

A blockbuster in the rest of the English-speaking world, This is My Truth Now Tell Me Yours has finally appeared on these shores almost a year after its initial release. Hailing from Wales, the Manics have only grown stronger since the tragic disappearance of original lyricist Richey James, and This is My Truth, in equal parts political and passionate, picks up where the previous Everything Must Go left off. As you might expect from an album whose first single is called “If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next,” it’s a dour piece. The wrenching anguish in James Bradfield’s voice combines with Nicky Wire’s lyrics (“I’ve got to stop smiling it gives the wrong impression”) to create an air of bleakness not unlike the vast empty expanse on the album cover. This slips into pretentiousness at times, such as in the final song “S.Y.M.M.” (“South Yorkshire Mass Murderer”), but on the whole the Manics have cut a gloriously anthemic album. A-

The P.R. people at Jive Electro claim that Bryant Street recalls the “haunting seriousness” of Rage Against The Machine and the “melodic touch” of Led Zeppelin. Apparently, they have the version of Led Zeppelin 4 where Page and Plant tinker around with drum machines and 303s as they try to create the definitive house anthem. Or maybe not. Fortunately, these dubious comparisons don’t detract from the exquisite deep house sound of this album. Dubtribe Sound System are Sunshine and Moonbeam, a duo more usually seen playing live than recording, and judging from this effort, they must send dance floors mad. Flavored with touches of salsa and samba, the songs flow seamlessly into each other, from the infectious hooks of the opening “Hasta Luego Mi Hermano” to the delicate vocals of Moonbeam floating over the Latin beat of “El Regalo De Amor.” True, Sunshine’s spoken-word in “Holler,” the odd choice for a first single, is overly pretentious–he sounds like a gospel preacher gone New Age in proclamations like “we must rise to embrace our destiny.” But other than that, Bryant Street never lets up, sounding like a recording of the killer DJ set that blew your mind and took your legs out with it.

(First published July 23, 1999 in the Harvard Crimson) Now that Fatboy Slim songs can be heard everywhere–in movie trailers, in commercials–the invasion of America by the big beat sound seems complete, even if record companies still insist on referring to it as “electronica.” It would have been easy for its inventors to once again mix up rock sounds and dance beats and recreate their success. The Chemical Brothers’ (a.k.a. Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons) third full album, however, moves away from the through-the-roof lager madness of Dig Your Own Hole to a more house-based sound, one that’s perhaps less accessible than their earlier rocktinged efforts. In a way, it’s a roots album for the Chemicals, recalling the influences of Kraftwerk and early-’80s electro (most evident in the title track) and showcasing a definite European sound.

Talk by Renzo Piano November 5, 1998, 6.30 pm Piper Auditorium, Gund Hall, Graduate School of Design A glut of architects. A surfeit of architects. Whatever the collective noun for architects is, there sure were a lot of them visiting the Graduate School of Design last week. Following Richard Meier earlier in the week, Renzo Piano, one of the world’s foremost architects and the man responsible for the planned revamping of the Harvard University Art Museums, spoke to a packed Piper Auditorium last Thursday. Famous for his work in such major spaces as Houston’s Menil Collection, Osaka’s Kansai Airport, and Paris’s Centre Georges Pompidou, Piano’s speech attracted so large a crowd that not only was the auditorium packed, even the secondary broadcast room was standing-room only. People had to be turned away in droves. Perhaps the situation called for an architect.

At the Royal National Theatre Lyttelton, London If George III was famously insane, George IV’s place in English history has always been that of clown Prince. Indeed, the entire third series of the “Blackadder” British sitcom pokes fun at his buffoonery and penchant for women. The Royal National Theatre’s current production of Nick Stafford’s Battle Royal will do nothing for the reputation of the royal bigamist, and it is not entirely clear it will do that much for Stafford’s reputation either.

April 2000 A peek into my reporter’s notebook will reveal the following words, scribbled: “Orpheum - old classic setting but showing signs of age - comparison to Oasis?” When in doubt, turn to journalistic cliches, eh? But Oasis’ concert last week forced a proper review, or at least a reconsideration.

Sunday, 18 October 1998 It’s nice to see that even the world’s classical guitar maestros have to tune their guitar the same way as everyone else. From the moment one of the world’s leading classical guitarists John Williams stepped on to the stage of the New England Conservatory’s Jordan Hall on Sunday and went through the basic motions of adjusting his guitar strings, motions familiar to even beginning guitar students, the audience was introduced to a musician who was not only superb, but who constantly strove to keep his performance accessible to all.

(Rhino / Cheap Date) OK, so John Hughes movies defined growing up in the Eighties, and the pre-teen fantasies of many of today’s adolescents involved falling in love to songs like O.M.D.’s “If You Leave”. And the recent Eighties revival shows that it’s apparently not just my blocking group friends who are obsessed with John Cusack holding up that boombox in Say Anything. Plus, every generation wants to take on the songs they grew up with (aside: does this explain why “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” becomes a hit once every decade?). Reasons, reasons, reasons. Do they merit a full album of covers of teen movie themes from the Eighties?

A sequel to the soundtrack for a sequel? The Austin Powers cash cow seems just about ready to kick the milking stool. Fortunately, More Music from the Spy who Shagged Me remains a coherent work; unlike the hero of the execrable movie, the album remains firmly fixed in the 60s, and tries to avoid the charge of cashing in by including snippets of dialogue and movie-relevant songs (They Might Be Giants’ “Dr Evil”). The album sadly lacks the Bacharach tunes and kitschy cover versions of the first two soundtracks, but it has a lovely sense of pop music in Swingin’ London, including such classics as the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer”. The Guess Who’s original “American Woman” also surfaces, the anti-American lyrics making more sense in the hands of Mike Myers’ fellow Canadians than in flag-waving Lenny Kravitz. Even the modern pieces included have a retro groove: the Propellerheads’ “Crash!”, released in the U.S. for the first time, smacks of a-go-go, while Fantastic Plastic Machine’s “Bachelor Pad”. And once again straddling the decades is Madonna’s 60s-tinged “Beautiful Stranger”, this time given a none-too-inspiring remix by Vic Calderone. B