POSITIVE JAM, MAN

YOUTUBE SAFARI:::::::::::;;;;;;;;;;;;;;,,,,,,,,,,,,,....................>

The screen door protects.

Like watching t-ball practice / just before dark.



GOD DAMN IT YONI.



Best little kid dancin' evah.



I special ordered this album in high school, way before The Roots song came out; that's the actual cover.



STAR WIPE, AND WE'RE OUT.

FOAM INJECTED AXL ROSE

We bring to your attention today a smattering of goodnesses, like the lovely-yet-kooky blog of totez Badass McGee book/graphic designer John Gall.  Insert your own "who is John Gall?" joke here.  Msr Blanco Hood brought this to my attention, and hot damn if it isn't the bees knees.

What else? 

STYLE GUIDE: DIRTBAGS ARE PEOPLE TOO

All of the sudden, it's fuckin' April, and Mr. Hood and I are looking forward to New York's sometimes pleasant/always crazy spring weather--not to mention the looming sweaty drunkfest that is summertime in NYC.  


So, it's time for some new duds, and so, without further ado, we present to you Yo Stevie's very own "Dirtbag's Guide to Style." 


You can expect additional updates--and special, muy bueno guest contributors--in the coming weeks, but today we're starting off with three simple items.  Spring means that it's gonna be wet n rainy, it's gonna be hot and then cold and then windy, and you're gonna wanna be outside n shit.  


With these factors in mind, here are a couple essentials we at YSH have got our peeperz on:


1) Anorak Attack Motherfucker!  Rain sucks, but you know what else sucks?  Umbrellas.  They break all of the time, plus they're nerdy and not super effective; also, if it stops raining, you have to carry that shit around.  That's why a versatile anorak or rain jacket of some sort is the best move--stay dry, look cool and a little like a Japanese street thug.  On a loosely related note, in the UK "anorak" is a slang term with meanings similar to Japan's otaku.  Or so says Wikipedia.  Actually, in writing this paragraph, I realized that B. Hood and I have been using the term "anorak" for weeks now, in an entirely inaccurate way.  I guess an anorak is more of a heavier jacket/lighter parka.  But you know what?  Fuck that, I like the word.     


If I were a baller, I'd probably cop this sweet Paul Smith rain jacket.


2) Born Slippy.  Listen, in summer, stuff gets all sweaty.  Including your feet.  So you wanna keep 'em cool, and not cramp their style with some socks.  Let those dawgs breath!  (I used to have an aversion--some would call it a neurosis--about wearing shoes without socks.  I got over it)  Plus, you can get some sweet street stompers that just slip right on and right off; like these Fred Perry's I saw at Shoe Market last week.  You never know when you might need to take off your shoes like really, really fast.     


3) Carry Your Shit Around.  Ignore any stupid "jokes" from douchebags in your office about "Murses" etc.  When they're sweating a cell-phone shape through the pocket of their distressed A&F denim, or, like, holding a bunch of crap in their hands, you'll be bounding around like a gazelle, hands free to scale fire escapes or smoke two cigarettes at once.  That's because you'll be rocking a light weight yet oh so necessary bag of some sort.  YSH recommends grabbin' one of these streamlined, mildly futuristic totes from Muji.  And if you want them to, they fold into their own little carrying pouch. 


Cool.    

~ ~ ~

To the Dirtbags:

HEY IDIOTS

Yep, you:

~ Dorky couple making out on the subway.

~The guy with the cell phone that's playing crap-jams super loud out of his cell phone.

~Fucker saving multiple seats at the movie theatre with just an article of clothing.

~Sales asshole calling my stupid office job and then trying to sell me something when I have neither the want nor the authority to purchase anything.

~Dumb-fuck textin' n' walkin' all slow ass down the sidewalk.

~Boring jerks.

~Slutty bartender girls at Applebee's.

OH LORD, WE DON'T TAKE THAT SHIT

Roller coaster couple of weeks, to be certain.  We have ascertained that certain things suck, while other things are awesome.

~Things That Suck, And Verily~

Working (see also, "Almost getting fired")

Doin' shit you don't wanna do

Almost dying (more on that later from Mr. Hood)

Being a long-haired hippie

40Loko

~The Things of Awesome~

The Nic Cage version of The Wicker Man

Looking like you got punched in the face (again, I bow in Mr. Hood's direction)

Books about Michael Jordan

Eastern European weirdos that cut hair at a barbershop that exclusively plays dub reggae

The "Boombox" video

40Loko

~~~

HE'S NOT YOUR FRIEND, HE'S OURS! IF SOMEBODY'S GOING TO KILL HIM, IT SHOULD BE US!

Spring break is upon me, and while I have a lot of piled up school work I need to get to, I’ve decided to make sure I get in at least two substantial posts to Yo Stevie. Here’s the first. It’s about that dirtbaggiest of films, Katsuhiro Otomo’s 1988 animated classic, Akira.

For those of you who don’t know Akira, it’s a cyberpunk anime about the end of the world (oh those Japanese and their obsession with the apocalypse). It involves teenage motorcycle gangs, government conspiracies, and beings who can end existence with their minds.

Hmmm, what to say about this movie…oh, I know, it’s totally fucking awesome. But that’s nothing new, Kanye did pretty much remake the film for the “Stronger” video after all, and regardless of your stance on the rapper (I’m totally for him) I think we can all agree that he knows what’s up. But I’m not really interested in telling you how good Akira is. Google the film and you’ll find a thousand fan boyish run-ons about it. But I’m going to write about it, because this is a film that latches onto your brain and can’t be easily shook. So here are some thoughts that have been bouncing around my head since the last time I saw the cyberpunk masterpiece:


i. Kaneda

Kaneda, Akira’s hero, isn’t much of one. But he’s not the typical anti-hero either. Yeah, he’s the bad ass leader of The Capsules, the motorcycle gang at the center of the film, but his behavior isn’t as affected as the typical anti-hero we’re used to in so many films, books, and comics. Kaneda could care less about being cool, or mysterious, or anything, he just wants to do what he wants. And that’s what makes him awesome. He ends up saving the world, but rarely does the protector of the planet, come off as such a repellant dick.

Just look at his relationship with Tetsuo, the gang member Kaneda has to stop from using his psychokinetic powers to destroy the world. Kaneda cares for him like a brother, but it’s key that he sees him as a little brother, even though they are the same age. There’s a love there, but really it’s just another opportunity for Kaneda to establish superiority. You almost get the feeling, that it’s more important to him to defeat Tetsuo, and maintain his position over him, than to save the planet. Things are similar with Kei, the only girl member of the rebel group. Kaneda saves her time and time again, but it’s clear he’s only coming to her rescue in the hopes that he’ll eventually get to see her without her clothes on. It’s not that he’s heartless, it’s just that with Kaneda, his interests come before others.

Out of context, this probably sounds shitty, but it isn’t. It works perfectly with the films attitude. You do shit because its cool and because you have to. If you end up being a hero along the way, then so be it.

ii. The Animation

I can’t think of another animated film, made traditionally or with computers, that looks better than Akira. That’s impressive, especially when you consider that the film is turns 22 this year. You see crazy stuff in animated films all the time, especially in anime, but few if any pack the visceral punch of Otomo’s film.

From the characters to the machines, there’s a sense of detail that just isn’t in present in other animated movies. Clothes ruffle in the wind, individual bricks fall from crumbling buildings, singular tendons are visible when limbs explode. To some, it might be a bit much, but it shows the care put into the film, the obsessive need to render everything, to give a cartoon a sense of reality, regardless of how absurd or fantastical the film is.

The movement throughout the film also looks incredibly realistic. Cars and motorcycles actually seem to interact with the pavement beneath them and the characters move like people really do. It’s almost as if they whole thing were rotoscoped. It’s still a cartoonish of course, but there’s enough of a hint of reality for it to look believable. Like when Kaneda leaps off the back of a bike to save Tetsuo from the Clowns. He jumps from the bike, and hit’s the ground sprinting, nearly spilling but somehow keeping his feet. I’ve never seen someone leap from the back of a motorcycle and not fall, but I doubt it looks the same, but its done in such a way that it looks real.

But really, there’s probably no better animated touch than the light trails that follow the motorcycles as they tear through Neo Tokyo. It’s a simple stylized effect, but it’s haunting, one of the images from the film guaranteed to stick in anyone’s head.

iii. The Fashion

I want to dress like one of the Capsules. No lie. Pretty much everyone in the gang has kick-ass style (well, not Tetsuo, but he’s a vessel of destruction, he’s got other things to worry about). An ’80s touch is readily apparent in all the outfits (the film is a product of its time), but there’s also a classic bent to them as well. Think cyber punk meets the yacht club.

The clothes are casual and sharp at the same time. The most classic styles have an air of nonchalance to them, and that’s true of the best outfits in Akira. I wish gang members dressed like this in America, with sharp lapelled blazers, floppy polos, and well fitted jeans and slacks. Oh and the shoes! I’ve never been a fan of the slip on, but when they look like this, how can you not like them.


iv. Gangs

Not much to say about this one other than we started one because of the film. Otomo just makes them look so cool. You could say Akira is our bible. DB4L

***

Akira, not just a great anime, but a great film. If you haven’t seen it, Netflix or better yet, buy it. Immediately.

SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION (PART 87 IN A RECURRING SERIES)

Despite my noticeable absence from the halls of Yo Stevie these past few weeks, I have done some writing. Here’s a blog post I wrote for our friends over at The Beat of Young Los Angeles on House, one of two truly dirtbag movies I’ve seen this year, the other being Akira. More on that one later.

Now for your enjoyment a scene from House:

MISSIONARY DISCOGRAPHY

Too many gin and tonics.  Too little sleep.  My brain plays this song over and over:

Across 110th Street - Bobby Wo...

So things aren't all bad. 

New York is stuck in that shitty zone between winter and spring, and even though I hate when people complain about (or even talk about) the weather, well...I'm complaining about the weather.  Everything just feels like it needs a kick in the ass right now.

~ ~ ~

In shameless self-promoting news, go read my report from the front lines of ridiculous kids playing in ridiculous bands, over at Anthem.  Shout out to Kid Bueno!!!!
  

HERE IT IS, RIGHT NOW, ALWAYS, FOREVER

My new theme song (obviously).

WRANGLING, INTERNALLY

Clinic are creepy.  Way, way creepy.  I hadn't heard them for years until the other day, when "Walking With Thee" crept (fittingly) into my head.  What a song!  What a paranoid, offputting song.  Their first album, Internal Wrangler, is probably their best, though I loved Walking With Thee also (and, admittedly, I haven't heard their more recent work since then)--so really what I'm saying is that Internal Wrangler was my favorite.

In any case, it's weird, interesting stuff, and genuinely unique.  Making their way to me in my junior year of high school, they were certainly the odd men out among my general rotation of Radiohead, the Strokes, the White Stripes, and the Vines*.  But looking back now, they were probably the first in my continuing obsession with music that creeps me the fuck out: Ade Blackburn's strained, sneering voice; their obsession with surgical masks and odd costumes; the heavy, churning guitars; the eerie melodica lines that float over almost every track.   

It's pretty easy to draw the line from Clinic to other bands I love that possess this same creeping dread: Joy Division (a clear influence on Clinic), The Knife/Fever Ray, Xiu Xiu, Liars, and even, to a lesser extent, bands like TV On The Radio or Sunset Rubdown.  It's a difficult thing to express, but one that is instantly recognizable.

I hauled out Internal Wrangler and uploaded it to my elder statesman of a computer; it's currently in heavy rotation. Highly recommended.








*Hey, give me a break, it was 2002.  Also, I later saw the Vines play the Bluebird Theatre in Denver, CO, and it was legitimately awesome.  What's-his-name, Craig something, the lead singer, freaked out at the end of their set, took his shirt off, and proceeded to break every piece of equipment they owned.  

WE'VE GOT OUR FINGER ON THE PULSE OF AMERICA

 
Bits n snippets:

~ The esteemed FreeDarko has a killer guest article up about basketball in the Philippines.  Check that out, and make sure not to skimp on the YouTube clips (otherwise you might miss the mighty, virile mustache of Samboy "Skywalker" Lim). 

~ Daphne Guinness is wacky, lovable.

~ The A.V. Club rocks a sweet Inventory list this week, about essential B-side/rarities comps.

~The Future Is Now: Pizza comes in a cone!!!!!!!!!!!1!!
  
~I was at a bar last night and they were jamming vintage Liars, so:

This Dust Makes That Mud - Lia...

SPEND ALL YOUR MONEY BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND

Why is it that we don't have award show performances like this in America? I mean, yeah, this is, in some ways, typical bombastic fare for your Grammys etc. But you've got to admit, when on a US award show have you seen a crazy-ass mash-up featuring two interesting, groundbreaking artists (well, at least one anyway), with a shit-ton of harps and confetti? The best we got at the Grammys this year was Elton John singing with Lady Gaga, Stevie Nicks singing a Taylor Swift song, and Beyonce singing Alanis Morissette. What the fuck?

It's a little more than just the glory of this one performance, isn't it? Why isn't Dizzee Rascal big in the U.S.? After his latest album, I'm hardpressed to tell you why--it's dancy, it's club-ready, it's funny; it's just generally way more interesting than something like the aforementioned Gaga (sorry, Lady G; you may dress like a cowardly lion that lives in the house from the end of 2001, but your music is still boringsville), and Dizzee has got tons of what we blue-blooded Americans love: chutzpah, some would call it (and rightfully so).  So again: what the fuck?

And seriously, if you haven't checked out Tongue N' Cheek, you're doing yourself a fucking disservice. It's funny, it's "Bonkers," (har-har), and Dizzee is better than ever. It's probably his best album to date, in my opinion; the weird, Euro trance/house production actually suits him really well. On reflection, the super brittle grime stuff of his early albums could never fully support the bulky fluidity of his rhymes.  The hyperactive clubby shit works to his advantage, though I never thought I would enjoy this sort of thing until the album dropped.  Dizzee's rapping seems to recontextualize what I would generally consider to be shitty.  

I don't know how it works, just that it does:

ARE YOU A C-C-COP?

Sometimes my writing takes on this clipped tone. It's when I'm at my best. Ideas flow effortlessly and concisely. At once. It's when I don't feel like a fraud. When I feel like writing is what I'm supposed to do.

I get a few minutes of it a week and I keep them like a secret.

***

I was working on a mini-profile/interview of cartoonist Lisa Hanawalt and I realized that all my favorite young cartoonists are girls. Besides Hanawalt this list includes Matsumoto-esque Helen Jo (who I've written about here before), tough and violent as shit Michaela Zacchilli and the oh so cute Ines Estrada (Mexico!). Not that it means anything but it happened without me realizing it. I have always gotten along well with girls.

***

Do you think Brandon Jennings cares that we talk about his hair so much. I sure as hell hope not. And if he does, can you blame us.

***

(Gchat) Quote of the Week

adam.lodynsky: GETFAMILIAR! AIRHORN! AIRHORN!

i'm baaack

WE GOT (4) LOKO

This is how I felt when I woke up this morning.

THIEVES IN THE NIGHT

 
I first heard of UK design team of Reno Inchenko and Julie Rouzioux, a.k.a. White Trumpet, um...God knows where.  It was about a year ago, at least, and I was pretty interested by their Spring-Summer 2009 collection.  A lot of the stuff was rudimentary, but the ideas were fascinating to me: the repetition of triangles; the hazy, washed out photography; and the somewhat cheeky references to science.  After paging through the photos, I wrote down the name and URL in my notebook and totally forgot about it.  Until now.

Checking out the collections that White Trumpet have presented since then, I'm further intrigued.  For Autumn-Winter 2009/2010, they took inspiration from "the world’s most powerful particle accelerator"--some of it comes off as a little lazy, or a little cookie-cutter hipster clothes, but again, there is a power of line in a lot of the stuff that's pretty appealing.

But again, I'm really more taken with the foundation, with the concepts, than the actual out-and-out clothing.  I suppose partially that has to do with the fact that these are women's garments, and they simply don't appeal to me on a gut level of "I want to floss that shit."  But still, I'm almost troubled by my inability to separate a cool idea from middling execution.
  
Maybe the underlying point, then, is that the conceptual conceit of White Trumpet is solid, or at least an interesting and new approach--the translation of the majesty and mystery of astro/quantum physics into a wearable garment certainly peaks my interest--but the results are less than satisfactory.  That is to say, the product lags behind the ideas.  Some of the pieces are good, I'll give them that, but I'd like to see the brains behind the operation (Inchenko, presumably) join forces with someone a little more fashion forward.

Inspired by a particle accelarator?  That shit better look fuckin' nuts--no jersey dresses please.  

AND HAVE I LIVED MY LIFE TOO SELFISHLY BABY

Dear The Drums,

I'm buying what you're selling. So keep doing it.

Your songs about Obama and holding hands with girls make me feel warm during these cold (as shit) winter months.

With the exception of a Wavves record with Zach Hill on it, your full lenght will be what I look most forward to this year. Musically. That's big time.

Even when I'm rattled, you get me through it. Thanks for that.

Sincerely,

Bryan Hood

I THREW AWAY MY CANDY BAR, AND I ATE THE WRAPPER

There's something there for sure, but shit is mad complicated and I'm not going to wade into those waters.

MIND READING, MOUNTAIN DWELLING GOBLINZ

Too busy for anything right now except LINK-O-RAMA:

Japanese Monsters On Blast

Bill Murray Went To The Sorbonne And Is Smarter Than You

Holy Shit, Moonface Is Here (And OMG It's Free)

The Scottish Are Awesome

PEACE, BITCHES

I DO EXIST

We came up with the term nearly four years ago. To date, we've both only met three, really got to know one (each of us, that is). I think that's a good thing. Proves that they're something special.

The above image is by Hellen Jo, a Korean-American artist based out of the Bay Area. She wrote and drew this super rad comic called Jin & Jam last year, which I recommend to anyone whose ever even batted an eyelash at the work of Taiyo Matsumoto. Andrew and I went to see this and a handful of other paintings at GRNY's Playful Extremities art show (italicized or quotes? I'll go with italics, obviously) the first or second weekend of the New York experiment. Probably the second, the night after all this shit that neither of us had anything to do with went down. And to think, the teenage melodrama has only gotten more juicy since.

That's all.

COMING SOON: Fiction!

WHO THE F WORD ARE YOU YOU YOU

Here's the video for the new Xiu Xiu track, "Dear God, I Hate Myself."  As the description warns, don't watch it if you're, like, eating a sandwich or something.

HEADLESS HORSEMAN

A more substantial update is coming tomorrow, but I thought it worth mentioning the wealth of Salinger material currently awaiting you at the New Yorker.  The writers there sum up a lot of my own feelings in a much more succinct and beautiful way than my typo-ridden blog post ever could.

Feast your eyes on these for now.

I GOT 'LECTRIC GUITAR

MY COMPUTER BE ELDERLY

I don't think this dear ol' chum will last much longer...I've had it for just shy of 5 (!) years now, and it has travelled with me to several states, a couple different countries, and far too many apartments.  I just kind of have a gut feeling that this trusty G4 is on its last legs, and to that end I've been peering into its dustiest, murkiest corners, looking for random shit.

Today, I've been shuffling through the dozens of old Safari bookmarks I've made over the years.  Without further ado, the best of the bunch:

"Over the Edge With Pete Doherty": this Rolling Stone profile from March of 2006 came at the height of the "holy shit, Pete Doherty is fucking messed up" era, not long before he was thrown in jail and then The Guardian let him write articles from inside the slammer.  Amazing, terrible, harrowing, fascinating.  The bookmark dates back to my time living in the UK--we would read Pete's Guardian dispatches and eat Lion bars and laugh and laugh...  

Laura Splan: the website of a really interesting artist by the name of, yep, Laura Splan.  Her work is really interesting, and spans a lot of different media.  Sort of reminds me of Kiki Smith crossed with Tim Hawkinson.  Awesome.  This link was forwarded to me during my senior year, when I was heavily into themes of anatomy and the body in art (my Sculpture final liberally utilized lamb's hearts).

J.D. Salinger. Uncollected Writings: this one has taken on particular poignance in light of today's sad news.  But what better way to celebrate the man's life than to read one of these stories.  A fantastic resource.

Selected Civil War Photographs: a great database of Civil War photos, mostly by Mathew Brady, obvs.

New York Songlines: an amazing find from several years back, this site goes through Manhattan block by block, detailing the history of each address.  Fascinating for anyone into NY history.      

And that's me done.

PS: Computer, please survive until I have money to buy a replacement (though there could be no replacing you, baby, I swear).

THE LAUGHING MAN

The New York Times reports that JD Salinger has died, at the age of 91.

91 is a great span of years to live, but I still can't help but feel vaguely upset, in that way you do when well-know personages whom you greatly admire die.  Though his death will doubtless be "eulogized" in some incredibly half-assed way on Twitter and Facebook, I still feel moved to write a few things about Salinger and his work.

Not even the venerable Times is able to write a eulogy of Salinger without essentially reducing his fantastic (if admittedly rather small) body of work to one book, the ubiquitous Catcher in the Rye.  Like so many others, I was an instant fan of Catcher, and yes, it meant a lot to me as a youth.  But the primary argument against that novel, that it was juvenile or facile because its primary themes were too "angsty" or (in our generation's parlance) "emo" always range hollow.  Of course the book spoke to angry, confused teenagers who were frustrated by the world and considered everyone around them stupid or misguided.  The overarching tale, though, is not of a teen struggling against the constraints of adulthood, insomuch as it is of a person attempting to make peace with an imperfect world.  For some that's an easy--or nonexistent--task, but for many others it is a daily struggle that lasts a lifetime. 

Salinger himself was a prime case study of that struggle.  An extraoridinarily talented young man who met with quick success, he was nonetheless unable to come to terms with what that meant; he also always struck me as, eventually, afraid to share himself any further.  No doubt he had always been that way somewhat, and the spotlight of literary celebrity shone too brightly, and too hot.  I never really blamed him, even if I was frustrated that he seemed to have books upon books just stashed away in a safe in New Hampshire.

Though my copy of Catcher is definitely worn, I am also extraordinarily fond of Franny & Zooey, and I always considered it more of a novel unto itself than a set of two short stories.  Salinger's oeuvre is substantial enough to require and reward repeated readings, as he built up the mythology of the Glass family through over a dozen delicately calibrated and intertwined stories.

He may not have released a single book in my lifetime, but I can't help but feel a tinge of loss today.       

RICHARD SERRA SKATE PARK

 
I came across Mister Mort via a recent profile of young Mordechai over at The Cut.  Though I find some of it to be a little heavy on the "old man" look*,  and I'm unsure how "ironic" it all is, I still find myself generally charmed by the whole thing.  Plus, some of those old men can really fucking rock some shit, like this duder freestyle-brownbagging a Bud Heavy.  Less disciplined and formal than The Sartorlialist**, way less irritating and affected than Tavi (not linking to that horrific shit, sorry), I'll definitely be checking the site on the regular from now on.

It's always exciting to stumble upon any appreciation of casual male style; as a moderately stylish male myself, I find it encouraging and fascinating.  Ol' Morty promises to be a new source of ideas and inspiration on how to wear basic men's pieces in a new and interesting way.  Affordable (i.e. non-runway) men's style is a pretty narrow street--anywhere you go, you're going to find slightly different renditions of the same basic trends.  So until I learn to craft my own clothes, or can ball out sufficiently to get suits tailor-made like Wes Anderson, I have to stick with my tried and true method.  This method consists of a) wearing it as well as I can; and b) occasionally refreshing my jams.

On that note, I recently copped this sweet Mackintosh trench at Uniqlo.  I'm pretty psyched to rock this come warmer weather, although I don't know what that will be.  DID YOU KNOW: Charles Macintosh (yep no 'k') invented waterproof fabrics in 1823?  And did you further know...actually there's not much else to tell, except this one other dude Hancock perfected the fabrics with the invention of Vulcanization in 1830 (Macintosh's version tended to melt in hot weather.  Far out, man).

History lesson over.  The moral?  British people are boringsville.         

 
*A wise woman once said to me, "Kanye and all these hipster assholes just dress exactly like old men.  So unoriginal and lame."  Not saying I don't love me some Kanye--the guy is a mish-mash of super talented/super bonkers/super stylish/generally insane--but she had an excellent point.  Now here's a picture of Kanye wearing a full length fur coat:

**Shameless self-promotion: go read my profile of The Sartorialist that I wrote for Anthem like a year ago.  I mean, you know, if you wanna.

"ROOM SERVICE, MOTHAFUCKAH"

Abel Ferrara's King of New York is, to put it lightly, totally awesome.  Starring a very zombie-lookin' Christopher Walken as recently sprung drug kingpin Frank White, the film is a cavalcade of gun-toting B-Boys, coke snorting, and titties*.  The plot centers around Frank's attempts to reassert his dominance over the drug trade after his long absence, as well as fund a children's hospital in the Bronx.

But all that is secondary, in my opinion, to simply watching Walken inhabit the screen: bulging his eyeballs, doing a funky/freaky little dance, licking his teeth, demanding hot make-outs while riding the 7 train, and just generally being completely crazytown.

Adding to the fun are awesome appearances by Laurence Fishburne (billed here as "Larry," how casual), Wesley Snipes, Steve Buscemi (he's the marginally bad ass white guy that tests the quality of the drugs with some nerday-ass science lab shit, obvs), and David Caruso--who gives an amazingly unhinged performance as a hot-headed, mildly racist Brooklyn cop who's out to get Frank, LAW OR NO LAW.  Guess how that turns out...ok, he gets shot in the face.  Um, spoiler alert.  Too bad, because that no doubt ruined his awe-inspiring haircut.        

Oh, but to return to Larry Fishburne--his character "Jimmy Jump" is the best.  Simply wonderful.  He has a grill, a gold rope chain, leather jacket, crazy huge sunglasses--basically he looks like Schoolly D.  Ferrara helpfully plays Schoolly D tracks throughout the movie, multiplying the awesome. 

In short, King of New York is similar in grim, gritty appeal to Ferrara's totally bonkers masterpiece Bad Lieutenant, but it's a lot funnier.

Rating: Highly Recommended/Bitchin'


*Normally I would never employ a word so crude as this, but if you've seen the movie, you'll realize that I really had no choice whatsoever. 

RETURN OF THE BIG RAPPER COAT

Um.  This just revitalized my day.



Stolen from Pitchfork News from like 5 days ago. They probably stole it from someone else. Someone Swedish.

DUMB

I finally saw Avatar last night, and I have to say: not impressed.  I'll refrain from making the already well-noted Ferngully comparison, and say instead that I found the effects to be alright, but very, very far from the "revolution in cinema" that they've been trumpeted to be.  Mostly, it seemed like typical 3-D movie fare, a cheap gimmick where shit in the foreground jumps out.  Basically, it was like watching the world's most expensive (and least interactive) video game.  That's what it looked like: expensive.  Oh, and the plot was lame and derivative, the lines were corny, and Giovanni Ribisi wasted, yet again, his charm and (presumably not inconsiderable) talent. 

Anyway, my brain is pretty dead at the moment--whether that's Avatar's fault is not, at this juncture, entirely clear, but treading water today at work, I've had a chance to read the following articles:

1. Sam Anderson reviews DeLillo's latest, Point Omega.  A pretty fascinating review; I like Anderson's writing a lot, and even though the review is ambivalent at best, it makes the book sound amazing. 

2.  The Times Magazine chronicles the power and the money (money and the power) of serial writer James Patterson, whom they make seem like a populist promoter of reading-as-fun, but whom I consider to be a charlatan.

3. The New Yorker profiles Neil Gaiman, and in doing so basically confirms every reason for which I've long shied away from Gaiman and his work.  The article is packed with goth references, creepy fan-girls, and self-consciously "weird" and "quirky" affectations, but still (like so many New Yorker profiles) manages to be deeply fascinating and curiosity-inspiring.  Consider this a positive version of the "super prolific writer who makes mad bank selling tons of books," in sharp contrast to the Patterson piece above.

4. Amazing over-the-weekend post by Ty/Eric on Free Darko about Phil Jackson's Book Club Selections for this year's team.  Am left wondering if  Pau's copy of 2666 was in Spanish or the translation...   

That's the report. Work sucks, peace out.

AZIZ GET OUT OF THIS GROUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Event:

Nacho Hat Meeting #2

Participants:

Zebulon

Bryan (I don't have a cool nickname or middle name yet)

Description:

What happened....awesomeness. BTW alert!!!! Did you know that Blogger doesn't recognize "awesomeness" as a word? Bullshit.

Let me run through shit...

1. We went to the Lakers/Knicks game. Result...Lakers win, the Lakers win, the LAAAAAAAAAAAAKERS win!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, that's right it was awesome.

2. We done got to see Bill Clinton in person! In person! Did you hear that? In person!

3. The International Bar. Grimey as fuck (well, just grimey, I'll use "grimey as fuck to describe bars like the Drawing Room and Taps), but kind of awesome. There was a couple, a non-romantic couple, who were taking pictures of everything. Drink of a beer? Picture! Boy wearing scarf? Picture! Girl weirdly adjusting her breasts? Picture! Yeah, that's right, they took pictures of everything. EVERYTHING.

4. My feet hurt. This actually was a running plot point through out the day. Verdict? It sucked. But still my shoes...I mean my boots, look kind of awesome. Pain=fashion.

5. The Richardson. Last time we were here we watched a weird looking boy and girl spend like fucking hour trying to throw a bike inner-tube over a street light. Anyway, that didn't happen this time, but the Richardson was kinda nice. Two Manhattans a happy Bryan make. Rumor has it at least.

And that was the night. As you can tell the second Nacho Hat meeting of the year was an x-core success. X-core.

P.S. Have you seen Miranda Kerr's butt? It's fantastic.

Extra P.S. Apparently it's now up to four (three if we don't count sneak attacks) for 2010, and it's not even February yet! Victor? Definitely not!

I'M GONNA HEAD TO BOX ELDER

A Pavement mini-essay, in two parts:

Part 1: "No Pavement Reunion Now!"

As a long-time opponent of reunion tours generally (Pixies, I am angrily and ominously pointing my finger at you), the announcement in late 2009 of the Pavement reunion concerts caused me particular chagrin.  As a 15 year old just then delving into interesting music in general and the catalog of Pavement in particular, the 1999 dissolution of that slapdash, lackidasical band left me feeling particularly left out and passed over and fucking unlucky.  For some unknown reason, my parents had chosen to raise their children in a rural backwater of Southwestern Colorado, meaning the chance of seeing any non-bluegrass or jam-band-oriented concert was pretty much nil.  The further consequence of this was that I had had virtually no chance of ever seeing Pavement perform, and then, suddenly, I had absolutely no chance.

It was crushing.  And yet, hearing now that SM and Spiral Stairs will join the rest of the gang in a series of new performances, I can only feel depressed. 

STEVIE'S MARCH TO THE SEA

2010 is here.  With it comes a revitalized Yo, Stevie Hawksylvania.  And this time, it's personal.

Or at the very least, taken a bit more seriously.  My compatriot and I are finally occupying the same coast, and we have begun, in this new year, to burn our particular path to the sea.

Welcome, friends.

TESTING

We're back...with a vengeance!!!