Zach Oooh!n
I know you don't talk much but yer such a good talker (oh, whoa)
On Wilco, Pudding, Angels, Champaign-Urbana, and Happiness; or Where to look when someone yells Fire, a list in 7 pieces, each delightfully tasty
7. Punch Drunk Love. I can only say a few things about this movie that make sense:
a. It is, by far, PTA's stangest film, with a narrative that ebbs and flows rather than wandering
b. It is, by far, PTA's best work, funny in a haphazard way, useful, and tender.
c. Philip Seymore Hoffman is an acting God (given one exists, which I don't) who cannot be stopped and is never never ever not the center of attention. One need only look at the scene where he says "Shut Up!" fifteen different ways, each varying from anger to confusion to regret to fear to anger.
d. Adam Sandler was made for movies like this
e. If you don't like silence in movies, that is if you prefer obscene amounts of background music/noise to keep you from having to be uncomfortably silent, you should probably wait to see this until it comes out on video. There are parts of this movie where nothing is said (or done) for thirty or more seconds, which just makes the point(s) more powerful, but you can't be a talker/popcorn shaker/egoist and sit through this movie. You have to be quiet. Quiet.
e (part two). See it. Just see it. I don't need to talk about it for hours; it's one of those movies that you see and love and think about and then it just doesn't make sense to blather on and on about it, if only to savor it ever so more. It'll take you 93 minutes to watch, cover to cover, and you'll never regret it.
6. Wilco I saw them last night. Foelinger Auditorium, Champaign-Urbana (see 3). No need for a long detailed review, so I'll give you one. Seeing them live on this tour (this was my...fourth time seeing them) was a revelation in that they proved that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is, by far, their least important work to date. That's not to say the album isn't stellar, cos it is. One needed only to see their rendering of "Reservations" last night, with Jeff Tweedy's breath audible over the chilling silence of the crowd (no bar noise/drunk talk/hipster corners to drown out the beautiful silence that is vital to a good live show) or the opening "War on War" to realize that YHF is a great record. But it was when they pulled out the golden oldies from 1996's (1996!!!!) Being There that Wilco showed their prowess, and proved ultimately that BT is their best work; their most accessible and most rich, their most beautiful and saddest record. I could have done without the new stuff in favor of a song by song rehashing of BT, but what would the point have been? "Heavy Metal Drummer" and "Jesus, etc." and "poor places" were great.
5. On Wilco, still. So I do have to point out that they have a new cast of characters. The new keyboard/2ndguitarist looks exactly like Peter Stormare (Give us the money, Lebowski!), and plays his ass off and loves being in the band, you can tell. The new drummer is wicked awesome. Wicked Awesome. A huge improvement: Plays as if he were in a rock band rather than a country band, which defined the night. There was also this guy...I don't like to harp on the fact that rock stars should look like rock stars, but for the love of god. This guy had on an Oxford shirt tucked in to jeans, the shirt buttoned up to the throat, and glasses that were straight outta Sherlock Holmes the Movie, and he was doing the sound effects from YHF on an Imac. At first he just made me mad cos I could have been doing the stuff he was doing, but then he started rocking out and I fell for the guy, much in the way you fall in love with a dog that has three legs and falls every time it tries to piss on a tree. The guy moved me, and by the end I wanted his fucking autograph.
4. On Wilco, still. My Favorite Favorite Favorite Musician of All Time to Watch Live has to be John Stirrat (2nd from right), aka the bass player from Wilco. He is a fucking happy guy. Happy as hell. Loves what he does. I read an interview right after the whole break-up/restructuring of the band where he was asked why he stuck around when everyone else was fired/quit, and he said, with sincerity that bled through the page, "Who would give up this gig?" He has a great voice, and his bass lines (See "a shot in the arm", which was also played very well last night) drive most of Summerteeth, which I hated for three years and now absolutely love. He reminds me of my dad, which is a clincher as far as if I respect someone, and he has a working class aesthetic that keeps the band from wandering too far into loopy territory. He also reminds me very much of Rick Danko, who just about kills me every time I watch him sing "It makes no difference" on The Last Waltz. Just a happy guy, a not-so-great looking guy, who is great at what he does and knows it and expects you to respect that without kissing his ass or waxing his car.
3. On Champaign-Urbana: it still pretty much sucks. Who wants to go to a school where you have to take a bus to class?!!?!? TheRyandI walked for fifteen minutes and barely got past three buildings. Too. Fucking. Too.
2. On Wilco, again. There was this girl in the front row who kept walking up and down the aisle as if she were going to the bar which did not exist. She had on this tight white (ry says light pink, but I don't distinguish) t-shirt and was trying to show off the fact that she had a big chest. Only problem: She had a dunlap, too. So she's walking up and down and trying to make a scene, and then the show starts and she's booty dancing (BOOTY DANCING!) in the front row and singing along like she's at a Shania Twain show, and trying to get Jeff Tweedy and MFFFMOATTWL to look at her, but those guys are fucking pros and they just look right over her, and she tries harder and harder until one of them looks at her, and she just does this spastic dance as if they were in love with her, and MFFFMOATTWL just sorta sneers and looks away and she doesn't stop and I hate her.
1. Angels! I know what yer thinking: How did you watch the game whilst watching Wilco? Two words: VCR. Yes, I taped the World Series. Yes, I avoided sports radio all the way home. Yes, when I got home I watched the game in Fast Forward. Yes, I fast forwarded through the trouble in the ninth cos I'm an F'n pussy who can't handle embarassing/pressure situations. Yes, I celebrate. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Next five: "Monday" by wilco (which I missed cos they played it during their second encore, and I don't beg a band to come out twice so we left); "colour" by waxwing; "it makes no difference" by the band; "dropped like a bad habit for no reason" by the lois lane; and "red eyed + blue" by wilco.
in the (office) stereo: Wilco--Being There Disc Two
I know you don't talk much but yer such a good talker (oh, whoa)
On Wilco, Pudding, Angels, Champaign-Urbana, and Happiness; or Where to look when someone yells Fire, a list in 7 pieces, each delightfully tasty
7. Punch Drunk Love. I can only say a few things about this movie that make sense:
a. It is, by far, PTA's stangest film, with a narrative that ebbs and flows rather than wandering
b. It is, by far, PTA's best work, funny in a haphazard way, useful, and tender.
c. Philip Seymore Hoffman is an acting God (given one exists, which I don't) who cannot be stopped and is never never ever not the center of attention. One need only look at the scene where he says "Shut Up!" fifteen different ways, each varying from anger to confusion to regret to fear to anger.
d. Adam Sandler was made for movies like this
e. If you don't like silence in movies, that is if you prefer obscene amounts of background music/noise to keep you from having to be uncomfortably silent, you should probably wait to see this until it comes out on video. There are parts of this movie where nothing is said (or done) for thirty or more seconds, which just makes the point(s) more powerful, but you can't be a talker/popcorn shaker/egoist and sit through this movie. You have to be quiet. Quiet.
e (part two). See it. Just see it. I don't need to talk about it for hours; it's one of those movies that you see and love and think about and then it just doesn't make sense to blather on and on about it, if only to savor it ever so more. It'll take you 93 minutes to watch, cover to cover, and you'll never regret it.
6. Wilco I saw them last night. Foelinger Auditorium, Champaign-Urbana (see 3). No need for a long detailed review, so I'll give you one. Seeing them live on this tour (this was my...fourth time seeing them) was a revelation in that they proved that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is, by far, their least important work to date. That's not to say the album isn't stellar, cos it is. One needed only to see their rendering of "Reservations" last night, with Jeff Tweedy's breath audible over the chilling silence of the crowd (no bar noise/drunk talk/hipster corners to drown out the beautiful silence that is vital to a good live show) or the opening "War on War" to realize that YHF is a great record. But it was when they pulled out the golden oldies from 1996's (1996!!!!) Being There that Wilco showed their prowess, and proved ultimately that BT is their best work; their most accessible and most rich, their most beautiful and saddest record. I could have done without the new stuff in favor of a song by song rehashing of BT, but what would the point have been? "Heavy Metal Drummer" and "Jesus, etc." and "poor places" were great.
5. On Wilco, still. So I do have to point out that they have a new cast of characters. The new keyboard/2ndguitarist looks exactly like Peter Stormare (Give us the money, Lebowski!), and plays his ass off and loves being in the band, you can tell. The new drummer is wicked awesome. Wicked Awesome. A huge improvement: Plays as if he were in a rock band rather than a country band, which defined the night. There was also this guy...I don't like to harp on the fact that rock stars should look like rock stars, but for the love of god. This guy had on an Oxford shirt tucked in to jeans, the shirt buttoned up to the throat, and glasses that were straight outta Sherlock Holmes the Movie, and he was doing the sound effects from YHF on an Imac. At first he just made me mad cos I could have been doing the stuff he was doing, but then he started rocking out and I fell for the guy, much in the way you fall in love with a dog that has three legs and falls every time it tries to piss on a tree. The guy moved me, and by the end I wanted his fucking autograph.
4. On Wilco, still. My Favorite Favorite Favorite Musician of All Time to Watch Live has to be John Stirrat (2nd from right), aka the bass player from Wilco. He is a fucking happy guy. Happy as hell. Loves what he does. I read an interview right after the whole break-up/restructuring of the band where he was asked why he stuck around when everyone else was fired/quit, and he said, with sincerity that bled through the page, "Who would give up this gig?" He has a great voice, and his bass lines (See "a shot in the arm", which was also played very well last night) drive most of Summerteeth, which I hated for three years and now absolutely love. He reminds me of my dad, which is a clincher as far as if I respect someone, and he has a working class aesthetic that keeps the band from wandering too far into loopy territory. He also reminds me very much of Rick Danko, who just about kills me every time I watch him sing "It makes no difference" on The Last Waltz. Just a happy guy, a not-so-great looking guy, who is great at what he does and knows it and expects you to respect that without kissing his ass or waxing his car.
3. On Champaign-Urbana: it still pretty much sucks. Who wants to go to a school where you have to take a bus to class?!!?!? TheRyandI walked for fifteen minutes and barely got past three buildings. Too. Fucking. Too.
2. On Wilco, again. There was this girl in the front row who kept walking up and down the aisle as if she were going to the bar which did not exist. She had on this tight white (ry says light pink, but I don't distinguish) t-shirt and was trying to show off the fact that she had a big chest. Only problem: She had a dunlap, too. So she's walking up and down and trying to make a scene, and then the show starts and she's booty dancing (BOOTY DANCING!) in the front row and singing along like she's at a Shania Twain show, and trying to get Jeff Tweedy and MFFFMOATTWL to look at her, but those guys are fucking pros and they just look right over her, and she tries harder and harder until one of them looks at her, and she just does this spastic dance as if they were in love with her, and MFFFMOATTWL just sorta sneers and looks away and she doesn't stop and I hate her.
1. Angels! I know what yer thinking: How did you watch the game whilst watching Wilco? Two words: VCR. Yes, I taped the World Series. Yes, I avoided sports radio all the way home. Yes, when I got home I watched the game in Fast Forward. Yes, I fast forwarded through the trouble in the ninth cos I'm an F'n pussy who can't handle embarassing/pressure situations. Yes, I celebrate. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Next five: "Monday" by wilco (which I missed cos they played it during their second encore, and I don't beg a band to come out twice so we left); "colour" by waxwing; "it makes no difference" by the band; "dropped like a bad habit for no reason" by the lois lane; and "red eyed + blue" by wilco.
in the (office) stereo: Wilco--Being There Disc Two
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