Zombie Vision: Super Bowl XLVI Half Time Show

The blogosphere was aghast when Madonna lost her footing during Sunday’s Super Bowl XLVI half time show. Most revelers blamed her five-foot stiletto boots, but little did they know the majority of her back-up dancers were, you guessed it…zombies.

That Roman-clad tightrope dancer was actually a disoriented, balancing undead. He wasn’t attempting to give the “Like a Virgin” singer a smooch, but rather take a bite out of her well-preserved cheek. Even Zombies need to keep their blood sugar up when busting a move.

M.I.A may have got the FCC up in arms over flashing her middle finger at the cameras during the big spectacular, but let’s throw the singer a bone, or how about four, since the rowdy undead sport spectators gnawed off almost all her fingers. The pre-game tailgating got a bit out of hand. The poor thing was just showing her enthusiasm for her #1 team – The Giants with the one finger she had left. It’s quite big of her to be willing to pay all costs associated with the incident since it’s going to cost some real moolah for a bejeweled prosthetic hand.

Just Another Manic Brooday

Sibling rivalry

Life can sometimes feel like a scene from David Cronenberg’s (videodrome, The Fly) 1979 horror flick The Brood. One false move and you could be bludgeoned to death by a pajama clad unisex pack of anger babies. Yep, I said anger babies!

The Brood centers on Frank Carveth, a stone-faced father of the year type played by Art Hindle, his troubled wife, Nola played by Samantha Eggar and their mute angelic daughter, Candice played by Cindy Hinds. Nothing can turn Nola’s frown upside down, not even Frank’s wind resistant featherific hair, so she checks herself into an alternative psychotherapy facility operated by an over emoting Oliver Reid as Dr. Hal Raglan. The doctor transforms his patients’ mental anguish into physical manifestations such as weeping blisters and a pulsating goiter.

Things get real after Frankie finds bruises on his daughter after a sleepover with her loony mommy and her pus-filled pals at la casa de crazy pants. It suddenly appears that Candice’s injuries are connected to a string of mutant dwarf attacks in town. These tiny thugs come dressed to the nines in matching snowsuits (who took these midget terrorists on a shopping spree) to kidnap little Candice and drag her back to (dramatic pause) the mental hospital in the woods. This all comes to a disgusting climax when Frank tries to retrieve the apple of his eye and discovers that the pig-faced brood is actually the physical embodiment of his wife’s anger. Dr. Raglan crosses over to the white light and offers to tip toe into the anger babies’ den to save Candice from her freakish siblings. The effects are simple and obvious, but a room full of hooded, pajama clad dummies sleeping sitting up is traumatic. Frank’s visit with his wife only exacerbates her emotional state therefore her anger-based offspring. Nola lifts her house coat to reveal an external uterus, which she tares open with her teeth in order to give birth to more hateful gory self-sufficient babies. The doctor tries to keep his cool and escape with Candice, but as Nola’s emotions rise he finds himself in the center of a mutant toddler shit storm. They literally start falling around him from their bunk beds.

Most of the cast is too busy mugging for the camera or giving their best Royal Shakespeare Company audition to produce any truly organic moments, but their over-acting mostly enhances the absurdity of the film. Art Hindle’s under cooked performance as Frank would normally seem disconnected, but it serves as a perfect counterpoint to Reid’s scowling intensity. This is one of Cronenberg’s more underrated films, but this stepping-stone is autobiographical and a metaphor for the writer-director’s own divorce and custody battle. The plot might seem fantastical, but the struggle between meeting one’s needs and meeting one’s familial obligations is based in reality.  This small fashionable posse will haunt you until your next therapy session.

Sunday in Astoria

I took an endless afternoon walk through my old neighborhood passed the time warp Cronin and Phelan down Broadway passed dirt parks with basketball and handball courts. People were still throwing crap out of the windows of my old apartment building and I saw two parrots on the street. They probably appreciate pavement filled walks more than cages, but I feel like leashed parrots should be outlawed. It’s just creepy. This woman came down Steinway in a scooter wheelchair with a basket. I thought she was crying based on the faces she was making, but my friend pointed out that she was talking to her parrot sitting on her handle bars. Once again everyday parrot talk gets mistaken for a woman having a mobile breakdown. Tell me that’s not creepy?!

I met these two ladies along the way. Who knew there was a specialty store for used shoes, worn in scrubs and lady tuxedos. This bronze mannequin was so depressed about her shirt she tried to hang herself. Her friend was too busy being debonair with her Dorothy Hamill cut to call a suicide hotline.

Shepard Fairey’s May Day Exhibit at Deitch Projects

Shepard Fairey, the street artist behind the iconic Andre the Giant “Obey” poster (“No more rhymes now, I mean it. Anybody want a peanut”, RIP Andre the Giant) and the Barack Obama “Hope” poster, May Day exhibition is running until May 29th at the Deitch Projects in Soho.

Fairey brings his street art inside and tries to convey a political message with his sharp graphics. The exhibit’s title May Day is the name of a day observed in many countries as International Worker’s Day or Labor Day, a day of political demonstrations and celebrations coordinated by unions and socialist groups. Shepard provokes conversation with his propaganda images set in a pretend socialist society. Telling us to obey or as one piece in the exhibit states, “trust what you hear not what you see.”

I was looking forward to seeing the artist’s work close up rather than up above on some water tower. And I was surprised by my degree of enthusiasm when I arrived at the gallery. Most of the pieces were multi-media and layered. Some pieces overlapped transparent material to create depth and others layered the canvas with old medical journals and wall paper to simulate a flyer cloaked wall. This technique added not only a visual, but emotional complexity to the work. The piece American Favorite saturates the recycled layers in the deep hues of an austere stenciled image of a gas station. The title adding subtext to the generic and aesthetically pleasing design. It was captivating and impressive to see Fairey morph his street style into respectable gallery fare.

The exhibit caused me to have a delayed reaction to the recently released Banksy film Exit Through the Gift Shop. I caught it in LA at the Arclight with some friends expecting nothing and loved it. The always likable Rhys Ifans narrates the film about Thierry Guetta a French transplant living in LA with his wife and kids. Guetta compulsively records everything in an attempt to work out the remnants of a childhood trauma. He begins to obsess over graffiti art while recording his cousin, street artists Space Invader while visiting family in France. He befriends and obtains exclusive footage of such artists as Shepard Fairey and the elusive Bansky. Thierry is automatically lovable with his mutton chops and spare tire, but he also seems sort of mentally unhinged. Banksy pulls a bait and switch on Thierry by encouraging him to leave Banksy his footage and go back to LA to make art. Banksy inadvertently unleashes a ravenous fame whore. Guetta transforms into the street artist Mr. Brainwash and begins to make a mockery of his talented friends while weighing down his pockets.

Personally, I feel that May Day is an example of genuine originality and talent while Guetta’s show is an example of the exploitation of art in the pursuit of fame. A deflated Fairey appears in the film at Guetta’s overhyped LA show Life is Beautiful. Lost in a manic sea of oversized hot wheels and spray cans he appears sincerely hurt that someone he trusted could defecate so successfully on his belief system . Shepard seemed resigned that sometimes all it takes is a gimmick. It is sort of ironic that Fairey has been accused of doing the same thing, but maybe that is par for the course when you comment on logos and iconic imagery by imitating them. In the past he has taken legal measures to stop the use of his copyrighted images while successfully using other’s copyrighted images such as the high-profile Associated Press photo of Barack Obama by Mannie Garcia.

Iron Man Strikes Back

I absolutely love this photo because I absolutely hate Terrance Howard. He comes off like such an egotistical douche. He is a good-looking guy and not a bad actor, but its the attitude he exudes through the way he talks and walks. It makes me just want to punch him in the face. I’ve always felt this way about him and was so disappointed when he popped up in the first few minutes of Iron Man. I automatically thought well, great, now I’m going to hate this movie. Howard didn’t appear too often as James “Rhodey” Rhodes in the first movie and sort of disappeared behind the action and Robert Downey Jr.’s wall of charm. I went into Iron Man II prepared to deal with Howard’s presence, but got a surprise treat. He had been replaced by Don Cheadle.

It wasn’t as weird as when they replaced Becky on Roseanne or Jan Brady in the Brady Bunch Variety Show, but it did seem strange for Howard not to want to be in the sequel. After all his character develops into the sidekick War Machine and his relationship with Downey’s Tony Stark is a major plot point. I’ve heard two reasons why the role was recast: Howard wanted too much money and that Howard was such a pompous a-hole that they didn’t want to work with him again. I like to think it was the latter.

The best part of the Iron Man series is Robert Downey Jr.. He is a great self-deprecating clown on and off the screen. Some of his best roles have been complicated showman with dark interiors like Chaplin and Sherlock Holmes. This movie is  action fluff, but Downey’s magnetic charm and spontaneity make it solid.

The recycled premise hits all the comic book clichés: Rival families, daddy issues, revenge, double identities and the list goes on. The Avengers are introduced into this growing franchise. Scarlett Johansson can be impressive as an actress, but I’m sick of her being over sexualized. Her character’s alter-ego Black Widow does wear a unitard, but does she have to flash her bedroom eyes while notarizing documents. Johansson gains some street cred with a bad ass gymnastic fight scene in which she single-handedly takes out an entire security team.

After years of professional boxing and plastic surgery Mickey Rourke is typecast as a beast. He plays the bruised monster Ivan Vanko the vengeful son of Stark’s father’s old collaborator. The combination of Rourke’s real and fake prison tattoos make him even more horrific. Thankfully his dialogue is limited because his Russian accent is kind of terrible. Sam Rockwell overshadows Rourke’s evil barbaric physicist with his cocky over compensating Justin Hammer the CEO of Stark’s competitor. Rockwell’s fool is a slick dressed, fast talking idiot with some James Brown moves.

Gwyneth Paltrow does more than wear a pencil skirt well as Iron Man’s love interest and confidant Pepper Potts. She really tries to flush out her character and play it real even in fantastical moments. Pepper’s story line seems extraneous, but one of my favorite scenes in the entire movie is between Paltrow and Downey. Downey’s Stark attempts to apologize to Pepper with a crate full of strawberries in her office. The scene seems totally off the cuff. Downey is constantly distracted by inanimate objects and hilariously ends the scene by clumsily trying to throw the strawberries away in a garbage can way too small. Strawberries fall everywhere and the impromptu feel brings out the absent-minded professor side of the super hero.

The movie is about 30-45 minutes too long and there are way too many characters and sub-plots. Jon Favreau’s Happy Hogan is always a nice addition to any scene, but appears less often than he did in the first movie. Like Faveau, the film’s director, Iron Man II is generally smart, but not afraid to have a good time or be the butt of the joke.

Thom York Visits NYC with Atoms for Peace

I battled to get to Roseland Ballroom to catch the East Coast tour of Thom York’s side project Atoms for Peace. Ike Eisenhower stirred from beyond as his words loomed from above on the venues marquee Tuesday night.

An epic line boxed me in as I surfaced from the subway. Two awkward best buds volunteered details about a mandatory evacuation on 52^nd Street due to a manhole explosion. All York ticket holders were banned from entering the area and forced to create a makeshift line. Unfortunately, I didn’t make a significant connection with my two new friends and after some Thom York fun facts I started my pilgrimage to the end of the expanding line. The caution tape multiplied with every step away from 8^th Avenue. I landed in the center of Broadway diagonally across from the Winter Garden Theater.  Steam impatiently pushed out of several open manholes being evaluated by city workers and crowds of tourists. Fire and police vehicles swarmed around the four block radius. The cops left all of us fearful paperless ticket holders alone while an impromptu sermon with hymns broke out on the corner. A massive group of Midwesterners rocked side to side with their arms raised high to their lord and savior. It was bizarre, but good entertainment as we all waited for details. No details came, but I made it to RB’s back entrance after an hour. The paperless system added more waiting as they ran everyone’s credit cards at the door. The lines did not stop there. There was a chaotic cluster around one dude checking IDs for drink bracelets and then several lines leading to the bar. Thankfully, the bartender was generous with his pour. I bet Michael Stipe, David Byrne and Nick Valensi from The Strokes didn’t wait on any lines in the VIP section on the upper level!

The last time I was at Roseland I was sixteen. I started having ska flashbacks in the spacious ladies room. If nothing else the experience brought back memories of my high school friend Karen. She was a straight A student with an obsession for glam metal. She was pretty much up for anything and eventually became my regular concert companion. I was met with a wall of people when I returned drink in hand to the center of the filled to capacity venue. I tried to work my way through the exhilarated crowd, but ended up nestled or should I say lodged between a really good-looking guy and the sound booth. My surroundings fell away as York’s falsetto washed across the room like a deep exhale.

York’s performance had a sense of freedom and ownership. He strutted, quivered and gesticulated all over the stage and even while sitting at his piano. A blueberry haired Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed to purposefully not upstage York. Although, he did manage to make it appear as though it was necessary for him to dance in order to play his guitar. The rest of the band included longtime Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich on keyboards, Joey Waronker of R.E.M and Beck on drums and Mauro Refosco from David Byrne’s band on percussion. The strong group seemed solely present to serve York and his music.

They played his entire album The Eraser, but replaced the human less electronic beats with handmade sounds. It was thrilling to watch and listen to pure York. The band gave him the stage at one point so he could play a solo set featuring the live debut of a ballad with the working title A Walk Down the Staircase. The crowd was so plugged into his small silhouette alone on stage with nothing but his guitar. The rest of Radiohead was absent, but their music was not. York played a piano version of Everything In Its Right Place and for the encore There, There and the B-side Paperbag Writer.

It was sad to see them leave the stage, but they literally had nothing left to play. People exited like a stampede of ants through the main lobby. Everyone including myself pulled their cell phones out and pointed them at the band’s name encased in hot pink neon lights on 52nd Street. The womb like feeling of the packed venue dissipated as the rowdy road construction took over as the satisfied fans folded back into the chaos.

Top 5 Songs Stuck on Repeat

I have a ridiculous amount of music piled onto my ‘retro’ iPod. Retro iPod sounds like an oxymoron, but I have the iPod Classic (4th generation y’all) and just like Classic Coke it’s just another marketing ploy to make old seem nice.

I pulled it from my coat pocket  on the  subway and some  woman and her bemused  child  looked up at me and said  excuse me,  but what is that?  Like I was Michael J.  Fox wandering the 1950s in a  down winter  vest and everyone  was puzzled by my  shipwreck  chic life-preserver. Um, that’s ‘classic’ Back to the Future btw. I felt like I was insulting them when I explained it only played music. They still seemed confused and frankly, sort of disappointed in me. Don’t worry, I’m disappointed in me too perfect strangers.

The benefit of carrying around the modern-day equivalent of a boom box is that it will take me close to a lifetime to fill all the gig space. I’ve got it all: Al Green to keep me company when I want to be left alone with How Can You Mend a Broken Heart, Block Party to sooth me with So Here We Are and embarrassingly anything by Beyonce` to get me around the track when I feel like my training wheels are about to bust off. Every fleeting life moment is represented, but I’m usually haunted by the same five songs until I get sick of them.

Here are the Top Five Songs stuck on repeat (crack for my crack baby ears):

Walkabout (w/Noah Lennox) from Logos by Atlas Sound

I want this album to be my best friend and I want to hang out together all summer. We can sneak out onto my roof at night, buy Laffy Taffy from the deli and fall asleep on the beach during the day.

Atlas Sound is the solo project of Deerhunter front man, Brian Cox.  Cox was a lonely awkward pre-teen filling in the empty cracks of suburbia when he started using a two deck cassette player to create a layered ambient sound. His solo project’s name derives from the type of tape player he used to originate his sound back in those friendless days. He says he doesn’t write lyrics in advance, but rather follows a stream of consciousness. Cox constructs his songs by adding parts until it feels like it’s getting crowded.

Walkabout was the first track off this album and is a collaborative effort with Noah Lennox from Panda Bear. Cox has never been shy about showing his admiration for Panda Bear and even commented on their album Person Pitch, saying “I admit jealousy. When I heard this record I was actually annoyed at how perfect it was. Then I realized it was not the sound of doors closing I was hearing, but doors opening. Poetic.” This metaphor of opening doors is fitting because Walkabouts is saturated with Cox’s nostalgic sound, but Lennox’s influence keeps the mood afloat and optimistic.

The Ballad of the RAA from Hometowns by The Rural Alberta Advantage

Why do so many sincerely exciting indie rock bands come from Canada? The Toronto-based trio, led by Alberta native Nils Edenloff, wrings this hankie of an album full of wistful authenticity. Edenloff’s earnest and nasal voice sounds like its being forced out of him by some deep emotional need. Their debut album keeps pulses high with relentless drums and leaves you full of longing with thoughtful acoustic guitar.

The band’s theme song The Ballad of the RAA incorporates everything that is really awesome and unique about this entire album; it barrels out of the gates with voracious beats and wallowing synthesizer complemented by Edenloff’s pleading voice. The song is layered with cello and promising glockenspiel bursting into a swift pace which makes Edenloff’s cappella even more effective.

I Felt Stupid (single) by The Drums

My favorite quote about this Brooklyn based band by way of Florida is by Kevin O’Donnell from Rolling Stone, “Ever wonder what kind of music the Cure’s Robert Smith would make if he took some Prozac and got a tan?” Jon Pierce started The Drums on the heels of his band Elkland with help from former Goat Explosion member Jacob Graham of Orlando’s Flashlight Party, Adam Kessler and Connor Hanwick. They might seem like hipsters ironically producing sugar cane surf music, but their synth-pop is layered with ingenuity marinated in their influences such as Joy Division and The Smiths.

I Felt Stupid the band’s second single is like a danceable breakdown. The song’s peppy 80s sound keeps you moving while the lyrics yearn for lost love, “Come and sit with me /and I’ll give you every bit of my heart” and project self blame, “Have I lived my life so selfishly?” The chorus might be mournful, but it also serves as a kick ass dance break.

Their album Summertime is like sand stuck in your bathing suit, but in a good way. Every sentimental moment is moist with salty self-awareness and two seconds away from the end of summer. The hand claps and jaunty whistles might seem chipper, but Jonathon Peirce’s lyrics wilt with melancholy, “summer’s just beginning baby/I might learn to hate you lady.”

What’s It For (single) by Avi Buffalo

What else can you do, but strive for cool with a name like Avigdor Zahner-Isenberg. Little Avi (and he is truly tiny) decided to focus all his adolescent frustration on one thing: skate boarding, but when that became too terrifying (I bet it was lil man) he decided to focus on learning guitar. He took lessons with some old blues players on the west coast and joined a jam band, but that didn’t fit his musical sensibilities so he took to the road with his only true love, his guitar. Well, more like he went down the road to his high school, Millikan High in Long Beach, CA where he met the rest of the band: Sheridan Riley on drums (instant points for a female drummer), Rebecca Coleman on piano and Arin Fazio on bass.

Their single What’s in It For has an ethereal and unapologetic chorus. Ari’s voice strains while crooning about drunken hookups with no promises. There is something kind of beautiful about this song and can you go wrong with lyrics like, “You are tiny and your lips are like little pieces of bacon”?

I first saw AB open up for Owen Pallet at Bowery Ballroom and after hearing only a couple of songs I was bummed I missed the beginning of their set. Ari definitely caught my attention with his high notes that ache with sincerity, but it was really the bands demeanor that got me. They are so honest on stage and seem to just do what is natural which happens to be rich melodic pop. Maybe, they are so unaffected at this point that they don’t know how to be anything, but good.

I learned my lesson the first time and made sure I wasn’t late when they opened up for Rogue Wave at Music Hall of Williamsburg. Looks like word got out because this time the audience was filled with impatient fans eager to hear their favorite AB songs waiting with bated breath to mouth each lyric. The band is in like flint and their last stop was SXSW, one of the biggest musical festivals in the US, at this rate these pups will probably have a major overdose, break-up, all go to rehab and reunite all before they are old enough to rent a car.

Generator 2nd Floor from Weathervanes by Freelance Whales

I actually don’t love Freelance Whales‘ entire self-released album Weathervanes, but I think it’s a promising piece of work. They are not the first band to release their own album, but the recording quality is impressive. I also, think it’s funny that Death Cab for Cutie and Sufjan Stevens are referred to as the ancient grandparents to the five member band: Judah Dadone, Doris Cellar, Kevin Read, Chuck Criss and Jake Hyman. I understand the comparison, but I didn’t realize we moved so far away from strong lyrical storytelling and textured orchestrated pop.

It does take a village with this band much like it does with Broken Social Scene and Arcade Fire. Their core sound is gentle, but it grows in body with every thoughtful addition of banjo, tambourine, harmonium or glockenspiel. FW drummer, Jake Hyman, makes his mark by incorporating a watering can into his kit.

This song is a great example of everything that works with this band. It’s warm to the touch with sweetness and develops into a joyous climax. Check out this intimate Grand Street recording of Generator^Second Floor.