The basement must live!

As Grish said, we can't let this blog die. Unfortunately, all I do these days is work, go to the gym, and try not to spend money. This makes it really difficult to write anything of substance. Plus, DC is a city that is difficult not to spend money in.

For some entertainment I pose this question:

What movies have you seen this past month and what'd you think?

I did drop $10 and go see Surrogates cause it seemed somewhat interesting. It was in fact somewhat interesting, but they took the action movie route way too soon instead of letting the ethical debate flow. Killed pretty much any emotional connection to characters or potential connection. That was a bit of a bummer, but not bad if you go to rent it.

Not dead yet

[I refuse to let this blog die. Not on my watch. Possible spoilers, definite formatting laziness ahead]

As far as pop culture is concerned, I think I owe the horror genre a lot of credit in sculpting my personality. I have a dark sense of humor, the seeds of which were cultivated by Freddy Kreuger one-liners. I find violence and gore more entertaining than disgusting, in no small part due to Evil Dead’s Ash and the elaborate kills of one Jason Vorhees. My teenage brain was fostered on games like Doom and Halo – blessed amalgamations of the horror, sci-fi, and action genres.

Thus, it’s broken my heart that there has been this dearth of quality horror films in the mainstream over the last decade or so. I am young enough to have no moment I can point to when I was actually frightened seeing a film in theatres. I’ve had to traverse the world for films like Audition, Man Bites Dog, and Oldboy to find my thrills. In US theatres, The Descent and (don’t laugh) Cabin Fever were probably the closest I’ve come to thinking “damn, that was scary.”

That streak has now ended. It’s unbelievable that if you are reading this you have not at least heard of Paranormal Activity. The hype surrounding it has reached Blair Witchian (or, for a non-genre comparison, Snakes on a Planeian) proportions, becoming drive-a-few-hours appointment viewing for anyone with even the slightest bit of pop culture curiosity.

If you are the one among your group of friends who has no idea what I am talking about, the set-up is simple. Guy sets up camera in bedroom to catch what his girlfriend claims is a haunting. Activities of the paranormal variety ensue. That’s it. Just like Blair Witch’s “people run around in woods, horror ensues” tagline, there isn’t a whole lot of complication here. But it’s this “it could happen to you” feeling that makes both films effective.

And is Activity ever effective. As the day/night cycle continues (camera timestamp and all), the audience’s feeling of dread grows. What starts off as doors creaking and objects moving inexplicably, turns into disturbing sleepwalking and, later, let’s call them “physical actions.” By the sixth or seventh night you are really on edge, expecting anything and everything, or possibly nothing. By the last clip of footage you’re really just ready for it to be over, unable to handle much more escalation.

It’s really this slow build that makes Activity shine. Much like Audition (and really, all good horror), it lulls you to sleep somewhat, leaving you to question whether anything will ever happen. But you know it will. Just when and what becomes the tension.

The film is far from perfect though. There are shifts in tone that take away from the terror on screen. Boyfriend Micah jokes far too much (his lines, far too clever to be unscripted), eliciting too many laughs from the audience. The very end of the film also falls into one of the worst trappings of the real-but-not-real horror films – the “they were never found” cop-out. By now most people know Activity is the work of some very enterprising filmmakers, not some unearthed documentary footage of a real haunting, so save the Unsolved Mysteries ending. No one’s buying.

But really, one cannot put a price on what Activity delivers on – genuine scares. I would label what happens more disturbing, unsettling, tense than terrifying, but for a modern horror movie, one cannot ask for much more.

I am not going to tell you to believe the hype. I am telling you to discard it. Forget the “scariest movie ever” or “the new Exorcist” talk. Just know that if you see Paranormal Activity you will not forget it. You will talk about it with those you saw it with. You will be compelled to pick the box up when it comes out on DVD, just to see what the film is like in your darkened apartment, as opposed to a crowded theatre.

And yes, there are a handful of moments you will be genuinely scared. You may even jump once or twice. And you will definitely get goose bumps with some regularity. Yes, Paranormal Activity has reached this jaded, desensitized horror fan’s heart.

I can’t imagine what it was like for normal people.

Interesting Promotion

Can't believe the candy companies didn't think of this.

New Yankee Stadium

I finally set foot in New Yankee Stadium this past Saturday. Upon arrival, the first thing you will realize is that The House That Jeter Built is gigantic. Walking into the the entrance hall took my breath away. In the hall towering banners line the wall showcasing the teams history. It is hard to go anywhere without seeing a picture of Ruth, Mantle, Gehrig, etc. staring at you. It seems that beyond updating the amenities, preserving history was the most important thing to the orginization. One of the new additions is the Yankee Musuem. Though small, the museum packs a hefty punch. Lining the room are display cases documenting the history of the team Ruth to Jeter. Not only is Thurman Munson's locker on display, but there is a recreation of the current Yankee lockers that can be customized with your name for a photo. The middle of the room has a giant case of autographed balls bookended by Yogi Berra and Don Larsen statues. The autographs range from people who barely touched a Yankee uniform (Mike Lowell) to the most famous Yankee of them all Babe Ruth. If you don't get excited to see an autographed Ruth baseball you aren't a fan of the game.

The food, oh the food. The New Yankee stadium did food right. Sure two cheesesteaks and sodas will run you $30, but god damn it is good. Basically every food you could want is there. Pizza, cheesesteaks, burgers, fries, shakes, sushi, noodle bowls, nachos, a steakhouse, sweets, everything. I regret not eating the garlic fries, next time they are first on the list. I found the prices comparable to other stadiums and events, $8 beers $5 bottled water. New Yankee Stadium is top notch.

My ass was happy to find an extremely padded seat waiting for me. There are cup holders for every seat and plenty of space (there are actually less seats).

My favorite part of the new stadium is the same as the old stadium, The Bleacher Creatures. The roll call, the Ric Flair woos, and the hilarious heckling of the right fielder were all fantastic. Rocco Baldelli was in right for most of the game, and he heard some good ones. In the funniest voice I have ever heard, somebody screamed "Baldelli, your mother's a drunk!" with such speed and passion. When J.D. Drew came into the game later, there was never a moment of silence. Between the usual "overpayed!" and "you suck!" chants were some real winners. My favorite was "Hey Drew! You should change your name to Baldelli (long pause) BECAUSE YOU SUCK!!!", great delivery. Nick Swisher was treated like a god of course. If you go to New Yankee Stadium, sit in right field. The Bleacher Creatures are the heart and soul of Yankee Stadium old and new.

I have nothing bad to say about the stadium. While it isn't cheap to go, I can't say I didn't get my money's worth.

The Sunn O))) also rises

I am fully aware what that the following paragraphs you are about to read sound hyperbolic, foolish, and/or just plain wrong.

But Sunn O))) (from now on, Sunn because I’m lazy) was, by far, the most unique live experience I have ever had. When I am old and grey, my memory fading, there is no chance I will forget even one aspect of what I saw that night.

I am no Faulkner or Hemingway, and even if I were, the English language does not have words to properly describe what transpired 9/19 at AS220 in Providence, RI. I was hypnotized, mesmerized, flabbergasted, horrified, stunned, and amazed all at once. If you don’t feel like reading why, let me summarize: if you, in even the most minor way, love music, go see Sunn. Do it. Pay the $15 and drive an hour and a half. Make a friend go with you. You don’t even have to have heard one song by them. Just go. You will not regret it.

Now, one man’s feeble attempt to encapsulate just what it was like.

As my friend and I turned the corner on Empire Street a good two hours before the scheduled start time, we heard it: a fuzzed out, booming, feedback-filled note that sounded like some sort of primordial creature’s roar. We were at least a half block away from gallery/restaurant/venue AS220 and we heard the sound check. At that very moment I knew much of the rumors about Sunn were true.

Sunn is a doom metal band—a genre they probably didn’t invent, but sure as hell carry the flag for. They can be defined in a few words. Heavy. Loud. Slow. This is not the home of blast beats and face-melting guitar riffs. This is the home of one note stretched to the point of numbness, of bass so heavy you can feel them in your stomach and of songs longer than some films.

The band’s reputation precedes them. Stories of fleeing concertgoers, unprepared for what was unleashed upon them, are not uncommon. Loosened bowels and stomach contents from the sheer sonic weight coming out of dozens of imposing amps, was something I fully expected. And the black cowls, heavy fog, and minimal lighting creating a nightmarish vision.

To my knowledge, no one puked or fled the scene in terror on this Saturday night. But what did happen is nearly as strange. As the plodding, cavernous sounds of Sunn’s Monolith’s and Dimensions filled the small venue, everyone stood motionless. Unlike most shows, earplugs were standard issue. The twenty or so amps, along with the band’s rep, caused everyone to wear protection. The earplugs, along with the bled together nature of Sunn’s music, had a strange isolating effect on everyone present. You were relegated to your own head and whatever sounds Sunn decided to subject you to. No talking (no one could hear you if you tried), no dancing (difficult without a drum beat), nary a fist pump in sight (your arms were too heavy).

This was a wholly unique experience for me. No matter who it was, I had always seen some sort of movement during concerts. Not so here. One well-placed push would have knocked over the entire crowd, that’s how paralyzed we all were. The volume of the music—the waves of sound actually hitting you—made your clothes vibrate. For the vast majority of the show I stood with my arms at my sides just absorbing the wall of sound. There were moments where I had to shake myself in an effort to snap out of this trance Sunn had created.

And then, like something out of a Hitchock movie, Sunn decided to really mess everyone’s night up. As had happened a couple times earlier, guest vocalist of the night Attila Csihar made himself scare while the other members played on. In what seemed like an instant something appeared on stage. It was Csihar, but instead of his cowl, he was adorned in a full-body burlap sack, complete with a crown of sticks and an arm covered in bark. The scream he unleashed as his faceless visage scanned the crowd was unearthly.

For at least thirty seconds I was legitimately scared of what I was seeing. This also marked the only time my friend and I acknowledged each other during the show, as he turned to me, mouth agape and eyes wide open. We were lulled into such a stupor that this costume, this stark change in what we thought we were beginning to understand, was horrible.

Just as the shock of the tree monster had worn off, the show was over, the band finally lifting the veil and accepting applause. There was no encore (there never is), nor did there need to be. We were all spent.

The combination of a cold New England night, it being past midnight, and my body readjusting to not being bombarded with sound, stepping outside was like jumping into a lake in January. “If a car hit me,” I remarked as we crossed the street, “I don’t even think I would feel it.”

As I started the two-hour drive back to Cape Cod at 1 a.m., I knew it was just what I needed. The lonely highway and silence allowed me to process what had just gone on. I probably would have failed a field sobriety test had I been pulled over.

If that doesn’t make you want to see Sunn O))), I don’t know what will.

Pretty Hate Machine

Before his now infamous Hall of Fame speech, if you asked anyone to describe Michael Jordan, they would have used words that amounted to some combination of reverence, awe, and worship. He was the best basketball player ever. It's really not a debate. He was an assassin, ending the championship dreams of many. He remains the most famous player the NBA has ever seen – at least until the internet/ESPN/24-hour news cycle beneficiary, LeBron James. His HOF induction seems like more afterthought than affirmation.

But a funny thing happened during his acceptance speech. The real Jordan showed his face.

Here are some highlights from his speech:

• On being passed over in high school for the taller Leroy Smith: “I wanted to prove to the coach who actually picked Leroy over me, you made a mistake dude.”

• On roommate, Buzz Peterson: “He ain't never played against me yet, how did he become player of the year?”

• On not being picked as a starter at UNC: “From a basketball sense, I deserved to be on that Sports Illustrated. And he understands that.”

• Responding to “organizations win championships”: “I didn't see organization playing with the flu in Utah. I didn't see him playing with a bad ankle.”

• On his kids: “You guys have a heavy burden. I wouldn't want to be you guys if I had to because of all the expectations you have to deal with. I mean look around you, they charge $1000 for this whole event. It used to be $200.”

• On scoring 20 straight points to win a game: “There's no 'I' in team, but there is one in win”

Jordan reminded all of us – not even hoops fans, but anyone aware of pop culture – that Jordan was the most single-minded sportsman ever.

As Al Davis says, just win baby.

Look at that line about his children. He actually feels bad for them, that they have to live in his enormous shadow. He's a minute away from “good fucking luck.” At this point, it's not even an ego. It's a school of thought. No one is safe from Jordan's wrath.

Jordan was the greatest player of all-time because of this. He holds grudges. To this day it appears as though he would play Bryon Russell – a man whom he probably spent the most time talking about, not say, Scottie Pippen – in a pickup game simply because he had the audacity to question his retirement. He says – in all seriousness – that he may play when he's 50 years old. Because “limits, like fears, are often an illusion.” Are you kidding? Jordan comes off like your dad after a few too many Fourth of July beers. “I can take you. Come on, let's wrestle.” The thing is, no one would be really shocked if he tried to comeback.

Unlike a certain #4 we are all sick of, Jordan doesn't simply know and love the game he played for years and years. He needs it. He needs to be slighted. Mocked. Doubted. It comes across in his love of golf and love of (presumably) high stakes gambling. “You don't think I can win this hand? Nail this chip? I'll show you.” It's no stretch to picture Jordan in a high-priced retirement home at age 75, hustling fellow residents at Bingo, shuffleboard, checkers – anything competitive.

Before his Hall of Fame speech, we remembered Jordan in snapshots. The Shot. The Pushoff. The Tongue. Free Throw Line. 63. The Shrug. 6 Fingers. Air. All these moments were what a Hall of Fame speech should have been: a celebration of moments of greatness and being gracious toward those who helped him get there.

Like John Stockton and David Robinson – the pictures of grace and humility in their speeches. There was a small movement when it came time to induct Jordan that thought he should have been inducted alone, that such a mammoth figure would overshadow all other deserving candidates in his class. I was in favor of that sentiment. Now? Without Robinson and Stockton, Jordan's speech would have been so soul-crushing it may have tainted what should be an untaintable career.

As the years passed and the highlights became deeply ingrained in our memories, we seemed to have forgotten the greatest player in NBA history was an asshole.

WANT.

A Great Start

Here are a few videos to start the week off right.

I just caught the documentary "Tyson" last night, a must see for any boxing fan. Here are some of the great moments of his career.



Blur still rules. Here is their best song, "Coffee and Tv", from their reunion show.



I think the fact that somebody looped this is funnier/more absurd than the actual video.

How 'Major League' changed baseball forever

[Author's note: I felt this aside was necessary. If you're a writer, just get/use Twitter already.

Twitter is a lot of things. But it's best use is an inspiration receptacle. See exhibit A, from my feed:

Was the film "Major League" the root cause of the deification of closers? I say yes.
11:05 a.m. July 26

Nearly a month ago I wrote that. Now, notebooks are for dorks, so pre-Twitter that thought would have been awash in a sea of daily errands, song lyrics, Team Fortress 2 strategies, and movie quotes.

Now, that thought is a full post. That's Twitter for us non-celebrity writers.]

Major League is not a particularly great film. It's funny enough, especially among typical sappy sports affairs. But it is a movie I have probably seen at least twenty times. Probably much, much more, but I need to maintain some veneer of coolness.

For the uninitiated: Major League follows the story of a shitty Cleveland Indians baseball club. There is a wild and varied cast of characters who represent all manner of MLB stereotypes. From the Dark Continent-hailing Sorano to the fast-talking, base-stealing Willie Mays Hayes to the crotchety, mustachioed manager -- they're all here. There's a bitchy owner, who wants the team to lose so they can relocate and make more money. But it was really to make her seem more bitchy.

But guess what!? ::SPOILER ALERT:: Against all odds, they win the pennant in a dramatic and satisfying fashion! There were bunts. Strikeouts. Hugs. It was glorious.

Everyone who saw Major League remembers one thing more than anything else. Wild Thing.


It really doesn't lose that much in Spanish.

Charlie Sheen played Rick Vaughn, the team's hot-tempered, mohawk sporting closer. He entered the game to a cover of The Troggs' "Wild Thing" (due to his penchant for outside pitches and outrageous hair).

If any of this sounds familiar, it should. While Major League came out in 1989, it changed the course of baseball forever. In positive and negative ways. All because of one little song.

*****

When I say the name Mariano Rivera, a few phrases should pop into your head. Dominant. Yankees. Cutter. Even G.O.A.T. If "Enter Sandman" does not come to mind, you don't follow baseball closely enough.

Or Trevor Hoffman. Changeup. Padres. All-time saves leader. "Hells Bells."

Did you know nearly every closer in baseball (at least those who are worth a damn) have some sort of supposed-to-be-intimidating entrance theme?

And it all started with Hoffman and Rivera (or the P.A. guys) -- some ten years after the film -- emulating Sheen and Major League. Now, the relationship between closer and entrance theme has reached wrestling status, becoming a mini-theme song to the narrative film that is The Closer.

As cool as that is -- a movie affecting real life! -- there is a bigger issue at work here. Major League -- in all it's closer-as-God postulating -- single-handedly elevated the closer to the ridiculous heights the position has reached.

*****

I am no film scholar, but I can tell Sheen is the main character of Major League. He has sex with a woman. Punches out a guy. Does a lot of silly things. Main character stuff.

It stands to reason -- he was/is a big actor. But what is interesting is his position in the film. He's a relief pitcher, which is by far the most boring position in baseball (with the exception, maybe, of second base). He's not the big hitter. Or the tough-as-nails catcher. Not even the flashy center fielder. He's the closer.

I can't imagine many Average Joes knew what the hell a closer was in 1989. I suppose images of Eckersley-to-Gibson still resonated, but Eck was probably the most iconic modern closer. The non-baseball fan populous wasn't inundated with ESPN and highlights of 9th inning strikeouts with fistpumps yet.

But if you watch that above clip -- the way the stands are bumping, everyone ecstatic that Vaughn is entering the game, the music blaring so loudly -- it might as well be in 2009, in Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium or Dodger Stadium. Rick Vaughn was the best, most exciting, most entertaining part of that film and that fictional Indians team.

Just like Eric Gagne was in 2002.

"Steroids? Fuck yeah!"

The similarities between the fictional Vaughn and the real-life Gagne are startling. The Dodgers closer chose a ridiculous goatee/rec spec look, compared to the equally ridiculous mohawk/horn-rimmed glasses. They were both clearly dominant pitchers, Gagne recording 84 straight saves spanning two seasons, while Vaughn struck out that mean-looking Yankee who spit a lot.

But the similarities between Vaughn and Gagne's entrances is what gets me. Gagne had his own graphics featuring "Game Over" and a silly pixelated avatar of the Canadian closer. Fans began wearing the goggles and the goatee during games, just in the off-chance he'd come in and close. The man was a superstar. A real-life Vaughn some twenty years later.

The cult of Gagne -- all "Welcome to the Jungle" and Game Over -- would not have existed without the precident set by Major League. Concious or not, the fingerprints of Rick Vaughn's entrance theme, the fans going bananas over one of the most overrated position in sports, the costume-y getup, can still be seen today.

*****

Today, nearly every closer looks like a descendant of Vaughn. Boston's Jon Papelbon sported a mohawk for a time, even mentioning the film's icon. The closer position is home to some of the most flamboyant, borderline crazy players in all of baseball. Just look at Francisco Rodriguez (whose celebrations push the limits of good sportsmanship), Brian Wilson (in all his tattooed glory), or Fernando Rodney (who just threw a ball into the press box after nailing down a particularly tough save). Even if your team stinks, at least you have that ninth inning song, that cartoon character coming in at the end of the game, to cheer for.

In the seminal book Moneyball, Oakland GM Billy Beane admits he would pump up the value of his closers by making sure they recorded saves, despite thinking the stat was pointless. For the amount of "work" they do, the closer is probably the highest paid position in baseball. Somewhere in the long history of baseball it became necessary to have that end of the game guy. Someone to nail down those close games.

That moment may not have been when Major League hit theatres, but how else can you explain the unbelieveable similarities between and Vaughn and nearly every closer in baseball since?

Closers are rock stars and it's beacuse of Major League.

Free the Basement Fantasy Football League

Who wants in?

Bill Withers

This is such a solid groove that I had to put it up. It's been stuck in my head for days and I'm happy to have it. Also Bill Withers is one of those "That's them too!?" artists who secretly did "Ain't no Sunshine", "Lean On Me", and "Just the Two of Us". Dig on it.

Why the NFL is #1 (hint: it's nationalism)

This post is, in part, a response to Bill Simmons' "Soccer is so much cooler than anything else and I am cooler for liking it" column up on ESPN. I have no problem with soccer or those who love it, but Simmons comes off as pretentious and, shall we say, late to the party (soccer has gone from chic to trite in terms of fringe sports to love).

But it did get me thinking: we (Americans) fucking love football. Way more than baseball, hoops, or especially hockey. And it's because of one reason.

Nationalism.

That and violence. But mostly nationalism.

Internationalization -- that is, the ever-growing presence of players not from the States -- seemingly grows in sports every year. The numbers may not back it up (which I cannot find, dammit), but it seems as though there are more and more international stars in the NBA, NHL, and MLB. If there's not more, I guarantee it's not going down.

Think about baseball. Pujols, Ortiz, Ramirez (both Hanley and Manuel), Rodriguez, and Ichiro are some of the biggest, most famous stars in the sport. And not one of them is American.

Or the NBA. Still firmly entrenched with American superstars, there is still a host of successful and famous international stars from far away lands. Dirk, Manu, Parker, Duncan (kind of), Nash, Gasol, Hedo (sort of), and at least 1-2 role players per team.

I don't follow the NHL, but they've got a ton of Europeans and Canadians. One of the sports two best players is Russian.

But oh the NFL. I challenge you to name a single player of any repute from another country. The way the NFL is structured -- U.S. college star or nothing -- effectively kills any chance a poor kid from, say, Spain, can even have a chance at breaking into the sport.

Does the NFL even have a single Asian player?


Well-off American athletes go to college, play football, get drafted, get rich and get famous. Football is so painfully American -- expensive/difficult (in terms of organization) to play, necessary to attend college to turn pro, a good number of white people playing -- it's priced out international talent.

And we wouldn't have it any other way.

The draft/farm system of other sports is much more conducive to grooming oversea talent. The MLB -- with their wild west, "sign you out of Cuba when you're 14" system. The NBA -- where international leagues are gaining more and more cred (see Rubio, Ricky). And the NHL -- where kids are born stick in hand, skates on feet, any cold climate will do.

But the NFL? "Oh, you didn't play for Florida/USC/*other enormous NFL feeder system*? No thanks." Hell, American players who can ball, but are from tiny schools, are often overlooked. Forget about being from another country.

Secretly, or honestly, a lot of American sports fans probably don't like international players. And it's not too hard to explain. It's easier for me to relate to oh, Tom Brady, than it is for me to relate to Yao Ming.

He doesn't speak English well. He looks funny. He's not like me.

Is that an ignorant, wrong, foolish, outdated point of view? Yes, yes, yes, yes. But it's true.

That's why the NFL is number one. If you're a white kid from Wisconsin, you've got your Bret Favre. The South? Eli or Peyton. Maybe you relate to T.O. or LDT. Or Brees, Palmer, Ochocinco, McNabb, Moss, Roethlisberger, Polamalu, Fitzgerald, Peterson, or every fucking star in the league.

Whoever it is they share one thing: they're American. And that's why we love football the most. It's one of the few vaults those scary foreigners haven't broken into yet.

Famous Folders, Celebrity Crinklers

Health care schmealthcare, wiping technique is something that effects everyone. Whether you are a toilet paper folder, a toilet paper crinkler, or the rare switch wiper, you take great pride in your method. It is impossible for the folder to fathom the primitive crinkle, improbable that the crinkler will evolve to the fold. There may truly be no right or wrong way to wipe, at least you are wiping, but the debate will surely last until the end of days. Free the Basement has uncovered some famous folders and celebrity crinklers.

Ric Flair
One of the greatest humans to ever live, Flair has won countless professional wrestling championships. Every woman's dream, Flair has not wiped his own ass since he hit puberty, his harem does that for him. We have learned that Flair's women are strictly told to fold his silk toilet wipes. Folder

Andrew W.K.
This man loves to party, and while he may be an eloquent speaker and the voice of a generation, he is also wild in the bathroom. Crinkler

Ichiro Suzuki
Baseball's best hitter comes from a meticulous Japanese culture, it should be no surprise that the outfielder is a folder. What may surprise the reader is that Ichiro folds his t.p. into origami cranes before use. Folder

Megan Fox
Girls don't poop.

Barack Obama
The chain smoking, blackberry toting, super smooth, ruler of the free world is clearly short on time. When Mr. President gets the job done he doesn't waste a second. Crinkler

Threefor

I am slightly obsessed with sequencing when it comes to albums. I think (foolishly, probably) which songs are first, fifth, last, etc. is very important. It's probably because I am neurotic.

I twittered that Wolf Parade's epic three-way of "Shine A Light", "Dear Sons and Daughters..." and "I'll Believe in Anything" is the best three songs in a row of the past *span of time*. That is what spawned this list.

The one rule: the three-span has to surpass the overall goodness of the album. I don't care if *album X* has ten great songs and you pick three in a row. In the Wolf Parade example, I believe those three songs destroy the rest of the (fucking great) album.

That's it. In most albums you'll find great songs are rarely three in a row. Smart artists will spread them out, with average to below-average songs in between. It's the smart move. So when there are three in a row, giving my skipping thumb a much needed rest, it's great.

Here are some I've found in my iTunes.

Blood Brothers - Young Machetes - "Set Fire to the Face on Fire", "We Ride Skeletal Lightning" and "Laser Life"

I've been listening to these crazy bastards a lot lately (for some reason, incoherent screaming and squealing guitars makes for awesome basketball music) and found out the three openers off their 2006 album are 500% better than the rest of the album. Luckily for them, they rode that momentum wave to create a solid album. Still, nothing beats those three.


Fuck, I miss music videos

Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago - "The Wolves (Act I and II)", "Blindsided" and "Creature Fear"

On the complete opposite end of the sonic spectrum from the Blood Bros., Bon Iver's heartbreaking '07 album is full of wonderful, slow-building folk songs. And while only nine tracks, he constructed the album like a baseball lineup, with the 4-5-6 hitters (of course, stand out "Skinny Love" is third. I am pretty sure Mr. Iver is a baseball fan) being the big boppers. Well done sir.

Fucked Up - Hidden World - "Crusades," David Comes to Life" and "Invisible Leader"

If you like hard rock/punk/hardcore/anything with guitars and yelling go out and buy/steal/burn/torrent this album. It's one of the best punk albums of the past five years. It's so good, it actually has two spans of three spectacular songs. Here -- again, the first three songs -- Fucked Up flex their "punk with brains" muscles. "Crusades" is a seven-minute anthem that people probably would have bashed each other's skulls in to in 1987. And "Invisible Leader" has some of the most insane and awesome lyrics I've heard in any song: Rip the flesh with the gnashing teeth / Search the insides of the dying beast / From the book of Enoch / To the Bible codes / We'll spend our final days still looking for that gold.

What?!?!


Not for the audio, as much for the 300+ pound bear yelling

Titus Andronicus - The Airing of Grievances - "Upon Viewing...", "Titus Andronicus" and "No Future"

Similar to Fucked Up, I have no idea what this band is talking about most of the time. There's some Camus in there (like actual excerpts from The Stranger). There's some Seinfeld references. Whatever. One thing I do know is they sure know how to construct a rock song. The 5-6-7 on this nine-tracker are the best, with the self-titled anthem sandwiched between two sprawling, weird-yet-great songs. They may scream pretension, but damn if I care when the songs are this good.


Again, I really miss actual MTV

Jay Reatard - Blood Visions - "Oh It's Such a Shame," "Not A Substitute" and "Nightmares"

It just wouldn't be right of me to not include the man I am listening to on constant rotation in this list. I happen to think Blood Visions is a fantastic album. But if I were to sell some on Jay, it would be, without a doubt, these three. Clocking in at just over five minute total, these three tracks embody everything I (and every American music fan should) love about Jay Reatard. Fury. Cleverness. Truth. Seriously, I want him to be mainstream popular. And I am not just being an indie asshole (even though that's what one would say).


Just spend 20 minutes with the man and get a good cross-section of his tunes. Oh, and he's a genius.

Games, fun and you

The above video (from by far the best games site out there) is long and more than a little soap-boxy, but it gets at something I have been mulling over a lot lately.

Do video games have to be "fun" to be "good"? I use quotes because those terms are very fluid and kind of meaningless, but the basic question -- does the act of playing a video game have to be pleasurable for said game to be deemed worthy of your time/money -- is a valid one as the world's newest medium of art moves forward.

I just finished a review for the DS title Flower, Sun, and Rain. It was not a fun game. The main gameplay conceit is sifting through a large collection of information to find a numerical code to unlock story elements and move the game forward. This was not fun. At all. There was no thrill of discovery in solving the puzzles, no joy in finding the solution. But the story is compelling.

I ask, is this game worth playing? Despite giving it a 2/10, I say yes, it is. If only because it's one of the first games I have ever come across (reading about or playing) in which playing it was not fun, yet I wanted to keep going.

The above video argues that fun is not enough, that games need to be more serious, even unfun, in order to succeed and mean something. I struggle with this, as I find it very difficult (puns always intended) to play a game which is difficult to have fun with. I look at a book like Gravity's Rainbow. When it came out, it was deemed "unreadable" and "shitty" (the Pulitzer board may have used cleaner language) and yet, is undeniably important and looked upon as one of the best novels of this century.

So we wait. We wait for the day when a game is so great, has such an amazing story or commentary on life, but is not fun to play. Will anyone want to play it?

Boy Meets Liquor

And you will know us by the trail of Paul O'Neil

Can I Play With Your Dandelion?

Grish already posted about Super Mash Bros (and Wig played me some songs), but I was a bit unconvinced for awhile, until I got their (free) albums from their Myspace. The following is maybe the most wonderful two minutes of music I have ever heard:







I've also been listening to some good summer tunes from JJ and Ganglians.

JJ are Swedish, kind of tropical-influenced (but not in a lame way), and totally rad. Here is a link to one of their tunes. Ganglians is a more far out, reverbier version of the Beach Boys: dig it. "Voodoo" is one of my faves.

Also, does anyone know how to embed music files? On some blogs I've seen, they embed a Lala thing that plays it, but for some reason whenever I try it crashes my computer, which is being a POS?

This is so great. My friend from Japan was here this week and showed it to me. They convinced some small children that there was a zombie in the town and they had to defend the house. I love seeing what the kids came up with and seeing the zombie get caught in every boobytrap. It's like Zombies + Home Alone + Japan. My favorite part is the letter he sends to the kids. "I'm Coming Soon. Sincerely, Zombie".

Great line.

Fixing Errors

I took it upon myself to fix some errors that I have noticed.


I refuse to live in a world where Taro Gomi gets away with lying. We all know girls don't poop.



Enough is enough.

Thai Music Thus Far

Inspired by Grish's post, I decided to post again about Thai music.

I posted a while ago about what music's like in Thailand but I've been here far longer and now I have a better idea of how it really is. The most important thing I've discovered is a genre or music called Isan. Isan is the rural territory to the far North and East in Thailand and has it's own style of righteous jams. I've included one song that I absolutely love. It's called "อย่างนี้มันต้องถอน" which sounds like "yong ni mon dtong tawn" and translates into something about having to drink in the morning to get over a hangover. When I first heard the song, I loved it. Then I found out what it's about and I loved it more. Then finally I saw the music video and it wasn't possible to love this song any more than I did. There's really no end to the great things about this video. The visual effects, the singers appearance and mannerisms and air-guitaring to his own song, the rapid-fire karaeoke thai, the FUCKING DANCERS! It's almost too much!

อย่างนี้มันต้องถอน

I'll also include our second favorite song which is another great sing-a-long. I'm not sure of the name of this one but as far as I'm concerned it's just "Doo doo doo". It's a solid reggae tune with a solid reggae singer. The chorus is "look, look, look (that's the doo doo doo), how can you do that to me?"

ดูดู่ดู้

Also, I'm not sure how to embed the videos right on to the page, how do you do that?

doo doo doo,
j

Music of 2009: Halfway progress report

So (I guess) 2009 is roughly halfway over. To break the posting drought, I decided to follow what a few blogs I read have done and do a "favorite music of the first half of 2009" post. Enjoy, and I encourage others to do similar posts. Here's what I'm grooving on.

Best album of 2009
Animal Collective - Meriweather Post Pavillion

Not much else to say, other than nothing has topped it yet.

Favorite album at the all-star break
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz!



This may not be the best album of the year, but so far, I have listened to it the most and believe YYY have done something amazing with Blitz -- changing (or least modifying) genres successfully, while maintaining the original spirit of the band. "Zero," "Heads Will Roll" and "Dull Life" are Fever-era YYY jams, and songs like "Skeletons" and "Soft Shock" highlight their new sound. I doubt that I personally will like any '09 album as much as this one. It also has an awesome cover.

Album I don't understand why people like
Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca

I will admit to not giving this much of a chance, but after listening to a handful of songs I immediately said "fuck this." I can sum their sound up like this -- it's like Bjork (whom I love) with a band. For some reason I cannot stand it.

Disappointment of the first half
Handsome Furs - Face Control, Wavves - Wavvves

I loved Wolf Parade side project Handsome Furs' first record, so much so, I still listen to it today. But their 2009 showing did/does nothing for me. It's hard to put my finger on why -- they sound similar, there are a few very good songs -- but it makes me sad I don't love it like Plague Park.

One of the most divisive releases I can remember has been Wavvves. This super lo-fi, feedback-y, noise pop album seemed right up my alley. I was sold once I heard "So Bored" and excited about the album. But boy does that shit get old after three songs. The "production" isn't good lo-fi, it just sounds lazy/shitty. And I guess that's the point? Either way, this isn't Vivian Girls (or other good lo-fi bands), who can actually write a catchy song.

The boner award (for "grower" of 1/2 of '09)
Dan Deacon - Bromst

I won't say I don't like Bromst -- there are some really rad songs -- but I can say I think it will only get better as the year rolls on. The shit is complex, layered sounds upon layered sounds, with songs taking 6+ minutes to build up to an epic explosion. I like it right now, but I bet I will love it come December.

Slayinist riffage of 50% 2009
2:12 - 2:54, "Divinations" off Crack the Skye

Seriously. If we lived in 1986, Mastodon would be bigger than Metallica.

Most badass lyric(s) of .5 2009
Major Lazer - "Lazer Theme"

"Me and my motherfucking gun stay smoking."

Assorted summer jams

Grizzly Bear - "While You Wait for the Others"
Just a really, really great song off a very good album.

Major Lazer - "Hold the Line"
It's no secret I love all things Santogold, and she's featured on this crazy song, which samples a horse neigh and is totally great.

Sunset Rubdown - "Idiot Heart"
This song is Krug canon as far as I am concerned. It builds so well -- going from slightly reigned in, to off the rails over it's six minutes -- and is one of my favorite songs to sing to in the car. "I hope that you die/With a decent pair of shoes" is also a great lyric.

Super Mash Bros. - "Bruce Willis Was Dead The Whole Time"
Great title aside, this mashup -- bringing Lil Wayne's "A Milli" and that song they play at sports stadiums all the time which no one knows the name of -- is fucking genius. The album is free and highly recommended.



Peaches - "Show Stopper"
Her 2009 release came and went pretty quietly and I liked it, but this song is the definition of a jam. Her style (overtly sexual rapping); she's still got it.

Dan Deacon - "Build Voice"
Ever since I saw the video of him programming a player piano to play the riff on this song, I was hooked on it. The song tells you all you need to know about the album -- it's crazy/good.

Death of a hero

For all his "character flaws" (to put it softly), the King of Pop is now dead and the world of music a little emptier. He hasn't been relevant in a while and was/is one creepy motherfucker, but, in the immortal words of Dave Chappelle:



Enjoy this video of the great one versus the great one in a game of ball.



So moonwalk into heaven Jacko. Your music will live on forever.

Birth of a Hero

I haven't been this excited about a documentary in a long time...

Jimmy Page? Check.

The Edge? Check.

Jack White? Check.

Check it

Why athletes are super-human: exhibit 27367 B

Yeah, nothing else to say really.

Mark's Drawing of the Week

Are you fucking kidding me?

So I'm sitting here happily watching Modern Marvels on History Channel when the next show comes on: a multi-hour show called "Ancient Aliens" which starts off with them interviewing the Vatican about whether aliens were angels. Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck authorized this waste of money? Like ok, maybe on the scifi channel with their ghost hunting shows, but seriously, on the history channel? What the fuck happened?

Remember when the history channel was good? Then it became the WWII channel, went back to being good, the waffled a little bit running only shows about hitler and kinda lame shows like modern marvels which really aren't what the channel should be about. Now they've pretty much hit rock bottom with shit like this. Like seriously, this is beyond lame.

Remember awesome shows on the history of jazz and baseball on history channel? Yeah neither do I, those were documentaries by Ken Burns on PBS. This is what the history channel should be, not this fucking lame bullshit they're airing these days. My, how the mighty have fallen (straight down to the lowest common denominator). I can't wait till they start airing "historical" episodes of Cops. Fuck that.

Embarassment of riches

Being a Red Sox fan is pretty OK. Your team is always competitive, has lost it's "lovable loser" moniker and generally seems to care about putting a winning product on the field.

But holy shit is the media awful.

WEEI -- which I listen to often in the car because I hate myself -- is one of the most alarmist, irrational, moronic outlets related to anything, sports aside. Their latest (see: only) topic? How terrible David Ortiz has been. With the Bruins and Celtics done, and the Pats not up to much, there's not a lot going on in the Boston sports scene. And yes, Ortiz has been awful and is a concern, but one would think the Red Sox are sitting in last place, the amount of burn the Ortiz story is getting.

And this phenomenon is one of the reasons being in the Red Sox loop is horrifying.

Ortiz, the number three hitter who is a few seasons removed from hitting over 50 homers, is probably done. He looks old, his may be off the juice, he has no Latin players to hang out with (untrue, but said), he wants out of Boston, he needs a new hitting coach, all these and many more have been thrown around regarding Ortiz.



But the point is, it doesn't matter. It's a joke that this is such a big deal. He's done. Move on. Let him hit down in the order until he gets it figured out. Or doesn't. It happens. Boston is top ten in runs scored, homers, RBI, average, on-base, and OPS. It's not like they are the Nationals here. They have not one, but two MVP canidates from last season, Pedroia and Youkilis, the former hasn't even begun to hit for power yet. They have Bay, who has 16 homers and four more hitters with more than seven home runs. Are those guys playing over their heads? Somewhat, but the lineup is deep, they back each other up. If any other team -- except maybe the Yankees -- had this amount of offensive talent, and was still bitching about one slumping star, while sitting one game out of first, they would be told to shut up.

So I'll do it. Shut up, Red Sox media. Please.

There's so much about "Our number three hitter is a black hole!" Solution that has finally been discovered: Move. Him. Down. Here's what ridiculous lineup the team could have -- and not by making a trade -- but just moving Ortiz down.

Ellsbury, Pedroia, Youkilis, Bay, Lowell, Drew, Ortiz, Varitek, SS du jour.

That is a deep playoff lineup, Ortiz be damned. Your 2-6 hitters should average 20 homers -- with Bay closer to 30+ and Pedroia closer to the low teens -- which is crazy.

I am against trading for Nick "Glassman" Johnson or Victor Martinez, simply because it's foolish. Ever since the Nomar days, there has been this prevailing thought that the Sox need an All-Star at every position, a player who hits 50 homers. Guess what? It's OK to not have a batting champ in the nine-hole. Would I like a Martinez or Hanley Ramirez? Yeah, I guess. But at what cost? And to what end?

This team, as currently constructed, can win the division and make it deep in the playoffs. Our bullpen is great, the starters will be fine, there's help in the minors and the lineup is deep as hell. So forget Ortiz. Let him languish in the seven or six spot. Maybe he gets it together and hits like 20 homers. Crazier things have happened. If he doesn't, whatever. He's your seven hitter. Rotate him with Baldelli and other DH types. Bring up Lars Anderson or something. Just don't trade three of four pieces for some DH.

The Red Sox don't need big bats at every spot in the lineup. It's a little embarassing already.

On E3 and metal

I've finally figured it out: E3 is the Oscars of video games. There are no awards that mean anything for games, and that sucks. But dear God is E3 awesome. There so much amazing news (Metal Gear: Rising for the 360, Left 4 Dead 2, project Natal, a new 2D Mario, new Zelda and Metroid titles, footage from every rad game coming out), it such a huge event, that it is the date on the gaming calendar. Sure, other shows like PAX and GDC have taken a bit away from E3, but all the big wigs save their best shit for now. All my internet time for the past few days has been catching up on all the comings and goings. Other years have been hit or miss, but this year has been great. My goal is to be there writing about it in the next year or two.

Video collection: Day 2
Video collection: Day 1

Sunn O))) has been one of my favorite metal bands of the past few years. They can be a little, shall we say, dense (five albums span 23 songs, with more than 2/3 of those songs going past ten minutes), but they are the heaviest band ever. Their new one, Monoliths and Dimensions, is pretty great, and their most "accessible" (if 16-minute doom metal songs can ever be that) to date. It's definitely not for everyone, some people even dare to say it's not music, but give it a chance. Everything you need to know about them can be summed up in the first ten seconds of the following video.



I've also been into Les Savy Fav (how did no one tell me to listen to you before?!), the new Sunset Rubdown, and some of the new Grizzly Bear.

Music Parody at its Best

Some group made a series of videos poking fun at some of the more popular bands in the world. I posted the Coldplay one because its hilarious, but they also do U2, Arctic Monkeys, Metallica, and Kings of Leon.

Is there anything funnier? You need to watch the whole thing.

The 8 ballers you play at the rec

Whether you're in an intermural league at college, play every weekend with some buddies or head down to the park to take on strangers, playing pick-up basketball is the highest form of sports competition most of us will see.

And no matter how many times you play, you will always see these players, the eights rec ballers.

The Stiff

At first, the Stiff seems like a valuable asset because he's got size, a hot commodity in rec ball. But within a few minutes of play, the Stiff earns his moniker. He's uncoordinated, can't jump, doesn't run the floor well and isn't even very good at rebounding. He also has no post moves to speak of and can't play defense. He most likely plays for his high school or college team only because he's tall.

Signature move: A laser beam hook shot off the front rim.

The General

Not lacking in personal problems, the General sees rec ball as a chance to grab life by the balls and never let go. The General takes it upon himself to play coach in a game where there are no plays, defense is lackadaisical, and the most complex offense is pick-and-roll. Still, the General feels the need to yell "shooter!" anytime an opponent is open for a three, "board" in an obvious rebound situation and get on you for not switching on D. He's one of the more annoying teammates as his primary skill is talking loudly.

Signature move: Holding the ball at the point while gesturing teammates to move.

The Hustler

The Hustler knows rec ball is about one thing: running. If you run more than the other guy, you'll probably get easy buckets. The Hustler may not be very skilled, but he sets picks, moves without the ball and runs on fast breaks. Making up more than 50% of most rec ballers, they are a good teammate to have.

Signature move: Running off multiple screens for an open jumper.

The Veteran

While rec ball is a young man's game, The Veteran plays to recapture a sliver of youthful glory while staving of the effects of aging just a little longer. He's probably a former high school/college star, with memories of past game-winners faded grey with time. Clearly over 50, the Veteran has some skills and is not at all useless. From a propensity to pass the ball, to beautiful old school shooting form, to knee pads and a slow gait, the Veteran can be the glue that hold a good rec squad together.

Signature move: A 15-foot set jump shot with both feet touching.

The Wannabe

The Wannabe has seen far too many And-1 tapes for his own good. He's realized long ago that he cannot drive, can't shoot very well and isn't athletic. So he's practiced dribbling and three point shooting and isn't afraid to show off either. He'll jack up NBA-distance threes, even when you're just playing ones and is an awful teammate due to his illusions of grandeur.

Signature move: A series of fancy dribbling followed by a turnover at the three point line.

The Stud

The rarest of rec ballers, the Stud is far better than anyone else on the court and he knows it. He starts for his high school/college team and probably shouldn't be playing pick-up games at 2 on a Saturday, but he is. They can come in the form a highly skilled shooter, dominant center or even shot-blocking defender. They are so much faster, stronger and better than you, it's like you're not even playing the same game.

Signature move: A reverse layup past two defenders, created off a crossover.

The Blackhole

A variation on the Wannabe, the Blackhole actually has some hoops skill, but not nearly as much as he likes to think. Rec ball has become the Blackhole's stage, a vehicle for him to make himself feel better about his life. He will jack up threes, scream for the ball, yell at teammates for no reason and generally take shit way too seriously. If you pass him the ball, get ready to box out, because it's going up.

Signature move: A three with a hand in face, followed by sour looks at teammates for not getting the rebound.

The Godsend

There are some rec ballers who realize what rec basketball is about -- passing, moving and having a good time. The Godsend will hustle after loose balls, set picks, pass first, run the break, make open shots, gives you the heads up on picks, double teams at the perfect time and is always ready with a high five after good plays. They may not be the best, but they are the most fun to play with.

Signature move: A perfect pass off a drive that leads to an easy lay-in for someone else.

Now go forth and ball. And don't be a Blackhole.

The birth of a villain

What makes a villain? I guess, at the most basic level, it's doing evil deeds.

So how has LeBron James -- by all accounts one the most likable, friendly, charismatic superstars ever -- found himself at the epicenter of a backlash?

Not from writers and the league -- they clearly love him -- but more so the couch surfing NBA fan. They hate his bull-in-a-China-shop style. His propensity to draw fouls, often justly, sometimes not. His selfish play at times, where the team's offense seems to be "watch LeBron." His alpha dog mentality, which many see as arrogance. It seems as though everything that has made James into the best player in the league has also made him into one of the most reviled. And in what amounts to the blink of an eye.

I was not around (well, I was, but like ten years old) for the Jordan era, so I have no idea if this sort of negativity followed him after he became a legend, but I assume it did. There is something about the career arcs of legends that lends themselves to being hated upon. They start off usually being handed fame. We've all heard the "Jordan was cut from his high school team!" story, but he became Jordan when he nailed that shot at UNC. LeBron is obviously a more glaring example, an icon as a young teenager, an international star at 18. It's something we as fans cannot relate to. LeBron was destined to be a great NBA player. And sure, he worked hard to get there, but all we see is "high school stud, genetic freak, NBA star, NBA legend" and think all he had to do was roll out of bed.

This is also why "scrappiness," "the will to win" and all other manner of sports cliches have found their way into the American zeitgeist. We love an underdog, a hard worker who gets the most out of what he has. LeBron seems like someone who is "just" 6'10", 280 pounds, who bowls his way into the lane, gets all the calls, and is a big selfish doo-doo head. We root against him because his team swept through the playoffs, waiting to sweep into the Finals and take what's his, an NBA title.

The Magic (and, for the same reason, the Nuggets) have become your team, simply because you're sick of all the LeBron/Kobe talk. It's no fun to root for the guy who's awesome and supposed to win. And in the Internet age, we are so inundated with story after story about him, we get sick of him before he's even done anything.

It may have taken Jordan a title or two before people grew tired of him, but LeBron -- who has won one of what should be many MVPs -- has only been to one Finals and there's already a palpable sense that we're sick of him. We are sick of what may very well be the best NBA player any of us will ever see play.

So is LeBron James destined to be the NBA's villain? Yes, and in a sense, he already is. No one outside of Cleveland (or team 2010) will be a fan of him, simply because he is too good. LeBron has done nothing to draw our ire but be the league's best player.

Kobe, keep that seat warm.

Come and see

While the story of this NBA playoffs was made last night, with LeBron nailing the biggest shot of his life and probably the Cavs franchise, the bigger story -- which touches any and all fans of basketball -- is that this is an amazing Conference Finals.

Both series are 1-1, but what's more is there are no Spurs or Pistons -- faceless, defense-heavy monsters -- grinding out 90-89 wins. We have four superstars leading their teams to high levels of excellence.

The Four Horsemen of the NBA Apocalypse.


Revelation Six, King James (of course) version:

¹And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.

²And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

The first horsemen, Conquest, is LeBron James. Last night's "Jordan over Ehlo" moment is his crowning. Forget the Championship, which now looks like it won't be easy, this moment is historic. Win, lose or draw, LeBron James has his first of many huge moments in the playoffs.

And still he is going forth, conquering.

³And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

⁴And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

Carmelo Anthony, leader of the manic Nuggets, is the second horsemen, War. The Nuggets have slaughtered their way through the playoffs to this point, led by oft-overlooked superstar Anthony. Before each series were tied 1-1, the Nuggets were seen as the threat to the inevitable Kobe/Bron finals, an agent of chaos in a predestined land.

And the reason is Anthony has finally reached his full potential, nipping at the heels of the current poster boys of the league. He carries a great sword, a skill set that is unmatched by anyone except Kobe. His scoring is so easy, so effortless, it's a joy to watch. Beating LA will take peace from this Earth.

⁵And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.

⁶And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.

In the wake of War comes Famine. Dwight Howard represents Famine, carrying the balance of the NBA with him. While the Magic rely on the three as much as Howard, with a huge game, Howard tips the scales of the Cleveland/Orlando series, with the chance to eliminate the NBA's prodigal son.

Howard is also clearly the most raw of the stars in the Conference Finals, a feast or famine player who can dominate or disappear from game to game, even quarter to quarter. And after Famine comes...

⁷And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.

⁸And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

"Hell followed him" has never described an NBA player better than Kobe Bryant. This is his last, best shot at an NBA title. He is facing a star who may actually be better than him (Melo) and the King looms. He has 2-3 years at a high level of play, which will slowly deteriorate with each season and each deep playoff series.

And yet he still has the power to kill with the sword, hunger, death and the beasts of the Earth. He is still an assassin, a player with a killer instinct who can close games unlike any other. His team is also as talented and deep as any other and led by a legendary coach. This is his time.

It is rare we see teams this talented, this evenly matched, and led by such compelling superstars, meet at the apex of competition. So forget about the dream matchup of Kobe/Bron and enjoy these Conference Finals.

Review: 21st Century Breakdown

7.9/10.0

Somewhere within the 70 minute, 18 song rock opera that is 21st Century Breakdown you will find Green Day's best album. The latest LP from the East Bay pop punk trio is a bloated mess of a record, but the kind of mess one might expect from a group trying to follow up an album that transformed them from middle aged apathy rockers to one of the biggest bands on the planet. After the critical and commercial anomaly that was American Idiot, Green Day responds with an album that throws a lot of ideas at the wall with varying degrees of success.

In 2004, American Idiot sold 26 million units worldwide, reached #1 in nineteen countries, delivered four top 10 singles, and won the band a Grammy for Best Rock Album. After buddying up with Bono (Uh oh), recording with U2 (Oh no), and performing a John Lennon cover on American Idol (Dear god), it was clear that Green Day had established a much wider fan base than ever before. For every 13-year old emo brat listening to "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" on repeat there were equal amounts of anti-Bush liberals pumping their fists against the "redneck agenda" and music critics responding to Billie Joe Armstrong's newfound lyrical inspiration.

Fully aware of the expectations all these factions had for a follow up album, Green Day disappeared for three years to figure out what to do next. Two side projects (Pinhead Gunpowder and the stellar Foxboro Hot Tubs) and a new presidency later, the band found themselves with a ton of new material (one interview suggests the band had over 70 new songs!) and no idea what to do with all of it. Should they completely abandon their new model for success and return to something more like Dookie? Should they release a stripped down affair that focused more on acoustic experimentation than electric pogo punk? Should it be political? Should it be about smoking weed?

Instead of committing to a more cohesive model, the band decided to release an album that offered a bit of everything. But by trying to please everyone, they satisfy no one.

The structure of 21st Century Breakdown is most in tune with their previous record. It is a concept album following two characters (Christian and Gloria replace Jesus of Suburbia, St. Jimmy, and Whatsername) trying to make sense of a modern American landscape post-9/11, post-Bush, and pre-Obama. The band organizes the album's tracks into a silly structure, three awkwardly titled acts with names like "Heroes and Cons" and "Horseshoes and Handgrenades". This would all make sense if the album had an actual story to tell, but 21st Century Breakdown's narrative is infuriatingly elusive.

Lyrically, the album bounces all over the place. Tracks criticizing religious extremism ("East Jesus Nowhere"), war ("21 Guns"), over-medication ("Restless Heart Syndrome"), and complacency ("Know Your Enemy") are intercut with songs describing the character's backstories (the title track) and emotional states ("¡Viva La Gloria!" and "Christian's Inferno"). Billie Joe Armstrong has always been best as a lyricist when focusing on his own feelings rather than trying to speak for everyone else. On "Last of the American Girls," one of the album's standout tracks, he tenderly describes a young rebel girl who, "wears her overcoat for the coming of the nuclear winter" and is "on a hunger strike for the ones who won't make it for dinner." He observes a more hopeful world where "the non-believers go beyond belief" on closing track "See the Light". Even on the autobiographical title track, Armstrong focuses on his own childhood with a playfully vivid imagination:

"Born into Nixon, I was raised in hell

A welfare child where the teamsters dwelled.

The last one born, the first one to run

My town was blind from refinery sun."

From the wordplay on Insomiac's "Walking Contradiction" to the "GI Joe in pantyhose" on Nimrod's "King for a Day," Billie Joe has always had a knack for the tongue-in-cheek. But for every clever phrase and witty observation, 21st Century Breakdown also contains some of Armstrong's most cringe-worthy refrains. On past albums, his biggest weaknesses lie in his propensity to over-generalize or to speak in vague metaphor. On the bizarre "Christian's Inferno," he lazily describes a diabolic state that is "gracing [his] existence like a catastrophic baby". Equally painful is the main character in "¿Viva La Gloria?" whose "soul is purging of love and razor blades." And nothing is worse than his request on "Song of the Century" for a song that is "louder than bombs and eternity."

Luckily, the album's lyrical shortcomings are overshadowed by its ambitious sonic landscape. On 21st Century Breakdown, Green Day boldly expand upon their traditional three-chord punk pop model. Even when songs fall into familiar territory, they feel fresh amongst new surroundings. "¡Viva La Gloria!" opens as an Elton John piano ballad drenched in violins before departing into power chord riffing reminiscent of "Letterbomb" from the last record. Guided by Armstrong's falsetto vocal register, "Before the Lobotomy" opens with an acoustic arpeggio before morphing into a Who-like stadium romp. Two more piano ballads, "Last Night On Earth" and "Restless Heart Syndrome" find influence from Beatles songs like "Hey Jude" and "A Day in the Life."

The most adventurous tracks are found in the album's second act. The oddly effective latin cut "Peacemaker" (a speedier kid sister to "Misery" from Green Day's Warning) would have been disastrous if it wasn't for Armstrong's enthusiastic vocals. Less successful is "¿Viva La Gloria?" which just sounds like "Blood, Sex, and Booze" (another Warning song) without all the fun. Far more exhilarating is the second leg of "American Eulogy" which provides rare and impressive lead vocals from bassist Mike Dirnt and also contains the album's most infectious chorus (Try not to sing along to the repeated lyric "I don't wanna live in the modern world." I dare you.)

The problem with 21st Century Breakdown is there is just too much material. Even with lots of fresh ideas, Armstrong and company come off as repetitive and directionless. No doubt, the album contains some of Green Day's most inspired songwriting and the expansion of their ever-growing soundscape provides exciting opportunities for the future. But presented in this structure and at this length, Breakdown comes off as bloated and pretentious.

There is absolutely no reason why this album had to be 18 songs long (honestly, what do the songs "Murder City" and "Song of the Century" bring to the table?). Somewhere in an edited, twelve song reconstruction the band has topped American Idiot. In the end, however, Green Day is guilty of offering too much Green Day. When Billie Joe repeatedly asks us if we know that our enemy is ourselves in lead single "Know Your Enemy," one can't help but wonder why he didn't know the same rule applied to himself.

New Shit has Come to Light

Browsing through Discover Magazine online today, I found two totally rad articles:

1. Zombie Ants!!!

2. Time Travel!!!

Additionally, I saw this article on NYT about Man United legend Eric Cantona and this strange but awesome-sounding new movie starring him. The article makes him sound like the coolest dude ever, mainly because of this anecdote:

After karate-kicking an opposing fan, he had a press conference to explain himself. He simply said: "When the seagulls follow the trawler, it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea. Thank you very much." Awesome. Additionally, if you want to see a hilariously underrated classic football celebration, (as well as a disgusting goal, courtesy of Mr. Cantona) check out the following: