Might As Well (Shark) JUMP!
Golden Glee
As an unabashedly proud, die hard GLEEK, the news that Ryan Murphy, creator and head honcho of GLEE, would be mounting a Broadway musical based on the show, should be a cause for jubilation. But why do I feel a wee unsettled? GLEE has saturated the Pop Culture landscape, and I’m not sure how far the balloon can stretch before the whole thing explodes (into glitter and rainbows, I’m sure).
The mega-successful tour was delightful, and made perfect sense within the GLEE zeitgeist. But it didn’t stop there.
Back in June, 20th Century Fox announced that there will be a series of GLEE books distributed by Little, Brown Books For Young Readers, the first which will act as a prequel to the series. Macy’s also announced a clothing line to debut before the start of the new school year. And, in November, Bluewater Productions is issuing a one-issue only comic FAME: THE CAST OF GLEE (the latest in a series of comic books detailing the rise of popular artists). According to its website, “The 32-page comic book one shot takes a close look at the lives of the actors and creative talent that have made the FOX Broadcasting’s series “Glee” such a runaway hit. “Glee” fans can learn about the paths that show mainstays Lea Michele, Matthew Morrison, Jane Lynch, Cory Monteith and Chris Colfer have taken on their way to fame”.
To overuse an already overused cliche, sometimes there is too much of a good thing.
GLEE itself hasn’t “jumped the shark” (I loathe that term, but it is what it is). While far from perfect (the misguided Madonna episode springs to mind), it remains an exhilarating, corny, absurd, and triumphant hour of TV, a phenomenon unlike anything on TV in years.
Another possible negative is the stunt casting. So far, the “guest stars” have infused GLEE with a natural, perfect aesthetic. But will that stunt-casting take it from the sublime (Kristin Chenoweth, Neil Patrick Harris, Jonathan Groff – and not to mention the recently announced Carol Burnett, who’ll portray Jayne Lynche’s Sue Sylvester’s mother) to the ridiculous? While I’m quivering in expectation for the Brittany-themed episode (who doesn’t worship the magnificent Heather Morris?) I can’t pretend the same thrill for the Britney (as-in-Spears)-themed episode. Witnessing her lack of even a modicum of anything resembling acting chops in the appalling CROSSROADS in 2002 was pitiful enough, but she nearly ruined one of my favorite TV shows, HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER with her guest role a few seasons back. And, according to Ryan Murphy, she’ll be “kind of playing herself…”
While that sentence portends dismay, this pic fills me with sanguine optimism:
Brit(s) Against The Music (photo courtesy Britney Spears TwitPic)
Will it sustain its magic in the upcoming season 2? I certainly hope so. Does all of this compound a GLEE overkill? I certainly hope not. I’m one who likes to give the benefit of the doubt, and I’m awaiting with unmitigated, brazen, well, glee, for the new season to arrive. Obviously, I’m not alone in my adoration (it was recently nominated for an astounding 19 Emmy Awards).
But as a wise man (okay, Felix Unger) once waxed philosophic, and if sort of applies: Never overstay your welcome, or you’ll never be welcome to stay over. And I NEVER want the slumber party to end.
Pussy Hates Bieber
And I know exactly how the pussy feels.
Imma Let You Finish, But Kanye West Has Some Of The Most Random Tweets Of All Time…Of ALL TIME
I can’t imagine any one of his 400,000+ Twitter followers (including yours truly) not having a chuckle or two (or twenty) at his oddball stream-of-consciousness (and, natch, pompous) tweets, – which are more akin to Tracy Morgan’s 30 ROCK Tracy Jordan persona than he’d probably ever like to admit – but suppose Kanye West’s twitter posts were matched with New Yorker cartoons…
Well, that’s what the funny guys at PAUL AND STORM imagined…and executed:
Yes, it’s true: Paul created the #kanyenewyorkertweets Twitter hashtag meme. We’re seriously thinking about changing the name of our act to The Meme Brothers.
Hot on the heels of Storm’s #wookieeleaks juggernaut, Paul’s insomnia and subsequent Twitter exchange with Josh Cagan led him to launch #newyorkerkanyetweets, a mashup of New Yorker cartoons and Twitter n00b Kanye West’s tweets. An e-mail interview with Paul about the meme’s appeal can be found at Urlesque.com, and already it’s been picked up by The Onion A/V Club, Paste Magazine the Huffington Post, and, yes, The New Yorker.
Check ‘em out on Twitter, or in this handy gallery of mashups by Paul, Josh, and Storm…
Here are a few that are pretty darned perfect (I love that they kept all West’s typos intact):
Betty White Lines
Sans the copious, hammy camera-mugging from video creators Frank DeCaro, his husband Jim Colucci and porn-actor-cum-singer Frederick Ford, which only diminishes the on-screen time of their beloved muse as well as the decades of material they could have pulled from, this would have been a helluva lot funnier. But, oh, funny it is (thanx to Geoffrey Dicker and his According 2G)…
They Are The World
I say lesbian fetus Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, Joe Jonas and all the auto-tuned train-wrecks can eat shit. THIS is THE definitive WE ARE THE WORLD 2010! (Even though it was posted in 2009…) Methinks that much more money could’ve been raised for Haiti if the geniuses forewent the disastrous official vid.
We’ll Take A Cup O’ Kindness Yet…
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(This is pretty much a repost from last year’s New Years wishes, only the dates have changed and I added a little more verbiage to reflect its relevence…)
ABBA, the eternal androids from Sweden – whose music will survive any imminent nuclear holocaust – has arguably the most popular ‘pop’ New Years song (that I can think of off the top of my noggin) with the appropriately titled “Happy New Year”. Without grasping the irony in its seemingly cheerful lyrics, most who hum along don’t realize it’s a depressing, dark and sarcastic tribute to the impending year, and decade, in question. Don’t believe me? Read the lyrics HERE.
While listening to the song recently, especially the last verse before the chorus…
But is it REALLY a HAPPY New Year, ABBA?
Seems to me now
That the dreams we had before
Are all dead, nothing more
Than confetti on the floor
It’s the end of a decade
In another ten years time
Who can say what we’ll find
What lies waiting down the line
In the end of ‘89
…I wondered why they hadn’t thought to record multiple versions that would be played every end-of-decade, almost guaranteeing the relevance of the song (although 2019 doesn’t rhythmically or melodically fit into my rambling discourse…) and their timelessness.
Hum away, enjoy. But, me? I can’t think of a more glorious way to ring in 2010 than with the Queen of, well, everything, and the late, great Billy Preston, side by side at the piano, elatedly serenading you and me with “Auld Lang Syne” (from David Brenner’s 1980s talk-fest “Night Life”).
It instills in us the hope that, perhaps if we really try, we could swiftly forgo a most tumultuous 2009 – and any distress the Aughts as a whole might have emanated – and truly believe in ourselves the possibility of a most sanguine new year. After all…
May we all have a vision now and then
Of a world where every neighbour is a friend
Happy new year
Happy new year
May we all have our hopes, our will to try
If we don’t we might as well lay down and die
You and I
On The 11th Day Of (Jeffrey)Christ-mas…
…Jeffrey gave to you…Stevie Nicks’ version of “Silent Night”…
“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Stevie’s house, not a Gypsy was stirring…”
Stevie’s haunting reading of “Silent Night” was recorded for the A VERY SPECIAL CHRISTMAS charity album in 1987, the first (and the best) in the long line of Christmas albums benefiting the Special Olympics produced by long-time Stevie fan, producer and now chairman of Interscope records, Jimmy Iovine.
AVSC consists of some wonderful holiday tracks (including Eurythmics’ enchanting “Winter Wonderland”, the Pointer Sisters’ jovial “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” (featured as my 7th Day Of (Jeffrey)Christ-mas), Bruce Springsteen’s fantastic “Merry Christmas, Baby” and Run-DMC’s classic “Christmas In Hollis”, accompanied by an even better VIDEO), and needless to say to anyone who knows me – at all - the Stevie Nicks reading of “Silent Night” is amongst my very favorite Christmas recordings.
Below is a video I put together called “Silent Night Suite”. It begins with an excerpt of an old MTV special about the making of the album (which includes an interview with Stevie and Iovine), and then the full Iovine interview where that footage was taken from. To, of course, the sterling live version.
With two-maybe-three hit wonder Robbie Nevil lending his vocal, this version of “Silent Night” was performed on the “A Very Special Christmas” concert TV special that aired on CBS in 1987. Hosted by FAME actress Nia Peeples, it featured some of the album’s artists performing their tracks. The show closed with “Silent Night”. When Stevie sings with her long-time backup singers Lori Perry-Nicks and Sharon Celani, the result is always stunningly ethereal, and here is no exception…blending with Robbie’s call-and-response, this live version is actually more exquisite than the recorded version, and sweeps you away into another dimension.
Open your eyes, and you see a Rock ‘N Roll queen sing in celebration. Close your eyes and you are encompassed by the beauty of the song, the luxurious harmony, and the spirit of the holidays.
Regulate…G(ay) Funk Error
(via Towleroad)
I’m not sure what’s worse – Warren G’s ignorant homphobia (in the vein of, “hey, some of my best friends are…”), his assault on the English language (not uncommon in this “thug culture” we’ve curiously embraced), or the fact that Vanity Fair has dedicated time and space on the thoughts of a one-maybe-two hit wonder?
Here’s what the “G” man said:
I ain’t against gay people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids…I know people that’s gay. My wife’s got friends that are gay. I got family that’s gay. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got dudes kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that…I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the gays.
Imagine the uproar if we substituted the word “black” for “gay”:
I ain’t against black people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids…I know people that’s black. My wife’s got friends that are black. I got family that’sblack. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got blacks kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that…I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the blacks.
The public outcry and upheaval would be absolutely justified and labeled as racist. But will Warren be called out for his ignorance (most stupefying is that even this interviewer let it go)? Probably not. We give free passes for homophobia time and time again, especially in Hip Hop. Like the deeply-closeted sports world, the stigma is so traumatizing that it’s almost a right-of-passage to proudly display one’s homophobia for the world to see.
Sickening, ain’t it?
All You Single Ladies…Don’t Bother
Despite lyrics that sing, “There’s a she-wolf in your closet, open up and let her free…let it out so it can breathe…” there’s nothing closeted here. What makes Andrew Foster’s proudly gay, almost frame-for-frame cover of Shakira’s totally stupid “She-Wolf” video so refreshing is that, where Shakira took her unintentionally hilarious choreography way too seriously (which, considering how disjointed and spastic it was/is, elevates the funny even more), Foster has no illusions of grandeur: he knows he’s emaciated, goofy, a bad lip-syncer, and about as sexy a dancer as skidmarks on a tutu.
This isn’t genius, of course, but unlike most video homages/tributes that have polluted YouTube these past few years, at the very least it’s enjoyable on those levels.
And at the very least, it has to be more entertaining than the upcoming werewolf-saturated “Twilight” sequel, no?
Music Box: Me + Bill Levy x Morrissey ÷ Carnegie Hall = Love
This Charming Man, Morrissey, At Carnegie Hall 3.26.09
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Ya miss me? I know, for a moment there I forgot I had another blog on the web to vent my nothingness. My apologies to my readers – I’ve been working madly these past few months, while writing my American Idol Report Card twice a week. But, I haven’t “forgotten” this baby…just let it nap for a little while.
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Bill Levy, one of my favorite straights, so to speak, and I went to see Morrissey at Carnegie Hall yesterday evening (one of the perks from working where I do is that I can see most shows that I wish. My wonderful contact – thanx, Retta! – at Lost Highway was kind enough to grant my request for tickets). Bill is a Morrissey uber-fan, who purchases tickets to every area show that’s scheduled and is a true connoisseur of his (Morrissey’s) art. This was Bill’s third Morrissey show of the week.
The last time I saw Morrissey in concert was early in his solo career. I was supervisor at the long-lost lamented Tower Records in the Village when he played Madison Square Garden’s Paramount Theater back in 1992 or 1993 (those years are a blur, so forgive my poor memory).
I’ve long heralded Morrissey as a mopey genius (not an original moniker, I know) – and as a Smiths-loving youth, I salivated at his early solo work. So, that chance to see him in concert was a thrill I wasn’t going to miss out on, knowing I’d probably never see the Smiths live. The Paramount was electric, with the 5000+ fanatics singing along, and dancing in the aisles…but this was a time in his career when there was little-to-nil bantering between songs, and was also that space in his solo years where he refused to perform any Smiths selections. Not that “Morrissey” fans minded – his first few solo outputs still dripped in the same sardonic vein.
I will admit that in recent years, my hunger for Morrissey has dwindled ever so slightly, and there’s no discernible reason, really. Somewhere between the radiant “Your Arsenal” and the meandering “Vauxhall And I” the innate thrill of an imminent new Morrissey CD wasn’t there anymore. I still loved the man – his art, his self-loathing, his wit, and his mighty pen – but I just stopped caring.
Also, as I get on in years, my once-driven ecstasy of going to concerts has dissipated to almost zilch. I rarely make the effort to enjoy watching a concert, even if it’s free (in the past 2 years I could count possibly ten shows I went to – once upon a time, that would be a per month figure) and if I could explain to you why, I would. It could be any number of factors, from my easy annoyance of rowdy crowds, to the sickly-sweet stench of marijuana in the air (the aroma literally makes me physically ill) to the more-often-than-not buffoons who always seem to purchase seats exactly in front of mine. At the risk of sounding like an old, jaded man, I actually prefer to go home and watching TV.
But, there Bill and I sat, 13th row orchestra, and an anticipation came over me that I haven’t felt in years. Could have been the company (I love Bill, and his girlfriend Tal, who actually took the ticket he purchased before I was able to get the gratis ones, is a delight), or the exuberant audience, or possibly the thrill of being in Carnegie Hall’s Stern auditorium, a beautiful theater the greats have all played. Whatever the reason(s), I felt I was about to have a great time. And I did.
Much of the set list was foreign to me, as it focused on his later solo CDs, and I have to admit I feel foolish for missing out on some of his most striking lyrics, e.g. “Black Cloud” and “Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed”. But as someone who’s waited 25 years to hear any Smiths songs live, my ardor accelerated when the set opened with “This Charming Man” and later “How Soon Is Now”, perhaps Morrissey and (Smiths guitarist) Johnny Marr’s most famous masterpiece, and “Death Of A Disco Dancer”.
Most startling is how his voice, still muscular and rarely wavering, hold up – that deep nasal tone still packs a punch on his most pungent lyrics. His band – guitarist and Musical Director Boz Boorer, guitarist Jesse Tobias, drummer Matt Walker, bassist Solomon Walker, and keyboardist Kristopher Pooley – all sinewy and sexy and passionate, only exemplified the fervent pitch with their craftsmanship. The band kicks major ass.
And what better way to end a most memorable night but to stand outside Carnegie Hall, standing in the rain, and contemplating a most charming evening. Morrissey would have loved that. Probably.
Carnegie Hall Set List
This Charming Man
Black Cloud
When Last I Spoke To Carol
How Soon Is Now?
Irish Blood, English Heart
Let Me Kiss You
I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris
How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?
Seasick, Yet Still Docked
The Loop
I Keep Mine Hidden
The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores
Ask
Best Friend On The Payroll
Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed
One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell
Death Of A Disco Dancer
Sorry Doesn’t Help
Something Is Squeezing My Skull
I’m OK By Myself
encore: First Of The Gang To Die
