jeffreychrist

Legacy: Martin Luther King Jr. August 28, 1963

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon of hope to millions of slaves, who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the colored America is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the colored American is still sadly crippled by the manacle of segregation and the chains of discrimination.

One hundred years later, the colored American lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the colored American is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our Nation’s Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our great republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.

This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed to the inalienable rights of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given its colored people a bad check, a check that has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice.

We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is not time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy.

Now it the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice.

Now it the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

Now is the time to make justice a reality to all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of its colored citizens. This sweltering summer of the colored people’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hope that the colored Americans needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the colored citizen is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.

We cannot be satisfied as long as the colored person’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.

We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “for white only.”

We cannot be satisfied as long as a colored person in Mississippi cannot vote and a colored person in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of your trials and tribulations. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecutions and staggered by the winds of police brutality.

You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our modern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you, my friends, we have the difficulties of today and tomorrow.

I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that one day out in the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interpostion and nullification; that one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be engulfed, every hill shall be exalted and every mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.

With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to climb up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning “My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father’s died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!”

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that, let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi and every mountainside.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every tenement and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old spiritual, “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”

Reel Life: Ben Affleck as Batman – Get Over It

The uproar was and remains as ludicrous as it was and remains deafening – no sooner had the announcement been made did the blogosphere, and most dubiously, Twitter and Facebook, rain a firestorm of resentment, disgust, humour, shock and actual concern with such ridiculous exaggerated abandon you would think that Brett Ratner was hired to co-direct “Schindler’s List” with Michael Bay as an action musical starring Mel Gibson as a homosexual Jew.

Dear everyone (especially you geeks): seriously, calm the fuck down. If not-great/not-bad actor (yet a terrific director) Ben Affleck has your blood boiling for being the latest Batman then perhaps it’s time to put down the latest copy of whatever superhero comic you’re reading, log off The Nerdist, pull your underoos out of your asses and take a deep breath. After all, it’s only a movie.

But, you want a nerd revolt? Fine. I respect your passions, no matter how supercilious and misdirected. So, here’s a good one – focus on the more perturbing fact that Zack Snyder is directing the still-untitled project (it’s being called “Batman Vs. Superman” around the web, though that’s not official). From “300” to “Watchmen” to “Sucker Punch,” all the way to this summer’s dreary, poorly acted existential gobbledygook “Man of Steel” (where was the uproar over Henry Cavill’s lackluster, sterile performance?) – the man is responsible for some of the most abysmal, unwatchable pieces of pop culture drivel of the past decade. THERE’S your mutiny – one I happily endorse.

And come on – didn’t we all complain when Christian Bale was announced as the new Caped Crusader? (Yeah, stop lying.) Christopher Nolan’s “Batman Begins,” “The Dark Knight,” and “The Dark Knight Rises” decimated the cheesiness of the previous series and elevated the comic book movie to an artform. I won’t state falsely that Bale’s brooding Batman hindered the trilogy – but at the same time, I won’t say that it was his grunting or mumbling that raised the trifecta either.

Those protesting Affleck love throwing around “Gigli” and “Jersey Girl” (his dreaded Bennifer phase), and most risibly “Daredevil.” These were bad films, sure, and surely miscast (in regards to “Daredevil”) – but let’s face reality: no one – not even Bale – could have hoisted the films as anything than what they were/are. Of course Bale is the infinitely superior actor. But Affleck is no dunce (nor is he the second coming of Olivier either, natch). But if you’ve seen his performances in “Chasing Amy,” “The Town,” “Hollywoodland,” the underrated “Changing Lanes,” and of course, the recent Oscar-winning “Argo,” you’ll just have to come to terms and admit the fact that he doesn’t deserve to be the punch line, and he should never be underestimated.

For what it’s worth, I wasn’t a fan of Tim Burton’s “Batman” or “Batman Returns,” or Michael Keaton’s role as Batman, though Keaton brought a cheekiness and charm to the role. Yet people tend to forget that, once upon a time there was no Internet. And few remember the shock and dismay when Burton chose Keaton to star. And just recently. the pre-twitter pre-Facebook online world hated Heath Ledger as choice of The Joker. We know how both turned out.

Will Affleck’s Batman be a total disaster? Of course it could be. Of monumental proportions. Or, not – maybe he’ll surprise everyone. Thing is, no one knows – especially the tsunami of naysayers and wannabe critics whose risible tweets and FB comments have saturated social media in the past 24 hours.

But let’s face it – no matter how bad Affleck will (or will not) be in the role, I can predict, sight unseen, that he’ll be light years ahead of Val Kilmer and George Clooney.

In fact, I almost all but guarantee it.

Music Box: Blue, By You – Linda Ronstadt Diagnosed With Parkinson’s Disease

One of the mightiest – and most beautiful – voices in the history of Rock and Roll has been silenced. Linda Ronstadt has disclosed, in an interview with AARP that was posted on their page earlier today, that she has lost the ability to sing due to an undiagnosed Parkinson’s disease. What a horror – not knowing what’s ailing you, or misdiagnosing yourself (her hands began trembling soon after a shoulder operation years ago, which she assumed was the cause).

This is sad for those of us who have been fans of her perfect, clarion voice for decades. The scope of her work spans more than just the Rock and Country genres she’s excelled in starting in the late 1960 lasting through the early Aughts – from Opera to Broadway; from the traditional orchestrated Pop of Nelson Riddle to her roots-based, familial Mariachi collections; from the classic collaborative “Trio” albums (where Ronstadt’s supernal gift was matched with the supreme vocals of Dolly Parton and Emmylou Harris) back to the top of the Pop charts with Aaron Neville; from her “Western Wall: The Tuscan Sessions” (with Emmylou again) to her recent wonderful allying with folk singer Ann Savoy (2006’s “Adieu, False Heart”) – her canon is rich with superlative, archetypal work. (Her 2000 Christmas release, “A Merry Little Christmas” is one of the most haunting holiday releases and is on replay at my home during the season.)

The half-talents and harlots of today aren’t worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as Ronstadt. But if there is anything good that can come from this awful news it’s that hopefully a new generation will rediscover her extraordinary body of work and revel in the voice that has thrilled and enchanted millions for decades.

Legacy: Richie Havens

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Another master has walked through the gates of Rock n Roll heaven. Richie Havens, who came to prominence as the opening act of the Woodstock Festival (though a seminal force of the 60s folk music scene) has left us. He wasn’t a household name as the years progressed, but should have been. The gruff, hypnotic consistency of his voice beautifully juxtaposed the textured layers of his gorgeous rhythm guitar playing – which was both delicate and abrasive – and words he sang as bold as a lion and lovely as a lamb.

He famously covered the Beatles’ “Here Comes The Sun” and, if you pardon the cliche, made it his own. I was recently reveling in his album “Mixed Bag” – as I have so many times over the years. Released in 1967, it’s often considered his finest album – it consisted of his near-classic cover versions of Gordon Lightfoot’s “I Can’t Make It Anymore,” the Beatles’ (again) “Eleanor Rigby” and one of the definitive versions of Bob Dylan’s “Just Like A Woman.” He was one of the preeminent interpretative singers.

My favorite track on the album is one of my favorite songs of all time – it never fails to bring a tsunami of emotions into my heart – it simultaneously leaves me in a contemplative state of reverie and bittersweet nostalgia. It was written by Jerry Merrick and Havens makes it live with his elucidation.

And as I write this, that song, “Follow,” is wafting from my iTunes and into my soul. Much like Havens’ voice has for most of my life.

Rest in peace, song man. You will be missed.

Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetop, child, if you’re able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table.
Come and touch the things you cannot feel…

And close your fingertips and fly where I can’t hold you
Let the sun-rain fall and let the dewy clouds enfold you
And maybe you can sing to me the words I just told you…
If all the things you feel ain’t what they seem.

Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream…

The mocking bird sings each different song
Each song has wings – they won’t stay long.
Do those who hear think he’s doing wrong?
While the church bell tolls its one-note song
And the school bell is tinkling to the throng.
Come here where your ears cannot hear…

And close your eyes, child, and listen to what I’ll tell you
Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you
And the song that I am singing may disturb or serve to quell you
If all the sounds you hear ain’t what they seem,

Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream…

The rising smell of fresh-cut grass,
Smothered cities choke and yell with fuming gas;
I hold some grapes up to the sun
And their flavour breaks upon my tongue.
With eager tongues we taste our strife
And fill our lungs with seas of life.
Come taste and smell the waters of our time.

And close your lips, child, so softly I might kiss you,
Let your flower perfume out and let the winds caress you.
As I walk on through the garden, I am hoping I don’t miss you
If all the things you taste ain’t what they seem,

Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream…

The sun and moon both are right,
And we’ll see them soon through days of night
But now silver leaves on mirrors bring delight.
And the colours of your eyes are fiery bright,
While darkness blinds the skies with all its light.
Come see where your eyes cannot see.

And close your eyes, child, and look at what I’ll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
Then maybe, when we meet, suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain’t what they seem,

Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream…
And you can follow…and you can follow…follow…

Music Box: Happy Birthday Aretha Franklin

In 1998, twenty-two minutes after she was asked to cover for her ailing friend, Luciano Pavarotti, Aretha Franklin walked on stage at the Grammy Awards to perform the legendary aria “Nessun Dorma.” With little time to prepare Franklin performed the aria as is. In Pavarotti’s key. No one knew what to expect. No one knew what he or she was about to witness.

That performance begets one of the most extraordinary musical moments in awards show history, in a canon as mammoth. It brought the audience to a thunderous ovation and remains, in my opinion, the greatest performance in the history of the Grammy Awards.

Happy 70th Birthday to Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul.

Reel Life: Oscar, Oscar, Oscar!

Having finally seen every major Oscar contender (hooray for Oscar screeners!) for the first time in years, I can now throw my proverbial hat into the imaginary ring and announce which films I would vote for – if a non-Academy member (you know, a peon!) like me actually had any say in the matter. (I don’t. Oh well.) These aren’t my guesses of who or what will win, but who and what should win, or at least who I’d give the Oscar to. My office Oscar pool ballot is a coalescence of gut feeling and what I think will happen more than what I hope will come to fruition – the following choices enact more than an iota of said hope while remaining a fantasy of “if only…” (Again, oh well.)

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BEST PICTURE

AMOUR
ARGO
BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD
DJANGO UNCHAINED
LES MISERABLES
LIFE OF PI
LINCOLN
SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
ZERO DARK DIRTY

Of the nine nominees, I struggled between two – BEASTS and ARGO – as to which I would give my symbolic vote to. Finally, I went with which film I enjoyed the most over emotional heft. Every now and then a film comes along that haunts me with it’s beauty, originality, breathtaking simplicity. And every now and then, a child actor comes along, who’s never acted before, that stuns me. That great film is BEASTS… and that astonishing actress is named Quvenzhané Wallis (more on her later). Yet no other film thrilled me more than ARGO, which harkened back to the days of classic 1970s Hollywood political dramas (it even looks the part) – it’s a fantastic entertainment. While it took liberties with actual events – hey, it was “based” on a true story, and not a documentary – it was simultaneously intense, rousing and, surprisingly, very funny. And, thanks to the snubbed Ben Affleck, expertly crafted. So, by a very thin thread, I would have voted for ARGO.

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BEST DIRECTOR

Michael Haneke AMOUR
Ang Lee LIFE OF PI
David O Russell SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
Steven Spielberg LINCOLN
Benh Zeitlin BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD

Director Steven Spielberg w/Daniel Day Lewis

I’m still not sure who I’d vote for here, though I would remove Russel’s name. I enjoyed SLP, but it’s a performance-driven movie, and it’s filled with some pretty terrific ones (having not read the book, I’m not sure if the contrived predictability is the fault of Russell, or if he was just manifesting it onto the screen). Ben Affleck’s snub in this category is already legendary (even risible conspiracy theories!) – every expert and non-expert has weighed in and countless words have been written, so I’ll not comment further other than to agree that he was, indeed, “robbed.” Zeitlin’s masterful BEASTS was a debut – hence the nod was the reward itself – and already he shows a craft that will thrill for years. Spielberg is still on top of his game, and while LIFE OF PI was far from perfect, it was still gorgeous to watch, and Ang Lee proves again his mastery. And it still stuns me that the same man who made the heinous FUNNY GAMES, and it’s equally odious American remake, was the same man who directed the great AMOUR.

Proverbial gun pointed to my head? I’d probably give the Oscar to Spielberg – LINCOLN was fascinating and Spielberg has proven he’s not lost his magic – he’s crafted what could’ve easily become a lethargic, mind-numbingly dull history lesson into a complex, absorbing human drama.

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BEST ACTOR

Bradley Cooper SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
Daniel Day Lewis LINCOLN
Hugh Jackman LES MISERABLES
Joaquin Phoenix THE MASTER
Denzel Washington FLIGHT

In any other year, this probably would have been the battle of Cooper and Jackman. After two insultingly unfunny HANGOVER shit-fests and THE A-TEAM debacle, it was a revelation to learn that Cooper can actually – no, seriously – act! His multilayered portrayal of a man suffering from bi-polar disorder is infused with pathos and hope. Jackman’s Valjean is what Oscar dreams are made of – he’s a beloved actor, a consummate showman, and a beautiful man to behold – and despite his vocal tics, which didn’t help an already-hindered LES MIZ (read my less than enthusiastic review here), he’s a powerful force. But if there is one absolute at this year’s Academy Awards celebration, it’s that Lewis will win, and incontrovertibly deserves, the Oscar. Arguably the greatest actor alive (the man has never given a single sub-par performance), he already possesses (earned) two, and this will be his record-breaking third. His portrait of Lincoln is nothing short of transcendent.

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BEST ACTRESS

Jessica Chastain ZERO DARK THIRTY
Jennifer Lawrence SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
Emmauelle Riva AMOUR
Quvenzhane Wallis BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD
Naomi Watts THE IMPOSSIBLE

Walking through the taut ZERO DARK THIRTY in stone-faced rigidity, I was surprised (but not really) that the omnipresent Chastain garnered her second Oscar nod. But despite that inclusion, this is probably the strongest acting category; the rest of the nominees are stellar. Wallis was 6 years old when BEASTS was filmed and at 9 became the youngest actress to ever be nominated as lead. Of course she won’t win, but what a rare feat of history for the Academy to recognize this profoundly moving film and the stentorian lil’ actress at the center and I would cheer if, by some miracle, her name is called. I will also applaud wildly if Watts wins for one of 2012s greatest films – her performance was miraculous. The real competition, though, is between the 86-year-old Riva (the oldest nominee in history) as a woman who suffered a stroke and is in the diminishing days of her life (her co-star, Jean-Louis Trintignant, as her husband and caretaker, was unjustly neglected this awards season), and Lawrence’s intricately balanced role as a woman living with the demons that haunt her reality, who falls in love with a man with his own ghosts. Both wondrous performances, but my vote would go to Riva. She’s sublime, masterful and heartbreaking – rarely has the sad degringolade of a person’s life been so shatteringly rendered on film.

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BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Alan Arkin ARGO
Robert DeNiro SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
Philip Seymore Hoffman THE MASTER
Tommy Lee Jones LINCOLN
Christoph Waltz DJANGO UNCHAINED

Robert DeNiro in SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK

It’s a close – and still tough – call between Robert DeNiro and the great Tommy Lee Jones, who, as House abolitionist Thaddeus Stevens, is absolutely brilliant in LINCOLN. Once the most vibrant, exhilarating actor alive, DeNiro has been coasting on his legend for two plus decades (see also Jack Nicholson) – his choices of roles have been (predominantly) dubious, with the performances to match, as he happily cashed his paychecks. But in SLP, the aesthetic of DeNiro is resurrected with humor, despair, indifference, sadness and finally joy. And for bringing that humanity back to us, I would vote for DeNiro. I think. Okay, sure. But by a very slim margin.

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BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Amy Adams THE MASTER
Sally Field LINCOLN
Anne Hathaway LES MISERABLES
Helen Hunt THE SESSIONS
Jacki Weaver SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK

Another 2013 Oscar axiom is that this is Anne Hathaway’s year. LES MIZ is wildly popular, and Hathaway’s won more than a few awards on the way to the Kodak theater. As Fantine, she was effective, exhibiting the desperation and piteousness of her distraught grisette. Despite winning the New York Film Critic’s award and the nomination, Field has been criticized and even mocked for her periodic histrionics. However, Field has always had a flair for melodrama – it won her two Best Actress Oscars already, thank you very much – and that trademark theatricality elevates the portrayal of Mary Todd-Lincoln’s bi-polarism to a more historical accuracy. Her dramaturgy was a feast. She would get my vote.

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Other Nominees, Other Choices:

Original Screenplay: AMOUR
Adapted Screenplay: LINCOLN
Documentary: SEARCHING FOR SUGAR MAN
Song: SKYFALL by Adele
Original Score: LIFE OF PI
Visual Effects: LIFE OF PI
Animated Feature: WRECK-IT RALPH

Reel Life: Oscar 2013 – Honesty IS the Best Policy

As I start to sift through my Oscar screeners to watch the nominated films for this years Academy Awards this weekend, I had a hearty chuckle at College Humor’s “more accurate,” alternative titles of the Best Pic nods. Biting, lovingly sardonic and, let’s face it, honest wit, is at play here – the staff perfectly catches the zeitgeist of each film. And it’s not just the reimagined titles that are funny, but also the assorted taglines (see the “I’m not crying, you’re crying” blurb by the “NY Times”), slogans and even the actors’ names themselves. And, the actual aesthetic of the movie poster remains intact. It’s ingenious – and hilarious.

Gotta admit – the one film out of all the nominees that I’m looking forward to watching the most also happens to be the funniest of the bunch. And that is:

Here are the rest:

Music Box Report Card: 2012’s Baker’s Dozen vs. Dirty Dozen

Without much commentary (these aren’t full reviews, after all, rather succinct/impetuous – depending on who you ask – musings), I’m always loathe to list my favorites in any particular order – I’ve lived with each of these albums more than any other throughout the year, so it’s hard to commit to such a limited inventory. So take the order of the listing merely as what pops into my head while typing. Save for the first three of four, which if I had to choose would be my Top 3 or 4, all equally warrant your attention. (Same can be said for the shit way below.)

Baker’s Dozen Plus: My Favorite Albums of 2012

LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III Older Than My Old Man Now The ghosts surround Wainwright on his latest collection; the ghosts of his old man, the specter of a former sex life, the ectoplasm of his failed marriages and the brokenness of his relationship with his children, and the ghost of mortality itself. With his only peers probably Dylan and Cohen – though his sense of humour has always surpassed their dour sensibilities – no one else has ever dared create a cycle of historical familial strife so funny, pungent, bittersweet, and obvious, while employing said family on the cycle itself.

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EMELI SANDE Over Version Of Events As with any great modern singer, the influences only inspire, and as with any great soul singer, that inspiration is divine. While miniscule British imports abound on the charts and over the airwaves, Sande’s American near-anonymity is a crime.

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FUN. Some Nights A hook-infused smorgasbord of melodious, bombastic choruses, cryptic sweeping verses, self-help placards, and Nate Ruess’ glorious range and tone – the singular male vocalist of the year. An exhilarating exercise in grandiosity.

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PINK The Truth About Love She morphed from the next evolution of teen pop to steadfast hitmaker – and songwriter extraordinaire – four albums ago. What makes The Truth About Love almost perfect is the way it makes us wonder if these 13 tracks are autobiographical or if she’s merely an oracle for today’s women-on-the-verge. Then of course, there’s that voice.

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KENDRICK LAMAR good kid, m.A.A.d city A documentary of potency and importance, the narrative is deep, the stories resonant, and the skill sonorous, this is the ‘concept’ album (or “short film” as he titled it) of the year in a year littered with throwaways and ringtone rap. With his riveting eye and pen, Lamar raises a bar that desperately needed raising.

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IRIS DEMENT Sing The Delta After 15 years – following a great debut with two classics (Infamous Angel, My Life and The Way I Should respectively) and a curious 2004 gospel-tinged covers collection (Lifeline) – DeMent has no grand proclamations to make, rather her still-perfect drawl settles on the simplicity of her own self. More gorgeous, more cerebral, more breathtaking with each listen.

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SPOEK MATHAMBO Father Creeper Epochal collection from talented Johannesburg wordsmith. The amalgamation of hip hop, electronica, rock and rap and dubstep is intentionally dizzying and despaired, brutal and beautiful – like the tales he weaves throughout this exceptional album.

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TODD SNIDER Agnostic Hymns & Stoner Fables A more valid source for political commentary than any legit news source and that’s probably not what Snider wants to hear; he’s first a master storyteller – and a damned-well sardonically brilliant one at that – documenting our humanity, or lack thereof, more precisely, and more hilariously, than none other.

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FRANK OCEAN channel ORANGE After self-releasing his masterpiece nostagiaULTA last year (my favorite album of 2011), channel ORANGE became the cause celebre of 2012 and deserving of all it’s accolades, Ocean has created an intense, formless, brave and archetypal collection – for a modern Soul maestro still sojourning his way to nirvana, it’s visionary.

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SINEAD O’CONNOR How About I Be Me (And You Be You) Sadly mostly a tabloid footnote in the decades since she jettisoned into the public consciousness, this is her most striking, haunting, gorgeous and coherent since then. There’s still that voice, aged but still both ethereal and a mammoth force of nature, and there are the songs themselves, confessionals (of course), private but universal.

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BRUNO MARS Unorthodox Jukebox Circumventing the sophomore slump is a prodigious task when the debut is an indelibleclassic. But Unorthox Jukebox is another slice of musical heaven, a collection of dance-pop masters, Soul tour-de-forces, and a soupcon of disco-infused gems.

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FIONA APPLE The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do Were we really ready for a mature, fully realized Fiona Apple release? Sure, the vagaries of her pen often need cryptanalysis, but as it flows and coalesces, it’s epiphanous. And she never panders to anyone, least of all herself – she rarely, if ever, sounded so sure, so potent while singing about uncertainty, jealousy, obsession, solitude or revenge.

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BETTYE LAVETTE Thankful N’ Thoughtful A half-century into this, and almost a decade into her renaissance, LaVette hasn’t dissipated her intensity, her funk or her master interpretations. Her Soul – and soul – aches and thrives.

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Honorable Mentions:

SOLANGE True / AZEALIA BANKS 1991 (tie) It might be cheating summing these up as a tie, but since they’re both EPs (7 and 4 tracks, respectively) I’ll do as I deem worthy. If longevity escapes Banks, it would be a shame – not only does she possess the mightiest skills of any rapper this year, but her dextrous wordplay would give the most seasoned pro pause. Sure, she’s a potty mouth. That’s called love. Solange, dimmed in the spotlight of her megastar sister (that would be Beyonce, to the uninformed) and her long-time collaborator, Dev Hynes, crystallize the past and the future with the present; he supplies the grooves that coalesce, but they wouldn’t be as sumptuous without her perfectly, intentionally restrained vocals. “True” is a precursor to a full-lengther that drops in January. If it’s half as determined and realized, it’ll be worthy come award season. And, also:

ADAM LAMBERT Trespassing, JAPANDROIDS Celebration Rock, PATTI SMITH Banga, BETH HART Bang Bang Boom Boom (import – the domestic release drops in April 2013), BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN Wrecking Ball, MIGUEL Kaleidoscope Dream, MADONNA MDNA, NEIL YOUNG Americana, AMADOU & MARIAM Folia, MACY GRAY Covered, LEONARD COHEN Old Ideas

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Dirty Dozen: The 12 Worst Albums of 2012

CHRIS BROWN Fortune Sometimes you have to separate the ‘art’ from the ‘artist’ and judge the work independently. But when a supercilious shithead (consistently) releases execrable shit, then all bets are off.

CHRISTINA AGUILERA Lotus A cacophonous, tuneless assortment only her fans could love. (Hey, where are her fans?)

CARRIE UNDERWOOD Blown Away Four – count ’em four – duds in a row for this shrill chanteuse, this isn’t her usual apocryphal shit for Country fans – it’s an emboldened (in theory, at least) manufactured pop machination masqueraded as country-politan dreck for the beyond-Idol audience of her dreams. And those arena-rock fantasies have been fulfilled. That’s okay, though. Artistically, she’ll never be Miranda Lambert.

MAROON 5 Overexposed A decade ago, Adam Levine forged his Stevie Wonder delusions, selling blanched white R&B-influenced pop wholesale. Soon thereafter, he laboriously morphed his group into an auto-tuned homologous dance bad, indistinguishable from the consortium of such ilk, with Levine’s ubiquity the key ingredient to their charting mainstay, as this collection of atonal musings solidifies. Consumer fraud alert.

RACHEL MCFARLAND Haley Sings Big brother Seth’s “Music Is Better Than Words” was passionless, (unintentionally) hilarious, and wan. Apparently bequeathed traits. Particularly when sung by a cartoon character.

TRAIN California 37 Tolerable as a singles act (with the eternal “Drops Of Jupiter” their crest), they’ve defined corporate pop-rock for years. But who would’ve thought that a departing guitarist would relegate them to the dustbins? No hook in sight by a California mile.

KREAYSHAWN Something Bout Kreay Subbasement white-girl (c)rap mixed with bargain-basement production, she blessedly managed to diminish a guaranteed 15 Minutes of Fame into about 8, maybe 9. Good riddance.

GEOFF TATE Kings and Thieves At least, back in the day, Tate’s vacuous voice evoked a yearn to escape the lunkhead metal of his sub-genre, he now sounds like complete shit – which would be okay if the material best suited his goal. Self-parody is never sadder when derived from the already parodied world from whence you came. I mean, come on! Wasn’t Queensryche jokey enough?

OWL CITY The Midsummer Station Adam Young’s offensive Ben Gibbard For Morons has long outlasted his (un)welcome; he’d be a full-blown menace to society if anyone cared enough to purchase – or buy into – his shit.

ONE DIRECTION Take Me Home I don’t object Simon Cowell’s crass commercialism – hell, every “boy band” from the Monkees to Backstreet Boys was manufactured for mass appeal. It’s 1Ds passionless readings of even the most banal lyrics that’s most offensive. One-ups their debut in chutzpah, though.

AEROSMITH Music From Another Dimension With the promise to the return of their signature style, I was disappointed with the news – sure, their drug-induced canon created some great American rock n roll in the 70s, but there’s a special place in my heart for their cheesey comeback for the ages that started in the late 80s, which cross-channeled sexy geezer attitude with bubblegum MTV pop to varying degrees of delicious audacity. Then, as their stars faded once again, Tyler found Nigel Lythgoe and after two heinous seasons as the resident perverted sycophant, which included a solo atrocity even Idol wannabes scoffed at, they release what I pray is the final stopgap into the catacombs of history. Whose, title, by the way, is the most misleading in their existence.

WILSON PHILLIPS Dedicated Lifeless necrophilia masqueraded as parental homage.

Reel Life: Les Miserables

I’ve seen “Les Miserables” on Broadway probably a dozen times throughout its initial 16 year run and short revival. I was there the month when it opened, where I was privileged to hear Colm Wilkinson’s “Bring Him Home.” I saw country star Gary Morris later in the same Valjean role, singing with a precision, a depth and an ache I didn’t know he possessed (though I was a fan of his recorded work). I sat in awe as my prejudice evaporated when Ricky Martin took over the role of Marius, and sang the shit out of “Empty Chairs At Empty Tables” a few years later. I wept as Randy Graff performed “I Dreamed A Dream” from that original production (quaking my bones), and eight years after I first saw the show, I watched a young ingenue sing “Castle On A Cloud” as the child Cosette. Her name? Lea Michele. I was dismayed with that misbegotten revival a mere 3 years after the original closed. Though I was a fan of Daphne Rubin-Vega, her Fantine was a miscast, though the great Norm Lewis made a spellbinding Javert. Alas, the overall production lacked the original’s gravity. And of course, before all of this, I reveled, devoured, seeped myself in the Original London Cast Recording, with Wilkonson, Michael Ball and the legendary Patti LuPone as Fantine.

Although proven critic-proof, the critics were less than kind to the show when it opened on the West End and on Broadway. Most derision was aimed at its score. “Les Miserables” lives or dies by its score, and if the poignant, theatrical scope of the songs does not move you, then seeing it is a moot point. It defeats the purpose, for the music is the thread. An homage to the traditions of Grand Opera, luxurious melodies pervade its lush score enacted by a large scale cast, surrounded by lavish sets. There are scantly few spoken words in its nearly 3-hour running time, with repeated musical refrains echoing throughout.

It’s true that the music that transcends one’s heart and soul is innately personal – how one viscerally reacts to a refrain, a stanza, a melody is unique to the individual. I can’t remember the exact moment all those years ago, but “Les Miserables” bored inside me on an intrinsic, almost instinctual level, and tattooed onto my very soul. It moves me as so few musicals do. And as a man who has seen many hundreds of Broadway shows over three decades, that’s a grand statement.

But it is what it is, and I own it.

I know, I know…why am I meandering on about Broadway versions of “Les Miserables”?

Well, because it is with the heaviest of hearts that I must proclaim Tom Hooper’s film version left me cold.

For months I waited with breathless abandon; since they ‘leaked’ a snippet of Oscar front-runner Anne Hathaway’s “I Dreamed A Dream” to the masses, and with every successive sneak preview, my anticipation was tenfold of the preceding. I argued to those who loathed Russell Crowe’s singing voice or Anne Hathaway’s restraint (hey, she ain’t no Patti LuPone!) that pomposity wasn’t necessary for a movie musical to tell its story; in fact, often such overt theatrics suffocate any nuance, any emotional fortitude, when characterized on screen. And emotion is what “Les Miserables” is saturated with. On the stage, melodramatic histrionics are almost always a necessity. Depending on the material, reserved vocal chops usually don’t cut it. Could you imagine LuPone cooing “I Dreamed A Dream,” (or for that matter, “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” from “Gypsy”), Betty Buckley mewing the killer cadence from “Memory” or Jennifer Holiday passively reflecting “And I Am Telling You” from “Dreamgirls”? Of course not. It needs to be exaggerated, the crescendo, the uprise, the build, the intestinal endurance to get the point across not only the first five rows, but to the rafters. (Of course, such bombast, in incapable hands, could also ruin a show, but I digress…)

As reported ad nauseum, Hooper had the actors sing their songs live during filming (as opposed to lip-reading to a previously recorded soundtrack) and added the orchestration later. I thought the idea, especially in the preview clips, was a stroke of genius. These are foremost, after all, actors – and what better way to showcase that craft than by allowing them to interpret the songs in the moment? Regrettably, the audaciousness of this “authenticity” mostly resulted in the exact opposite of its ideal – for the most part, each actor either felt too self-aware, too overtly concerned with hitting the notes (not that they were all hit) or actually becoming too showboaty – dissipating any realism that was desired.

Another distraction made the performances almost unbearable to watch – Hooper absurdly decided to shoot everyone in relentless nostril-flaring, nose-hair counting, snot-running close-ups; not only did this stultify any dramatic or comedic proclivity (asphyxiating, for example, the scope of “Master of the House” and relegating the building of the barricade to nothing but mere furniture tossing), it nullified the exquisiteness of the art design. When the camera does pan out during the final crescendos of any given ballad, you witness a gorgeous, expansive feat of visuals. Sumptuous, detailed, gruesome, extravagant – production designer Eve Stewart created, when you can see it, such beautiful squalor. She should sue.

The actors do the best they can in a medium outside (most of their) wheelhouses. Hugh Jackman is a gorgeous talent of a man, a brilliant, almost anachronistic showman, yet his voice sounded too helium-infused; if the score were transposed half a step lower, the results could’ve been mind-blowing – instead, we are begging for more resonance. The same detriments haunt the angelic-looking Amanda Seyfried, who’s proven to be an apt singer in the past but here displays a mostly grating, feigned soprano. Hathaway’s much-heralded Fantine is most effective in her performance (if not, at times teetering on affective) – during her barely 30 minutes of screen time she exhibits the desperation and pathos of her distraught grisette. (The awards for her show stopping number are already flowing in.) Sasha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter provide needed, near-seditious comic relief as the innkeepers, the Thenardiers, though more colored with a darker speciousness than the stage.

The oddly attractive Eddie Redmayne was a curious choice of the traditionally handsome Marius, but his tenor possesses a sweet lucidity. I would have preferred the more vocally stellar and stunning Aaron Tveit (of “Next To Normal” and “Catch Me If You Can” fame), who here portrays Enjolras, to swap roles with Redmayne. Stage actress Samantha Barks as Eponine, is a powerhouse. And what a delight to see – and hear – the great Wilkinson (the original Valjean) as the bishop whose munificence transforms Jackman’s Valjean into a man of courage and dignity.

Then of course there’s Russell Crowe’s Inspector Javert. Crowe is one of our great actors, but I can’t recall seeing a performance so strikingly self-conscious to the point of visual stupefaction. Forget his non-voice (for someone whose fronted an, ahem, rock band for 20 years you’d think he could manage a modicum of ethos) – Crowe looks visibly distrait in a constant dear-in-the-headlights glaze, lumbering along in a dramatic, catatonic void. Such hindrances counterpoints, say, the needed sturdy defiance of “Stars.”

On some level I have to admire the temerity of “Les Miserables,” and perhaps a second viewing will warm me of it’s apparent charms (it’s making a fortune). I don’t know.

On stage, the three hour running time swept by in a tsunami of emotional, glorious – albeit, depressing – splendor. Watching the film, you feel every minute trudge by in a bloated daze. And that makes the film feels so anonymous. Which for any lavish, epic, grandiose musical, is a bigger crime that stealing a loaf of bread.

Legacy: TCM Remembers 2012

A few weeks ago, TCM started airing it’s annual display of bittersweet beauty in remembering those who have left us from the world of cinema (they posted the tribute on their official YouTube page on December 10, weeks before greats like Jack Klugman and Charles Durning recently left this life). As with every year, there will be people who were left out, but that doesn’t negate the simplicity and grace of the tribute.

This year, they used the haunting M83 track, “Wait.”