Brief Movie Review: Skyfall [Unimaginitive Title] OR Skyfa...My hyper-abbreviated Thoughts on the New Bond Flick

Hey everyone! (I have to laugh when I address "the people" with these posts as if anyone besides my mom and I read this blog). I thought I'd do a super quick little movie review today for Skyfall!!! I saw this film a few weeks ago but hopefully everything is still fresh!

Ok, so I thought this here movie was FANTASTIC! It was one of if not THE best Bond film I've ever seen. Sam Mendez, who has got to be a fucking weirdo in real life (given the motifs in his movies), knocked another one out of the park. I think the biggest reason why I loved this so much was the emotionally relatable villain. Maybe I'm personalizing on this because I have false teeth and a long history of making sexual advances at Englishmen wearing slim-fitting suits, but I had so much empathy for Javier Bardem's character in this. And I thought every element of this story had a really solid emotional anchor to reel the audience in like a trout on a fishing line. While it may have spared a marginal level of ACTION and GOVERNMENT ESPIONAGE that people are probably used to with Bond, I thought it more than compensated for that with emotionally ripe characters (seriously, Brett...how many times are you gonna use the word 'emotional" in this ting???). Anyway, back to Bardem. That guy acted the shit out of that role. I just wanted to watch every little thing he did on that screen. If the entire movie was 143 minutes of him sitting on the toilet and picking at his feet I'd be like "pass the popcorn, he's on!!!!". I do have to notice though that there is always some kind of queer element in all of Sam Mendez' villain characters. The uptight Military Colonel in American Beauty? Even Daniel Craig's character in Road to Perdition? Come on...god forbid gay people be upstanding members of society. Sheesh that'd be silly, right? Hahahahahahahah!

And it wasn't just Javier who kicked ass but Judi Dench as M had so much more personality here than usual. Don't get me wrong, I always love my Dame Judi, but she can play an uptight British chick, we get it..but HERE she was so fragile and delicate and exposed you just wanted to pick up that pixie-sized patootie and take care of her forever. I'm still not sold on Daniel Craig, however...I almost get him but I'm not quite there. He just has this oily layer around him at all times. He's too damn smarmy to be debonair. When Sean or even Pierce walked into a room, they COMMANDED a room. Like "OMFG look at that guy...he OWNS that room". But instead it's "Wow, this scene is gorgeous! Oh look, a questionably handsome, overly worked-out blond dude is there too". But don't get me wrong he's fine. He's adequate. He's suffish. He does his job yadda yadda. Sometimes I just want MORE. But hey, that's just me.

Again, because it's my boy Sammy M, this movie looked BEAUTIFUL. When he ushered us into that casino in Macau I just wanted to take that frame, cover it honey and eat it as a snack it was so damn rich! In pretty much every new setting I would turn to David and say "I want our living room to look JUST like that...let's make that happen". And of course his response was always the same: "Get your hand off my inner-thigh, we're in public". And ugh, that scene in the hotel in Shanghai was just such a lustrous labyrinth of lavishly lush lighting (I don't know if you noticed but that was an alliteration :) I wanted to swim in it! It's been a while since I'd seen a movie that had such a delicious visual landscape. But for every flamboyantly stylized moment like the hotel scene, they had very elegantly beautiful scenes with such an effortless lightness to them (like the bits at Skyfall towards the end). Suffice it to say I was into it.

If I were to change one thing about the film, though, I would have let that final moment where Javier gets killed linger a LITTLE bit longer. That genius moment where he says "free us both with one bullet" I wanted there to be a few final moments just pregnant as all get-out with emotion (yes, I said it again) as he SLOWLY slips away. Just let the whole film synthesize into that one moment until it fades into blissful oblivion...(who's this uppity gasbag writing this thing? Oh, it's me)

So, long story short: I was totally into this film and would see it again in a heartbeat. I think everyone else should see it too! Unless you have zero taste. In which case you should go re-watch a Christopher Nolan film or something. And that's all I have to say. Ok, bye!

Movin' On Up!

Hey there internet community!!! How in GOD'S name are you? Haven't talked to you in a minute! Things have been moving a mile a minute for me these days (and not just with regards to my bowels even though that's also true). My tenure as resident "most attractive man of Little Armenia" has come to a sobering end as I have moved on to my new home in Highland Park. So I've traded my Armenian neighbors for Mexicans. Their skin color is comparable but they drive way slower and have a much less visible mafia presence (is that insanely racist? Haha probably). I have made the leap to shack up with our beloved David Osenbach. For those readers who aren't familiar with this specimen, just Wikipedia "Adonis" and imagine glasses on that thing and a much more nuanced and sophisticated palate for wine. SO far it's been a pretty fly time. The neighborhood is two tons of fun (not unlike my sagging gut which is housing a 9lb mass of local taco truck meat at any given moment). I think the notion of the "Freshman Fifteen" is really ringing true again as me and the D-man are on a stampeding campaign to sample every restaurant in a 5 mile radius of our new place. Which, while a fun and delicious experience, is becoming rather taxing on my belt. Putting that thing on every day is no longer a "cinch" (get it?).

So anyhow, much of my time is dedicated to fixing up the new house. But ok, to get totally real on you, MOST of my time is dedicated to sitting on the couch watching Roseanne saying "there's so much that needs to be done. We should make a list of things. Eh, later...oh, Darlene. They give her the best lines. Oh are you getting up? Can you refill my wine glass? Oh, really? Then let's open up a new one..." etc. We HAVE made some significant progress though. I mean, not to brag, but we now have not only a TV and a couch but ALSO a fridge (be jealous. Just do it). I'll be sure to update this blog as the rest of the place comes together.

However this weekend we are taking a little break from furnishing a home as we are heading to New York! I'm embarrassed to say that I've actually never been to New York. I'm a poor, POOR representation of my "white suburban kid" demographic, I know. But I'm super stoked. However, there is one MINOR hitch. There is this really pesky hurricane just slithering it's way up the coast towards the city RIGHT when we're slated to arrive. So, that's fab. All I keep imagining is that footage of Al Roker trying to keep his footing while a team of people try to steady him during that gnarly hurricane some years ago. Although I know, I know, that's not gonna be me. Because obviously I'd dress way better. Although to be totally honest I'm more concerned with having a rocky flight than anything else. Fear of flying is something I always forget I have until I'm physically on a plane, which is great. So, like clockwork it shakes out like this: "Alright, it's time to board. Yay! San Francisco here I come...oh, this seat is comfy. Wait, why am I sweating and panting like Tony Soprano over here? How come my asshole is clenched shut like a steel trap? Damnit that's right!!!! Flying scares the bejesus out of me!!! WHAT WAS THAT NOISE!? Oh dear lord the engine just blew I knew it!". You get the picture. So, luckily I had the foresight this time to call up my good friend, let's call her Daisy (you know who you are), to hook a punk up with an ass-load of Xanax. My goal is to coat all the anxiety of the flight in that warm, comforting cotton-ball opiate glaze that kicks in just after take-off! So, I'm all set! I may not be able to lift any of my luggage once I arrive because I'll be so doped out but que sera, right?

So, regardless of whatever torrential curve-balls mother nature can hurl at us, I'm happy as a damn clam about this trip. We have plans up the yang for this one. David's got an Excel spreadsheet going like we may never see the light of day again. We're going to see the Lion King which I'm super excited about. I haven't seen live theater in the better part of a decade (I think that last time was a stage production of the Wizard of Oz with my grandmother, I'm not even kidding). Hopefully I can put aside my feelings for Julie Taymor for a night. Although I may need to make some kind of vigilante statement like covering a 'Titus' DVD in poo and throw it on stage while on fire. We'll see, I'll play it by ear. We're also checking out this nutty looking restaurant called WD50 where they do things like fill a condom with fish-scented air and pop it at your table before your entree. Or something. I don't quite know what they do there but it sounded wild. And of course we're going to museums, and seeing ground zero etc. etc. whatever. And because we're real, we're staying in Park Slope at a Super 8. No frills, folks! Well, except the ones on that frisky lingerie that I have saved for a rainy day (which looks to be abounding back east). Regardless of how the trip goes, though, I'll be combining some of my all time favorite things: having an excuse to eat like a pig, drink like a fish that doesn't have to drive anywhere, NOT be at work, and sleep on a bed with caked on semen from hundreds of strangers (kidding..........).

So I will be sure to keep all y'all posted about the rousing adventures of this trip! Unless I'm swept into the ocean by a stiff wind, which, you know, probs won't happen! I'll write you all postcards (not really, get over it)! Be well, urrybody!

Twenty-High-Five

**Disclaimer: This should have been posted nearly a month ago when, you know, my birthday actually happened. Pardon the delay**

It's funny, I just turned yet another year older and I really don't feel any different. Actually, that's not true. I feel bloated and hungover but that's a whole different kettle of sweaty, red-faced fish. This Labor day weekend I celebrated my 25th birthday! Or, as I've been saying, I gave life a twenty(-high)-five. I must say, the stars really kind of aligned to give way to a rather perfect time. The fact that my birthday fell on a Friday before a 3-day weekend was pretty boss already. But on top of that, I hopped in my car that morning and my commute to work suddenly shot down from nearly 2 hours to 40 minutes which basically made me want to pour a glass of cold water over my face and do the Charleston across the 110 (I didn't, though because the Charleston is totally over). Then I get to work and I got a flurry of lovely little Birthday greetings. Most of which were a terse "Happy Birthday" but all that activity simulated the feeling of being popular so I was down like Chinatown. Since I had arranged a half day, I was able to tear outta there at noon and head on home! Me and David decided to spend the day by going to Huntington Gardens in Pasadena. Holy smokes, that place is CARRAZZZZYYY. That succulent garden looked like some gloriously desaturated Seussian dreamworld! Thank god I was able to keep it totally real in my t shirt with a hotel logo and my shorts and long socks and a Nikon camera, in no way resembling a pathetic tourist of course. That place just had EVERYTHING: succulents, lilly ponds, rose gardens, Japanese gardens, Chinese gardens you name it! The only hitch was that this joint closes at 5pm on weekdays. Fucking 5pm?? I'm sure the clientele skews a bit on the geriatric side of the spectrum but come ON! Some people, like, work during the day. But as abbreviated as our trip may have been, it was still pretty magical (albeit hot...it was seriously fucking hot). We also got balls of rice krispies treats with rainbow sprinkles in them which were rather heavenly.

Then by the time we got home all the pollen and vitamin D got the better of me so I collapsed into a 45 minute nap. Well, 45 minutes by way of 2 hours. When I woke up mr. Osenbach put the finishing touches on my cake! Holy Fuck that thing was a work of art. Being the 87 year old woman I am, I love Fig Newtons...SO, I was presented with a brown sugar brown butter fig newton CAKE with bourbon butter cream frosting. It was like a pile of decadence, dipped in happy, fortified with yes and baked in OMFG. So once that was boxed up, we were off to the restaurant for the more formal dinner setting with only my CLOSEST friends. That exclusive gauntlet of dignitaries and luminaries that I call my besties. We went to Maximiliano, which is a bomb-ass Italian joint in my new hood. It was a blast! Although we were sat at the "communal table" int he middle which was this L-shaped banquet table number. This proved to be a smidge awkward because I was at the center but I was situated in between the two halves of the table so I felt like I was entertaining questions at a press release. Dinner was fabulous, per usual, and then it was off to Verdugo Bar for some more unruly fun.

I was almost 40 minutes late to my own birthday party which was a total statement and not at all tacky/rude on my part. There was a good turn out though! I got to shoot the shit with all sorts of people and get drunker and drunker and drunker as the night went on. Birthday parties are always kind of weird because even though they're obviously totally fun, I get so jacked up on adrenaline at the notion that 5+ people are stoked that I was born and then I drench that sensation in alcohol so I turn into a jittery mess come midnight! And of course it's a meeting of different circles of friends so I have to make the rounds and ensure every party is enjoying themselves and not regretting they came. I've also noticed that whatever notion of time I may have completely gets thrown out the window on Birthdays. Realistically I was at the bar for a good 3 hours but if you had said "dude, you showed up for 40 minutes and then peaced it" I would have totally believed you. So I got to see lots of lovely people and have a real bitchin time. The taco truck we stopped by on the way home was I'm sure delicious but my bowels the next day were, ummm, not.

Now, if you thought the weekend excitement was over for me then you are just sorely mistaken. The rest of the weekend was dedicated to FYF! So first off I gotta say: I DO NOT LIKE MUSIC FESTIVALS. The music is fine of course but it's as if every thing I hate is thrown into one bubbling stew of Brett-Bummer. Crowds? Hate 'em. Heat? Hate it. White chicks in headbands and moccasins? Hate 'em. Etc. I mostly ended up going because everyone else seemed to be going and I just pretended it was a special birthday festival for me :) The whole thing turned out to be pretty alright though. I think my favorite part was the notion that I could hop on the train and be there in 10 minutes.The only thing that seriously chapped my ass was that the will-call line was an hour long. I could hear the faint jangly murmurs of the Pains of Being Pure at Heart echoing from the across the street as I stood in a 3 mile line overhearing rich white kids in their 20s pour over Burning Man this year. But once I was in it was pretty swell. And after last year's expired ID-no drinking fiasco, I was very glad to be able to enjoy my $8 Bud Light.

Aaaaaanyway, so my recent birthday weekend ultimately went off without a hitch! And now I embark on a new year of being alive. Let's hope this one continues to be something that doesn't suck!

The Dark Knight Rises: Rising Out Of Chaos

**SPOILER ALERT**

So, this past Monday I decided to listen to what the media and my compatriots were telling me to do and see The Dark Knight Rises. In a bit of a change of format for this here blog, I thought I would take stab at writing an actual movie review. First off let me say that overall I was very pleasantly surprised by this film. I definitely ENJOYED it. I say "surprised" because Batman Begins bored me to TEARS and I didn't even see the Dark Knight. Plus I thought Inception was steaming pile of shit. So suffice it to say my expectations were a smidge low.

My biggest complaint was simply that there was just TOO MUCH GOING ON. Christopher Nolan, we're acutely aware that you have 10,000 ideas going on in that head of yours, and we realize that you're so uber successful that Warner Brothers would probably distribute a film that was 4 hours of you taking a dump at a child's birthday party, but I think there is a certain level of tact to be considered when executing these ideas. I felt like the hero of the story, Batman, not only was a secondary character, but was totally engulfed in the "action" of the story. Because there was so much solid plot in the movie, and there were so many characters doing their own separate things, I didn't know who I was supposed to be identifying with and why I was supposed to be so invested. I think the only character I was truly empathetic with was Michael Cane's Alfred. That man played the shit out of that role! Whenever he would start to get teary I would have to clench my jaw and try not to get all misty with him! He was totally heartbreaking! But Bruce Wayne just seemed way too passive for his own good. The only substantial point of conflict was when he was trapped in that remote prison facility. And even then it was hard to hook onto what he was supposedly overcoming in that scenario. There was the old senile medic giving him advise, there was the other man taking care of him who was guiding him, but what the hell was the message or lesson he was learning there? Maybe there was something highly profound but I completely missed it. The whole thing seemed very thematically disjointed. What I gathered was mostly that he had given up on the society that turned its back on him, and then it was inevitably in jeopardy again, so he overcame that and came to its rescue. No the most nuanced emotional subtext as far as I'm concerned. I wanted to feel like there were some huge stakes that Bruce Wayne was involved and I didn't get that.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I wasn't as interested in Batman was because Catwoman kicked so much ass! I was a tough sell with Anne Hathaway: I think she's annoying and goofy and looks like a freaky porcelain doll that talks and wears ballgowns. But that girl blew me away! From that first scene where she meets Bruce and she totally flips from the young ingenue bit into Catwoman...I was glued! Maybe I kinda sorta missed the Tim Burton/Michele Pfeiffer sexy-ass costume at first, but within 5 minutes I was thinking "Michelle, who?". What really won me over about Hathaway's catwoman was that she was clever; she's a criminal and she's a thief and she's all about the bottom line, so she has this "I don't give a fuck, a girls' gotta eat" attitude that I thought was hot as hell. And PS it took me a good hour to realize that those "cat ears" she was wearing were really just her goggles that she flipped over her head...nice touch. I think also what's so compelling about Catwoman is that she is so morally ambiguous and interesting. You have to wonder: "what IS it about that Selina Kyle?". She's a mystery. But people love mysteries, right? Plus she flips and does acrobatics and looks hot so there's that.

However, as a counter to that, I wasn't really feeling Tom Hardy as Bane. He was probably my least favorite part of the movie. He just wasn't scary enough for me. Maybe it was just me, but when he was on screen I wasn't exactly terrified, it was more along the lines of "oh yeah he's back...he's probably going to beat someone up again". And when he finally executes the overthrow of Gotham's government and frees all the prisoners, I wasn't even totally sure why. He just wants the world to live in chaos? Or he wants to enforce his own brand of justice? And if so, then why is he even bothering if he's going to blow the place up anyway? I wasn't toally buying his whole shtick. Not the mention that with that vocal effect from his mask I couldn't understand WHAT he saying half the time. And in true Christopher Nolan fashion, he turns out to not even be the real villain! Why does he do this to us!!? He spends so much time setting up one thing, and then pays off something completely different that we didn't even care about! WHY!? So when that "pivotal" moment comes where we realize that Marion Cotillard is the real villain, Bane just suddenly gets very unceremoniously killed and that's it. Then she dies a few minutes later. And the problem is, it's not that this twist totally changes the circumstances of the story, it's the same thing, the same plan, just with a different person. What's the point? In The Sixth Sense, for example, that revelation TOTALLY changed what we thought we knew about the story. This did not. If anything it just deflates our interest in Bane. The ending in general is where the whole thing unraveled for me. Instead of everyone coming to an emotional crux, everything just kind of fizzled out and the plot just went exactly the way you thought it would: Catwoman obviously comes back, the bomb is discarded and the city is obviously saved, and then that's that. It was missing something.

One thing I was impressed with though was the acting: in my observation, Christopher Nolan simply does not know how to properly direct actors. Did you see Inception? Ok, well so did I and I thought Joseph Gordon-Levitt was a smarmy asshole in that movie. He also just bugs me in general: "Oooh, you wear argyle sweaters and play acoustic guitar. We get it, you're cute. Whatever". But I thought he was kind of great in this. He embodied that character remarkably well. He obviously had that snarky side to him, but we got his emotional back-story and understood where he was coming from. He was compassionate but still with an edge which I personally totally responded to. My only criticism is that he was almost too compelling to be a young Robin because he would have completely upstaged Batman in this film. So, hat's off to you, Joe!

One thing I have to bring up is the set design/cinematography. I get heat for this all the time, but I PERSONALLY don't think that Nolan's films are that visually interesting. Maybe (ok, most likely) I just don't respond to his specific aesthetic, but I, yet again, wasn't terribly impressed with the look of this film. I mean, he clearly has a thing: dudes in suits, chicks in gowns, hotel lobbies, palatial mansions, urban city streets, etc. But I'm getting a weeeee bit tired of the same dark, muted colors and generic costumes and same 3 sets in every movie. Not to mention all the shadows and side lighting that feel totally stale. Although given the "dark, gritty, real" take on the Batman franchise I suppose it was fitting. And the scene at the football field was undoubtedly badass. I just want something wacky to happen like a purple Nurf ball to come in and bit Bane in the face or something. That's most definitely just me, though.

Oh and also Gary Oldman was good obviously.

So, that being said, I still definitely enjoyed this film. It kept me totally engaged in the plot the whole time. Perhaps that's because the entire film was basically driven by the plot. So, in that regard, it was highly successful. But nothing really lingered for me. It didn't inspire much thought otherwise. But, as Joe Gilis would have said, I guess I'm just "one of the message kids. Just a story won't do". Maybe I WOULD have turned down Gone With The Wind. But as chaotic as it may have been, I'm glad I spent a ridiculous amount of money at the Arclight to see it.

Pick of the Litter

Well hello all! As the fives of tens of you who follow this little blog may have noticed, I haven't really posted anything in a while. My life is just so hectic, so when I finally sat down to read all your letters: "Please come back!" "We miss your witty and sharply intelligent writing" "Happy half-birthday from Cafe 50s" etc. I thought I should post a little update (I'm obviously kidding...I would never sign up for Cafe 50s mailing list).

So, I have a new "gig" that I just started over the weekend: I am going to be volunteering at an animal shelter on Saturdays! That's right folks, simply gracing the world with my sort of "larger than life" personality wasn't enough to fulfill my sense of humanitarian charity, I had to do MORE (ok, ew, this is grossing even me out). Sometimes I feel like I catch myself getting so wrapped up in "early 20s drama", that cyclical, self-serving vortex that never seems to let go, that I thought I would make a concerted effort to snap some things into focus. And actually, my first inclination was to volunteer at a convalescent home. My friend goes in to read to the elderly a few times a month so I thought "awwwww, how lovely", but holy FUCK the staff at those places are checked out. After a series of phone calls, I eventually gave up: "NO! I don't want to intern as a nurse! No, no you're not listening. I'm not trying to earn college credits! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I JUST WANT TO READ A DAMN BOOK TO AN OLD DUDE AND GO HOME AND DRINK IN PEACE!". So that didn't work out. But then I thought "hey! I like animals! And I'm not home enough to justify actually getting a pet because I'm too popular so why don't I volunteer at a shelter!?" I do love animals. They're the only living things that are more insecure than I am. Because as down as I may get on myself, all I have to do is not let a dog lick my mouth and they're in like full, "Darlene 4th season Roseanne" depression. Although now that I think about it that exact scenario has probably happened to me too but whatever.

After scheduling an appointment, I went in for my orientation. Now, ok, granted, the shelter IS in Lincoln Heights, but holy smokes I was literally the ONLY white dude of the bunch. I was all prepared with my volumes of materials printed out in my kicky yellow folder and my pen and glasses all ready to go. I walk in and it's a group of sullen Latino teenagers huddled around a table (some with their parents, even). I sidled up to my seat and played it cool, obviously: "pffft whose amazing folder is this? I just found it on the ground. I'm way too punk to be prepared for this kinda thing" etc. And if I wasn't uncomfortable enough, I felt an untimely bowel movement coming on right after I sat down. Now I think the orientation was MAYBE an hour long but in my head it was 4 days of torture because I was sweating and swaying in my seat waiting to be able to tear off the bathroom. Looking back on it, I probably should have payed closer attention than I did: Orientation Leader: "Now, the animals with the yellow marks on their cages are feral and should not be approached" Me: "THIS SEEMS IRRELEVANT, CAN WE WRAP THIS UP!?!?!?" But when you gotta go, you gotta go, eh? Let me tell you, that the Q&A that followed was perhaps the longest experience of my life. Every hand that raised was like a small razor blade snaking its way through my colon. That's right, really visualize it, folks.

It was a few weeks after that when I actually went in for my first day. For some reason it seemed like a good idea to show up like an hour before they closed (makes sense for your first day, right?). Bear in mind that this place is funded by the city so the staff doesn't know WHAT'S going on and there's about half the amount of supplies than you need but whatever. I show up and the person at the front desk just directs me to the sign in sheet. "What should I do, exactly?" I ask. "I don't know, you could sweep?" he says. That was not terribly helpful, although it doesn't really matter because by that time I was more than a little beguiled by the PUPPY WALL! I know, right? I fucking wall of cages full of puppies!!!!! Throw in a drinking fountain that runs ice cream sundaes and you've found my happy place! Anyway, so eventually I found another volunteer. The orange reflective mesh vest was the giveaway (because obviously the city of Los Angeles couldn't afford matching polos or anything like that). She was MORE helpful but still pretty clueless. "I mean, they don't really care here. You can kinda just walk around and pretend like you're doing something". But I didn't want to just aimlessly do nothing and look busy! Where am I, work?? And then she asked me "so how many hours do you have? You know, like community service?" and then it all made sense! THAT'S why everyone is so checked out! When I told her this was just for fun she responded with a "Oh. That's...cool?"

The guy at the front desk did mention that I could change the litter in the cat rooms so that seemed like a good place to start. Oh my god you guys, the cat rooms were like 70% kittens and they were SO. GODDAMN. CUTE. I instantly bonded with this little Calico. Simon, I named him. I noticed myself doing this thing where I'd be gushing like a damn girl over those things and then the second someone would walk by: "Hmmmm, yes, this cage seems to be clean and secure. I can now move on". Of course the second they left it's back to "oh well look at you, little one! I just want to dress you up and take you out to dinner with me! Yes I do!". There was also that crushing moment where I'd be playing with one of the kittens and then I'd come back 10 minutes later to see the cage empty. "Where have they taken him!?" I would think. "What selfish pricks would pluck a poor kitten from their steel cage and throw them into the harsh underbelly of a happy, adopted home?!?!". It's funny how possessive I get over those little critters.

So, let's hope this continues to be a fun and meaningful experience for me. I mean, how could cleaning and disinfecting metal cages tainted by animal fluids possibly get old, right?

Artist Spotlight: Cindy Sherman

So, while taking a virtual stroll through the internet the other day I stumbled across a little photographer I once followed named Cindy Sherman. Now, I've taken a handful of photography and photography-related courses throughout my schooling, but I don't think I've ever really studied Cindy Sherman's work in the arena of academia before. So, if any of what I'm about to say seems glib or under-researched, I apologize. There is just something really compelling about her stuff that I thought I'd take a minute to talk about. And it's not just compelling in each piece as one salient image, but in the bizarre range of her catalog. Her photos (and her sculptures, to that end) straddle this bizarre line between formal and experimental. Between glamorous and grotesque. Between classic and cheap. First and foremost, I'm particularly interested by her representation of the female gender. I like to think of her progression of her work as a dark process of self-discovery. In her earlier photos, she always seems to situate herself in very rigid societal "sctructures" in which she's somehow marginalized by her own presence. In her early self-portraits, she really plays up her role as a woman. Look at what she's doing: she's washing dishes, she's fetching a book from the library, she's all dolled up in her best gown standing by her vanity. Everything is poised to perfection, but she as a subject seems peripheral. When set against the backdrop of a New York cityscape, she looks bewildered and out of place. At the kitchen sink she's distracted and staring down some imagined third person outside the frame. Even when she's all done up in her finest clothes, all she can seem to do is languish on her bed. To draw a silly yet more contemporary comparison, she reminds me of the female protagonists in an animated Disney film: they're always so bored and wistful within the walls of their regimented, relegated female lives. It seems like she's just waiting to make some kind of escape. However, she also seems hyper-aware that someone is looking at her. For every wistful gaze and pregnant sigh, she has this poise to her that makes it very clear she wants you to look at her.

It's still a voyeuristic sensation, though. We're looking in at her as if she's in a fishbowl. Everything that she does is staged and, in a sense, contrived. In her later work, we see her finally get out of that head of hers (or, actually, even deeper in her head). From a more obvious visual standpoint, she transitions from black and white to color photography. But as her photos get more "colorful", they also get much darker and more personal. In every way that her earlier work seems staged and voyeuristic, the later pieces completely unravel as if the grotesque innards of her mind just come dumping out. Here she ditches the visual landscape of, arguably, the "hyper-real" and dives head first into the surreal. She takes herself as a subject and completely eliminates any context at all. It's not about that anymore. It's not about this space that she's forced to exist in anymore. The new "space" that her photos exist in is the often frightening space of her own psyche. She is bearing herself to us.

But the visceral shock of these images would never have been so starkly punctuated without the notion of her earlier work. And the role of gender starts to blur in these later photographs. We see Cindy herself augmenting her body and her face to look more like a man in some cases. And, on the other side of that coin, we see her completely augmenting her form to exaggerate and even satirize her own femininity. She also plays with segmenting the human form. She creates models or replicas of bodies that are simply disembodied genitalia. Some of which feature both male and female genitalia at once. So this motif of contradiction extends beyond just the style of the photograph, but the form of the subject itself (how terribly post-modern, for lack of a better buzz-word). It's as if the body is just this thing. We all have one, some are different, but so what? Let's just deconstruct it and play with the pieces.

But what makes this so interesting is that tension (bearing in mind her tendency to blur forms/styles) between how bizarre and yet how funny they seem to be. They're stylized to the point of being campy. But even with that obvious level of camp, nothing ever feels too gimmicky or exploitative. You feel the sense that Cindy feels genuinely compelled to embody these characters. As if we're peering into her brain and seeing these different cogs of her persona working all at once. And in every person, there are so many facets that exist simultaneously; everyone has a glamorous side, a grotesque side, a silly side etc. She is able to visually manipulate herself to embody these sides of herself. Of course in doing so, she takes these sides and exaggerates them to a whole new extreme. And of course, aside from all that, her photos are all just dynamic and interesting and intriguing. So, let's all tip our hats to that wacky lady who is totally comfortable bearing every side of herself to us...Cindy Sherman.

I Left My Liver in San Francisco

Well kids, you can stop with the frantic texts and emails...yes, I'm back in town. For those of you not in the illustrious bubble that is my friend base, I just got back from a little getaway to San Francisco this weekend with my bestie (yes, I'm a 14 year old girl and use the word "bestie"). Nothing like a little "why not?" road trip in the middle of April to unwind, eh?! As a preface, let me just say that it never ceases to crack me up how all of my plans on a given vacation seem to be invariably thwarted by inordinate drinking (let's not forget how I almost missed my plane back from Texas because I was drunk in the airport Chili's reading my horoscope). Luckily, unlike LA, San Francisco is much more accommodating place for day drinking vis a vis their ample public transportation. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

As like any other road trip, of course it took us a solid 3 hours to get out of town. Naturally, we ONLY stalled to stock up on bare essentials for the trip. I mean, if getting In N Out at the Glendale Americana mall isn't an integral step in preparing for a vacation then I don't know what is!!! Also, a trip to BevMo to stock up on beer for the weekend never hurt anybody, right? I also have to laugh at how much the energy level in the car waned throughout the trip. Hour 1: It's sunny, it's warm, we're rocking our asses out to the Clueless soundtrack and some nostalgic, "Jaged Little Pill" era Alanis...it's all good! Hour 7: "Oh, is this Beach House record just on repeat? Nevermind, you're asleep" ***PS I would just like to point out that I would never actually listen to Beach House, it was just to illustrate a point*** But anyway, after a generally enjoyable car trip, we were there!

We were staying with my friend's friend Jimmy who lives in the inner Sunset district I guess? Whatever it was it was a cool little spot! Close enough to the "heart" of the city but still having that less chaotic, "tucked away" quality to it. Plus there was Pho and Ramen up the yang so I was happy about that! After settling in and diving into a few beers, my friend and I were off to the Mission (because if you can't be trendy while you're visiting from out of town, why go at all???). Well, at least we THOUGHT we were off to the Mission...after sprinting our asses off the metro station and hopping on a train, we came to the sobering realization that we were going the wrong way and ended up at the beach. MORONS! But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise because we just bought more beers and tripped along the water yakin' it up like old chums. My friend was collecting sand dollars like it was going out of style (which for all I know it is). I was trying to walk a straight line without falling over. It was real bitchin' time all around.

The next day, after bickering like like an old bitter couple about where to eat, we stuffed our face with Vermicelli and were on our way out (yes, in the right direction this time). We started off in the Castro (you know, because we're queers) and made our way to the Mission. Because bars are for LOSERS, we just picked up some beers at the liquor store and drank it up on the street on the way there. I love tricking myself into thinking that drinking beer out of a bag in public is totally punk and not just tacky. Of course this gaggle of geriatric women had to comment "oh my god they're drinking alcohol!". Get over it, woman! We're on vacay! We happened upon Dolores Park: fun, I guess, although we spent most of the time tucked away so we could finish our beers in peace! After hanging out for a spell we traversed the mission: OK, i don't want to offend anyone in San Francisco, but the Mission is really not that cool! It feels about 5 years behind in every way. OOOOOOH, 1 vintage emporium and people selling carpets on the streets! EDGYYYY! It kind of reminded me of the not-so-cool parts of downtown LA. But we pressed on: stopped and got more beer, peed in a church, listened to music on our phones blah blah blah. So we get to our destination which was some queer soul party thing. It sounded awesome but apparently the whole rest of the city thought so too because that line to get in was O.U.T.R.A.G.E.O.U.S!!! We waited for about an hour before hearing that the place was at capacity so we high-tailed it outta there (I think to get more beer). The rest of the afternoon was kind of a blur, but I think it ended with us eating Taco Bell so I don't know how favorable it could have been prior to.

So, after a brief nap, it was time to wake up and start drinking again (duh! I ain't drivin' nowhere). This time we were off to actually spend time in the Castro. We ended up at some run of the mill queer bar (again with a line to get in! Ugh!). It was "meh". Very West Hollywood'ed out (which is fine but I've seen it before). We had a good time though. Someone spilled a drink on a bitchy queen who just kept saying "ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!" for the better part of an hour. We even tried to round out the night at some after hours joint but, I'm sorry, they were asking for a $20 COVER!!! Unless Jon Hamm (or someone else hot) is gonna feed me chocolate cake with gold flakes once we're inside I ain't paying that kinda cash! So we made it back to the house, somehow I lost $30 in cash on the way home which is ironic, and that was that!

Then there was Sunday. From the moment my friend and I woke up we were ZOMBIES! I think the copious drinking was smacking us in the face, finally. We went and got noodles after about 2 hours of deliberating on whether or not to wake up at 11:30am. I think we spoke MAYBE 3 words to each other after the course of that meal. It was not the most lucid moment of my life. And there we were, back in Dolores park. It was a madhouse! I kept neglecting to remember it was Easter...so we hung out there for a bit and people watched but damn...we were still OUT OF IT. So of course, like 2 responsible adults who are in-tune and conscientiousness about our wellness, we stopped off for a drink. Hot damn that beer made me feel better. And as if that wasn't enough, we hit one last bar in the Castro on our way out. However one more beer turned into some foggy, sloppy experience involving a kiss with a stranger and some drama and betrayal yadda yadda yadda. And to compound that drama, I lost my friend and my phone died, so that train ride of shame back to my car charger was just a lovely little icing on the cake. Anyway, in an attempt to avoid the details, I'll just say that I eventually found my friend and we were on our way home! Phewwwwww! The car ride back was brutal, though. I was so deliriously tired I was literally stepping on my brakes in the middle of the freeway to stop for the poor helpless animals that I was hallucinating were crossing the street. Yikes. Thank god I had the good sense to pull off the road and nap for a bit! And the best part is: we weren't even killed! Yay!

So there you have it...Brett and Carlos do San Fran (a la "Debbie Does Dallas" I guess) and this is what happens. Let's see what we cook up when we finally plan our road trip to VEGAS! I'm apologizing to my body in advance right now...

Internet Sensation or Whatever

So, this silly little parody that my friends and I whipped up, The Hipster Games, is BLOWING up on the internet. It's been online about a week and it's already been featured in the Huffington Post, New York Magazine, Portlandia's Facebook page, and now TIME MAGAZINE!!! No no, your eyes do not deceive you, I did say TIME MAGAZINE. Who knew?? I guess it does make sense: everyone likes making fun of hipsters, and NO ONE can seem to shut up about the Hunger Games so this little baby snuck in at the perfect time! I just hope we can create a worthy follow up (a Kony 2012 spoof, perhaps?). So, fingers crossed that something good comes out of this for me, vocationally. And of course, if you haven't watched it please be my guest!

Here is a link to the Time Magazine post:

http://newsfeed.time.com/2012/04/07/the-hipster-games-we-liked-this-hunger-games-parody-before-it-was-cool/

Snack Attack!

I have to laugh at what passes for "healthy" in America nowadays. Not that I'm an educated nutritionist by any stretch of the imagination, but I just have to take a step back and look what average Americans are consuming on a daily basis. The other day I was at work and, to slake my sweet-tooth I was nursing that afternoon, I tore open a FiberOne bar. Ok, so clearly General Mills is trying to market this thing as a healthy snack. As advertised on the box, it contains "35% of your daily value of fiber! 9 grams of fiber per serving!". First of all, yes, we get it, this thing's got fiber. But, just for fun (because I'm all about fun), let's acknowledge the fact that this thing is DROWNING IN CHOCOLATE! And I'm sorry, but I get that granola is healthy in theory, but I don't think that a handful of oats that have been roasted in a bucket of oil and bound together by dried, evaporated cane juice is exactly the most natural/nutritious snack. It also doesn't help that something about the size/ingredients in those things make you want to eat like 17 in one sitting. Anyway, I think I had two of those bad boys and was sugared out the rest of that afternoon, big surprise.

So after that I just started paying closer attention to other "healthy" snacks. The people I work for are are very "west side healthy", which I'm pretty sure is a concept I just made up. They love the notion of health food from their shaded, upper-class west side bubble. They bought these snacks for the office the other day that cracked me up. Basically it was a bag of these little nut clusters that were stuck together by this sugary, mollassesy substance. I had them and they were certainly TASTY, but holy smokes I checked the label and those things are LOUSY with sugar. However I love the packaging: The bag had some groovy swirly colorful logo with all these lame buzz words: "Organic (ok, fine)! Gluten Free! Wheat Free!". Ummm I mean yeah no kidding, it's a hunk of walnuts deluged in sugar, last I checked that was generally a wheat/gluten free snack. You could also melt some brie over a pound of salami and dip it in butter and that would also be wheat/gluten free but that doesn't mean it's good for you. But you know, why be healthy when you can be trendy!

And even outside the arena of "faux health food", it's just alarming to look at mass produced snack foods in general! Dovetailing with my previous post about living on a budget, I have DEFINITELY had to compromise my eating habits to live within my means the past 30 days (by the way you guys, you should have seen my face when I checked my account to see that my paycheck had finally cleared: think the photo of Ted Bundy in the courtroom after his sentence was declared. But like, happy).

But yes, having to eat 3 bags of Goldfish crackers before you leave work to "fill up" for the ride home is pretty dark. PS on the subject of Goldfish, I love the "made with real cheese" tag on the bag: as if someone is in the market saying to themselves "Oh I don't know, I don't want to fill up on crackers...oh it's made with real cheese! I'll buy 5!" It does seem a bit counter-intuitive though to think that eating well would be an especially expensive feat. But I think the key to eating well is eating simply. Have an orange, a handful of almonds, some grains or rice, drink some juice etc. I don't think you have to spend $19 on vegan nachos in Venice or Silverlake to take care of yourself. Just as long as I look at the ingredients on something and it isn't pages long I think it's ok. And I'm always skeptical about things with "natural flavors"...what the hell does that actually mean?

Anyway, my month of poverty is now done so i can go back to my usual little routine. But you live and you learn, eh guys?

It's From Hunger

The Hunger Games Trailer 3 - The Hipster Games - watch more funny videos

Hey folks! So I have a fresh one for you today: a new video from Chris G's team. Co-written by yours truly. It's this totally obscure parody of the Hunger Games entitled "The Hipster Games" (pretty self-explanatory). Check it out and let me know what you think!

Penny For Your Thoughts?

(Disclaimer: The title of this post both refers to the subject of the text and references the amazing song from the film "Waiting For Guffman")
Ok, so for the past two and a half years I have been at a job that has afforded me to live rather comfortably. Not quite "Downtown is a great place to buy right now" comfortable, but more like "Oh, I would love to meet you for drinks at Crustacean after work" comfortable. So, after a series of very large, unexpected expenses this month, I have been forced into something of which the mere mention makes me shudder...a BUDGET! I know, I can just feel the earth move under my ruby-encrusted loafers as we speak.

So, for the first time in a while I'm really having to watch those dollars. In a sense, it's kind of fun. It makes me feel so "early 20s" having to say things like "I can't dude, I'm broke" and "do the 99 cent pupusas come with meat or is that extra?". It's also sort of a fun little mission. I'm always furiously trying to undercut my daily allotment so I can have that $10 cushion at the end of the week for a bowl of Pad Thai or something (that sounded way more bleak when I typed it out than in my head). It is sort of funny how quickly you lose momentum to save money as the month goes on, though. I mean, the first 5 days it was: "Instant brown rice with hot sauce for dinner?? Hell yes let's do this!". At this point, if I have one more bowl of rice/grains for dinner I think my stomach and lower intestines are going to collapse in on themselves. And not in a good way.
I do find myself totally overspending on a whim and vehemently defending myself to some imaginary parent figure that hangs over me. "What!? It's the weekend! And these 4 whiskey sours certainly aren't going to enjoy themselves now are they!?". I mean, let's get real, we ALL know that a budget doesn't apply on Saturdays. So what I find myself doing is diligently undercutting my budget during the week, getting to Friday and completely exceeding the margin by which I saved, and then recalculating my finances every Sunday, and having less and less to spend each day. I'm currently at a $6 daily max. Needless to say I'm white-knuckling it until April 1st.
However, it is also very encouraging to know that I CAN live on a really tight budget (albeit barely). I mean, I may have to skip paying my electric bill this month but what am I, some kind of fanatic?? So now this opens up a whole new world for saving money! I mean, if I can drop nearly $1,000 on miscellaneous expenses and still survive, then I can put away cash like nobody's beeswax right into the ol' savings account. Who knows, at this rate, I could be spending my next summer sipping chocolate martinis at the London W. Or, more likely, I could be the proud owner of a new humidifier.
So here's to trying something new and acting like an adult-ish!

Siri-ously Popular

Check this out you guys: This little video I worked on just went viral and is sweeping the nation with its comedy (naturally)! If only my 23 pratfalls I did during the shoot ended up in the final cut!

Make sure you all check this little baby out and comment on it!

What's the Deal, Disney?

So, per my ongoing campaign to be current, topical, cutting edge and relevant, I thought I would take a few minutes to talk about Disney. When I used to go visit my older sister, or perhaps were babysitting my nieces/nephews, I always liked to rifle through her expansive and well-preserved VHS collection. I consistently found myself tossing aside the James Bonds and the Hitchcocks and all that highfalutin business and going straight for those old nostalgic Disney flicks! After watching about a dozen over the course of a few months, I couldn’t help but notice that there was a starkly consistent motif (or a set of motifs, rather) in all those “innocuous” little fables. By the way, when I talk about “Disney films”, I mean the period of animated features between the late 80s and early 2000s. The Golden Age of Disney as far as I’m concerned. Not just because that period happens to be bracketed by my personal childhood, but because it’s OBVIOUSLY a universal understanding.
Let’s talk about the Disney Hero. Of all these films where the male is the protagonist, the characters all seemed to want the exact same thing: he wants money, he wants fame, he wants to be handsome and get with that foxy Disney princess. What does Simba want? To be KING. What does Aladdin want? To be RICH. What does Quasimoto want? To NOT look fucked up! Pretty simple. So, as much as they have a “heart of gold” or a “diamond in the rough” quality, these dudes are fucking selfish! However, I do feel like “he” is the classic example of a heterosexual male chasing the American dream: he’s wide-eyed, he’s ambitious, he’s not always ethical but is charming enough to get away with it. We’ve all seen it before. And of course when faced with great adversity, the hero overcomes with his bravery, valor blah blah blah we get it. The “everyman” always wins.

A more interesting character is the Disney princess. Again, she always wants the same thing: she seems to be stuck in some oppressive environment where her whole life has been predetermined by her society or family. The girl just wants to be FREE! Belle just wants to get out of her provincial town, Ariel just wants to wiggle her ginger tail up on to land, Jasmine just wants to escape the palace etc.. The women are always the rebels. In every way that the heroes want to induct themselves into the context of the monarchy or ruling family, the princess just wants to escape it. The impression is that she is capable of and destined for greater things than what is expected of her. Think outside the box, ladies. However, there’s always some turning point where she gets captured because she’s a “weak woman” or makes some giant compromise related to the hero that catapults her into some huge drama. It’s ONLY the love of her hero counterpart that seems to set her free. What’s that about? All she wants to do is be her own woman but Disney is telling us that heterosexual unions are the answer to this crisis of identity. This may be undergrad film courses talking, but it’s kind of reminiscent of those old Melodramas/Women’s films from the 40s. Remember “Now, Voyager” with Bette Davis? Me too. That girl was a fucking weirdo (in a charming way, obviously) who just wanted independence but it turns out the love of a good man is all you really need to feel good about yourself. We sure have come a long way with collective ideological thinking vis a vis cinema.
That leaves my personal favorite character: The Disney villain! Ok, let’s be real for a second you guys, could the villains in these movies be ANY queerer if they tried?? Think about it: Jafar, Ursula, Scar…? There was something so starkly homosexual about all those antagonists. And in all the stories, the villains just wanted what came so naturally to the heroes. Obviously the notion of a villain is that they have been marginalized for one reason or another, but there’s just this effeminate (or butch, if female) quality in all of these characters. It’s as if to spread the notion that the gays are just shifty, divisive plodders who just lust after what the heterosexuals have. Because obviously they’re too lazy to work hard for their success, they just cook up some mischievous scheme to get everything they want. And of course they temporarily do, but everything goes to shit because THAT kind of person doesn’t have the integrity and the strength to maintain an empire. And naturally the brave straights dude come in and put everyone in their place etc. Not that I support villainous behavior, I just wanted to share MY observation about the latent tropes in these stories.
Anyway, that’s all. Just something I noticed and thought I would share with y’all. Don’t get me wrong for one second, I love these films, but I also don’t think Disney is the most politically forward thinking group of creative storytellers. Just keep an eye out, eh?

Album Review: Women - Public Strain

Women have always been a band of contradictions. Blending sleek, tight songwriting with unpredictably experimental riffs. After every blissed out nugget of pure, feel-good pop, the band leads us down a darker, more uncertain road where their rock-leanings start to weigh heavy. On their self-titled debut, the band found itself having a harder time negotiating the space between these two worlds. While each track fit one way or the other, the album felt somewhat polarized and at odds with itself. On Public Strain, Women are more comfortable in their own skin. This sophomore release finds a much more mature and confident band fleshing out their sound and effortlessly collapsing the line between the experimental and the pop.

If their first record was a cursory exploration into the genre, Public Strain finishes what Women started. Here, each song is given time to gestate. From the languid, yet sonically ripe opener to the poetically optimistic closing track, each song feels like more of a complete statement. Where earlier tracks like “Cameras” or “Group Transport Hall” felt staunched by the band’s somewhat gratuitous brevity, songs here like “Heat Distraction” and “Locust Valley” are able to harness the band’s pop-sensibility while still fostering that wandering sense of discovery that makes the band flourish.

Public Strain also leaps ahead of the debut in its much more evolved sense of grandeur. Each song here sounds bigger, more resonant, and, most importantly, more emotionally charged than ever before. On “Venice Lockjaw”, the band shows itself not being afraid to be vulnerable and sincere. The gentle strum of the guitar, the understated beat, and the earnest but never mawkish vocals flow like water in this ballad. Each delicate little pluck of the strings feels like a drop of rain falling outside while someone lies in bed with you and tells you their deepest secrets. This is somewhat of a new territory for Women, one that they fit into beautifully. With this newfound sense of emotional intensity, the album feels more poetic and cinematic, and hits with much more impact.

There is one unfortunate flaw here, however. “Penal Colony” sits in the middle of this album like a dead weight. The repetitive, tedious beat, the half-baked melody, and the unimaginative sonic arrangement languish in this track, and to no good end. As Flagel croons “faces start to blend/meets a sudden end/ and you’re gone completely”, it feels less like a wistful, nihilistic meditation and more like a sad, pretentious cliché.

Having said that, Women have crafted an outstanding second album here. Public Strain is still very much loyal to the band’s signature sound, but further investigates what they are capable of. While the songwriting expands and wanders deeper into new territory here, the album ultimately feels tighter in scope and vision. Every rough edge from the debut is deftly smoothed out on Public Strain. As the wall between the traditional and the unpredictable slowly crumbles away here, Women show us that there is a very powerful and exciting space in between.

-Brett

Album Review: Ducktails — Ducktails III: Arcade Dynamics

Well, it’s that time of year again…spring is approaching. Sort of. In spite of the fact that most of the country is still getting hit with torrential rain storms and cold fronts, Ducktails is ushering us into the warm glow of a new season. On Ducktails III: Arcade Dynamics, the foggy, low-fi haze of Landscapes has burned off. In many ways, Arcade is the exact opposite of its predecessor: Landscapes was the boardwalk at dusk, it was west coast beachy, it was sparse, spacey and twinkly. Arcade travels east to the Hamptons in the sun. It’s riding bikes along the lake, it’s white sweaters and Keds. On the surface, this record is more full-bodied, more dynamic and more fun than anything the band has done. There’s just one problem: with a brighter, more traditional songwriting style, Ducktails has lost the beautiful, atmospheric ambience that made it great.­

After the release of Landscapes, the Mirror Image EP seemed to be a good indication of where their sound was going; Ducktails found itself a bit stronger and more confident, without sacrificing the whimsy and dreamy. On “Apple Walk”, the band found itself hitting with more force, but the light, spacey strums of the guitar created an aura around the song. For as “sunny” as the song was, it was still imbued with emotion. It felt like a road trip through the countryside. It flowed, it had feeling, it was evocative. The band was still letting the songs wander and drift through different sonic spaces. The sound moved and turns like a sine wave; keeping a constant rhythm and pattern, but still drifting in and out freely. On Arcade, the band loses this sense of freedom.

With this new release, the music has a much too much structure for its own good. The overall template is the same, but there’s something missing. Nothing wanders, nothing drifts, that sense of nostalgia that once pervaded in the songs seems dulled. Because the hazy atmosphere of Landscapes is gone, the sound on Arcade seems dry and over-regimented. There doesn’t quite feel like there’s the same level of magic. For all the glistering, effervescent flourishes Landscapes had, Arcade feels uninspired by comparison. The beats are over-structured, the light pluck of the acoustic guitar feels neat and orderly, but nothing transcends. Without the moody ambience, Ducktails sounds too trapped by their own sound.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a very fun record. From the first note, Ducktails is able to do what they do very well and that is conjure an image. When you hear this music, you think of a time, a place, and a circumstance. You can taste the saltwater from the beach. You feel the sea breeze. It’s not to say that this music is completely non-emotive, but after these songs are done, nothing lingers. It doesn’t leave the listener with feeling, but feels more like a fleeting visit that is staunched too soon.


The album, however, has one key track: “Killing the Vibe”. This song has the pizzazz and the sense of youth that the band seems to flourish on, here. This is the perfect anthem for Spring and, eventually, Summer. The track exists in its own little world. As if you’ve pushed off your raft into the lake and are enjoying a cocktail with your closest friend. When Mondanile asks us “can’t you just sit a while?/and try your hardest to smile?”, we have no choice but to acquiesce. The simple, light guitar riff and the lively snap of the tambourine entice us to join that party. It’s as if all sense of responsibility and obligation are left behind in this track.

So, that being said, there is nothing wrong with this album per se. It’s lovely. In fact, it’s delightful. But being delightful is not the same as being memorable. Ducktails have ditched whatever magical essence they used to possess in this record. Arcade is able to stay afloat with its levity and sense of charm, but doesn’t echo with much emotional resonance. And any sense of sonic experimentation is virtually gone here. But, while this might not bode terribly well for Ducktails, it’ll do just fine for this Spring…so pour yourself a nice cold dink and enjoy the sunshine. And just try not to kill the vibe.

-Brett