Saturday, June 27, 2009

R.I.P. Michael Jackson


On Thursday Michael Jackson died at 50, and we all began to realize how much we took for granted one of the best singers, songwriters, and dancers ever. I don't enjoy writing obituaries for anyone, but I do enjoy examining a culture in flux, and, as you look at every newspaper cover and listen to every radio station in the country, you can tell that's what we are. The event of Michael Jackson's passing is era-defining in a way Princess Di's or Frank Sinatra's never were.

No entertainer will ever be as big as Michael Jackson again. He crossed barriers between pop, R&B, rock, videos, film, art, and entertainment that, frankly, are kind of inconsequential now because of his work. I can't imagine anyone selling 30 million albums again, and it has nothing to do with illegal downloading. In a post-MJ entertainment climate, music has become so stratified and specialized that even the biggest acts are too niche for everyone to hear or like. There are actually too many options for finding new music and too much diversity, conditions Jackson would have welcomed when embarking on his solo career and conditions he helped to create with his legacy.

Over the years, however, he became a punchline for his own shortcomings and a culture's preconceptions about who he was. On one hand, he channeled his paranoia and discomfort with his own celebrity into music that was accessible but also intensely personal. As universal as the melodies and approaches of his songs were, they were anchored in an intimate, often frustrated point of view. At the same time, he thrived on that popularity, and it often overshadowed the music. Increasingly in the past decade, he focused so much on creating an event that his ability was lost in all of that showmanship. How great would it have been had he tossed off a stripped-down album with one hungry, dedicated producer instead of a bloated and over-produced vehicle for Chris Tucker and Marlon Brando collaborations?

So it took losing him to see how much he meant to us. Every average person echoes that sentiment. People are surprised by how upset they were by the news of his death. For people my age, this is someone who has been around their whole lives; it's not someone else's celebrity. Today the King of Pop has ten albums on's top twenty. He has thirteen out of the top twenty on iTunes. He is in death as he was in life: a superstar.

Because of what I wrote above, that he was with people in their mid-twenties their entire lives, always in the air, it's been interesting for me to hear friends' favorite memories of Jackson. If you want to celebrate his life with a memory of yours in the comments, that would be great. Here are mine in order:

1984- I have bad cowlick as a baby and never sleep. The nascent MTV is one of the only stations that doesn't shut off at midnight, so my mom watches videos while trying to rock me back to sleep. "Thriller" comes on every hour on the hour, and she swears it's the only thing that does the trick.

1989- I ruin a day at Disney World by being so terrified of the villain in Captain Eo.

1990- During a car trip, I'm reading a Muppet Babies comic in which Kermit is dressed like the King of Pop for a joke in one panel--the kneepads, the hat, the strands of hair in the face. I get the reference and show it to my dad all excited, who says, "Doesn't that hair look fruity?" I don't know what fruity means, but I realize this may be the beginning of my love for allusion and intertextuality.

The Tilt arcade in the Riverwalk has the Moonwalker arcade game, which I am too young to be any good at. I will later buy a Genesis almost entirely because I want their version of the game. (And Mutant League Football.)

1991- Fox airs the controversial, eleven-minute "Black or White" video in prime-time. The epilogue that is later cut, in which MJ smashes cars and grabs his junk and turns into a panther, leaves me confused. Even then, I ask my mom: "I don't know any adults that have kids as friends. Why does he hang out with Macaulay Culkin so much?"

1993- My parents get drunk at a school auction and buy all kinds of stuff. (I still have a baseball autographed by the entire World Series champion Minnesota Twins.) One of their bids is a joint purchase with a few of my friends' parents to spend a weekend with my principal at his summer home. (No pedo. But really, it's a testament to him that this was seen as something fun to do. I did have a great time. I mean, we saw The Sandlot. What more could you ask for?) Anyway, we listen to cassettes in the van on the way up and, though he has some words for my parents about Kriss-Kross, even he enjoys Dangerous. By the end of the trip, we are all in this van passing over the Mississippi border belting our lungs out to "Black or White." Ten-year-old kids and a fifty-year-old man singing along joyfully to the same song.

Later that same year, Jackson performs at the Rose Bowl for the halftime show of Super Bowl XXVII. My dad makes fun of him doing the same dance moves over and over, but in a way that shows just how iconic the moves were. If someone told you he did a "Michael Jackson dance routine," you could picture it perfectly. There's no other dancer for which the average person can envision an entire routine in his style.

1996- The "Scream" video, the most expensive one ever at the time, is another summer event. This summer consists of riding my bike to get sunflower seeds and baseball cards, collecting Red Hot Summer Coke caps, and watching MTV.

2003- When DJing a party, I confuse college kids by playing "Rock with You," almost to prove a point. Despite what people will say now out of nostalgia, he doesn't age well this decade.

A huge group of people convenes in my dorm room to watch "Living with Michael Jackson," the scathing Martin Bashir documentary that exploits him as a freak show. No matter what people think of him, even at a point of relative cultural irrelevance, he is still a huge draw. Everyone wants to see this documentary. 

2005- For most of college I am a Jackson apologist, even wearing a button with his face on my messenger bag. I maintain his innocence throughout his child molestation trial, and I have a memorable E-Mail exchange with another friend of mine who is a huge fan (and who was so upset on Thursday that he couldn't even drive). I would include some of that exchange here if this weren't already way too long.

Again, if you want to write something about Michael down here in the comments, I would encourage it. Our memories and his unforgettable music will live on.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

TANBR NBA Draft Liveblog

Its time for me to truly shine and discuss draft picks, as Tank can attest to I called the drafting of Joel Freeland and Sergio Rodriguez in the 2006 draft. So without further ado here we go.

Even More Tyler Hansbrough

Unless Jelly comes through in the next two hours, we won't have a draft column. This is all I've got. I'm trying to pack for a huge move back to Louisiana and will be lucky if I even get to watch the draft.

If Tyler Hansbrough were on "The Price Is Right," he would always bid one dollar.

Tyler Hansbrough has an extensive collection of I [Heart] NY shirts.

Tyler Hansbrough has a poster of assorted beer bottles with the caption "What I Really Learned in College."

At red lights, Tyler Hansbrough puts his car into park and gets out to root around for something in the trunk.

When he goes to sporting events, Tyler Hansbrough brings signs upon which he has written witty acrostics involving the call signals of the network covering the game.

When Tyler Hansbrough sees people fighting, he chants, "Jer-ry! Jer-ry!"

Tyler Hansbrough uses the abbreviation "T.M.I."

Tyler Hansbrough is pretty sure Barack Obama is a Muslim, but he's downright positive that the guy's going to take all your guns. He's sending an E-Mail about it right now.

Even though he's way too old to do power hours, Tyler Hansbrough made a power hour playlist of his sixty favorite songs. Oh wait, that was me.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

#47 Film of the Decade- 24 Hour Party People and #50 Song of the Decade- "Intro-Inspection"

24 Hour Party People- Michael Winterbottom (2002)

There's a scene in the first half of 24 Hour Party People in which our protagonist Tony Wilson, founder of the fabled Factory Records label, as played by Steven Coogan, visits the bathroom of a club. In the previous scene Wilson has been caught cheating on his wife, and he knows she is here exacting some sort of revenge with musician Howard Devoto of the Buzzcocks. Wilson cracks a joke and calmly asks his compromised wife for the car keys. In most movies, that would be the end of an admittedly clever scene. In Michael Winterbottom's unorthodox chronicle of the Madchester music scene, it's only the beginning. Keys in hand, Wilson then approaches a man washing his hands and, breaking the fourth wall, explains that his is the real Howard Devoto who, for legal reasons, wanted to make it clear that this is a fabrication. The real Devoto looks directly into the camera and deadpans, "I definitely don't remember this happening."

So many films have used similar devices before. Woody Allen did it thirty years ago in my favorite film of all-time. Technically, The Great Train Robbery does it in 1903. Ancient Greek playwrights did it before we had even established what the fourth wall was. Here's the difference: While most movies don't even rupture narrative conventions well anymore (High Fidelity, for example, is not the film I thought it was when I was fifteen), let alone have an excuse for it, Winterbottom makes it an essential component of 24 Hour Party People's thesis. To present a portrait of a man who is "a minor character in his own story," the truth needs to be played with: the fiction is more important than the fact. Wilson was so unconventional that all of his bands' contracts--Joy Division, New Order, The Happy Mondays--were verbal agreements. It only makes sense that an account of his life and the scene would be just as avant-garde.

Skip to fifty-three seconds in for another great example of what the movie does so well. This clip also reminds me that you might not like this if you aren't a huge music dork.

Through these devices, most notably the incorporation of real-life footage, Winterbottom is able to present the music as a historical document; but, at the same time, he never makes it self-serious. Sometimes he goes too far with this. the Ian Curtis suicide scene, for instance, is soundtracked by cartoons playing on his TV. His dangling feat recall The Wizard of Oz more than a heartfelt farewell.

24 Hour Party People, buoyed by Coogan's winning performance, is constantly reminding you that it's a movie, and that quality, besides just being damned fun, is the perfect note to support its story.

#50- Osymyso- "Intro-Inspection" (Part 2)

Although it has nothing to do with Manchester rock of the '80s and '90s, "Intro-Inspection" might as well be 24 Hour Party People's brother in postmodernity. Mash-ups, or bastard pop as it was known across the pond, were a product of, but also a response to, the wanton consumption of music in the file-sharing age. For example, Freelance Hellraiser's "Flash of Genius," a hallmark of the fad, lays the "Genie in a Bottle" lyrics over the "Hard to Explain" music to show that, despite the increasing stratification of genres, hipsters and their sisters' music was more similar than they thought.

British DJ Osymyso's idea is clear but ambitious: string together the intros of 101 (super-recognizable) samples into a cohesive whole. The logical progression of mash-ups dictated for someone to blow everyone else out of the water with sheer volume, and Osymyso jumped at the chance. Sometimes the pastiche works surprisingly well; sometimes it's forced. But it always sticks to its own weird ethos. The first ten seconds or so of a song are malleable enough to stitch it together with anything else and use it to sustain a mood. Before any sample sets in for too long, he manipulates that mood for an impressive twelve minutes and change (long enough that tumblr won't let me upload it for a link). "Osymyso" is constantly reminding you that it's a fabrication, and that exposing of pop music's arbitrary nature is kind of the point.

After their heyday at the beginning of the decade, mash-ups jumped the shark when labels offered official, artist-approved versions as singles and copyrighters cracked down on GYBO, the online mash-up sharing community. But that slow death began when DJs stopped pushing things forward. All vocals sound good over "Hollaback Girl," but that doesn't mean anything without a context. Like 24 Hour Party People, the tricks and gimmicks themselves aren't what makes the work memorable, the thesis behind using them is.

Basically, both works would be perfect deconstructions if they weren't so busy being constructions.