You're not so radical

The following is a letter I sent to Chicago Sun-Times rock critic Jim DeRogatis about At War with the Mystics, the latest (and, in my opinion, best) outing from the freaky space-punk band:


Dear Jim,

Let's see...without mentioning how many people I had to kill to...wait -- scratch that -- okay, I'll say this: I have come upon the opportunity to sample a listening of the new Flaming Lips record. And my gods, it is fabulous! When you said you felt you were a little to close to the record...I thought that might cloud your opinion, to inflate the record. No, I think it's better than I could've imagined -- and far outshines 'Yoshimi.'

Here's why:

1) Listenability. 'Yoshimi' is a wonderful pop bliss, every bit as flowering and post-hippie Springlandish as the Beach Boys' 1968 flop 'Friends.' That's not a bad comparison! I love 'Friends!' But as far as new material goes, it didn't pack the emotional wallop of 'Pet Sounds,' the simple elegance of 'Today!,' or the future stability of 'Sunflower.'
In the same way, 'Yoshimi' has a tough torch to carry. The Lips had been reinventing themselves since 'Transmissions,' and they needed somewhere to channel Wayne Coyne's peaceful, blissful vision that was carrying over from the more soul-searching songs of 'The Soft Bulletin.'
But 'Yoshimi' was simply a bridge record. It would take far too long to come 'round to what 'Mystics' represents without releasing a record. Most bands make a mistake, and channel all this new, retro-ish feeling into a really really bad record before making a comeback of sorts with their truly retro-sounding record (see U2, 'Pop' versus 'All That You Can't Leave Behind').

2) Lack of narrative. Look, I know Wayne Coyne didn't mean 'Yoshimi' to have a real story structure. But like it or not, that's how it came out, and that was fine. If it did nothing else, it confirmed that the Lips are Pink Floyd of the 21st Century.
Yet 'Yoshimi' fails for the precise reason that the Floyd's narrative pieces were never all that great anyways. Oh certainly, their inner-song jam fests were otherworldly, but let's pit their non-storied albums up against their storied ones:

a) The Dark Side of the Moon vs. Meddle
While recording the 'Live at Pompeii' set, the Floyd were interspersed with their studio recording of 'Dark Side.' If I could take the best tracks off each album, "Meddle" absolutely thrashes "Time." Meanwhile, as a lead-off track, "One of These Days" is far superior to "Speak to Me." And while 'Dark Side' contains "Any Colour You Like," the single worst thing the band ever recorded, 'Meddle' has "Fearless," the BEST.

This is but one of potential arguments against the "narrative" albums. There's something far more impressive in creating a batch of songs that kinda-sorta go together in theme (I guess) but aren't really the same binding concept (in other words, screw concept albums!).
That seems to exactly be what happened on 'Mystics.' I mean, there's nothing -- nothing! -- that links each track, besides a general weirdness, and a recalling of all their previous work...but of none in particular, just an overall throwback sound with different production. Sound familiar? I think we'd all agree that's what U2's retro record was. And 'Mystics' IS like that...but far, far better.

3) "Free Radicals"
Let me just say that this song is in musical expression what a certain type of mushrooms grown in Thailand and sold in Amsterdam do to one's head when eaten. Please don't ask me how I know this; Donnie R. might be reading (hello to you, sir, and how is your week? Oh, not so good? Oh, right, scandals. Well, have a nice day!). Suffice it to say, the song is the musical equivalent of an unbelievably crazy trip. I told my brother that I think it might be the best thing the band's EVER recorded, I'm beginning to think I wasn't wrong.

Well, that's my argument anyways. I'm pretty sure the album's gonna go nowhere commercially. Unless it picks up a Butthole Surfers-like radio hit.

Oh, right. They had that already.

Brendan Diamond

The taste becomes numb

The Next President of the United States
Second Installment:
Two big mistakes

There's nothing that people despise more than a boring leader. A person lacking charisma could never win the White House anymore. Put aside the fact that George W. Bush has successfully proven that one who speaks a second language (here, Idiot, and occasionally Tex-Mex Pig English, which is English's version of Pig Latin with a phony Texas accent); instead, recall that both times he ran for president, his opponents had no stage presence, no charisma whatsoever. John Kerry was a buffoon, a stooge candidate long before the election cycle; Al Gore, who actually has great charisma, thought that voters wanted oatmeal (bland, boring, everyday food) when instead they wanted Marshmallow Alpha-Bits (first, because W. is the kind that as a kid went around recognizing letters in the cereal to eat the sugary filler; and second, because whereas oatmeal is really, really boring but healthy, Marshmallow Alpha-Bits taste great but will end up giving you cancer or something like that).

Yes, even though Al Gore was far more qualified to lead the country than Mr. Bush, a good number of people preferred Georgie (not a pluarlity, but enough to convince the Supreme Court which, frankly, is good enough for me; Dems, as usual, didn't get out the vote). So the Democrats made the same mistake again, nominating John Kerry, who went from looking like the human incarnation from something in Tim Burton's Corpse Bride to a robot--either way, not really the way to look young and vigorous. And Kerry has this horrid drone of a voice that's fine for the Senate but will not win elections for President of the United States (pay attention, Democrats! This is useful!).

So now, the most notable confirmed candidate for 2008 is...Joe Biden? Aw jeez... Honestly, did anybody out there in Cyberland hear this buffoon during the Alito hearings? I would have supported that hilarious stunt in the hat if I hadn't fallen asleep the minute he opened his mouth. The man is a dead-duck candidate, and he wouldn't have a snowball's chance in the twenty-fifth layer of hell of beating a more attractive ticket of Brownback-Giuliani or McCain-Huckabee, although if paired with someone ballsy and conservative enough, like Hillary, he could feasibly fend off the scary (and completely possible) pairing of Sen. George Allen and Gov. Mitt Romney -- remember, the Christians have a stranglehold on the Republican Party right now. But getting back to the main point, putting the names Giuliani or McCain on a ticket draws moderate-liberals in because they're generally pro-choice, pro-gun control, and steadily pro-gay rights (not really to the point of equal rights, but certainly to the point of supporing civil unions). And even though it doesn't stand a chance of happening, the dream ticket of McCain-Guiliani, which more progressive Republicans favor, would destroy almost anyone that came within a hundred yards, including anyone the Democrats have to offer.

But Joe Biden isn't the answer at all. He won't come in with a stirring story, a rousing speech, or even so much as a witty joke. Is it at all possible that Democrats want to get another ass-whooping again? Because that's what'll happen if they support Joe Biden.

There is, of course, one area that does make Biden an attractive candidate: experience. It's the same kind of experience that makes me wary of a guy I still want to be president someday: Barak Obama. Think about it. I mean, one day we'll make the African nations that are fucking around and making free traders look like fools (well actually, that part I kind of like, but regardless, Sub-Sahara Country is falling apart) sit up and say, "What the fuck?" They're gonna recognize that we just elected a guy with a name that's far more African than a lot of their citizens' names. Admit it or not, libs, that's something we could strongly put to our advantage down there.

But for Barak, that time hasn't arrived yet. By 2008, he'll be four years in the Senate -- two short of a full term. Remember how John Edwards got smacked around in the media for being too inexperienced after one full Senate term? They'd make mincemeat out of Barak, and yes, it is because he's black. And I know that Clinton-Obama is very, very tempting because it polls extraordinarily well. But it's a horrendous idea because if they lose (which they would, because I'm of the belief that Hillary can't win anywhere in the South, not even with Bill stumping for her in Arkansas), it would ruin Barak. And he's too valuable to lose just yet. Wait until 2012, I beg of you, Democrats. Wait until 2012 (or, if we lose this time but win the next time, 2016), and the United States will have its first black president.

Coming next week: Vice-Presidential nominees -- who to pick.

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Today's DIJ: "A Better Son/Daughter," Rilo Kiley (The Execution of All Things).

And people criticize the Polyphonic Spree of being too uplifing and positive. This might be the most positive song ever written, inspirational, hearbreaking, and beautifully written. Poignant lyrics abound ("And sometimes when you're on / You're really fucking on" has a delivery that sends shivers up your spine) and the tune, a waltz with vocals that would make the Grand Ole Opry weep and a backing band that's as indie as indie can be, is perfectly cast. "A Better Son/Daughter" captures a picturesque sunny day, bottles it up, sends it to 1950s Nashville, flies it to Jeff Mangum's basement circa 1995, and recycles it all in unabashedly glorious form. Really, the whole record is worth listening, as it evokes what Liz Phair's first record would have been had she been raised on country music and received better treatment from men while she was in her teens and early 20s.

Walkin' hand in hand

The Next President of the United States

First Installment:

Just say no to Hillary

There are few things about politics that keep me up at night anymore. Our current, inept, and overtly orally-challenged president aside, few politicians are making a difference, period, let alone for a negative side. We're into an era of simple, shitty, boring, moderate politics, as even Tom DeLay and Bill Frist, my old nemeses, have made a mad rush to center their rightist policies. Not to be outdone, spineless bastards like Harry Reid, Dick Durbin, and John Kerry have all shifted their generally left-leaning stances right while maintaining the worst of all "liberal" beliefs: the three combined like big government a lot more than did Bill Clinton and almost as much as George W. does (that's right, folks, the man's a big-spending, big-government liberal, in addition to being a flat tax-cutting, big-business, big-religion conservative. He's the worst of both worlds!).

So Democrats, some might say wisely, I'd say stupidly, are looking for an attractive candidate who's far enough away from George W. Bush that s/he can disance himself/herself from him fully, but who's close enough to the center (or even, in drastic cases, the right) to draw in those middle-America votes. And nobody's been better at converting from 1960s ultralib to a 1990s moderate than Senator Hillary Clinton.

Don't get me wrong; I see exactly why many Democrats are pushing a Hillary run. But I'm telling y'all right now: Hillary Clinton is the single worst idea for Democrats to push. Folks, the mad dash to the middle is not the way to win an election, especially not after Bush. We need someone who is totally opposite him. Stop trying to give in to those supporing big religion and the gun lobby! They're lost votes anyways.

But people who might swing one way or another don't need someone with whom they can agree; they need someone who will lead them. Were I a candidate, for example, I'd run as a pro-choice, pro-legalization, pro-small business, pro-moderate government, pro-religious diversity, anti-Federalist, pro-gay marriage, pro-regulation, anti-monopoly, pro-environment, pro-education Progressive -- never as a Democrat or Republican, 'cause neither one of them is close. But the thing is, I'm not running. And there are very few candidates for any office who agree with me (name one Republican who's pro-legalization and pro-gay marriage, or one Democrat who believes that the second amendment is absolute, and thus must be repealed before laws can be put on the restriction of guns).

Which brings me to Hillary. Hillary, as many seem to forget of late, is a big-government liberal and a right-moderate on gay and women's rights. Why is she this way? Easy: it polls well. Isn't that a disgusting comment? Because it polls well, Hillary is these things. You know what that means, don't you? It means that not only is Hillary spineless, she's a populist. And populists are the polar opposite of progressives. Progressives -- true progressives, that is -- also believe that they have to take a certain responsibility to represent their districts...but then again, people don't always know what's good for them. What about equal rights? Many constituents were against civil rights, but Congress pushed them through anyway. Don't get me started about how this should be extended to homosexuals. Meanwhile, populists do exactly what is popular in their districts. See, that's the problem with populism: it bows to the almighty authority of majority rule. I just find that a little bit worrisome, as public opinion has a tendency to vary with the weather.

And this again brings me full-circle to why I don't trust Hillary. Basically, look at her infringement on business and free speech with the Rockstar Games debacle; she's positioning herself as the heir to Tipper Gore here. Meanwhile, she's pushed against the war-mongers in Congress, yet hasn't proposed anything that resembles a withdrawal plan -- not like (my boy) Russ Feingold, but more on him later.

Basically, I'd just worry that anyone pushing Hillary simply doesn't know what s/he is getting himself/herself into. Hillary's not a trustworthy leader. And she won't be a good one.

Oh, and for anyone out there who might be worried that this is against women in power, fear not; read my column in a few weeks about Jan Schakowski.

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Today's DIJ: "The Bends," Radiohead (The Bends).

When I first heard Radiohead's "Creep," I was blown away by the amount of angsty passion in Thom Yorke's voice. Of course, I was an adolescent at the time, and that kind of preteen angst brewed to the surface faster than pimples on the oil-slicked forehead of a fourteen-year-old named Exxon. When The Bends came out, I thusly wasn't expecting such a great record. I certainly wasn't expecting this song, which is situated second on the fabulous Britpop record. It was as if the band had taken Van Morrison's blue-eyed soul, wrapped it around some mid-'70s Allmanesque hooks, and, just for the sake of argument, borrowed all of those hooks from the same Beatles records as Oasis. The best thing about the title track of this great record is that the melody in the coda is carried by a ferocious guitar solo that seems to be played on the rhythm guitar. And adding a recorder solo (it survived the horrendously slow demo version) is just pure genius.

Through other people's eyes

I suppose it’s time to add a personal review of Hollywood’s biggest showboat night. Yes, friends, last night were the Oscars, and several things stand out in my mind. First, of course, was Jon Stewart, who is rapidly becoming the Johnny Carson for Generations X, X.0, and Y. As a host, he was inspired, funny, witty, and charming, despite what the Chicago Tribune’s Maureen Ryan says. His opening bit was far funnier than anything Billy Crystal’s ever done (sorry, Oscar fans, but he’s not that funny), and making fun of Hollywood stars on their own night takes some Montana-sized balls. Stewart has now gone from cable-TV gem to political-commentator heavyweight to respected comedian to (in the present) bona fide superstar. For those who thought Stewart arrived in 2004, y’all ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Second, while I love Felicity Huffman (and she’s the only talented member of the woefully underachieving Desperate Housewives), if she cries one more time, I might have to slap her. Well, okay, no, I never advocate violence against women…but I might have to shake her like a British nanny and say, “Felicity, honey, you’re way, way too talented to be looking like a weepy little twelve-year-old several times in a nationally-televised night.” Yes, she was the best actress on television for two years on the phenomenal Sports Night. Yes, she was unbelievable (and yet paradoxically believable) in TransAmerica. But seriously, sweetie, you’re too hyperemotional for your own good (and that’s coming from a guy who’s hyperemotional). Cut it out.

Third, I love George Clooney. The opening bit, with him waking up in bed with Jon Stewart after Stewart dreamed he’d just woken up in bed with Halle Berry had my brother and me on the floor, balls-out laughing. His facial reactions to Stewart’s jokes were priceless; the man seems to know when he’s on-camera. And he told the press that he’s actually happy that Hollywood’s “out of touch with the mainstream,” saying that Hollywood was at the forefront on AIDS awareness, the Vietnam War, and other touchy subjects that “mainstream America” either wants to hush up, sweep under the rug, or crucify. My own mainstream agrees with you, Mr. Clooney. Oh, and you look awesome in a tux.

Fourth, Kiera Knightly is a hottie. I’ve been denying it for a few years, seen as I’ve had a well-known and longtime crush on Natalie Portman. But damn, that girl was like a British Audrey Hepburn last night, complete with Breakfast at Tiffany’s jewelry that apparently was too heavy for her to wear (but it looked good…). And she’s got those half-innocent, half-teasing eyes that just…well, suffice it to say, they make me want to take her out to a very fancy dinner with an $80 bottle of wine, then to Chicago Shakespeare to see a cool rendition of the Bard’s work, then back to a Michigan Avenue apartment where we do very naughty things together.

And finally, the Academy isn’t made up of total boneheads anymore. We’re several years removed from the biggest crime in Academy history, when Julia “Horseface” Roberts beat Ellen Burstyn for best actress, and the more we distance ourselves from Titanic’s winning for Best Picture over the far-more-deserving Good Will Hunting, Boogie Nights, L.A. Confidential, and Wag the Dog, the better. But giving the Oscar to Crash over Brokeback Mountain was not only the right call; it was the brave call, believe it or not. So many of these damned activist organizations wanted to give Best Picture to the gay western (which is, I know, drastically and tragically oversimplifying the plot) over the intersecting drama, but that’s a really stupid reason to give a movie the Best Picture statuette. I mean, Brokeback Mountain was fine, and Heath Ledger proved a helluva lot to me, but the plot sucked, and it was like watching a chick flick with Jake Gyllenahall playing the role usually populated by waify actresses (or, occasionally, legitimate powerhouses like the wonderful Merryl Streep). Crash, however, was unbelievably powerful, and it didn’t shy away from the true words used in racial conflict. What’s more, it was simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking, with excellent performances all around, including three actors from whom I never would have expected it: Matt Dillon and Brendan Fraiser, of course, although they have always shown a modicum of talent in, respectively, Drugstore Cowboy and Scrubs; and Sandra Bullock, whose credits include Speed (yeech), Love Potion No. 9 (double yeech), and The Net (infinity yeech). Crash was the best movie last year, and it deserved the award.

So, on to my awards, eh? Sure, why not…

Best Picture: Crash. It made Sandra Bullock and Ludacris look like geniuses.

Best Director: Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain. I’d love to give this to Paul Haggis, because I love that move so very, very much, but Ang Lee evoked the spirit of the old black-and-white westerns with this movie, and he did so while telling a very uncharacteristic western story. It’d be hard to justify giving it to someone else.

Best Adapted Screenplay: Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, Munich. Sorry, but Larry McMurtry’s script blew. In fact, it was the thing about Brokeback Mountain that made me the most annoyed, since the acting and direction were superb. And Roth and Kushner did a great job walking the line between criticism and history in Spielberg’s good-but-not-great film.

Best Original Screenplay: Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, Crash. I can’t say enough good things about it, so I’ll use a line: “Well somebody got all those diverse [Hispanic] cultures together and taught them all how to park their cars on their lawns.” Priceless, funny, and slightly disturbing in its Ameriocentric scope.

Best Actor: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Capote. The man can do no wrong. He can play an acerbic rock critic, a loving home nurse, and, apparently, a twisted fuck like Truman Capote.

Best Actress: Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line. It’s hard to not give this to Felicity Huffman, but Witherspoon did something different in playing June Carter Cash: she didn’t play it like she was playing a historical figure.

Best Supporting Actor: George Clooney, Syriana. Yes, he’s also deserving (the Oscars actually got it right this year, for the most part). But really, while Clooney was indeed the best supporting actor in any movie last year, I want to give a quick shout-out to Paul Giamatti, who should’ve won for Best Actor last year.

Best Supporting Actress: Frances McDormand, North Country. She gets it from me every time she acts (Fargo, Almost Famous…hell, I would’ve given her a nod for the insipid and boring Something’s Gotta Give). She is my favorite actress, after all.

Best Animated Film: Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. I saw this on the planeride home from Spain, and I think it not only deserves this; it deserved a nod for best picture. I haven’t laughed that hard in awhile. Of course, I was also running on two hours’ sleep…

Best Cinematography: Brokeback Mountain. In my favorite category, the evocative western hills get the slight edge over the beautiful black-and-white shadows of Good Night, and Good Luck. It was beautifully shot and deserves all the acclaim for that. And the hell with Memoirs of a Geisha; it was not that well-directed or photographed.

Best Art Direction: Memoirs of a Geisha. Now this is where it deserves to win. I mean, that was a beautiful movie…sort of like Girl with the Pearl Earring a few years back.

Best Costuming: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Because Tim Burton’s costumers always have the hardest job in Hollywood.

Best Makeup: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I don’t think I need to explain this one.

Best Original Score: Thumbsucker, Tim DeLaughter. Fuck John Williams. He got two nods, and didn’t really deserve either one. Meanwhile, DeLaughter and his Polyphonic Spree (along with deceased alt-country hero Elliot Smith) did one helluva job on the quirky film’s quirky score.

Best Original Song: “Move Away and Shine (In a Dream Version)” from Thumbsucker, the Polyphonic Spree. See the note above. Why the Academy didn’t recognize this, I’ll never understand.

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Today's DIJ: "The KKK Took My Baby Away," the Ramones. To many, this could be the most racially-f'ed-up, or the dumbest, song of all time. But the original pop-punks struck Spectoresque gold on this anti-hit from the early '80s. It begins as, indeed, a very dumb song about a guy who can't find his girl because, well, the title says it all. But after a soaring bridge, harmonies and doo-wop are infused with schmaltzy production that works better than even the greatest Meat Loaf songs. And Joey Ramone sings with gusto, almost convincing the listener that this really could be a legitimate problem in someone's life. The goofy lyrics are secondary to a surprisingly passionate plea to bring in the FBI and the president "to find out where [his] baby went." And it's pretty! Who'd've guessed that?

I did it justice

Okay, Brownie, you've gained some points back.

In the aftermath of seeing how both President Bush and Governor Blanco completely and utterly failed the people of Louisiana, and in the wake of seeing that Michael Brown was indeed a fall guy (as he's claimed all along), I have no choice but to suck up my pride and say it loud and proud:

Michael Brown, I apologize. I was wrong to poke fun at you, wrong to criticize the fact that you were completely incompetent and unprepared for disaster, wrong for lambasting you in public for trying to sidestep the blame, directing people to DHS Secretary Michael Chertoff.

Now, obviously, I'm not being completely serious. I mean, Michael Brown should never have been put in charge of FEMA. But he was, and he failed. Yet let's think about something here: Brownie no longer works for FEMA; in the wake of his horrendous performance, he resigned. Can we really say the same thing for the other folks who dropped the ball?

Governor Blanco should be the first to go. She almost single-handedly screwed this whole thing up. City officials can't really do much unless outside their own little boroughs or parishes or whatever. Yes, they should have been better-prepared, but they couldn't control the disaster outside of New Orleans--and make no mistake, New Orleans wasn't the only spot in Louisiana that got decimated.

Of course, if Blanco goes, Chertoff needs to go with her. Here is a guy who's actually more inept than Blanco. Under Chertoff's watch thus far, we've seen New Orleans fall to shit, our ports turned over to a company helmed by a government that has ties to 9/11, and illegal wiretapping that has really left our homeland less secure (and as soon as I figure out how, I'll let you know--oh, right, the Constitution...sorry neocons, but there's no defense).

But the buck ultimately stops with the President of the United States. Like the CEO of a company, what happens in his regional stores or is done by his regional managers and other subordinates is ultimately his business. Once again, Bush fell down on the job, and once again, people paid with their lives. Hasn't anyone else had enough?

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Today's DIJ: "The Bleeding Heart Show," The New Pornographers (Twin Cinema).

It's not even a year old yet, and it's already in my pantheon of great songs. I didn't call this the song of 2005 for no reason, folks. It begins as a drunk-n-stoned post-party lament to losing either a crush or a lover to the arms of another; it becomes the anthem for the broken-hearted, as realization comes that there's not a goddamned thing you can do about it when relationships get cancer. The coda, featuring what sounds like four-part harmony, is one of the greatest of all time, up there with the one from "Go to the Mirror" by the Who in terms of sheer anthemic genius. Sniggering lyrics like "Next thing I know, you are asleep in someone's lap" are breathtaking, but nothing tops hearing Van Morrison-esque "Hey-la-las" all over the last two and a half minutes of the song. This is pop craftsmenship at its finest.