Month: May 2013

Dia de los Venture Bros!

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This weekend marks the return of a cultural touchstone of our generation.

What? Yes, I know there’s a lot of vague, loaded terms in that grand declaration. “Generation” itself could spawn an entire graduate curriculum based around its vaguaries, as could trying to figure out what the hell a “cultural touchstone” is, anyway.

But you know what? We stand by our opening line. Because this weekend is when the new season of The Venture Bros. starts on Adult Swim.

At last!

If you haven’t had the illuminating pleasure of watching The Venture Bros…. We are deeply sorry for that hole in your life. On its surface, it’s a cartoon, a comedic re-imagining of Hardy Boys or Johnny Quest for the modern day. But the reason the Ventures have such a dedicated fanbase is that the series is so much beyond the surface: it’s an emotionally-gripping look at flawed and yet hopeful characters. It turns an electron microscope onto failure, expectations, disappointment, American exceptionalism, absurdity, and what superheroes & super science looks like when faced with accountants and bureacracy.

Oh, and it’s riotously funny in unexpected and creative ways.

In anticipation of the new season, Addisonians Alex Bean and J. Michael Bestul have decided to put the reasons why they love this series into terms gushing and supposedly erudite. There may be minor spoilers ahead.
Then again, if you haven’t watched Venture Bros. yet, you still have 48 hours (give or take) to rectify that. GO. DO IT. Or continue reading. Your call. [Read more…]

Maebe Next Time: Some Thoughts on Season Four of Arrested Development

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You’re welcome for the pun in the title, by the way.

There was a family reunion last weekend that I had been feeling pretty nervous about. The people gathering for this reunion were guaranteed to say and do outrageous things, act like children (or possibly animals), and make a mockery of moral concerns, good taste, and basic human decency. This wasn’t my own family’s reunion, of course, but the Bluth family, who made their much-hyped return when the fourth season of Arrested Development premiered this past Sunday on Netflix.

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Bryan Ferry’s Whistle: An Observation on an Aspect of Millennial Culture

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You do not have to click on the links to fully appreciate this post. But it may help.

BEGIN: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bNZGNjvxSM

Last weekend, after much awaiting with bated breath by we at the Addison Recorder, Baz Luhrmann’s film version (version being the key word) of The Great Gatsby opened in cinemas. This piece is not about The Great Gatsby as a movie, especially since none of us have seen it, although I will return to the subject before the end. It is about the soundtrack to a degree, for while the soundtrack is on the surface as misguided as the film, there is one thing the music gets right.  For a few minutes, the film’s score gives way to a singer whose suave, languid, sophisticated persona was made for Fitzgerald, and who has in all likelihood inspired many of his fellow Gatsby contributors, including Florence + the Machine, Lana Del Rey, and even the tuxedo-clad master of ceremonies Jay-Z, with his theatrical, high-art musical stylings—Bryan Ferry.

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Hendrix is Alive: ‘Blak and Blu’ by Gary Clark Jr. Pt. 2

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garyclarkjr2

Editor’s Note: This is what happens when your text sprawls over 20 pages of copy (in 10 point font!). It gets broken up, B. It gets broken into two parts. You want a complete piece? Write a friggen’ book. As for you readers who have stuck with us, I do believe that he gets around to making his point in the next two sections. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go nurse a coffee and try to remember how to feel. TJC

For those who missed Part 1, you can retrace our steps here.

 

4. Outside Little Rock…A Discussion…The True Meaning of Origins.

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Hendrix is Alive: ‘Blak and Blu’ by Gary Clark Jr. Pt. 1

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garyclarkjr3

Editor’s Note: The following text arrived on my doorstep early Tuesday morning, sealed in an envelope, written in miniscule 10 point font, along with a flash drive containing music samples, an e-version of the text, and several unflattering photos that have since been excised from the document. Buried on a small post-it note somewhere around page 10 was a small note directed to me: “T. Piece is finished. More or less vacant from all mental faculties. Publish as soon as legally accountable. OK here. A.C.B.” At the risk of running afoul of his vengeful wrath, I have published the following piece under the heading of “Blak and Blu: A Music Review” though it should be noted that the actual byline of the piece was enclosed on a successive string of Post-It notes (all colored blue, for some odd reason that seemed important at the time) and directed to headline the page itself; including a rambling editor’s note was optional, yet something that I felt was essential to the integrity of the text, as well as the general strangeness of the weekend itself. It is important to note that, regardless of who or what is involved, the words below are my associate’s own, pure and unfiltered. Take them as you will.

 

Hendrix is Alive and Well and He Lives in Austin, Texas: Gary Clark Jr. and the Renaissance of the Texas Blues; A Complicatedly Simple Study of the Condensing of American Music Tropes into a Wholly Original and Wholly Impressive New Sound That Will Soon Shake Your Windows and Rattle Your Walls; a Further Study of the Road and Its Dangers Whilst in Pursuit of the Glory of the New as the Times are Changing

A Review by A.C. Bromfield

1. The Inciting Incident…Trouble in Paradise…The Needle is Broken.

https://www.youtube.com/user/garyclarkjr?feature=watch

Chicago is built for the inclement weather that strikes at any and all opportunities, a condition in which the city residents worship the angry gods of the Northwest that regularly send down the cold fronts of Arctic ice that pulverize their bodies and shake them to their bones. It is not unusual to emerge from one’s apartment into a frigid, icy wasteland, something that would be highly irregular on a May day in, say, Cincinnati, Ohio. However, these are things that the good denizens of the Windy City have grown to accept, paying homage with clasped hands at the El stations dotting the urban landscape.

I hate this weather.

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A Song of Rubber & Ice

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The Recorder’s Guide to the 2013 Stanley Cup, Round 1

I must say, I was having a smashing time in Portland, OR, last week. It was a lovely bit of relaxation after the awesome madness of C2E2 the week before. In a surpisingly beautiful weekend in the Pacific Northwest, I was catching sun and swimming in whiskey while I was guided around the Rose City.

Who needs to watch this so-called Gatsby film? Not I, for one.

Why, I even had the opportunity to catch some junior hockey – game 1 of the WHL championship series between the Edmonton Oil Kings and the Portland Winterhawks. I walked away from the game disappointed but enlightened by the following lessons:

  1. The Winterhawks’ jersey & logo look damn near indistinguishable from the NHL’s Chicago Blackhawks. This made it rather easy in choosing for whom we would cheer.
  2. There were a lot of scouts erm, former players in the crowd. It’s almost as though the NHL just held a lottery for its draft, and the two teams were chock-full of draft-eligible players.
  3. Making all those centering passes won’t do shit if you don’t have someone in front of the goal to put said pass into the bloody net! Looking at you, Portland. That’s a damn good way to lose by a few goals, in fact.

Thankfully, the Winterhawks also seemed to learn this last lesson, as they’re now one game away from winning the WHL championship.

It was upon my return from this West Coast foray that my fellow Addisonian broke some troubling news to me: it was his distinct opinion that the Stanley Cup playoffs were getting lost amongst all the flim-flammery of other sports – even the off-season ones!

A quick perusal of the Worldwide ‘Leader’ in Sports lent credence to my associate’s troubling observation. Item after item flashed on the TV without the barest indication of the Stanley Cup excitement! We at the Addison Recorder wish to rectify this situation, which is why I shall be providing you with our pop-culture-infused look into the NHL playoffs, one round at a time. Grab some whiskey (or whisky, for our Canadian audience), and let’s get on the ice. [Read more…]

What You Are About To See Has Never Been Seen Before the Human Eye!: In Memory of Ray Harryhausen

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harryhausen

There’s quite a lot that has to happen for me to truly mourn the passing of a celebrity, an artist, or a noteworthy figure in popular culture. Quite often, the problem for me is that “celebrity” naturally inspires a distance between myself and the noted member of society. It’s sad for me to realize that I’ll never read another Roger Ebert review, never get to listen to a new track by Levon Helm, or that Stan “the Man” Musial has joined the ranks of the great All-Star team in the sky. It’s natural to feel some sense of loss, and to gain a true appreciation for what they’ve done. (Check out my colleague’s touching tribute to the late Mr. Ebert here, to whom all of us at the Recorder are deeply indebted to.) More often than not, however, it’s only a momentary blip in the never-ending stream that is life. It’s sad to know that Whitney Houston has passed away, but in the end, I’ll still dance like a fool to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” without thinking more on the subject than “hmm…she’s passed away…we’re all getting old.”

And then I came home from work today to discover that Ray Harryhausen has passed away.

Somebody like Harryhausen is not a well-recognized name in the general lexicon of popular culture. He didn’t discover a cure for a disease, he didn’t play quarterback for the Cowboys, and he never had a #1 Single on the Billboard Top 40. He did headline several movies of his own, but we’ll get to that in a second.

No, what he did was to provide hope, inspiration, and a wave of dreams for countless people the world over.

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“Some Cheap Tricks and a One-Liner”: Reviewing Iron Man 3

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iron_man_3_poster_final

Let me be quite clear about what I’m trying to do here. This is not just a review. This is not a cinematic critique, an admonishment or a chastisement of artistic mediums. Rather, it is a cry for help for a certain individual’s life choices that have spread over into said artistic mediums, becoming patently obvious through the infliction of personality defects upon an aesthetic, influencing it through temperament, chronological pacing, and the attention span that would cause a pigeon to fly into a rage of conniptions and  twitches before flinging itself suicidally into a lawnmower so as to bring an end to the overwhelming presence of the aesthetic of the aforementioned individual.

I write this because I’ve just seen Iron Man 3. And I’ve become utterly convinced that Shane Black is overwhelmingly addicted to c0caine.

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