In a word...yeah. Duh. Well, some of it anyway. The fact that I’m even addressing this question means that those sudden bastions of free speech (as long as they agree with it, anyway) on the right have been allowed to change the subject from Imus, but...yes, a lot of commercial rap is slightly racist and greatly sexist. It just is. For mostly those reasons, starting about 15 years ago, white males in junior high and high school started to dig listening to it as a form of rebellion.
But Don Imus hasn’t been a white teenager for quite a while. Centuries, actually. And if hip hop hadn’t introduced “nappy-headed ho’s” into his vocabulary, he’d have called them something else. He was making fun of them, not trying to rap.
But since we’re on the subject...
Salon today asked a number of different “hip hop scholars” about hip hop’s inherent sexism, etc. They did a good job of asking the right people, too. The first two on the list—Nelson George and Bakari Kitwana—have wirtten some of the best hip hop essays and books around. Here’s a sample (though since you have to pay for the content or watch an ad, I’ll keep the sample small):
From Kitwana:If the question is attempting to address the corporate, commodified and packaged hip-hop music industry, which has helped enrich major record labels and corporate conglomerates, then the answer is no because even within the arena of corporate hip-hop there are rap artists whose music doesn't peddle racist imagery. For example, Lauryn Hill, Public Enemy, the Fugees, Queen Latifah, Lupe Fiasco, Kanye West have all created very popular rap music that does not promote racist imagery. The answer to this second question is mixed … yes, the corporate attempt to put hip-hop in a bottle has often relied on racial stereotypes: black men as criminals, pimps and hustlers and black women as oversexed bitches and hos.
From Greg Tate:Regardless of your wording, I know Salon means to ask, "Does the hip-hop industry promote sexism, racism and greed?" Absolutely. "Now just who owns the hip-hop industry?" would of course be Salon's follow-up question. Obviously, as we all know, the same captains of the American consumer products and media industries who decided Imus had to go -- and not because his decrepit comedic tongue flagrantly, unconsciously and unconscionably conflated racism and sexism in ways that hadn't been heard flowing so trippingly in public off a well-established and feared white man's tongue since Thomas Jefferson, but because he had suddenly become a very bad investment. Thank God for laissez-faire capitalism, the self-correcting invisible hand of the market, and all that other good doo-doo kaka.
That’s enough of a sample. If you’re not a Salon subscriber, it’s worth your while to take a moment to watch the ads. The people interviewed are both appreciative and critical of hip hop, and that's important to me for the sake of the argument.
First of all, it should go without saying that a lot of hip hop is not racist/sexist/misogynistic/bad in any way, which is the problem with the stereotype. I’ve talked about The Roots and Mos Def and Talib Kweli at length here, and you’ll have trouble finding too much in their music that fits the angry hip hop stereotype (aside from maybe Mos’ “The Rapeover,” which pushed those boundaries a bit. But having seen the other things that Mos has written, I give him the benefit of the doubt for that one.).
Maybe the commercialized version of hip hop really does veer more toward the negative stereotype, but is that the fault of “hip hop” as a whole, or is that the fault of a) the record companies that choose who to promote, and b) the consumers of hip hop music (mostly white) who snatch up the offensive stuff and leave the strong, smart choices on the shelf? Granted, (b) pretty much tells (a) who to promote, but I’d say there’s enough room to blame both to an extent. When Nirvana and Pearl Jam made it big, major labels desperately searched out bands that sounded exactly like them (STP, Bush, and Creed say thank you, by the way). They passed up on better bands for those that would sell. It’s the same thing in hip hop. And now that hip hop has proven how much money it can make, we find rappers willing to sink lower and lower down the common denominator scale. Mos Def himself touched on this a while back (though he did use a couple negative ‘hip hop’ terms in the process):“Our priorities is gettin’ fucked. Lil Jon-I love his music. But why are the East Side Boyz names Big Sam and Lil Bo? What the fuck? What’s next, Kunta and Kinte? The South should know better. This is the same country that ran up in Fred Hampton’s crib and shot him in bed with his pregnant wife. You think the rules changed cause niggas got No. 1 records? What are we supposed to tell our kids? After Malcolm, Martin and Dubois we got Sam-Bo? I’m supposed to be down with that ’cause it makes me dance?”
To be sure, there are problems with hip hop and language, but it’s important to stay focused on the actual problems and their actual causes. In his latest Low Post, Taibbi (as always) says it much more creatively than me:I love rap music, always have. But as an adult white male I also know a minstrel show when I see it, and that's what rap has turned into.
Every type of music gets exploited and reduced to its lowest common denominator at some point—this is why I say hip hop is in its “hair metal stage”—and while I’m sure the quality of commercial hip hop will rebound at some point, the fact that a) mainstream hip hop artists are almost uniformly black, b) hip hop uses quite a bit of profanity, and c) the ‘n’ word is involved, makes it seem like a bigger deal. It’s not. It’s a rebellious form of art just like grunge and punk and Elvis. Using it as an excuse for Imus’ idiocy is a ridiculous waste of time, but since the subject was raised, I figured I’d share my thoughts.
Satan himself couldn't have designed a more effective vehicle for marginalizing black culture than modern hip-hop. In the early days rap music was scary social commentary; it was raw and real and it vividly described a violent street culture that white people didn't know about and didn't want to know about. But very quickly rap turned into a multibillion-dollar industry in which the same corporate behemoths who sold us crap like Garth Brooks and boy bands and Britney Spears made massive profits selling a stylized, romanticized version of black misery to white kids in the suburbs.
That was bad enough, but even worse was the way black politicians and black intellectuals so easily bought into the idea that these endless video images of gun-toting, ho-slapping black men with fat wallets, rock-hard tattooed abs and fully-accessorized rides were positive living symbols of "black empowerment" and "black manhood." Like Tupac was the next Malcolm or something.
Yeah, right. Seriously, how dumb do you have to be to not see through this shit? Here you've got the modern-day version of The Man signing big checks to back your record deals and cheering along as all the artistic talent from the black community starts walking around in public wearing one-word stage names like strippers, writing song lyrics featuring preschool-level spelling and primping endlessly for the cameras with gold teeth and swimming pools and pimped-out cars -- all of them absurd caricatures of the capitalist wealth fantasy. How exactly is any of that that different from the minstrel show, the conk and the zoot suit? The black man who can dance and sing, but can't control his urges, can't resist pussy and just can't get enough of what Whitey is selling, can't stop preening in his Caddy...that's innovative? That's empowering?
Bullshit. Rap was real once, but once it became an industry it turned into the same con white people have been playing ever since they set foot in this country. It's a bunch of shiny trinkets for the isle of Manhattan. Here's your Hummer and your bitches, knock yourself out. You need us, we'll be buying the African grain market. Oh, and, thanks for the cap, my kid loves it, he wears it sideways just like you...No matter how catchy the music is, on a deeper level, that's what big-money rap acts amount to now. And the longer the black community eats it up, the more time Whitey is going to have to laugh all the way to the bank, like he always has.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Is Hip Hop Racist/Sexist?
Monday, February 05, 2007
Mos Def & Talib Kweli: A Primer
In most cases, there are two types of valedictorians: 1) the overachiever—the person who works harder than everybody else, takes unbeatable notes, organizes study groups, and does whatever it takes to get ahead and stay ahead in the classroom; and 2) the wiz—the person who grasps everything faster than everybody else, has never had to really work hard at their craft, and seems to move on from one idea before fully developing it. In the case of hip hop’s two young(ish) Brooklyn valedictorians, Talib Kweli is the overachiever, and Mos Def is the wiz.
They’ve only made one album together, and they’ve basically worked as solo artists for the last 7-8 years, but I figure it would be pretty fitting to do a Primer on the two of them together.
1. Definition, Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star. My first introduction to Black Star (as they are known when they are a duo) came in a Mizzou dorm in ’98. I was making a tape of a friend of mine’s hip hop collection (he owned turntables and lots of vinyl), and he insisted that I record their first single. That song was called “Definition,” and it knocked me over. I set a record for how long it took me to completely wear that tape out, then I headed to Slackers in downtown Columbia to buy the whole album.
(Seriously, how great was late-1998 for hip hop? Lauryn Hill’s The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt, Vol. 2: Hard-Knock Life, Outkast’s revelatory Aquemini, and Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star all came out in the last four months of the year. Those might be the best four hip hop albums of the last decade!)
Black Star was one of my first introductions into underground hip hop. I’ve loved hip hop for a long time (as have hundreds of thousands of white males my age), but until that point, about the furthest-from-mainstream I’d ventured was Aquemini. Even though Common and The Roots had been around a while by that point, I discovered them because of Black Star. Black Star was my gateway drug.
2. (Re)Definition, Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star. Something that immediately showed Black Star's uniqueness was this creative departure—they took “Definition’s” chorus, threw it behind a different beat, and created a brand new song with a completely different feel. Focusing on a theme of “too much violence in hip hop,” “Definition” and “(Re)Definition” are two of the most musically intense songs on Black Star, as the rest of the album focused on old school hip hop techniques and departures into the jazzy, soulful sounds of acts like The Roots and Common (Common actually had a verse in “Respiration”). There was intelligence and quality oozing out of every song, from “Brown Skin Lady” to “Thieves in the Night.” When I bought the cd for myself there was an insert advertising the then-upcoming Mos Def solo album, and though I’d known of these rappers for less than a year, I’d never found myself looking forward to a hip hop album this much before.
3. Ms. Fat Booty, Black on Both Sides (Mos Def). Despite the horribly unfortunate name of this song, this is one of my favorite hip hop songs ever. It’s also one of the rarest, in that it’s a non-cheesy hip hop love song. There aren’t many in this category. This song is great simply because of Mos’ lyrics and impeccable delivery.
She spot me like paparazzi; shot me a glanceIt’s at this point, about a quarter of the way through his solo debut, that you realize that Mos is one of the most charismatic and talented musicians (in any genre) in the last few decades. Whether he’s telling you about a failed relationship or injustice or pain, you believe every word he says, and you want to hear what he has to say about just about anything.
In that catwoman stance with the fat booty pants, Hot damn!
What's your name love, where you came from?
Neck and wrist blazed up, very little make-up
The swims at the Reebok gym tone your frame up
Is sugar and spice the only thing that you made of?
I tried to play it low key but couldn't keep it down
Asked her to dance she was like "Yo, I'm leavin now"
...
Scene three: weeks of datin’, late night conversation
In the crib heart-racin’, tryin’ to be cool and patient
She touched on my eyelids, the room fell silent
She walked away smilin’, singin’ Gregory Issacs
Like “If I don't...if I don't...if I don't...”
Showin’ me that tan line and that tattoo
Playin Sade’s "Sweetest Taboo"
Burnin’ candles, all my other plans got cancelled
4. Four Women, Reflection Eternal (Talib Kweli & DJ Hi-Tek). You get the impression that Mos Def has never written down a lyric in his life. He just walks into the studio and nails his part. (Not saying that’s what he does—I have no idea—but that’s how it feels when I’m listening to him.) No matter what he’s saying in his lyrics, a laid-back feel almost always pervades his vocals. Kweli, on the hand...you get the impression that he works for it. Hard. Like, lots of notebooks of lyrics in his bedroom. The Chuck D-esque intensity which which he tends to deliver his vocals and the slightly more harsh sound of his voice perfectly complemented the smooth Mos on Black Star. However, Kweli quickly proved that he was more than capable of carrying an album by himself. While Mos was putting out Black on Both Sides, Kweli was preparing his first solo work, Reflection Eternal with DJ Hi-Tek. It was good, but it was no Black on Both Sides, which was the best album of 1999. Amazing, however, was the hidden track, “Four Women,” a take on an old Nina Simone song. And honestly, Kweli has really turned himself into hip hop’s Nina Simone—powerful, opinionated, talented...and a bit bitchy. But he gets his point across and writes some of the more poignant lyrics around.
I got off the 2-train in Brooklyn on my way to a sessionNot just any rapper would even think to attempt painting a portrait of four women in different stages of struggle and life, much less do it well.
Said let me help this woman up the stairs before I get to steppin'
We got in a conversation she said she’s 107
Just her presence was a blessing and her essence was a lesson
She had her head wrapped
And long dreads that peeked out the back
Like antenna to help her get a sense of where she was at
Imagine that—livin’ a century
The strength of her memories
Felt like an angel had been sent to me
She went from nigger to colored to negro to black
To afro then african-american and right back to nigger
You figure she'd be bitter in the twilight
But she’s alright, ‘cuz she done seen the circle of life
5. Get By, Quality (Talib Kweli). Mos may have won the first round of the solo album battle (though it was a split decision), but Kweli’s more prolific output and increasing maturity have won the later rounds. “Get By” is, simply, the most inspirational hip hop song of the past decade or so, and likely the best song either of these artists has put out, together or solo. This Voices of Civil Rights article/column was beyond complimentary:
In a genre that has rightfully been criticized for its sexism, materialism and violence, rapper and native Brooklynite Talib Kweli is quite possibly the most prominent artist today in the tradition of socially conscious music.Some lyrics:
This morning I woke up feeling brand new/I jumped up feeling
my highs and my lows /And my soul and my goals.
The lyrics are from “Get By,” a populist anthem praising the heart and resilience of everyday people. The song appears on Kweli’s album “Quality.” In the opening verse, Kweli urges his listeners to become politically active: Even when the condition is critical/and living is miserable/your position is critical.
“I definitely feel like hip hop artists have more musical knowledge than any generation before us because the nature of hip hop is to build on the past,” he says in his trademark raspy voice and deep-Flatbush accent. “The more you get invested in hip hop the more you learn about other music.”
...
Songs of conscience may not come to mind immediately when one hears the words “rap music,” but hip-hop is making an important contribution to the tradition of protest music and the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement. “There are a thousand hip-hop songs that share those themes,” Kweli points out. If anyone believes differently, he says, “they just aren’t listening.”
We keep it gangster, say "fo shizzle", "fo sheezy" and "stay crunk"It’s pretty clear that Kweli has a goal—to use whatever fame he can garner to affect positive change in the world. He’s an artist and an activist (though, as he’s sure to tell you, not a politician). And his music is the perfect example of the good that can come out of hip hop.
Its easy to "pull a breezy", "smoke trees", and "we stay drunk"
Our activism’s attackin’ the system, the blacks and latins in prison
Numbers in prisons—they’re victims—lackin’ the vision
And all they got is rappin’ to listen to
I let them know we missin’ you, the love is unconditional
Even when the condition is critical, when the livin’ is miserable
Your position is pivotal, I ain't bullshittin’ you
Now, why would I lie? Just to get by? Just to get by? Get fly?
TV got us reachin for stars
Not the ones between Venus and Mars, the ones that be readin’ for parts
Some people get breast enhancements and penis enlargers
Saturday sinners, Sunday morning at the feet of the Father
They need something to rely on, we get high on all types of drugs
Man, all you really need is love
To get by ... just to get by ... just to get by ... just to get by
Our parents sing like John Lennon, "Imagine all the people", watch
We rock like Paul McCartney from now until the last Beatle drop
This reminds me of a passage I read recently from a Wright Thompson (Mizzou grad!) article about a couple of players from the Portland Trailblazers visiting Memphis’ Civil Rights Museum (h/t to True Hoop, a fantastic basketball site, for pointing this one out to me).
They walk past the bombed-out wreck of another bus, past photos of angry white faces at lunch counters, past metalwork from the Edmund Pettus Bridge. They listen to gospel singers belt out freedom songs.In a lot of ways, I’ve stuck by hip hop the way I stick by Mizzou and the Pittsburgh Pirates (though at least hip hop rewards me occasionally...at least maybe once a year), and it’s because of artists like Kweli. Hip hop is entrenched in its hair metal stage at the moment (“I’m so cool! Look at what I can buy! Look at the women that are in my pool!”), but everything is cyclical, and when people start looking for value in hip hop again, hopefully they’ll find that in Kweli.
"Hip-hop was freedom songs when it first came out," Bowles tells the group.
"Now it's about how many cars you got," Aldridge says.
6. What’s Beef?, Chappelle’s Show (Season 1, Episode 12). For once, I was ahead of the curve on something. In February 2004, Season One of Chappelle’s Show came out on DVD to almost no fanfare...and ended up one of the best-selling DVD sets of all-time. Nobody knew the influence this show was having until stores were swamped with requests. How does that show I was ahead of the curve? Because I was driving around mid-Missouri the night of its release, trying to procure a copy before everybody else. It was a great show, and I watched every episode at least twice, but the reason I wanted the DVD so badly was so I could watch this performance by a briefly reunited Black Star.
One of the great things about what Chappelle did was, he went out of his way to say, “If people are actually liking what I do, and I have this bright light being shone on me, then I’m going to shine it on my friends, too.” He began featuring musical acts like Black Star and De La Soul, getting them some extra exposure. It was this thrown-together song that had the biggest impact on me. Kweli went first, and his verse was solid—he actually ended up using it as a verse in the first song on his next album, The Beautiful Struggle. But Mos, who hadn’t been too prolific lately because he was too busy becoming an award-nominated actor (it’s really not fair when people are so good at so many different things), came up with a Pantheon-level verse of his own. So many references in so little space, however a lot of it was based in reference to the ‘feud’ between Jay-Z and Nas at the time—I will always think that it was at least partially made up to sell records and get attention.
Beef is not what Jay said to Nas7. Black Jack, The New Danger (Mos Def). I’m getting carried away here. I’ll try to limit the copy-pasting of lyrics, but it’s just so much easier to show the profundity of what their saying than to actually try and describe it myself. Maybe I’m just being lazy. Anyway, after doing quite a bit of acting and fighting with record labels, Mos finally returned to action in 2005 with his second solo album, The New Danger. He brought with him a hard rock band called Black Jack Johnson (named after the heavyweight champion, not the surfer/acoustic rocker, of course). About half the album was recorded with the band, and it’s a pretty interesting experiment. The plain old hip hop is pretty solid too, but only because Mos has so much talent. The first time I listened to this album, all I could think was, “I can’t wait to see what he does next time,” because while he went in interesting directions, it didn’t sound like he had put as much time into this one as he did on Black on Both Sides. It’s pretty hard splitting time between being a badass musician and award-worthy actor, and I think it shows on New Danger. “Black Jack” is one of the more interesting experiments, taking off from a standard blues guitar lick and bassline and incorporating mostly Mos’ singing, not his rapping.
Beef is when workin' n----s can't find jobs
So they’re tryin’ to find n----s to rob
Tryin’ to find bigger guns so they can finish the job
Beef is when the crack kids can't find moms
Cause they end up in a pine box or locked behind bars
Beef ain't the Summer Jam for Hot 97
Beef is the cocaine and AIDS epidemic
Beef don't come with a radio edit
Beef is when the judge is callin' you "defendant"
Beef, it comes with a long jail sentence
Handed down to you in a few short minutes
Beef is when your girl come through for a visit
Talkin' bout "I'm pregnant by some other n----"
Beef is high blood pressure and bad credit
Need a loan for your home and you're too broke to get it
And all your little kids is doin is gettin' bigger
You’re tryin’ not to raise 'em around these wild n----s
Beef is when a gold digger got ya seat and a
A manicured hand out like "pay me n---- or I'm tellin' your wife”
Or startin' up some foul rumor that'll ruin your life
Beef is when a gangster ain't doin it right
Another gangster then decided what to do with his life
Beef is not what these famous n----s do on the mic
Beef is what George Bush would do in a fight
Yeah, beef is not what Ja said to 50 (another feud reference, this one between Ja Rule and 50 Cent)
Beef is more than Irv not bein here with me (couldn’t tell for sure what he said in this line)
When a soldier ends his life with his own gun
Beef is tryin' to figure out what to tell his son
Beef is oil prices and geopolitics
Beef is Iraq, the West Bank, and Gaza Strip
Some beef is big and some beef is small
But what y'all call beef is not beef at all
Beef is real life happenin' everyday
And it's realer than them songs that you get at Kay Slay
Also notable about The New Danger was the bit of trouble Mos got in for his anti-industry song, "The Rape Over," in which he said both "some tall Israeli" (Lyor Cohen) and "quasi-homosexuals" were running hip hop, getting him called both anti-semitic and homophobic. You get in less trouble when you do something harmless, like threaten to kill somebody on your record. The song got removed from later versions of the album, but since I bought it the first day it was out, it's on my copy. I'm special. Or hopeless. One or the other.
Anyway, any excitement I had regarding Mos’ third album, however, was tempered when I read an interview with him a short while after New Danger came out. He expressed his disgust with the major labels and said he was going to crank out his third album pretty quickly so he could fulfill his contract and do what he wanted to after that.
8. Broken Glass, Beautiful Struggle (Talib Kweli). The best song of 2005. When you’re dealing with pain and wasted lives, not every song can be hopeful like “Get By.” Sometimes you have to tell the story of those who didn’t manage to just get by. With one of the best beats Pharrell Williams has ever produced, this song is the perfect combination of hard-hitting music and lyrics, telling the story of a girl with “dreams too big for a small town” who crashed and burned when she hit the big city. Not much else I can say beyond that...just a perfect hip hop song.
9. Ms. Hill, Right About Now (Talib Kweli). The best way to show just how prolific Kweli has been over the last few years is to look at the volume of ‘non-release’ releases (sometimes referred to just as ‘mixtapes’) he’s put out (Mos does this too, but Kweli does it more). One of the better ones was 2005’s Right About Now. It’s nothing special, really...the beats are relatively primitive and predictable, and he seems to have saved his best lyrics for official releases, but he just has too many great songs and verses to share, and quite a few of them will end up on these collections. The most notable song from Right About Now was “Ms. Hill,” a tribute to Lauryn Hill, an amazing artist and friend of Kweli’s, whose struggles with the music industry, religious machinery, and herself, have been pretty well-documented.
10. Dollar Day (Katrina Klap), True Magic (Mos Def). Two songs came out within, it seemed, just a week or two of Hurricane Katrina, that perfectly captured the anger and outrage that millions felt (and only thousands apparently still feel) about the neglect and abandonment of hundreds of thousands of people every bit as American as you or me or Mos Def or anybody else: Ben Harper’s “Black Rain” and Mos Def’s “Dollar Day (Katrina Klap).” I posted the video for this song a while back.
The thing about Mos Def, compared to most other musicians (and celebrities in general), is that his conviction doesn’t just last until the next big party. Outside last September’s MTV Video Music Awards, Mos got himself arrested for performing “Dollar Day” in the street without a permit, putting on an impromptu concert to remind people of things they were starting to forget.
I can’t, however, say that Mos’ third album, True Magic, truly followed up on the creative momentum stirred from “Dollar Day.” As I said above, this was cranked out a year after New Danger, and Mos cared so little about its success that he didn’t actually produce any liner notes or anything for it. If you go to your local Best Buy, you will likely find it in a clear plastic case, nothing but a disc and a price tag. And, after showing potential with Black Jack Johnson, he ditched it for True Magic. Again, it’s listenable because of Mos’ talent (he did get a Grammy nomination for “Undeniable,” after all), but let’s just say I’ll be expecting a lot more out of him next time around, when he’s on an indy label and not realizing that his success would put money in pockets of the suits at Geffen Records.
Mos Def and Talib Kweli will always be thought of in the same boat, and I doubt it bothers either of them too much (other than in the context of the roughly 14,526,353 times they’ve heard “So when are you gonna put out another Black Star album?” in the last 8 years), and while I could have pretty easily made a “Primer” about each of them individually, I figured that accentuating their differences best highlights their relative strengths. These two Brooklyn MC’s are the best hip hop has to offer and have been for quite a while. One is a charismatic presence, one is a workhorse. Both of them respect hip hop’s history and constantly tinker with ways to move hip hop forward.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
My Month of Entertainment - January 2007
Books
Another bookless month. But that’s good...I’m actually starting to get through the ones I bought over the last 6 months.
Movies
This month’s Netflix rentals:
The Break-Up. Memo to any husband or boyfriend whose significant other is thinking about watching this movie. DO NOT LET THEM. It gets into female heads and messes with them severely. They cannot help but severely over-analyze it. Avoid it. You do not want them to see this movie. That is all.
Slap Shot (25th Anniversary Edition). I hadn’t seen this in a long while, and The Butterfly hadn’t seen it at all, so I stuck this one in the queue. This has long been regarded as one of the funniest sports movies of all-time, and all the Hanson Brothers scenes were as great as I remembered, but I’ve gotta say...it’s a lot slower than I remembered it. Lots more attempted plot than there needed to be, and in the end it just doesn’t flow as well as other great sports movies like Major League or Bull Durham.
Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. This is was actually a mutual selection—I’ve always loved The Butterfly’s sense of humor—and unlike a lot of comedies like this, the humor didn’t really slow down once the plot had to take over. A lot of recent comedies are like Wedding Crashers—hilarious premise and great comedic acting, but when the plot takes over, everything comes grinding to a halt. Ricky Bobby used a lot of the same actors as Wedding Crashers and Anchorman, but this one was more consistently funny. Actually, I should watch Anchorman again before I commit to that...anyway, we both enjoyed it quite a bit.
The Devil Wears Prada. It was The Butterfly’s turn to pick out a movie, so we went with this one. Obviously I haven’t read the book (and neither has she), but I had heard that this was pretty decent for a book adaptation. This was surprisingly watchable. Granted I was playing Spider Solitaire the whole time and wasn’t giving 100% of my attention to it, but it wasn’t painful to watch like some of the the chick flicks The Butterfly actually hates. We had a bit of a disagreement over whether she should end up with Rich Dude or Dude from Entourage (obviously I was in Dude from Entourage’s corner), and I guess I won. Though I have no idea why they would throw in the “he gets a job in Boston” kink if they really didn’t have plans to address that in the resolution, but whatever. I didn’t care all that much.
Happy Endings. Another indy movie I heard decent things about and stuck on the Queue. We were not impressed with this one, however. As I like to say about some movies, there was a good movie in this somewhere, but it never came to the surface. Interesting cast (Maggie Gyllenhall, Tom Arnold, Lisa Kudrow, etc.) and interesting plot points, but the end of the movie comes and you realize you don’t actually care about any of the characters (sans maybe Tom Arnold). That’s not usually a good thing.
Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. I’ve always loved Holy Grail and Life of Brian (and Spamalot, for that matter), but I’d never seen this one. Lots of laughs, as you would expect, but there’s definitely a reason this one’s not as highly-regarded as Grail and Brian. It’s just not quite as focused, though there’s definitely plenty to enjoy.
Cars. This was for The Butterfly’s parents...we never got around to seeing it. I’m sure it’s enjoyable.
Little Miss Sunshine. One of the 2-3 best Netflix movies we’ve seen to this point. I was dying to see this when I first heard about it, but as more and more people started piling on about how great it was, I got wary. I love it when movies like this are nominated for Best Picture awards because it acknowledges that you can have lots of comedy and still create one of the best movies of the year. You care about the characters at the end, and you can almost relate to them no matter how crazy their situation ends up...and the performances were fantastic. I’m not totally sure why the little girl got nominated for an Oscar (it led to a great moment in last night’s SNL “Dakota Fanning Show” skit, where Dakota Fanning talks about all the serious roles she’s played without getting nominated for an Oscar, and the little girl says “I ran around a lot.”). Honestly, I thought the best performances came from the Oath of Silence little brother (Paul Dano) and Steve Carell. Kinnear and Colette were both great, but you just expect those performances out of them.
All in all, a decent Netflix months, but there were some duds in there. Oh well. And DO NOT LET YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER WATCH THE BREAK-UP. I cannot emphasize this enough.
Music
Barenaked Ladies Are Me, Barenaked Ladies. In the last few months, two different artists who belong to my “When They Release a New Album, I Will Buy It Immediately” club released new albums...and I didn’t buy them immediately. I have a decent excuse for each one. First of all, soon-to-be Good Nonsense poster Shep (note to self: next time you introduce a new poster, make sure they’re not out of town all week for work...kinda makes the introduction anti-climactic) and I agreed to trade some music—he was going to get me BNL’s new one, and I was going to get him Guster’s new one. Great...except we kept forgetting to actually do that. So I finally sucked it up and used some eMusic downloads on it. I talked about it in depth here...not as good as Gordon or (especially) Maroon, but quite enjoyable.
True Magic, Mos Def. Mos Def is also on my Buy Immediately list, and I’d been trying as hard as I could to keep up with when this one was coming out. First it was the summer, then 2007, then December, then 2007 again...and then I checked and found it had been released to zero fanfare three weeks previous. Grr. I have an upcoming post about Mos Def and Talib Kweli, so I won’t speak much about this one now...other than to say that I like it because it’s Mos Def, but like his last album (The New Danger)...even moreso, actually, it does kinda feel like he half-assed this one.
Light Grenades, Incubus, and Sam’s Town, The Killers. I used some of my Christmas present iTunes downloads for these two albums...as much for The Butterfly as for me. I like good hard rock, and I’ve appreciated the works of these two groups in the past, so I thought I’d give these a shot. I think Incubus have been lumped in with the “RAWK!!” category with bands like Limp Bizkit and Korn, and that’s a bit unfair. They have more to offer than those groups, and while they wouldn’t get very high on any “Favorite Bands” list of mine or anything, they’ve made a lot of songs I really like...“Warning” and “Megalomaniac” being at the top of the list. There’s nothing that good on Light Grenades, but there is still some good creativity on display.
As for The Killers...you can definitely hear some U2 influences—both early- and late-U2. They aim for greatness and grandure, and while they don’t really achieve either, I appreciate the attempt. I’d always prefer that over “Hey, we sold a ton of records last time out, so let’s make the exact same songs this time.” The Killers are seen as pretty arrogant and self-important, and they probably are, but oh well. They’re a decent band.
All in all, January was a pretty slow Month of Entertainment, wasn’t it? Then again, nobody usually has much post-Christmas money to spend, do they?
Saturday, December 30, 2006
A week late on this one, but...
...I found this while catching up on Okayplayer tonight.
When Mos Def speaks, you listen.
When you listen to Mos Def's lyrics and statements, you start to realize that he's as close to a true folk musician as there is out there today. He speaks for his people, and he does a magnificent job of it. Unfortunately, he's also a great actor, and he spends a lot of his time doing that instead of writing songs. He's got a new album coming out soon, and I can't wait.
I hope to expand on the "folk music -> rap music" idea in a later post. In the meantime, here's his video for "Katrina Klap," one of the more poignant "folk" songs in quite a while.