The Bush and Blair Farewell Comedy Tour

.

.

Make no mistake about it-- the comedy duo of Bush and Blair (or as they're known across the Pond--Blair and Bush) will forever be remembered in the annals of humor. While their roots go back to the great duos of the 20th century--Hope and Crosby, Martin and Lewis, Ren and Stempy--detractors claimed that B&B in fact lifted their material from Pinky and the Brain.

.

I say nothing could be further from the truth. While Pinky and the Brain did originate the "try to take over the world" routine, Bush and Blair made it something that none but the most cynical would deny was truly unique. Who can ever forget skits like "Bring It On" and "Shock and Awe?" Classics to be sure, and while they weren't popular in France, they certainly played in Peoria.

.

Bush and Blair have always been an unlikely team, at least supercially, and perhaps that's what has kept us laughing for the past three years. Who would have thought that a bumpkin urban cowboy and a soft-spoken, Savoy Row Brit could have clicked so well? And yet, they did. It was percisely their public personnae that struck a nerve, albeit a raw one, in our collective pop mindset. That simple formula of Bush misspeaking with arrogance and Blair playing straightman with a conciliatory, but equally meaningless, turn of phrase had us rolling time and again.

.

But of late, the rumor mill has been in overdrive with reports that the duo may be going their solo ways. Call it the changing tastes of a fickle audience or maybe the material is merely growing stale, but Bush and Blair's fortunes have been on the wain these past several months. Their attempts at touring separately--Bush in the States, Blair in Britain--have been savaged by critics and audiences alike.

.

Their appearance in Washington last Thursday did little to dispel the gossip that the duo of Bush and Blair are nearing the end of their career as a comedy team. Indeed, it was reminiscent of the break-up of Martin and Lewis in some ways-- both members going through the motions of a routine that both had lost all interest in but went through the motions of performing nonetheless.

.

Though they opened in classic fashion, with Bush setting Blair up for the inevitable straightman fall, their much-touted reunion quickly deteriorated into a series of one-liners that had none of the punch of their heyday. Bush, hoping to play on what has now become a cliche in comedy circles, said that maybe he should have been more "sophisticated" when he used his immortal line "Bring it on!" What?!? Mr. Bush, don't mess with a classic punchline, if I may be so bold.

.

While one expects Mr. Blair to play the foil to Mr. Bush, saying that we should have been more "conciliatory" in the "de-Baathification" of Iraq simply had no zing, straightman or no. In the past, one could always count on Blair, in his stiff upper lip composure, to laugh along with Bush.

During Thursday's performance, Blair seemed, if not embarrassed by this cohort's, one-liners, vaguely disinterested.

.

To his credit, Bush did introduce us to a new buzzphrase-- "I sowwwwy." Whether it was Abu Ghraib or American fatalities or Iraqi civilian casualties, he merely shrugged his shoulders and did that little nervous chuckle we've come to love and muttered , "I sowwwy." Even that little gem, however, did little to elicit applause. I think it may be the line for which he will be most remembered in retrospect.

.

After the show, Bush was asked what he would most miss about Blair when they do go their seperate ways. "I'm going to miss his red ties," he said flatly.

.

Then he added, "Tony, can I buy you dinner?".

.

We can only hope that that is not the epitath of the first great comedy team of the 21st century.

.

.

.

The Soul of the Streets,

The Rhythm of America

.

.

Simply put, Playing for Change is a documentary about American street musicians. That being said, I would hasten to add that some works cannot be "simply put," that they transcend such artificial categorizations to become something universal, something that speaks to the collective soul.

.

Playing for Change is such a work.

.

This is not a gritty documentary focusing on the hardships of making a living on the streets-- rather, it is a colorful celebration of what is at the core of the American Dream: the pursuit of happiness. Directed by Mark Johnson and Jonathan Walls, Playing for Change examines a central, but too often dismissed, aspect of American culture-- the music of the streets.

.

And it does so admirably. Linked by the motif of a single groove-- a percussion riff laid down by a cajone (a sort of Brazilian steel drum)-- the film is part road trip, part slice-of-life vignette documentary and all music. It begins innocuously enough, with a folksy singer named Lily Holbrook playing on a street corner in Santa Monica, and that sets the tone for the rest of the film. Immediately, any preconceptions we may have had about street musicians as homeless panhandlers are dispelled. Instead, we are presented with a well-scrubbed, articulate young woman who has taken to performing on the streets as a means of overcoming her insecurities--and to sell a few CDs in the process.

.

Deeper into Los Angeles, we're introduced to the Carribbean group Los Penginos, and it is here that the plot, such as it is, of Playing for Change is set. After the cajone beat is recorded, the theme of the movie becomes a quest to travel cross-country to produce a jam that will eventually become the movie's centerpiece song, "Playing for Change Blues."

.

Filmed in 2003 (but only released to DVD last April), the film moves from southern California to a pre-Katrina New Orleans, where street musicians abound in genres from Dixieland to bluegrass. It is here that Playing for Change is most poignant, if only in retrospect. There are references from one musician about Mayor Nagin wanting to "clean up" Jackson Square to make way for a more "modern" New Orleans. But more importantly, there is the music, the vibrancy of diverse styles all coming together in a relatively small area in a way that may never happen again. A Flying V blues riff is laid over the beat, and a slide guitar over that, before the film leaves the Big Easy.

.

The pace becomes more frenetic as the locale transitions to New York, and more eclectic, as one might expect. Here, the musicians range from an acapella doo-wop band called the Inspirations to the sci-fi subway sounds of Simon 7 to old school blues to anything and everything in between. And it is here that a blind singer named Robert Bradley lays over the vocal track for "Playing for Change Blues."

.

It's a beautiful, powerful climax to the movie, and filmed exquisitely, with the various musicians playing their various parts in their various locales, but united by the common thread of the groove, the groove of the universal language of music.

.

Playing for Change serves not only as a look at an unapologetic musical lifestyle, but as a metaphor for life itself. These are the real, if unsung, American Idols.

Blogcritics.org

Idols 'R' Us

.

.

The American Idol season finale airs tonight, and the nation is collectively aflutter with anticipation. In the end, though, it doesn't matter whether Katharine McPhee or Taylor Hicks claims the dubious title of "Next American Idol." We lose either way.

.

And I'll tell you why.

.

American Idol has almost nothing to with with scouring America for the next

musical phenomenon and almost everything to do with demonstrating the power of a well-oiled PR machine. It's a simple formula: open with a seemingly fruitless quest to find an incredibly talented, but undiscovered, musical pearl among the Great Unwashed of the American populace--assuming the talent can make it to the auditions, which are invariably held in a tourist trap city, such as Vegas, LA or Austin. From that point, parade a series of delusional miscreants and clowns before the cameras to illustrate just how daunting the quest is.

.

Obviously, that formula can go only so far--approximately 3-4 weeks in the Idol universe--before it wears thin, so the producers spice it up by showing the intrepid "judges" wading through the flotsam of humanity and plucking that one or two who perhaps are marketable--

"marketable" being the operative term here.

.

Because marketing is the wellspring from which all things Idol flows, the PR blitzkrieg kicks into full gear at this point, and what began as harmless little talent search is elevated to an all-encompassing gladiatorial fete that only we, the American public, can decide. And if we don't vote, we have only ourselves--not Simon, Paula, or Randy--to blame.

.

And, boyoboy, do we eat it up. The artificial frenzy builds over the next weeks as we systematically destroy careers with a single Cingular text number. Then the debates begin in earnest--little Paris Bennett is gong home? She was too young anyway. Rocker Chris Daughtrey sent packing? True rockers don't do American Idol to begin with. And so it goes, till we do what we always do when left to our own devices.

.

We elevate mediocrity to godhood.

.

All of this brings us full circle to McPhee v. Hicks on tonight's finale. In this corner, Katherine McPhee, a curvy, doe-eyed little songbird who goes in swinging with the advice, "girls should keep working on themselves." And in this corner, Taylor Hicks, the choreography-challenged leader of the Soul Patrol, who wants nothing more than to "inject as much soul as I can into the American public."

.

Both opponents are strong contenders, obviously, but in the end, only one can ratchet the level of mediocrity up or down a notch, depending on one's point of view. The oddsmakers favor Hicks by a narrow margin. After all, he's already a hero to millions of karoake bar-hopping good ol' boys and the bored administrative assistants who love them. Drunken dance moves are funny, if not downright cool, as we all know.

.

On the other hand, Katharine McPhee can wow a crowd merely by kneeling and begging audiences to love her. She's a role model for depressed female adolescents and an iconic fantasy for millions of stressed-out office managers.

.

It's a tough call, to be sure, but in the end, it will get down to this: who challenges us least? That person will win it all tonight. They'll be heralded as an artist for a month, maybe two, before we get bored and the American Idol cycle begins anew.

.

As to who I think will win, I haven't the faintest.

.

Nor do I care overmuch.

.

I'll be listening to the Dixie Chicks.

.

Technorati Profile

Blogcritics.org

24 "Day 5" Season Finale:

A Cautionary Cliffhanger

.

.

Jack Bauer has the coolest job in the known universe. Okay, it's a little stressful, but what a perk-- save the world as we know it in 24 hours and take off therest of the year. How cool is that? Sign me up right now!

.

For five seasons now, 24 has led us down a serpentine path strewn with corruption at the highest levels, deception at every corner, gunplay 'round every bend and enough general mayhem to make Quentin Tarentino come off like an altar boy. And we've followed every second of those 24 hour timelines, no matter how implausible. After all, plausibility has never been a prerequisite for thr action adventure genre. Nobody ever paused to think about Indiana Jones' transatlantic trip perched on the periscope of a Nazi U-boat in Raiders of the Lost Ark, for example.

.

It's all about pacing, and in that area, perhaps no other series in the history of network television has done it better than 24. It invariably hits the ground running, and moves at such a breakneck pace that we don't even think about how no way could that happen in that timeframe. We want to believe that it could, maybe just maybe could, and we become willing participants in the milieu. And that, friends, is genius.

.

Then there is the character of Jack Bauer himself. As portrayed by Keifer Sutherland, Bauer serves as a metaphor for American frustration-- tense, sweaty, set adrift in events larger than himself with seemingly no hope for survival. Yet he prevails, teeth clenched against all odds. We see in Jack Bauer what we want America to be--a steadfast figure bowing to no evil in whatever form it takes, but never flinching from a fundamental ethic of justice, determined to save our way of life, even if it means taking on the President himself. In other words, Jack is us. The only difference is he knows who the bad guys are. We have only our vague suspicions.

.

From the start, the fifth season (or "Day Five", to use the jargon) of 24 played to our national paranoia, beginning with the assassination of former President Palmerthreading into a Chechnian nerve gas terrorism threat that involved an assassination attempt on the Russian president which in turn was engineered by the US President working on behalf of oil interests with the misguided attention of rescuing America from foreign energy dependency.

.

With me so far?

.

Good.

.

Because of the "real time" format of 24, there is no way humanly possible to bring the unitiated up to snuff on all the intricacies fo the plotline of "Day 5." The last couple of episodes made it screamingly apparent that there were only two ways it could end, neither of which were particularly politically correct. Either the President had to be brought to justice as a traitor, or he would get away with his acts in the interest of maintaining the dignity of the office.

.

In the end, the producers managed a climax that had it both ways, and without giving too much away, did so in a manner that served both justice and the almighty cover-up. But that was not the end--there are no endings on 24, unless you count ragged edges as endings. All is right with the world as the sun rises, except for Bauer's world. He's on a slow boat to China, courtesy of the Chinese government, who have not forgotten his assault on their embassy during "Day 4."

.

All that aside, the 24 finale served up generous portions of all the elements that make the series relevant. Even I had to admit early on in this arc that the series might have finally jumped the shark. There was no way they could make this work, i thought.

.

I was quickly proven wrong, and it wasn't because of all the smoke and mirrors the show employs. It was because, no matter what else you might say about it, 24 raises your heart rate. And it's not just the often cartoon-like action. It's because it speaks to us on a visceral level-- the idea that one man can make a difference, and revolutions really do begin with one person.

.

Besides, I just have to know where the Chinese are taking Jack Bauer for the 2007 season.

Blogcritics.org

The Will and Grace Finale--Finally

.

.

Will and Grace was a hit for one reason, and it had little to do with the show's lofty intentions. It drew viewers inweek after week because it was just funny--slapstick vaudeville naughty (but not too naughty) funny. It has been obvious the past couple of seasons, though, that the series was running out of steam. The spark was gone as the focus shifted into issues that are more "serious."

.

Thursday's finale reflected both the brightest and dimmest of Will and Grace. NBC, desperate for anything to pull it out of its slump, heralded it as a two-hout "event,", and promoted it as if the course of western civilization hinged upon its climax. The network's webpage was laden with emails (presumably genuine) all saying how the respective writer would cry as the series ended.

.

Truth of the matter is the hype shamelessly oversold the show. It was far from an event, two hour or otherwise. It was two seperate programs--one done quite well, the other--not so much.

.

The first program, "Say Goodnight, Gracie," was a one-hour retrospective of the series' eight season run, and it reminded us how hilarious Will and Grace could be, especially when it was Jack and Karen in the spotlight. Will and Grace themselves were too neurotic to be consistently funny, but Jack and Karen never strayed too far from loony land, and they were ultimately the glue that held the show together.

.

The highly trumpeted finale was a letdown, though. After a promising opening--a clever take-off of the dreaded dream ending, the episode drifted aimlessly through a series of predictable vignettes tracing the characters' life paths over the next twenty years. It wasn't so much that it was painful to watch but that it was drab and lifeless. If the series' principals wanted to go out on a poignant note, they never quite made it.

.

Without giving away the ending, NBC did leave open the possibility of a spin-off--Will and Grace: The Next Generation perhaps?

Blogcritics.org

Dubbya and the May Sweeps:

Can Bush's Immigration Reform Speech

Pull Him out of the Ratings Doldrums?

.

.

No matter which side of the fence you've perched yourself upon, you'll have to agree that George W. Bush simply does not know how to work a room anymore. Gone is that "they can run but they can't hide" bravado, that aircraft carrier straddling "mission accomplished" swagger, only to be replaced of late by performances that can be charitably described as "wooden."

.

Nowhere has his decline as a performer been more apparent than in Monday night's much hyped immigration reform speech. Reeking of flop sweat and with all the passion of an automaton, Mr. Bush announced his "five point plan" for immigration reform. Despite a cherry position in the Monday night line-up-- not only the lead-in for Prison Break but also Deal or No Deal ferchrissakes, the President barely mustered a monologue that would not play in the most boorish of venues.

.

In a program that sorely needed a grand opening, Mr. Bush chose instead to offer a tired, but safe, cliche--"We must secure our borders." One could almost hear a collective moan when he uttered those words. But the President was undetered by the sigh, and continued with a half-hearted proclamation that he is sending 6000 National Guard troops to the troubled US-Mexican frontlines to assist US Border Patrol officers. Hoping to reel the audience in, he added that we have more than enough troops to win the war in Iraq, Afghanistan and the soon to be announced addition, Iran-- plus deal with natural disasters and secure the border, too.

.

While he hoped that declaration would give new emphasis to the buzzphrase "army of one," the audience saw it as meaning we will eventually have one soldier in every country on the planet. One must build empires by whatever means are available, after all.

.

In the second act, Mr. Bush tried to catch a second wind with abysmal results. He trumpeted out his "guest worker" initiative with his tired line that they do the jobs Americans won't do. The audience merely shook their heads at this point in the performance--it echoed that Archie Bunker mentality of the seventies, or worse, that "good nigger" racism of the early sixties.

.

Reeling from the hisses from all quarters of the venue, Mr. Bush attempted a comeback by using his tired old saw about corporate America benefitting from a workforce bereft of any rights, and, by extension, Americans reaping the harvest through lower prices at the retail level. That was small consolation to the portion of the audience that can't afford to boost the economy because they cannot find a job. Patriotism is either linked to crisis or to an empty wallet.

.

In the final act, Mr. Bush attempted in vain to validate his performance by recounting the story of a young illegal immigrant who is proudly serving this country, not his native country, in Iraq, because he is so damn proud to be in this country. Despite the mom and apple pie slideshow that accompanied the little tale, the audience was not impressed.

.

They'd heard it all before.

Blogcritics.org

Rolling Stone turns 1000!

(that's 38 in human years)

.

.

Rolling Stone had a birthday last week--one freakin' thousand issues and still as fresh and relevant as it was on its first day on the planet, 9 November 1967. Yeah, she has a few wrinkles here and there, but she's remarkably well-preserved, and can still hold her own with any magazine that came before or after her birth.

.

Sure, there were other music magazines before Rolling Stone--Crawdaddy for the hippie-oriented and the original Hit Parader with its chord charts and lyric sheets come to mind, but by and large, those magazines were beholden to the record labels and their content reflected that. Whatever else there was about rock & roll was pretty much teen fanzine fodder.

.

Rolling Stone changed all that--and then some. From the first, her edict was rock & roll not only can change the world, but is changing the world, and you'd be well-advised to listen. That was a powerful message, a defiant proclamation, and one to which, through all the years and changes, the magazine has steadfastly adhered. And somewhere along the way, it went from being an almost underground newspaper to evolve into the cornerstone of modern journalism it is today.

.

Nobody writing about pop culture today can deny they were influenced by Rolling Stone-- in fact, most of us would probably not have been inspired to write at all had it not been for Jann Wenner and his cadre of guerilla journalists. Guys like Hunter S. Thompson vindicated my belief that the way we were being taught journalism was just--well, boring. He and others writing for Rolling Stone demonstrated that not only was it okay to immerse oneself in reportage, to become a character in the story--it was essential. I've not used the phrase "in my opinion" since-- it seems a redundancy.

.

From its inception, Rolling Stone recognized the power of the image--that publicity still of John Lennon in How I Won the War was the reason I, a scrawny fourteen year old kid with delusions of rock stardom, bought that first issue. Those cover images kept me-- and millions others--coming back again and again. Whether it was Annie Liebowitz reinventing the art of portraiture in her photos or Robert Grossman's brilliant caricatures, the covers have--almost all of them--been snapshots of that moment. More, they stand as testaments to history.

.

It's only fitting that the 1000th issue of Rolling Stone should be not a mere retrospective of the past thirty-eight years, but a celebration of where we were then, where we are now and where we may be headed. This isn't merely a magazine issue--it's more akin to a coffeetable edition in content and feel--all it needs to be one is heavier paper stock and a hardcover-- oh, and a price tag of around forty dollars.

.

At US$5.95, RS1000 is a steal. The 3D cover alone, inspired by the Sgt. Pepper album jacket, is worth the price of admission. A whimsical hologram of all figures pop, it's a coup de grace of technology melding with acid flashback. While some have derided it as a syptom of the magazine's midlife crisis, I find it a source of endless hours of enjoyment and eyestrain.

.

Rolling Stone has always had great covers, though-- they've been immortalized in song--if one can count Dr. Hook as immortal-- praised as news photos, even adored in museums. But the proof is in the details, and RS1000 illustrates in word and picture why Rolling Stone didn't just report modern culture--in the process, she became pop culture.

.

The writers, photographers and illustrators that have worked on the magazine through the years have done so with a passion that wasn't found in journalism before Rolling Stone--even the magazine's title was inspired by Bob Dylan. And like Dylan, they have never shied away from being controversial.

.

Rolling Stone set the bar for pop journalism and no one has ever been able to raise it to the next level. Many have tried (myself included), but nobody thus far has been able to raise that bar to the next level. It's become trendy in some quarters (mostly young Republican quarters) to dismiss Rolling Stone as a hippie relic no longer relevant to today's world. The truth is RS1000

shows in no uncertain terms that not only is she relevant, she's kickin' it.

.

W

.

Blogcritics.org

The Fox, the Mouse, the Peacock and That Big-Ass Eyeball

.

.

Ah, May... the dying days of spring are upon us and the summer beckons us into three or so months of lethargy before we reap the harvest we planted what seems like only yesterday...

.

Yes, friends--it can mean only one thing--May sweeps are upon us

.

And that means the Big Four television networks are on their semi-annual prowl to nurture their more hearty offspring and kill their weaker children in order to appease the Gods of Advertising. In times past, it seemed a brutal, albeit necessary, ritual of the balancing of electronic life. Now, it's more akin to the decline and fall of any given empire, replete with inbreeding and cannibalism. If Law and Order is flailing, bring in The Sopranos' Michael Imperioli, dress him in cop's clothing but change little else about him and call it a "groundbreaking" performance. If House needs a boost, stretch a mundane episode over two nights, have the second part be the lead-in to a ho-hum American Idol boot episode, and call it an "event" (and then top off the entire mess with the utterly asinine Unam1mous. And what better way to perk up CSI than the recurring Dominatrix with a heart of gold and a thirst for justice?

.

In short, the traditional networks are doing what any decaying empire does--serve up bread and circuses in lieu of substance. And we, awash in fear and loathing of the boogey men that never actually storm our gates-- but might at any moment--lap it up. We make American Idol the ratings juggernaut it is because we've been duped into believing that we can make or break the next sensation, that we, by god, are going to shape culture.

.

The sad thing is--we do. We are the networks' enablers, giving them the justification to serve up pablum, telling them that America is the culture of the Lowest Common Denominator and damn proud of it, to boot. Give us Deal or No Deal--Jeopardy makes your brain hurt.

.

The networks know this, and the advertisers that are their overlords certainly do. And both know that the May sweeps ain't what they used to be. So what's a bedraggled peacock, an upstart fox, an ancient mouse and an omnipresent eyeball to do?

.

Turn to the internet and the tabloids, of course.

.

The Mouse, aka ABC, got a headstart when they made the "startling" announcement back in April that fans would be able to watch, at their leisure, previous episodes of programs such as Desperate Housewives, Lost and Grey's Anatomy via the internet. Brilliant! Finally television was recognizing the shift in our culture, albeit with limited commercials. What they didn't mention, however, is this is only going to be available through June--i.e. through the sweeps. Not to worry, though-- between the travails of Teri Hatcher and the tribulations of Star Jones, they have enough fodder to see them through the month.

.

Not to be outdone, the Peacock unleashed the bombshell that Katie Couric would jump the Today ship at the end of May to serve the venerable eyeball that is CBS as the first female network anchor.Who, oh who, could possibly replace her?-- Anne Curry?..Natalie Morales?..no, wait, of course!--the blonde from The View! On a roll, NBC announced that the first hour of Today would be available anytime via their website. Just in case that doesn't grab you, there are the earth-shattering finales of Will & Grace and My name is Earl. Oh yeah--and Deal or No Deal.

.

CBS, the eternal, all-knowing eyeball, appears to be committed to online programming with its newly launched Innertube, an add-on that primarily promotes such drivel as Survivor, but has already rectified itself with a 45 minute Pearl Jam concert taped after their appearance on Letterman. There may be hope for network TV after all.

.

The fox--need I say it?--FOX may have the best website of the four, even though it is bereft of original programming. Still, it's interactive, animated and entertaining. But when you're the network that demands suspension of disbelief, you don't need a lot of extras on the web. When you have 24, and on a lesser level, Prison Break drawing viewers, not to mention American Idol, you don't need a stream to promote them. FOX may be the upstart network, but they understand better than their competitors that a weekly cliffhanger will rope them in every time.

.

But will these new tactics keep the networks alive? Or are they the death throes of an empire still playing out its glory days to an empty stadium?

.

My money says it depends on the upstarts.

just a quick note here... I've been incredibly busy the past few days, but not to fear, my babies-- the saga of the Fox, the Mouse, the Peacock and that Big-Ass Eyeball is forthcoming-- promise.

In the meantime, check out Blogcritics by clicking on the red button just above, Sinister cabal they may be, but they will make you think.

Neil Young's Living With War:

Guns blazing against apathy

Neil Young may very well be the last of the old hippies--and I mean that in the best way possible. In a career spanning nearly forty years, he has never wavered from the notion that music can change the world, and he's never been overly concerned about what rewards, or lack thereof, he might reap in the process. If he had never sold a record, it wouldn't have mattered to him. Neil Young just loves those magic three chords and the magic they can unleash.

On Living With War, Young offers no apologies about his feelings toward the current turmoil in America, particularly in regards to the war in Iraq. This is not a soft, country-tinged work, nor should it be. Rather, this a blistering indictment of the Bush Administration's handling of not only the war, but its dealings with dissent at home. It's only fitting, then, that Living With War harkens back to Young's Crazy Horse days.

Deceptively simple at its surface, Young's latest work is in a league with Woody Guthrie's Depression-era classics that spoke to the everyman and gave them a voice they couldn't quite find alone. It is protest music at it's finest, and will undoubtedly be featured in movie soundtracks when they make films about these times.

Living With War goes on sale May 8, but you can hear it for free in the meantime athttp://neilyoung.com.

Trust me--it's worth a listen.

Coming up: May sweeps are upon us. Stay tuned for "The Fox, the Mouse, the Peacock and that Bigass Eyeball."