Boarding the Enterprise Is Easy Enough--It's the Journey That's Tricky

.

.

Love it, loathe it or think of it as that annoying weekend guest who's too drunk to care that you have to go to work the next morning and you're too polite to kick him down the stairs-- one fact remains abundantly clear: Star Trek is a prime linchpin in the history of pop culture. The show that boldly took us "where no man has gone before"--political correctness not having been invented yet-- turned forty years old in Septermber..

.

Pause a moment to consider that this means at the very least, a generation and a half have never known a world without Star Trek. Even among baby boomers, scant few can claim their lives have not in one way or another crossed paths with some sort of Trekkian influence. And those who do claim otherwise are most likely lying.

.

While I never considered myself a "Trekkie," I'll readily admit that David Gerrold's book on the making of "The Trouble with Tribbles" taught me the fundamentals of script formatting. He became a bit of an influence on me, more because of his audacity in getting his script actually produced than in the fact that it went on to be the most popular episode of the original series.

.

Gerrold's latest endeavor, in collaboaration with Hugo Award-winning author Robert J. Sawyer, is serving as editor of Boarding the Enterprise: Transporters, Tribbles and the Vulcan Death Grip in Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek. Whew! Despite the unwieldly title, Boarding the Enterprise is a tidy collection of essays centering on the original series and its impact on popular culture. The seventeen articles included here represent a spectrum of thought ranging from straightforward analysis to giddy quasi-philosophy. Mostly, it's an entertaining light read.

.

What distinguishes Boarding the Enterprise from the countless other histories and analyses surrounding Star Trek is its sly wink approach to the material. Take, for instance,Lawrence Watt-Evans' piece, "Lost Secrets of Pre-War Human Technology,"a witty bit of satire that attempts to logically explain why the Enterprise was bereft of circuit breakers and seat belts, among other niceties we take for granted. In "What Have You Done With Spock's Brain?" Don DeBrandt deconstructs the myth of Spock's vaunted logic. Scientist Robert A. Metzger makes a compelling case that the most essential character in Star Trek was not Kirk or Spock, but Scotty, and for reasons not blatantly apparent, in "Exaggerate With Extreme Prejudice."

.

Other articles focus more on the Star Trek phenomenon in its historical context, both in socio-political terms, and its place in TV evolution and science fiction as a whole. Eric Greene equates the show as a metaphor for sixties upheaval in "The Prime Question" andin "We Find the One Quite Adequate," Michael A. Burstein discusses the ambiguous religious mores of the 23rd century. Both articles stretch their theses a bit too much to reach their conclusions, though.

.

It's when Boarding the Enterprise stays within the "forty years and still relevant" theme that the book is at its best. Norman Spinrad much more eloquently illustrates Star Trek's importance than either of the aforementioned articles in "Star Trek in the Real World." And David Gerrold's forward, "The Trouble With Trek" points outs the flaws of fandom's blind devotion to the series.

.

Completely unauthorized, and proud of it, Boarding the Enterprise will undoubtedly fuel unwarranted debate among hardcore trekkies. For the rest of us, it rekindles fond memories of a show that, for better or worse, shaped our perceptions of how the universe should work. Boarding the Enterprise is alternately insightful, amusing and nostalgic. Most importantly, it's always entertaining.

Robert Randolph Hits His Stride with Colorblind

.

.

When I was a kid in East Texas there was a guitar shop called Mundt Music. It was a magical place for any pubescent would-be musician, stocked as it was with Strats, Les Pauls, Sunn amps, exotic guitars of every ilk and hue. It was a hangout where guitarists would spontaneously jam on the weekends, playing honky tonk, blues and hybrids that hooked into Spanish and classical influences. Tucked away in a corner was a Fender pedal steel that nobody ever sat down to play. It was hard to get worked up over a pedal steel with all the music candy that Mundt stocked. In those days, the steel guitar was a pretty sedate instrument.

.

Fast forward to, I think, 2002, maybe 2003-- it doesn't really matter. I'm channel surfing late one night when I happen upon Letterman's mucical segment. Now I'm not the easily excitable sort, but what I'm seeing and hearing is hitting me like a solid jolt of caffeine. There's a guy on screen rocking the likes of which I'd not seen Stevie Ray Vaughnn's heydey-- and he's doing it on a freakin' pedal steel guitar!

.

That was my introduction to Robert Randolph and the Family Band. I've been a fan ever since.

Anybody who can fuse Jimi Hendrix stylings to Jerry Lee Lewis antics, and make it actually work, is deserving of attention. Still, something about his first two albums, Live at the Wetlands and the studio second LP, Unclassified, didn't fully capture the intensity that Randolph brings to a performance.

.

Colorblind, the third release by Robert Randolf and the Family Band, dispells any doubts about the band's ability to translate the excitement of their live performances to a studio recording format. From the infectious groove of the albums' opening track "Ain't Nothin' Wrong With That" to the closing tune "The Homecoming," Randolph makes it abundantly clear that he's come to funk you up, and he has no intention of taking any prisoners.

.

To prove his point, he's packed the spirits of Sly and the Family Stone, Jimi Hendrix a touch of Parliament and Jeff Beck in his arsenal. As if that weren't enough, he's convinced the likes of Leela James, Eric Clapton and Dave Matthews to accompany him on his quest to reclaim funk-soul from the Visigoths. It's a formidable alliance.

.

It takes more than a bit of audacity to have Eric Clapton play second on a song, but that's exactly what Randolph does in the blazing cover of the Doobie Brothers' "Jesus Is Just Alright."Though the rendition is almost a dead-on cover, the delineated duel between Clapton's Strat and Randolph's steel spins guitar competitions in an entirely different direction. What results is more subliteral communication than competition.

.

No album can stand on balls to the wall funk alone, so when Randolph does slow it down, he brings in Leela James for atmospheric dimension. "Stronger" is a ballad that evokes both Motown and gospel, and nobody is more suited than Leela James to elevate the tune to its rightful echelon. For my money, she is the heir apparent to Aretha's crown, and Randolph's steel (and side vocals) only add ambrosia to a voice thoroughly steeped in soul.

.

But when all is said and done, this is Robert Randolph's album. He loves his pedal steel, and all the intricacies he can pull out of those thirteen strings.With Colorblind, has potentially broken out of cult status to hit the mainstream. ABC Sports is even using "Thrill of It All" to intro their college football broadcasts. (You can hear it here. ) There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, anything that keeps funk alive can't be all bad.

.

Robert Randolph is an artist to be reckoned with. Colorblind is is incontrovertible proof of that.

Heroes Has its Mutants in a Row

.

.

At first glance, it would be easy to dismiss Heroes (premiering tonight on NBC, 9 PMET) as a watered-down version of X-Men. To do so, however, would be a huge mistake. While it does tread on familiar comic book-inspired territory, Heroes painstakingly avoids splashiness, instead painting its characters in subtle tones of normalcy shaded by the extraordinary.

.

The creation of Tim King (Crossing Jordan), the pilot episode zigzags across the globe, introducing us to a disparate group of characters, from an indestructable Texas cheerleader to a Japanese office drone with the ability to displace time and space to a male nurse who believes he can fly to a Vegas stripper haunted by a separate personality within herself to a drug addict painter who paints visions of the future. Their stories are told in separate vignettes, loosely connected by an Indian researcher's quest to redeem his dead father's reputation. All of it has something to do with a solar eclipse, which has awakened the protagonists' latent abilities, as well as signaling dire events for all earth.

.On paper, it all sounds more than a little hokey, but Heroes transcends any cliches by cloaking it all in ambiguity. The characters in the pilot episode are three-dimensional people-- a devoted single mom with a questionable past, a male nurse whose dreams of flying symbolize his relationship with his politician brother, a high school student who can do no wrong, and so on--whose lives are taking an unexpected and unwelcome turn.

.

The pilot episode focuses on the characters' individual stories and inner turmoils, rather than their unusual abilities. It's a teaser, to be certain, but it beckons us to return to find out how the mysteries presented here develop. If Heroes can maintain the focus of the pilot episode, focusing on the characters and their relationship to their environment, NBC may have a sleeper hit on its hands. This is a show that promises social insights presented in allegorical style.

.

Here's hoping that it doesn't deteriorate into comic book cliches.

One Day in Hyde Park was a Leap of Blind Faith

.

.

If ever, in all the anals of rock history, there was an aptly named band, it was Blind Faith. Born from the ashes of Cream and the original incarnation of Traffic, Blind Faith was heralded as the first "supergroup." It seemed a brilliant idea at the time--pairing Eric Clapton's blues based guitar with Steve Winwood's jazz-infused keyboards, and tying it all together with the power of Ginger Baker's drums and Rick Grech's (Family) steady bass.

.

They were doomed from the start.

.

In retrospect, it's hardly surprising that Blind Faith produced only one album in a career that spanned less than seven months. The break-up of Cream had been bitter, due mostly to the animosity between Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker. Adding Baker as a drummer to what had began as jams between Clapton and Winwood was, in part, the reason Clapton to cynically call the band "Blind Faith," referencing his doubts about the bands future.

.

Nonetheless, the fans, the press and, most importantly, the label pushed for an album release. Advances--huge advances--were paid, tours were booked and Blind Faith were superstars before even releasing an album.

.

London Hyde Park 1969 documents Blind Faith's 7 June 1969 live debut. It was a less than auspicious live premiere for such a highly anticipated "super-act." The fledgling band was ill prepared for a venue of more than 100,000 fans, and their preformance by today's standards, amounted to little more than a soundcheck. The bandmembers themselves, particularly Clapton, would critique it as mediocre at best. It didn't matter, though--even though their debut was uninspired, the audience ate it up, and Blind Faith was thrust into superstardom.

.

Despite the performance's shortcomings, London Hyde Park 1969 is a tidy historical document that offers a rare glimpse of a band who would become a seminal influence on the rock that followed them. The live recording (originally planned as part of a documentary) had been shelved ever since the band's dissolution later that same year. This DVD release features the concert in its entireity, and is the only video release available documenting Blind Faith. The intro, replete with mod-style voiceover, harkens back to the dying embers of the swinging sixties and the socially disenfranchised decade poised to replace it. Bonus materials include prehistoric (at least, music video-wise) videos of the Spencer Davis Group, Traffic and Cream.

.

The influence of Blind Faith, for better or worse, on rock music cannot be overstated. The eponymously titled album that followed the Hyde Park concert was a mega-hit and transformed the face of rock and roll from snappy three chord progressions to a genre that embraced, with varying degrees of success, the experimentations of jazz and blues. What this DVD release does is illustrate the first steps of a new direction rock would take.

.

Songs like "Well All Right," "Can't Find My Way Home" and "Sea of Joy" still hold up to scrutiny some 35 years later, and London Hyde Park 1969 affords the viewer a chance to hear them in their earliest forms. That alone would make the disc a worthy addition to a connoisseur's library, but the concert's blatant missteps, such as their cover of the Rolling Stones' "Under My thumb," make it all the more interesting.

.

Shark Puts the Bite Back in Courtroom Drama

.

.

Courtroom dramas, like medical series, have been a mainstay of network television from its earliest days. And while both genres have had their share of classics, in recent years they have shown their age. Both ER and Law and Order, once ratings powerhouses, are limping into oblivion. A case could be made that today's audiences, bombarded with information at every turn, no longer have the patience for procedural dramas.

.

Shark, the new CBS legal drama starring James Woods, turns the courtroom drama on its ear in much the same way FOX's House skewered medical TV conventions. Both series have protagonists who are wounded renegades reluctantly redeeming themselves by mentoring a group of avid but naive proteges. While the set-ups are superficially similar, the commonalities between the two end there.

.

Woods is cast as Sebastian Stark, who, when we first encounter him, is a celebrity LA defense attorney whose credo is "trial is war," and winning is all that matters. Justice, he reasons, is left to God. It's a stance what doesn't win him any friends in the Prosecutor's office, who disparagingly refer to him as "Shark." But when a high-profile client beats his wife to death hours after Stark won an acquittal for him, the haughty defense attorney has an epiphany of sorts, chilled wtih a bout with depression. He's forced to face the consequenses of his cutthroat tactics, and that makes him a shark with no teeth--and a man in search of redemption.

.

He gets his chance when the mayor coaxes him into heading up a new high-profile crime unit in the LA District Attorney's office. For a man whose only motivation is winning, this is an ideal avenue for him to get back into the game. There's only one catch: his new boss is his former nemesis, Jessica Devlin (Jeri Ryan.) As to be expected, philosophical and ethical sparks fly, despite their grudging respect for each other.

.

Further complicating matters for Stark is his devotion to his 16 year old daughter, who serves as a sort of moral counterbalance for Stark's take-no-prisoners professional life. Couple that with his tough love approach to his proteges, the inexperienced prosecutors that comprise his unit, and the possibilities for conflict in this drama on a regular basis are boundless.

.

The pilot episode introduces all the principals without falling into detailed backstories, around a framework centering on an aspiring pop diva's murder trial. It's a terse story, skillfully directed by Spike Lee, whose visual sense adds an immediacy to even the most sedate moments. But in the end, Shark is a showcase for James Woods. Nobody plays smarmy characters better than he does, and his talents are played to the extreme here. Woods has always been able to bring a dimension to a superficially unsympathetic character that makes an audience empathasize with him. In Shark, he's chewing up scenery that would befuddle even the likes of Jack Nicholson. And he does it with a style that makes you want to replay scenes for dialogue alone.

.

CBS obviously has high hopes for Shark, slotting in that Thursday spot that ER has dominated for years. If it can maintain the pacing and writing of the pilot, Shark could very well be the crown jewel of Thursday night network TV.

Jericho and the Gospel of Apple Pie

.

.

The problem with Jericho is that it sees the Apocalypse as an annoying inconvenience for the American way. While the promo image of a child on a rooftop watching as a nuclear bomb detonates in the far horizon is undeniably compelling, the producers of this series have done little to capitalize on the drama that image evokes. Instead, they've opted for a derivative story premise heavy on paranoia and apple pie platitudes.

.

At its heart, Jericho, like most post-apocalyptic stories, is a western. The prodigal drifter (Skeet Ulrich) rides into the sleepy town of Jericho, Kansas on his prized steed (in this case, a '69 Plymouth) to claim the inheritance his grandfather left him. He of course runs into opposition from the town's mayor (Gerald McRaney) who is also the drifter's father.For reasons yet unexplained, the drifter's mysterious past is called into question. The drifter, jaded as he is, prepares to leave Jericho, but not before saying hello to the town's schoolteacher (Sprague Grayden) and briefly reuniting with his high school sweetheart ( Ashley Scott.) The drifter quickly has enough of the town, especially since it was only a stop full of memories best left forgotten, and heads west for San Diego. As luck would have it, though, his plan is stopped short when his trusty Plymouth is totalled, thanks to his and another driver's rubbernecking a mushroom cloud on the horizon.

.

It seems Denver was nuked, but whether it was an attack or an accident is unclear, since the resultant electromagnetic pulse has left the town utterly isolated from the outside world. Jericho has become, in effect, the wilderness outpost of civilization. But the denizens of Jericho are either remarkably resilent or blissfully stupid in the wake of this disaster. Sure, there are hints of mass panic, but a few patriotic words from the mayor quickly quell any potential uprising. Even when word eventually comes (via a phone tape message) that Atlanta was also nuked, the citizenry rallies behind the mayor and his message of unity.

.

None of it is very compelling, much less believable. Even when word comes that Atlanta has also been hit, the citizens become momentarily jittery, but once the mayor gives yet another "We can beat anything if we all work together" speech, the populace nods unanimously in agreement. There's not one word of dissent voiced. Not one. That's not only unrealistic, it's bad writing.

.

The pilot does set up a few plot points that might develop in coming episodes. There is a mysterious shooting, the mayor's bid for reelection against an opponent who "has his own agenda," budding romance--oh, and those mystrerious nukes--were they accidents or were we attacked?--and if so, by whom?

.

If the Jericho pilot is any indicator, they'd probably be well-advised to answer that question in the next six episodes.

Smith is a Nice Enough Guy--for a Sociopath

.

.

By all appearances, the Stephens family have a picture perfect suburban life. Bobby Stevens is doing well enough in sales--at least with wife Hope's income as a dental assistant-- to afford them a comfortable lifestyle for them and their two kids in an upscale suburban neighborhood where all the houses look the same.

.

And that's what makes Bobby--well-- a little bit crazy.

.

The pilot episode of Smith explores the ramifications of duality without offering much in the way of its moral implications. This is familiar territory for Goodfellas star Ray Liotta, who portrays Bobby Stevens. Here, he plays the frustated suburbanite who happens to be a master thief. Virginia Madsen (Sideways) is cast as his wife Hope, who may or may not know that his frequent "business trips" are actually excuses to cover up his heists. Hope has secrets of her own, which are merely hinted at in the pilot.

.

The pilot also introduces us to Bobby's crew-- Johnny Lee Miller as Tom, the electronics expert, Simon Baker as Jeff, the psychopathic weapons expert, Frankie G as Joe, the transport specialist, Amy Smart as Annie, the decoy and Shohreh Aghdashloo (House of Sand and Fog) as

Charlie, the fence. If all this sounds a bit like Ocean's 11, it's much more akin to Reservoir Dogs in execution. These are not sympathetic characters--they do their job with precision, without moral regard. It is difficult for the viewer to feel any empathy for the principals, but I don't think that was producer's John Wells' (ER, The West Wing) intent. Rather, it reflects the prevalent social clime of nothing--and nobody--is what it seems on the surface.

.

While the premiere episode is laden with plot holes and incongruities--two million dollars split five ways is not a large chunk of change, especially after you figure in preliminary costs--Smith does have potential. CBS is taking a huge risk here, however. This being network television, pilots serve to set up the series, and not much else. If Smith turns out to be heist of the week with the Feds in dogged pursuit, there's not much hope for it.

.

If, on the other hand, Smith focuses more on the mysteries and motivations surrounding the characters, and less on the gratuitous nature of the heist, this could be a series to follow. Either way, things can't turn out well for the Stevens family.

The Class Is Full of Edgy Friends, But Will it play?

.

.

If the premiere episode of The Class is any indication of the direction the producers intend to go with this ensemble comedy, CBS may very well rule Monday nights this season. As the lead-in for a night that includes How I Met Your Mother, The New Adventures of Old Christine and Two And a Half Men, it has the potential to propel the network to the ratings that NBC used to enjoy on Thursday nights.

.

Comparisons to Friends will be inevitable, given that The Class centers around a group of twenty-something acquaintances reunited by a singular event--in this case, an engagement party. Seems Ethan (played by Jason Ritter,John Ritter's son) met the love of his life, JoAnne in the third grade. Romantic that he is, he tracks down his third grade classmates and invites them to his wedding announcement party.

.

The problem is , twenty years later, those classmates are nothing as he remembers them to be. They've all grown up--Kat is cynical, her sister Lena is loopy, and neither of them even remember Ethan. Nichole was dumped by Duncan, who discovered he was gay on their prom night. And then there's Richie, the suicidal depressive whose attempts at killing himself are inevitably by a phone call.

.

Sure, it sounds all a bit contrived at first glance, but this is a pilot, after all. And the key to comedy is incongruity. Before the episode is done, subplots are set in motion, and motivations are fleshed out. And it's all done in dialogue that weaves between hilarious and poignant.

..

The Class is a very witty little comedy that has a lot of potential. I'd check it out if I were you.

.

Chris Smither Illuminates a Path Less Taken

.

.

True, when he first gained national attention some forty-odd years ago, Chris Smither was associated with the folk blues movement of the time. But to dismiss him as a "modern blues"

player in 2006 indicates a lack of appreciation for the multitude of influences that drive his music. With a finger-picking guitar style that is equal parts Lightnin' Hopkins and Django Reinhart, and a baritone voice borne of Jack Daniels and Leonard Cohen, Smither transcends categorization.

.

On Leave the Light On, Smither realizes his full potential in a work that is sometimes jaded, and at others almost whimsical, but always threaded with the odd coupling of romanticism and cynicism unique to the American psyche. "I'll live to be a hundred./ I was born in forty-four./ Thirty-nine to go/ But I ain't keepin' score," he laments in the title tune, setting the tone of the theme of mortality that runs through the album. It's by no means defeatist, though. Smither may be a bit long in the tooth, but he still has plenty of brimstone left in him.

And it is in striking the brimstone that Smither's genius truly lies. He's out to spark the stone, not set a fire with it. "Origin of Species" is a hilarious send-off of both intelligent design advocates and strict evolutionists told from God's point of view. Set to a Texas swing rhythm, it immediately disarms both forces through the comical logic of it all. "Diplomacy" is a commentary on current US international policy as seen through the eyes of Jerry Lee Lewis and the jukebox mentality.

.

When he does play the blues, Smither has no peer among the current crop of players. Drawing on the roots of the genre, his thumb-oposing-two forefingers style of playing harkens back to the roots of recorded blues, as in his version of Hurricane James Hurt's "Blues in the Bottle."

More a tribute to his main influence, Lightnin' Hopkins, it nonetheless conjures a vision of blues at its purest--acoustic, raw and from the gut of the soul. Neo-gospel group Olladelle's back-up vocals lend an Appalachian flavor to the lilting "Seems So Real." Anita Suhanin's haunting

voice adds an atmospheric dimension to "Cold Trail Blues" and "Shillin for the Blues," serving as a perfect counterpoint to Smither's smoky leads.

.

Leave the Light On is a distinctly American work, regardless of the angle from which Smither approaches any individual song. His cover of Bob Dylan's "Visions of Johanna" is turned on its side and treated as a waltz, with mesmerizing results, and his rendition of "John Hardy" is played in a manner not that far removed from the classic Carter Family recording. Musical spirits roam this album, from Delta blues to Texas swing to bluegrass to urban ballads, and Smither masterfully weaves the various idioms into a unique whole.

.

Full of irony and poignancy, Leave the Light On showcases Chris Smither at what may be the pinnacle of his career. Here is an artist who has evolved over the years at his own will, and it shows on evey song on this album.

.

Robert Cray and the Middle Class Blues

.

.

It is hardly a secret that Robert Cray has often been dismissed in certain blues purist circles as being a mainstream pop player. Cray himself acknowledges this, brushing his detractors off as "bluenatics." Whatever else might be said about his style, however, the fact remains that he can make a guitar talk. The only debate centers over what he makes the guitar say.

.

Live From Across the Pond, the latest release from the Robert Cray Band, will do little to dissuade either faction. But it will give both sides pause to consider their stances. Recorded over the course of seven shows at London's Royal Albert Hall earlier this year, when Cray and his band were opening for Eric Clapton, it's an album that showcases the band's strengths as a live act.

.

Alternately restrained and wide open, the band plays to the audience in a way that only seasoned pros can, hitting each note with authority and dead-on timing. And while Cray is indisputably the focal point of the band, he readily acknowledges his bandmates, particularly kyeboardist Jim Pugh. Through the course of the album, Pugh's Hammond organ stylings play off Cray's blues licks, creating a sound as much R&B as it is traditional blues. Kevin Hayes on drums and bassist Karl Sevareid make no attempt at at showcasing their talents. Rather, they do exactlywhat it is a rhythm section is supposed to do-- they cement the performances.

.

Robert Cray has never been a blues player--at least not in the traditional sense. His sensibilities as a musician owe as much to Stax soul artists and Eric Clapton's take on blues as they do the roots of the genre. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Sure, Cray has always geared his music to an upscale audience than what is thematically associated with the blues--his backdrop is more SoHo than NoLa. What results is an idiom that is a fusion of urban soul and delta blues.

.

Left to his own devices, Cray will opt for the claustrophobia of a rain-soaked phone booth over an open house door to express the anguish of failed relationships. The lyrics are nearly inconsequential in most of these songs--it is the converation between Cray's stratocaster and Pugh's Hammond B3 that ultimately resonates with the listener. Particularly on songs like "Our Last Time" and "I Guess I Showed Her," the relationship between strings and keys is played like foreplay resulting in the climax of "The Things You Do To Me.".

.

On "Twenty," Cray finally offers a definition of "modern blues", with his tale of a young urbanite wanting to avenge 9/11 in Afghanistan, only to be shipped to be Iraq, where he meets a uselesss death. It's a poignant tune, not overtly political, that sizes up the confusion of our current state of mindset. But it's on "Back Door Slam" that Cray dispells any notions that he is not, at least in heart, a bluuesman to be reckoned with.

.

"I am what I am," he growls defiantly. ""I am the backdoor slam." This may be more prophecy than bravado. Cray and his band pay tribute both. to the blues and to the Stax definition of soul. They don't by any definition set new standards here. What they do accomplish, however, is a

ollection of tunes that serve as an introduction to soul music and the blues.

.

Longtime blues afficionados are unlikely to embrace Live Across the Pond as a turning point in Robert Cray's career. Nor should they. This is hardly a groundbreaking album. It is, however, the first live album the Robert Cray Band has ever released.As such, it offers us a perspective on the way the man puts his performance together,

.

It gers down to this. Robert Cray can play the hell out of a stratocaster. Robert Cray plays to the room. Robert Cray is not a blues player in the traditional sence. Neither was Stevie Ray Vaughnn. AS Stevie brought a rock sensibility to blues, Robert Cray brings a Memphis soul sensibility to blues. Both brought blues into a mainstream mindset.

.

In the end, Robert Cray's influence on the state of so-called modern blues cannot be underestimated. Live Across the Pond shows why.

The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril is a Historical Novel That Sorta Happened

.

Sometimes, you just have to go back to your roots. . .

.

I'll readily own up to the fact that the exploits of the Shadow and Conan the Barbarian, not to mention the overwrought H.P. Lovecraft horror tales, inspired me to write as much, if not more, as anything I learned in English Lit. Not to discount Dickens or James Joyce, but the lurid, action-packed tales conjured by Walter Gibson and Lester Dent never failed to transport me to a reality that scraped the world in which we live. My father's addiction to Louis L'amour westerns didn't help matters, either.

.

The bottom line remains the same-- the pulps, the dime novels, whatever you want to call them-- were the cornerstone that lay the foundation of pop culture as we know it. They predated comic books, they inspired movies of the time, they created the formula by which American detective series would more or less follow to this day and they launched the careers of more than a few writers who went on to become mainstays of popular literature.

.

Paul Malmont's debut novel The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril is both a homage to the pulps and the men who wrote them, and a lightning-paced, intricate adventure novel in its own right. Set in 1937 New York, when the pulps were at their zenith, it casts the genre's most popular writers as the unlikely alter-egos of their creations. Walter Gibson (aka Maxwell Grant) and Lester Dent (aka Kenneth Robeson) were the creators of the Shadow and Doc Savage, respectively, the most popular characters of the time. The rivalry between the two writers, and their competition to tell the ultimate pulp tale, is the thread that holds the novel together. That quest leads them on divergent paths that lead to the same destination.

.

"Let me tell you a story," Walter Gibson tells a young Ron Hubbard at the novel's opening. "You tell me where real ends and pulp begins." Thus begins this wildly entertaining adventure that weaves historical fact and outlandish implausibility into a package that leaves the reader wondering which parts actually happened, and which were pulp conjurings.

.

The death of H.P. Lovecraft, then a fringe writer, even for the pulps, serves as the hook for the mystery that draw Gibson and Dent into a web of intrigue that stretches from NewYork's Upper West Side to the the northern steppes of Manchurian China. As one might expect from a novel that is itself a pulp adventure, facts, though they are laced throughout the work, never get in the way of the story. What we're treated to as a result is a cornucopia of real-life characters playing against a conspiracy of super-villains. Orson Welles and Mao Tse Tung are among the cameo players here, though their roles are hardly pivotal. Robert Heinlein and Louis L'amour are integral to the plot, however. The villains, at least the main ones, a Chinese warlord bent on revenge, and an American military man with no motive beyond greed, are drawn in detail convincingly realistic.

.

The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril is a pulp at heart, though, and Malmont wallows in the possibilities of the genre. There are subplots involving Chinatown's Tong Wars of the early 20th century, chemical weaponry of mass destruction left over from WWI, mutated, lumbering zombies, madman motivations and nightmare visions. There are outrageous escapes, six-shooter gun battles, sword fights, treasure hunts and the obligatory femme fatale-- in this case, a psychic with a pet chicken).

.

Where Malmont is at his best, however, is in his ability to breathe genuine life into his characters. They all have a compelling backstory, from Gibson and Dent, to the "villain" Zhang Mei, and Malmont skillfully interweaves those pasts into the context of the plot. While it does make the novel a bit long-ish (371 pages), it puts the reader into a universe that is immersive and irresistable. In fact, this is a novel that reads like a movie looks. Dissolves and intercuts abound in the story in a cinematic prose style that cries out to be made into a film.

.

As an action-adventure novel, The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril is a thrill ride the likes of which are rarely seen in mainstream publishing. As a homage to the guys who wrote those thrilling tales that influenced all pop culture to come--and did so for a penny a word--it's a testament to the power of a ripping good yarn.

The Two Faces of the Batman

.

.

Batman is, bar none, the most iconic fictional character of the last century. Google "Batman" and you will find over 51 million entries--Only Superman can compete with those figures. James Bond, Spider-Man and Mickey Mouse don't even come close. While current searches give The Man of Steel a slight edge over the Dark Knight, that can easily be attributed to the PR surrounding the release of Superman Returns earlier this year. And while I am in no way dismissing the cultural significance of Superman or Mickey Mouse, I contend that that the Batman appeals to us on a much more visceral level.

.

Bruce Wayne is a man obsessed with bringing all evildoers to justice, all borne out of seeing his parents murdered before his eyes. We all know that set-up--it's embedded in the pop culture psyche in no uncertain terms. Simple on the surface, it appeals to our primal sense of justice.

We all want to see evil punished.--and therein lies the cathartic nature of Batman. Through him, we know that justice will prevail, regardless of the odds.

.

The character of Batman has been with us for sixty-seven years now, introduced to the world in the May,1939 issue of Detective Comics. To put that in a historical perspective, that was eleven US Presidents ago, Germany had not yet invaded Poland and America was clawing its way out of the Great Depression. Oh yeah, and comic books, a new media format back then, cost all of ten cents. In a world at the precipice of turmoil, the shadow of a bat meting out justice offered a darker, but more realistic hero than a god-like alien from Krypton. Batman was somebody a kid could relate to-- a hero, who, in theory, he could grow up to become.

.

Batman was, and I think still is (although I could be wrong),

the only superhero who had no superpowers--he wasn't an alien deriving his powers from the sun, he wasn't given a ring with unlimited potentials, he didn't take an accidental chemical bath, he wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider, he wasn't a mutant--Bruce Wayne worked his ass off to become Batman. And that's what made him more real than any of the others.

.

Batman is in many ways the lineal descendant of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Zorro and, of course, the Shadow, with one glaring exception--Bruce Wayne was motivated by a grief that ate at his soul. He had to release the pain of his loss, the fears that gnawed his psyche by projecting them into the evils that had been inflicted in him by his trauma. That sort of distress would leave anybody two routes in their lifepath: either a quest to heal, or a quest to destroy the pain. Batman has walked a precarious line between the two extremes throughout his various incarnations through the years. Leave out the downright silly stories of the fifties, and two distinct personalities emerge: Batman, the Caped Crusader, and the Batman, the Dark Knight.

.

The Caped Crusader personality is most fully realized in the Denny O'Neil--Neal Adams stories of the mid-seventies to early eighties, and it is here that Batman finally emerges as a genuinely sympathetic character. O'Neil explored the psyche of Bruce Wayne as well as Batman, and Neal Adams drew the character as grim, determined, and most of all, bat-like. Theirs was a character fraught with angst-- part detective, part romantic, part avenger, and completely human.

.

In 1986, with his The Dark Knight Returns, Frank Miller built on the themes that O'Neil/Adams had explored and presented a Batman that went beyond the roots of the character to examine the the dichotomy of Bruce Wayne and his alter ego: namely, is Bruce Wayne Batman, or is the Batman merely portraying Bruce Wayne? Ultimately, that is what is the core of the Batman mythos. It's also in that issue that we are afforded the opportunity to explore the yin-yang nature of humanity.

.

As integral as the Batman is to pop culture, only two movies have come close to capturing the character of Batman: Tim Burton's 1989 mega-hit Batman, and Chris Nolan's 2005 take Batman Begins. Burton's version is responsible for the resurgence of comic book characters as feature-length movies. Played largely as Wagnerian opera, Burton's version takes a lot of liberties--such as having the Joker being the killer of Wayne's parents-- but achieving a visual aura that set a new standard for all superhero movies that would follow it. His follow-up Batman Returns, however, failed artistically in that Batman spent most of the film reacting, rather than acting, to events going on around him. The Schumacher versions that followed sent the character on a downward spiral that can only be charitably called campy messes.

.

Batman Begins finally got the myth right. Chris Nolan and his team did their research, tweaked key points hinted at in the comics (most notably Frank Miller's Batman: Year One) and presented a film that not only was true to the original concept of the character (fear as a weapon), but offered a fascinating psychological study as well. This was a film about motives as much as it was about action. For the first time, the public was presented with a universal hero in the Batman, a character that at once delineates the duality of the mind with a clarity that speaks best in a visual vocabulary.

.

What it comes down to is this: something in Batman strikes a universal chord that resonates in all of us. His obsessions echo our fundamental need for balance. In an uncertain world, we all need a Batman to protect us. Pity that in our world, there is no Batman.

.

.

Opening the Doors to House

.

.

House is inarguably the best "medical drama" television series ever made, as the DVD boxed set House: Season Two makes abundantly clear. Watching this six disc, 24 episode collection is watching evolution unfold--not only in characterization, but in the medical genre itself.

.

Far from another medical mystery series, such as Quincy or CSI, or to a lesser extent,Crossing Jordan, House takes its cues from literary detective traditions, and does so unapologetically. The similarities between Dr. Gregory House and Sherlock Holmes are obvious, as they are designed to be. (House. Holmes. Dr. Wilson. Dr. Watson. Get it?) Both characters are brilliant, albeit flawed, and not necessarily likeable men, but their eccentricities make them irresistable.

.

House, as portrayed by Hugh Laurie, is an enigma of sorts--on the surface, he's an irascible, bitter curmudgeon with no regard for authority or convention. He walks with the aid of a cane and his pain has led to his addiction to Vicodan ( as Sherlock Holmes was addicted to cocaine). He's an unlikely diagnostician at best, but his uncanny ability in solving medical mysteries forces those around him to begrudgingly tolerate him.

.

It's the interraction between House and the characters that surround him, be it his team or the victim of this week's mysterious malady, that makes the series such a delight to watch week after week. There simply is not a weak episode in the second season. While a case could be made that it is formulaic in structure (patient is felled by what seems an obvious diagnosis, but further investigation indicates something more insidious, leaving House and his team to track down the real medical culprint), each story manages to speak to a universal element without weighing itself down in pretension.

.

That in and of itself would not make House the groundbreaking series it is. Other medical programs, from Dr. Kildare to ER, took a more heartwarming, almost soap opera approach to recounting the trials of the medical microcosm. Detective shows almost invariably took either a hard-nosed or comic approach to their stories. What creator David Shore did, along with executive producer Bryan Singer, was meld the two genres into a synergystic concept unlike anything American audiences had heretofore seen. It's a series that has drama, mystery, suspense and a touch of comedy, all woven in a tightly knit package that's held together by seamless scripting, outstanding performances and flawless direction.

.

Season Two builds on these premises and evolves the series to a level that the first season falteringly promised. The relationships between House and his team, not to mention his foils, are gradually developed through each episode, almost as hints. as to what might follow. The evolution of the relationships is wisely underplayed, so as not to distract from the primary plot. It all comes to a head, thought, in the final episode of the season. "No Reason" opens with House being shot by Jack Moriarty, a man who blames House for his wife's suicide. It's a hallucenogenic cliffhanger that further embellishes the Sherlock Holmes analogy. (Moriarty was also the name of Holmes's archnemesis.)

.

House: Season Two stands on its own as thought-provoking entertainment, but this set also includes several nice "special features." There is the usual blooper reel and a couple of inexplicable but amusing "Valley Girl Alternative Takes" done for laughs. Two episodes, "Autopsy" and "No Reason" are given the audio commentary treatment by executive producers David Shore and Katie Jacobs. While they are a bit on the conversational side, they nonetheless offer some insight into the technical process of making the show. Also included is a casual interview with the cast and makers of the series, entitled "An Evening With House."

.

This is a handsome package, with flawless image quality and 5.1 Dolby sound. For fans of House, it is an almost indispensable investment. For casual viewer of the series, and for those unfamiliar with the show, it serves as excellent entertainment on its own merits.

.

The third season of House premieres 5 September on the Fox network.