If You have to Define It, You Ain't It

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Here is what it is. . .

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There are certain aspects of life that just are not meant to be defined by words. You know what it is when you encounter it, but it works on a level that words can't touch.

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The whole concept of "cool" is like that. In fact, cool is so cool that dictionaries often use the word itself to attempt to describe it. "Socially adept" doesn't quite cut it. A lot of people describe themselves as "cool", but those are people who don't have a clue as to what cool is. The people who are cool are. . . well, too cool to label themselves that way. When you're cool, other people already know it, so there's no need speak of it.

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Miles Davis never said he was cool. His music said it all.

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Cool and Collected is something of a soundbyte in relation to how his music defined jazz in the latter half of the twentieth century. But what a soundbyte it is! Focusing mostly on the work he did in the mid to late fifties with various incarnations of the Miles Davis Quintet, this compilation showcases some of the tunes that made Miles Davis the epitome of cool. "So What", arguably the tune that veered jazz away from bebop towards a more modal style, appropriately opens the album. In this 1959 version, Cannonball Adderly on alto sax and John Coltrane on tenor sax are also featured, as well as Bill Evans on piano, bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Johnny Cobb.

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Much of Cool and Collected centers around the triumvirate of Davis, Coltrane and Adderly. "Milestones," "Stella By Starlight" and "Fran-Dance" all showcase the three horn players bouncing scales off each other, and the interplay between them, nearly forty years later, still astounds. Between those four pieces alone, there's nearly 25 minutes of trumpet and sax swirling and dipping like the aural equivalents of birds at play.

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But it's when Davis and Coltrane play together on the Thelonious Monk classic " 'Round Midnight" that may be the single most telling moment of what made Miles so freakin' cool.

Here (and to a lesser extent, on "Bye Bye Blackbird") , we're reminded of an era when smoky, dimly lit bars were a sanctuary from the pressures of the middle class, and when mystery lay just beyond the next cocktail.

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While the bulk of Cool and Collected focuses on his cool jazz work in the fifties, it does offer a few glimpses of where Davis would later head. A young Herbie Hancock is featured on "Seven Steps to Heaven" (1963) , and the 1969 recording of "E.S.P." also features Wayne Shorter on sax and Ron Carter on bass. Particularly on the latter piece, we hear an inkling of the profound influence Davis had on the fusion movement that would be the driving force of jazz in the 1970's.

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No single album can encapsulate the work of a man whose career spanned nearly fifty years, especially in the case of someone like Miles Davis. He defied every convention placed before his vision, and for over forty years, he constantly redefined jazz. What Cool and Collected does is show us in snapshots how he rose to that stature. While I would have liked to see more seventies work, what's included here is a valuable primer as to how it all began.

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And how cool is that?

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The Politics of Passion...And Vice Versa

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A great film must, by necessity, strike a universal chord in the human consciousness. Otherwise, it's just an elaborate way to sell buttered popcorn. Citizen Kane was a great film. The Searchers was a great film. Bladerunner was a great film. The genre doesn't matter-- a great film speaks to the human condition.

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Reds: 25th Anniversary Edition is another reminder of what elevates a movie to "great film" status. Made in 1981, Reds was nominated for twelve Academy Awards, and won three, garnering Warren Beatty a Best Director honor, as well as earning Maureen Stapleton an Oscar as Best supporting Actress, and acknowledging Vittorio Sioraro's work for Best Cinematography.

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Despite its backdrop of communist ideaology at the dawn of the twentieth century, Reds is ultimately a story about the power and pratfalls of love and passion. The story of John Reed and Louise Bryant is not, in Beatty's vision, the tale of a couple of American communists, any more than his later Bugsy was a gangster story. Instead, Reds is an intimate love story set against of a tableau of epic proportions.

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The relationship between Reed (Beatty) and Bryant (Dianne Keaton) mirrors the tumultuous events of 1915-1921, beginning with America's tenuous involvement in World War I and culminating with the aftermath of Russia's Bolshevik Revolution. It's a complex, sprawling film with themes of idealism versus reality, personal sacrifice in the name of love, and disillusionment with the constraints of beuracracy, among others.

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Beatty's solution to tying all of this together was ingeniously simple. Rather than transition the myriad events going on in conventional cinematic terms, he stitched the film together whrough a series of interviews with Reed's contemporaries. Shot against a black background with a single light source, these "witnesses" serve as a framework who enrich the story's credibility. These are people who lived through the period, who knew Reed and Bryant and who aren't remotely hesitant to share their outrageously varying opinions. The lines in their faces trace a timeline of the routes America took--or could have taken--throughout the twentieth century. In the end, they show us that attitudes weren't that different in the early days of the twentieth century than they are now--they were just more discreet then.

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There are naysayers who will insist Reds is a platform for Warren Beatty to express his left-leaning viewpoint. Those people are wrong. They are borne of the same ilk who believe Citizen Kane was a sensational attempt to discredit William Randolph Hearst. True, both films are politically slanted to a degree, but by more necessity to drive the story than by personal agenda. In order to tell the story of Reed, Beatty had to focus on the protagonist's idealistic zeal towards worker's rights. But in the course of the film, we see that idealism slowly deteriorate as the aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution take hold in Russia.

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Jack Nicholson's portrayal of Eugene O'Neill and Maureen Stapleton's version of Emma Goldman serve as counterpoints to any romanticism the film depicts regarding the early days of socialism. Visually, Reds is stunning, colored in landscapes seamlessly alternating from the pastoral to the cataclysmic, from Oregon autumns to Moscow winters.

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It took 25 years for Reds to be released as a full-featured DVD, in part because of Warren Beatty's reticence to be interviewed in depth for special features additions. He's always been an advocate of letting film speak for itself. He finally relented, thankfully. The special features on this disc, collectively titled "Witness to Reds", make for fascinating insights into the making of the film. "The Rising" focuses on the origins of the movie. "Comrades" offers insights into the concept of the witnesses as plot device. Other segments focus on the politics of the film, how it was cast, and problems in pre-production. In all, "Witness of Reds" is comprised of seven chapters. Combined, they are inspirational to students of the intricacies of filmmaking, as well as an entertaining companion piece for the casual viewer.

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At 3 1/2 hours, Reds is an epic film of the sort Hollywood doesn't make any more. This DVD release preserves it to the most minute detail, even including the "Intermission" tag from the theatrical release. Presented in its original 16:9 aspect ratio, with enhanced Dolby 5.1 sound, it recreates the experience of the moviegoing experience. Including special features, this edition serves up over six hours of entertainment.

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Reds: 25th Anniversary Edition is long overdue, but it's been worth the wait. It's a rare film that's provocative, historical, educational and still entertaining. Reds more than amply delivers at all levels.

The Cars Drove Pop Down A Darker Road

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Sure, looking through the jaded eyes of twenty years later, it's easy to diss the Cars as a glam pop band from the dreaded eighties. Too easy.

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The truth of the matter is the Cars were a band so important in the evolution of rock that their influence still permeates today's pop landscape. What Ric Ocasek and the late Benjamor did, along with bandmates Elliot Easton, David Robinson and Greg Hawkes, was take white bread pop, add a dash of German cabaret and infuse it all with a punk sensibility. As a result, their sound became the standard by which rock throughout the eighties was judged.

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Then, too, was their look-- the Cars took full advantage of the burgeoning influence of video in the pop culture arena. They didn't wear matching outfits, but they were color-coordinated, almost always wearing varying degrees of black, white, red and blue. Ocasek, invariably hiding behind Ray-Bans, looked like a demented Ichabod Crane, playing off the teen idol looks of Orr, the nerdy personna of Hawkes, and the beatnik hipster facades of Easton and Robinson. Combined, they presented an image of unified aloofness that struck a chord in the pop music world. Imitators came out of the woodwork, none of whom could muster more than one hit wonder stature.

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The Cars Unlocked is an unbiased, non-linear look at the Cars, from the perspective of their live performances. Moving back and forth between performances from 1978 through 1987, the DVD shows the band's evolution from club gigs to sold-out stadium concerts. That the video clips are largely left "as is" makes this documentary more enticing, in an odd way. There's been no attempt to digitally enhance ancient VHS footage, which lends it more historical credence. There are amusing backstage tidbits here, too--particularly a segment entitled "Dr. G," in which a supposed rock journalist for the Denver Post makes an utter ass of himself with his pretensious, chemically-inspired interview approach.

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But since this is a documentary that tells its story through concert footage, it's the performances that must carry the story. All the hits are here, obviously, and they're mostly performed in the time frame in which they originated. We see and hear an early club rendition of "My Best Friend's Girl," as well as a thundering performance of "Candy-O", as performed by the veteran, well-seasoned version of the band. There are twenty live performances in all, interlaced with interview segments, anecdotal dressing room scenes and soundcheck footage. Five bonus live videos are also included on the disc, as well as a rather utilitarian photo booklet that also includes snippets of lyrics.

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As interesting as all that is, The Cars Unlocked also comes packaged with a full-length, first-ever live CD. Digitally remastered, the discshowcases the band at its zenith, and the fourteen performances rank with the best of live albums. The Cars were often oblique, but as a live act, they were incredibly tight.

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Anyone who remembers the Cars cannot say they were not, at one time or another, a fan. For better or worse, they were a band that left an indelible footprint on the face of pop culture, the echoes of which can still be heard in the current strata. The Cars Unlocked is a time capsule that proves the eighties weren't that bad, after all.

The Ice Truck Killer Moves to the Back Seat

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Even vigilante serial killers need a little down time.

"Popping Cherry," the third Dexter episode, opens with what appears to be familiar ground for the series. The Ice Truck Killer has struck again, this time leaving his victim's bloodless body parts neatly stacked in a pro hockey ice rink's goal line. This time, though, there may be a lead. A night watchman who's disappeared is identified on surveillance tape. Lt. LaGuerta, in her typically singleminded approach to detective work, orders a manhunt for the watchman.

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Of course, neither Deb nor Dexter believe that LaGuerta is on the right track, and Deb begins her own investigation to find the real Ice Truck Killer. Dexter has other, more pressing matters to address in the form of a recently paroled teenage murderer who's poised to strike again.

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It's the the developing subplots that drive Dexter as a series, though, and in this installment, there's no shortage of those. More clues to Rita's past come to the fore when a drug dealer with ties to her ex-husband repos her Rav-4 to satisfy a debt her ex- apparently owed him. She's amazingly compliant to his demands, handing him the keys with almost no argument. It's beginning to appear that Rita may not be the innocent she seemed in the first two episodes. With a furrowed brow and a muttered "he obviously doesn't know who he's dealing with," Dexter clues us that this is an unfinished matter. On the plus side (for Rita, anyway), Dexter treats her to a replacement for the SUV--a pimped-out classic convertible.

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Doakes, meanwhile, is treading dangerous turf as he pursues his own vendetta against crime lord Cuerrto, confronting him and his daughter at church. Doakes's dogged pursuit to prove Cuerrto's complicity in the murder of the undercover cop and his wife (with whom Doakes was having an affair) may yet be one of the more violent threads in Dexter. That's saying a lot, given the premise of the series.

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"Popping Cherry" could have almost been titled "The Origin of Dexter." In the present-day context, Dexter pretty much allows himself a personal day from his occupational mayhem. He even lets the teenager go once he discovers why his intended victim committed murder.This could prove to be a serious error on Dexter's part as the series continues to unfold. Still, it's in keeping with his adherence to Harry's Code-- that only those truly deserving fall to his brand of gruesome retribution.

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But no episode of Dexter would be complete without a bit of righteous vivisection. In this instance, it's all done in a series of flashbacks. What's revealed is what we always suspected: Harry not only inspired Dexter, but mentored him. We see how it all began for Dexter, how his first experience was sloppy, by Dexter's standards. Just for the record, his "first" was Nurse Jane, the "Angel of Death" who killed several patients by overdose. Thanks to her, Dexter was inspired to paralyze his victims via syringe. Thanks to Dexter, she became alligator food.

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"Popping Cherry" was a bit of an off day for Dexter. Nevertheless, it laid out more than a few clues as to where this dark satire may be heading.

The Power of Peaceful Protest

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That we live in violent times is hardly a revelation. The sociopolitical history of Earth is largely a history of violence. The Powers That Be have, since time immemorial, embraced war as a viable solution to differences of opinion.

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That's an oversimplification, of course, but in our current climate of global unrest, we've lost the focus of dissent. Civil disobedience has always been a large thread in the fabric of the American experience, and is largely responsible for the ever-evolving way we view ourselves. The current cultural context, however, has largely eliminated civility from disobedience. Increasingly, regardless of the issue, we turn to violence to make our point. To quote Walt Kelly, "We have seen the enemy, and he is us."

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Investigation of a Flame, by documentary filmmaker Lynne Salks, is a relatively straightforward retrospective about a benign Vietnam War protest by a group of Catholic activists who would become known as the Catonsville Nine. Now almost a footnote in the history of Vietnam-era protest, what happened on 17 May 1968 in the Baltimore suburb of Catonsville remains a powerful reminder of the ultimate power of quiet civil disobedience. Nine people, including two priests and two women, went into a Selective Service office, grabbed several hundred draft files, took them outside and ceremoniously burned them with homemade napalm.

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It seems almost a puerile prank by today's standards of violent opposition to any given social or political agenda. But it was enough to earn all the participants federal prison terms. More importantly, the action served as a springboard inspiration to much of the anti-war protest to follow.

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Investigation of a Flame doesn't romanticize or glamorize the the action of the Nine-- indeed, it painstakingly puts the opposition's viewpoint into the historical context of the event. There are interviews with women who worked in the Selective Service office, who cared less about the politics of the war, but were fully committed to supporting the troops. The prosecutor is interviewed as well, and makes several valid points about social conscience not outweighing the order of law. On the other side of the coin, the interviews with Daniel and Philip Berrigan, and the others involved in the incident, offer compelling evidence that moral conscience can outweigh the dictates of civil law.

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By skillfully intercutting news footage of the time with contemporary interview segments, Sachs has succeeded in presenting a snapshot of sixties history that amply illustrates the dangers of not remembering the mistakes of history. Snippets of news footage from the era ring eerily reminiscent of contemporary political posturing. Lyndon Johnson saying "We will not hand Asia over to the communists" was a "stay the course" policy that proved to be fallacious. Asia has survived, and America is still nursing self-inflicted wounds.

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The power of this film lies in it sense of irony and history. None of the Catonsville Nine were longhaired radicals. At the time, they were middle-aged respected members of society acting on principles moral indignation. The surviving members of the group make few apologies for their protest. In their seventies and eighties now, they remain unbowed. However displaced their passions may have been in 1968, the drive of their convictions should imbue a sense of patriotism in all Americans.

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By holding the mirror of the past up to us, Lynne Sachs and her film shows us that despite all adversities, the American Spirit ultimately prevails. The current policy in Iraq is a losing proposition, but this too we will survive.

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In the span of forty five minutes, Investigation of a Flame forces us to remember that civil disobedience is a cornerstone of American history. It should also serve as a reminder that in the heart of patriotism is the eternal question of "why?" When we quit questioning the government's motivations, we risk losing all we hold dear.

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Punk Was Meant to Self-Destruct. . .And Here's Why

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Those of us who rode in with the first wave of punk instinctively knew that it was doomed from the start. Like Dadaism before it, punk was predicated on a premise that once a work had been created, it was no longer valid. As a result, its focus was in a constant state of flux. Bands sprang out of nowhere, and just as quickly, vanished.

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And that's when things started getting interesting.

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People were beginning to realize that what fueled punk--the anger of disenfranchised youth could only go so far before the message became redundant. That kind of energy burns itself out quickly if left to its own devices. Punk had to evolve if it was to survive. The punkers began to take their work seriously, and began drawing on other influences such as reggae and rockabilly to make their points. Some delved into the 60's mod movement, while others succumbed to heavy metal, and still others mouseed their hair and went a disco beat. It all was thrown into a big vat, stirred around, simmered until bland, and served up by the marketing chefs as "new wave."

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By 1982, punk was dead for all intents and purposes. It had adapted. It was absorbed.

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All that being said, watching U.K.Subs Warhead: 25th Anniversary Marquee Concert is a strangely surreal experience. Particularly in the interminably long interview segment-- a spcial feature of the disc--the Subs come across as, well--old wankers reminiscing about how things were different in their day. It reminds me of something I vaguely remember from my childhood--it was some TV series from the sixties I think it was a Man From U.N.C.L.E. dream sequence) in which all the hippies had grown old and doddering, but were still playing acid rock in subterranean pubs.

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There's nothing significant in the interview--the Subs were always second stringers in the punk movement, and their drunken comments, between beer belches and gladhanding, reflect that. When Charlie Harper alludes that the music they were making was relevant to the working man in the same way the blues were before them, he loses all credibility. Still, it's entertaining, in a Spinal Tap kind of way.

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But this is a concert video, and judged in that context, it's a pedestrian performance at best. Nicky Garrett can still lay down the lines, and the rhythm section of Alvin Gibbs (bass) and Steve Roberts (drums) have a couple of shining moments. On "Rockers" and "Crash Course", the band almost evoke the original spirit of punk. But every time you think they've got it together, Charlie Harper ruins it all by sucking up to the oddly sedate audience. There are no mosh pits here--the Subs are a nostalgic act in the eyes of the audience.

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Even though the Subs are playing it by rote, and even though Charlie Harper comes across as the World's Oldest Living Punk, I'd still recomend this DVD as a living reminder as to what happens when bands can't pass on the torch.

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Punk is in its-- what?-- third generation now, and it's reduced to ramblings about manic depression from a suburban high school psycho POV. While the Subs DVD is not a great DVD, and while it shamelessly retraces old ground, it nonetheless reminds me of my days in dingy clubs with one step risers signifying a stage.

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It may be pure nostalgia on my part, or it may be that punk was my launchpad to rock criticism. Either way, this disc is a worthy reference edition for anybody interested in the origins of punk, and its subsequent decline and fall.

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Paraphrasing Lenny Bruce, "There's nothing worse than an old hipster."

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The same could be said of old punkers.

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Chet Baker: Trumpeter of Cool

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Any mention of jazz legend Chet Baker almost invariably focuses as much on his tumultuos life as it does on his music. That's a pity, really, because it takes nothing more than a casual listen of any of his recordings to realize that nobody epitomized West Coast Cool more than he did.

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Fortunately, Chet Baker Live in '64 & '79 pays tribute to Chet Baker's talents. As part of theJazz Icons DVD series, this disc serves up two performances by the late trumpet player, which together, provide an intimate overview of his evolution.

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In the first set, recorded for Belgian television in 1964, Baker plays flugelhorn through the entire session. He'd become enamored of its warmer sound some months before, after a French musician loaned him one after he'd lost his trumpet. (The details of how that happened are recounted in the liner notes, but aren't germaine to this review. We're focusing on Baker's music here.)

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Augmented by Belgian saxophonist/fllautist Jacques Pelzer, French pianistRene Urtreger, and Italians Luigi Trussardi and Franco Manzecchi on bass and drums respectively, Baker's '64 TV gig is a study in cool. Taped in black and white (this was '64, after all) and extensively utilizing forehortened lighting angles, this studio set presents the quintet in a casual setting bereft of any distractions, including a live audience. What we get instead is a living room setting where five guys are just having a good time grooving to each other's riffs. The visuals are often amusingly quaint, whether it's the close-ups of the musicians studiously bobbing in time to the music, or the cigarette smoking wafting aimlessly among the horns.

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But it's the music itself that draws us inexorably into Baker's world. And in this thirty minute set, Baker and his band stop at various locales in that world. From the light and airy rendition of "Bye Bye Black Bird" to the crooning vocals of Sammy Cahn's "Time After Time" to the cover of Miles Davis' "So What", the Belgian segment is tight, and nuanced so flawlessly that we're smitten by the power of cool jazz.

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The 1979 Norway segment presents a more weathered and more evolved Baker, a musician who not only stayed abreast of the changes that had happened in the fifteen years since the Belgium performance, but helped to define them as well. Her, his trumpeting is backed up by musicians Wolfgang Lackerschmid on vibraphone, pianist Michel Graillier and bassist Jean Louis Rassinfosse on bass. Playing to a live audience, the drumerless quartet exemplifies the freeform experimentalism of the late seventies without completely abandoning Baker's West Coast Cool sound. The fifteen minute version of Cole Porter's "Love For Sale" ties the entire DVD together, particularly in those final moments when Baker's trumpet soars in a finale that speaks volumes about jazz. This is music borne of the soul.

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Both performances are restored to pristine quality, as are all the titles in the Jazz Icons series. Also included is a glossy 16 page booklet featuring liner notes and a memorabilia collage. The Jazz Icon series is indispensable to anyone remotely interested in jazz, featuring as it does rare video performances from the greats.

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Except for a 90 second interview clip, Chet Baker Live in '64 & '79 lets the music speak for itself. But it's the interview clip that may be most revealing about Chet Baker. When asked what kinds of music he likes, he replies, "All kinds. But not country. Not rock. And not pop." He proceeds to roll off a list of jazz musicians from Dizzy Gillespies to Miles Davis to Weather Report. He wasn't being flippant-- to Baker, that was all different kinds of music. And for over forty years, he showed us what he meant.

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Dexter's Sensitive Side Is Showing, Despite His Best Intentions

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The pilot episode of Dexter promised a plethora of possibilities in regards to character development and subplots. "Crocodile", the second installment in the Showtime series,

not only fulfills those promises, but twists the show in unexpected directions.

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If Dexter is about anything, it's about duality, and "Crocodile" homes in on that premise from a number of angles. Firstly, there's Dexter himself--forensics expert by day, serial killer by night. But, as explained in the pilot, he sates his bloodlust by killing only really bad people. In "Crocodile," a more fully realized character is emerging. Despite Dexter's claims (largely via voiceovers) that he is incapable of feeling, his actions prove otherwise. He claims that while others would see the anguish of a hit-and-run victim's family as tragic, he views it as an opportunity. When the drunk driver is acquitted, it's apparent whose Dexter's next prey is.

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Dexter's somewhat unique method of meting out justice has to take a backseat to more pressing matters, though. The Ice Truck Killer continues to taunt Dexter with clues about his own killing spree, playing a twisted cat and mouse game by leaving doll parts in Dexter's freezer, signifying that the killer knows what Dexter does in his spare time. This is one of the threads that sets Dexter apart from other detective series, but by no means the only one.

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Duality comes into play again when we find that Sgt. Doakes has a motive beyond retribution in his singleminded pursuit of tracking down the killer of a slain undercover cop. And then there's Lt. LaGuerta-- besides her advances to Dexter, why is she so doggedly determined to undermine Deb's investigation of the Ice Truck Killer?

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"Crocodile" introduces a new potential subplot in its rendering of Cuererro, a Cuban druglord who all the principals know ordered the hit on the undercover cop, but can't--or won't--pursue. The stage is set for more subplots involving police corruption, but that's only speculation on my part.

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Meanwhile, Dexter's life is growing more complicated, as his sexless relationship with Rita teeters on becoming "meaningful." Despite his protestations to the contrary, his relationship with Rita and her two children, is his only true anchor to reality. Rita, along with Deb, are the only innocents in the storyline, and even that's questionable. We know precious little of the circumstances involving Rita's past. And given that Dexter's foster father Harry inspired Dexter, one has to wonder what kind of tips he passed on to sister Deb.

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Showtime has high hopes for Dexter, so much so that they're making the first two episodes available on the Web. Of all the new series debuting this season, Dexter stands as the most innovative and challenging. Always witty and somewhat perverse, this is a cop show like no other. If it maintains the pace of the first two episodes, I'm hooked.

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The Joy of Being Unstuck in Time

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O.H. Krill is a name synonymous with UFOlogy. His, or hers, paper "Our Aquisition of Advanced Technologies and Interaction with Alien Cultures" has been circulated and discussed since the earliest days of the Internet. Apparently, Krill also has a rep as an electro-deejay, if my research is correct.

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The problem is, O.H. Krill is an enigma whose true identity is as much a subject of speculation as are his/her/their works. It doesn't matter--O.H. Krill's speculations, reportage, fictions--whatever they are--remain fascinating and provocative.

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In Montauk Babies (or The Many Lives of Al Leedskalnin), Krill looks at life in a world that is literally falling apart. Lavishly illustrated by renowned comics creator and designer John Malloy, this is a graphic novel only in the broadest sense, at least in the popular definition. What Krill and Malloy have created here is a work that transcends categorization. In a story that is part science fiction, part road trip, part conspiracy theory, part social commentary and part quantum philosophy, Montauk Babies ultimately emerges as brilliant satire.

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It's 2011, and Al Leedskalnin and Peabody Freeman are travelling cross- country in a '73 Buick Riviera, living off fast food and sleeping in whatever Motel6 they encounter. Theirs is not a typical roadtrip, however--the potholes they encounter are inter-dimensional, and cross time and space in a single bound. Al, once a subject in the Montauk, Long Island government experiments of the fifties (which may or may not have actually happened) and Peabody, a quantum physicist, are on more than a drive through the desert, though. Theirs is nothing less than a mission to keep timespace from imploding on itself.

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It's a disjointed tale, vaguely reminiscent of Vonnegut and Harlan Ellison in its non-linear storytelling. Al and Peabody keep coming unstuck in time, warping in and out of the continuum as they try to maintain their mission. The pacing is breakneck, enhanced by typographical layouts that force the reader to move at whatever gait Krill intends. Too, Malloy's illustrations work as visual recaps of Krill's sometimes maddening prose stylings. The thirty full-page, black and white wash renderings, often perplexing, stand alone as pristine examples of graphic design.

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Montauk Babies, at a little over a hundred pages, can hardly be considered a novel. But as a novella, it explores our obsession with technology and pop culture, and the consequenses that result from them. It's a fascinating tale that's never preachy and always entertaing. It is anything but a comic book. I'd file it under "social satire," but O.S. Krill may be dead serious here.

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Whatever the author's intention, Montauk Babies is worth a read. It's a story that will stay with the reader for a while.

Tower Records, RIP

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After its sale yesterday to Great American Group, Tower Records is closing the doors of all of its nearly ninety stores worldwide, effectively ending the reign of record stores as we once knew them. Great American plans to liquidate the chain beginning today with closeout sales across the board. Over 3000 Tower employees will be impacted by the closings.

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The demise of Tower Records registered barely a pling on the wires and TV news radar. It is, after all, indicative of the shifting buying habits of the music consumer. Between downloads and the big box stores like Wal-Mart and Target, coupled with the harried pace of society today, destination locations such as record stores are relics in their last throes.

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But is it really that cut and dried?

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While it is undeniable that the advent of MP3's, music file-swapping and just the outright convenience of the Internet altered the way people listen to music, those factors alone cannot explain the decline and the fall of record stores. Nor can the one-stop mentality of big-box thinking.

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The truth is, the record industry itself is at least partially responsible for the slow death of the free-standing record store. Well before the Internet or the Wal-Mart juggernaut even existed, at least traceable to the early 1980's, the bean counters at the labels had unwittingly set in motion events that altered how we listen to music.

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In those days, label money was flowing freely--every act with a new release on the roster was promoted as the Second Coming. Reps showered retailers with unlimited promo albums, marguarita-soaked release parties, primo concert tickets, t-shirts, anything and everything. And that was just store managers.

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Then the bottom dropped out-- the labels had pinned all their hopes on skinny-tie bands ( the Knack) and hair bands (Cinderella) and when they didn't explode on the public as planned, the labels panicked. Promotional support to retailers was among the earliest casualties.

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Not surprisingly, record sales slowed even more. The labels tightened their return policies, forcing the smaller retail chains, such as Disc and Sound Town out of business early on, swallowed up by Sam Goody and the like , who were swallowed up by Trans World Entertainment--and so on and so on. Sound Warehouse was devoured by Blockbuster and Wherehouse, kicking and screaming all the way, fell by the wayside.

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Only Tower was left standing, and now it's gone.

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It's sad, really. For those of us who grew up honing our music knowledge browsing the rows upon rows of neatly alphabetized albums categorized by genres not even recognized anymore, while obscure "deep album" cuts blared from wall-mounted Altec speakers, it's a time that won't be recaptured.

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I Have Heard the Future of Hip-Hop, and It Is SoS

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For years now, I've maintained that rap, when done right, is potent street poetry with the power to affect social change. Grandmaster Flash's "The Message" convinced me of that idea more than 25 years ago. Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back remains on my list as one of the most important albums of the past 20 years for that same reason. And Jay-Z's "99 Problems" is so dead-on that it's central line has become a part of popular language.

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But let's face it: rap-- indeed, hip-hop in general--has grown bloated and lazy of late, lolling about in dreams of bling and Cristal. Sure, there are exceptions--Kanye West and Rhymefest come to mind--but by and large, the genre has become an example of absolute power corrupting absolutely. The newer artists have bought into the MTV hype.

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On their debut album As If We Existed, Sol.iLLaquists of Sound (or SoS, as I like to call them), take dead aim at these superficialities in a work that eloquently speaks to the soul. They haven't merely reinvigorated rap-- they've reinvented it. This is an album that utilizes the cliches of rap in only the most minimal style, turning them inside out and infusing them with elements combining free form jazz, urban blues, Parisien cafe stylings and more than a liberal dose of ultrafunk.

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SoS are serious about their work. DiVINCi welds his MPC's with such virtuosity that it's almost impossible to discern where one sample ends and another begins, while Swamburger fires off his rhymes with machinegun intensity. Alexandrah's vocals swirl and hover between Lauryn Hill phrasings and chanteuse cabaret, punctuated by the poetry of Tonya Combs' background vocals. The resultant mixture resonates with an exuberance rooted in social conscience. This group isn't content to chronicle life in the ghetto-- they're determined to shake it at its roots, slap it around a bit and demand personal responsibility from its inhabitants.

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"If sound is essentially a movement, ultimately the fate of the movement lies within me," Sos quietly proclaims in the album opener, "Pledge of Resonance." They make good on that pledge through the course of the 12 song work, focusing on themes that cut to the heart of issues such as racial profiling in advertising (Mark It Place"), apathy in cultural revolution ("Black Guy Peace") and the perils of individualism ("Choices".)

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As If We Existed soars, weave and swirls, sampling genres at a breakneck pace, and reassembling them in a way that makes them feel both alien and oddly comfortable. This is music that sets a new standard for hip-hop, quietly indicting the negative aspects of the genre's current state, and offering a fluid alternative to those aspects. What emerges is an album infused with jazz grooves and gospel/political messages.

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Sol.ILLaquists of Sound eloquently demonstrate the power inherent in rap as a cultural force. But what's most remarkable about them is they do it in such a smooth but textured way that their statements are almost subliminal in their delivery. The raps never assault the listener--they're wrapped carefully in silky vocals and cool instrumentation. The rhymes are entrenched in layers of samples so that you pick up bits and pieces of lyrics. The message is disjointed, to be sure, but still coherent enough to make its intention abundantly clear.

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Think of As If We Existed as a manifesto for the next generation of hip-hop: a message of personal responsibility and social awareness.

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And that's a message that bears repeated listening.

Dexter is charming. His Laboratory--Not So Much

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Dexter Morgan is a disarming fellow--in more than ways than one. When he's not helping to solve crimes in his capacity as a blood splatter forensics expert for the Miami PD, he's methodically chopping up bad guys that slipped through the cracks of the justice system. Anyway, that's the premise for Showtime's new series, Dexter, premiering tonight at 10P, ET.

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Michael C. Hall (Six Feet Under) portrays the title character, loosely based on the novel Darkly Dreaming Dexter, by Jeff Lindsay. To the world at large, Dexter is an affable guywithout a care in the world, the kind of guy brings doughnuts to work for his co-workers to enjoy, who brightens everyone's morning with flippant, flirty remarks, whose every action reflects his love for the sun and sand lifestyle of Miami. Nobody would ever suspect that all his charm is a facade designed to hide the fact he is actually a sociopathic serial killer devoid of hunan emotion. His relationships, at least in his mind, are based solely on his need to divert attention from his sinister proclivities.

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By and large, the people in his life play into his hands. His girlfriend Rita Julie Benz) is a survivor of domestic abuse and, as a result, disinterested in sex. Since Dexter himself is incapable of feelings of intimacy, she's perfect for him. His adopted sister Debra (Jennifer Carpenter), the only person he feels any love for, looks to him for inspiration as she tries to move from the vice squad to homicide detective. Only Sgt. Doakes (Erik King), a cynical homicide veteran, suspects something isn't quite kosher with Dexter. The head of the homicide unit, Lt. Marja LaGuerta, is too focused on her unrequited feelings of lust for Dexter to suspect anything.

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If all this sounds a wee bit comic book-ish, it should. The character of Dexter is much more aligned to pulp vigilantes like the Shadow than psychos like Ted Bundy. True, he stalks his victims, researches them obsessively and takes pleasure in dissecting them alive. But there's a difference-- he only kills really bad guys--child murderers, snuff filmmakers, that ilk. Seems Dexter's foster father, himself a cop, channeled Dexter's love of vivisection into a tool for righteous justice. And it's this angle that Showtime is banking on. The idea that some people are so evil that no punishment is too harsh for them is one that resonates in our collective psyche, and a character like Dexter provides us with a cathartic release.

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That's not to imply that Dexter is preachy-- far from it. It takes those dark elements and washes them in day-glo colors, with the final product emerging as a farce that makes us empathize with the protagonist.This is a crime drama unlike any before it. When Dexter sets out to track down a rival serial killer, it's a matter of professional jealousy. His day job serves more as a cover to track down his alter-ego's nemesis.

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The pilot episode of Dexter sets up the premise of the series flawlessly, and leaves just enough unanswered questions and potential subplots to gain a loyal following. Showtime has committed to twelve episodes, as is their customary strategy. But Dexter has enough built-in quirks to take it out of cult status and propel the network to a par with HBO.