The Latest L.A. Vampire

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It would be easy to dismiss Moonlight as yet another vampire trying to get along in the modern world TV series. It’s already being compared, sight unseen, to Angel. Actually, Moonlight’s themes are more closely aligned to the Beauty and the Beast mythos, with a touch of pre-noir private eye thrown in for luck.

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True, Mick St. John (Alex O’Loughlin) is a vampire by circumstance and a private investigator by lifestyle choice. And, yeah, he’s a do-gooder by nature, defying the conventions of vampirism to help the living. He even eschews fresh blood, opting instead for “retail” blood, which he procures from a mortal dealer named Guillermo (Jacob Vargas) who works in the LA County morgue. (How Guillermo knows St. John’s secret isn’t revealed in the pilot episode.)

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What we do know is that Mick St. John is eternally 30 years old, thanks to being bitten 60 years ago by his bride, Coraline, who apparently didn’t think the fact she was a vampire was something they should have discussed before getting married. Maybe thinking it might save their troubled marriage, Coraline, in 1982, found a mortal child who could become their “daughter.” That didn’t set well with Mick, so he saved the child and torched the wife.

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The child, Beth Turner (Sophia Miles) is grown now, and is an Internet investigative reporter (they have those?). Of course, she’s blonde, ambitious and quick on her feet, even though she works for a tabloid website. When a series of vampire-style murders plague L.A., Mick finds himself suddenly reconnected with Beth. Mick has been assigned by vampire czar Josef Konstantin (Jason Dohring) to get to the bottom of this, and Beth, self-proclaimed media whore that she is, wants that perfect headline.

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It sounds very campy, and it is — there are the obligatory shots of the brooding hero, perched on a nighttime rooftop, long black coat lapping about him. There’s also a fair amount of satire. Josef, the 600-year-old vampire, comes off more like a playboy CEO than an evil lord of the undead. In the vampire underworld of Los Angeles, it’s all about business and living the good life. Moonlight manages to make the vampire clichés work — in fact, it turns them on their ear.

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It’s all very silly, but it’s just clever enough for a Friday night at home. With the popular chick flick inanities of Ghost Whisperer as a lead-in, Moonlight may have a chance to develop its storyline.

Are there really Rules for Renegades?

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If you say nothing else about Christine Comaford-Lynch, you have to admit she’s got moxie. She must have. How else do you explain how she’s gone from model to monk to multimillionaire? Her book, Rules for Renegades: How to Make More Money, Rock Your Career, and Revel in Your Individuality, recounts her unlikely rise and offers simple advice as to how to thrive on your own terms.

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According to Rules for Renegades, the secrets to an abundant life of riches can be broken down into ten simple rules:

Rule 1: Everything’s an Illusion, So Pick One That’s Empowering

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Rule 2: An MBA is Optional, A GSD is Essential

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Rule 3: Problems + Pain = Profit

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Rule 4: Build Power Instead of Borrowing It

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Rule 5: Rock Rejection and Finesse Failure

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Rule 6: Learn to Love Networking

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Rule 7: Only You Can Lead Your Life

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Rule 8: Work Your Money Mojo

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Rule 9: Resign as General Manager of the Universe

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Rule 10: Don’t Just Do Something, Stand There

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It all sounds very empowering on the surface, if a little too cut and dried. Indeed, much of the book reads like a motivational speaker’s notes. Still, Comaford-Lynch’s enthusiasm is infectious, and she backs up her “rules” with solid advice for realizing one’s dreams. Self-empowerment is at the core of her message. There’s nothing particularly new about that, but this book has a different take on it. The author begins with the tenet that if reality is made up of illusions, the best course of action is to build a reality around empowerment. She doesn’t dismiss the value of education, but insists that in the real world, the ability to Get Stuff Done pulls more weight.

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She knows whereof she speaks, and unabashedly shares her own triumphs and failures .throughout Rules for Renegades. The anecdotes are really what make the book entertaining, in fact. Particularly amusing is the recounting of her failed attempt to start a company called American Geisha - until she realized what such a venture would actually entail. Comaford-Lynch probably shares more information than she needs to when she reminisces about dalliances with Bill Gates and Larry Ellison, though in context, they’re more life lessons than gossip.

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More irreverent than incisive, Rules for Renegades is a light read that’s both entertaining and informative. While some of the advice (like post-it notes affirmations on the bathroom mirror) are a little hokey, the underlying theme still rings true. All in all, this is a valuable resource for anybody tempted to start a business. It’s not a panacea, but it does serve as a compass for the would-be entrepreneur.

Stars with Guitars (finally!)

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It’s not often that three good albums are released on the same day. As much as such an event fills me with hope about the future of pop music, it’s also a bit frustrating. I want to give all three their due, and the only way I can do that is to combine them all in one omnibus of a review. It’s not ideal, I’ll admit, but at least it gets the word out that there really is good music out there.

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You’re not going to find a lot of shake-your-booty pop here—in fact, you’re not going to find any. What you are going to find is evidence that music is far from its last throes.

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And guess what? It still revolves around the guitar.

KT Tunstall: Drastic Fantastic

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Considering the runaway success of her debut album, Eye to the Telescope, it’s not surprising that KT Tunstall views stardom as sort of a comic book existence—minus the super powers, of course. It’s not a lifestyle for the faint of heart. If a comic book lifestyle needs a comic book title, you could have a worse title than Drastic Fantastic. And certainly from the album’s packaging, with KT posed like a rock Valkyrie, brandishing a major axe of a guitar, you’d imagine she plans to kick some major ass here.

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Well, not exactly.

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On this sophomore outing, Tunstall tries on a number of alter egos, from radio-friendly popster to bluesy torcher, but by and large she attacks the material cautiously. Songs like “Little Favours” and “If Only” were designed with radio in mind, channeling equal parts of Chrissie Hynde and Sheryl Crowe at their poppiest. It isn’t until the single cut “Hold On” that Tunstall finds a skin in which she’s comfortable. It’s a somewhat raucous stomp reminiscent of “Black Dog and the Cherry Tree,” and its refrain of “the world will turn if you’re ready or not” tinges it with appropriate angst.

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It’s on the more introspective acoustic tracks that Drastic Fantastic is at it most compelling. “Beauty of Uncertainty” and “Someday Soon” are haunting tracks that allow Tunstall to unveil her vocal range, which can stretch from a bluesy rasp to an angelic whisper, often in the same song.

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While the album stumbles in places, Drastic Fantastic stands shoulders above the pabulum that passes for pop music today. KT Tunstall has tried on several comic book identities here, but ultimately emerges triumphant.

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Eddie Vedder: Into the Wild

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Eddie Vedder’s been fronting Pearl Jam for 17 years—hell, for all intents, he’s been Pearl Jam all that time, at least as far as publicity was concerned. It took the coaxing of his buddy Sean Penn to convince Vedder to finally release a solo album, though. Penn’s latest film, Into the Wild, chronicles the ill-fated odyssey of Christopher McCandless, who chunked his worldly possessions to live in the wilds of Alaska.

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Vedder's soundtrack album is imbued throughout with an appropriate sense of romantic solitude and desolation. Even though the 11 songs are designed to propel the film’s narrative, they sound as if they were wrenched from Vedder’s own longings. His morose baritone drenches the tracks with a profound sense of world weariness, even as the lyrics struggle with the quest for inner peace.

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Vedder’s Into the Wild soundtrack nicely complements the themes of the film. More, it establishes Vedder as a solo artist capable of stretching beyond the confines of rock. These tunes are short and to the point, most lasting only a couple of minutes or less. Even at that, they stand on their own, without histrionics or other such trappings. It’s folksy and acoustic, and speaks to man’s relationship with the American wilderness. As such, it quietly reaches into our collective wanderlust, and pulls out something universal.

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Mark Knopfler: Kill to Get Crimson

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That Mark Knopfler has a new release should come as no surprise. Since officially disbanding Dire Straits in 1995, his output has been phenomenal, what with scoring films, producing other artists, live events and various collaborations, not to mention four albums released under his name. Killing for Crimson, his fifth solo effort, finds Knopfler in a jovial mood, for the most part.

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On a casual listen, Killing to Get Crimson is deceptively understated—a pleasant stroll through a sunny Sunday afternoon. Indeed, the inclusion of accordionist Ian Lowthian and fiddler Ian McCusker on several tracks enhance the largely pastoral feel of the album. But it’s Knopfler’s knack for wry storytelling, punctuated by his finger style guitar that draw the listener into his world.

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This is a work that demands repeated listening, if for no other reason than to fully appreciate the delicate nuances of Knopfler’s guitar work. It’s a study in contrast, as he veers from the country flavors of “True Love Will Never Fade” to the more ominous Dire Straits sound of “Punish the Monkey.” Even at its most subtle, the album is full of delights, from Knopfler’s relishes “Hawaiian noises” to Appalachian-inspired riffs to bass-heavy melodic runs.Kill to Get Crimson is the latest evidence of Knopfler’s remarkable talents as a guitarist and songwriter. Like a deep wine, it's music to be sipped and savored.

Finding Comedy in Iraq

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Taking a political stand on the war in Iraq, whichever viewpoint it is, has nothing to do with patriotism. Nor does it have anything to do with emotionally supporting the troops on the ground in Iraq. Those young men and women are strangers in a strange land, doing on a daily basis what is largely a thankless job. Sure, pundits at every point of the political spectrum in the States talk a lot of talk about the troops, but precious few are willing to actually walk with them. It’s much easier to deal in platitudes and rhetoric than to actually support the troops.

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Comics on Duty, founded by Richard Davis, has been supporting US troops stationed overseas since 1992. The revolving tour has performed nearly 250 shows at 80 sites inside Iraq and over 300 throughout southwest Asia. They’re compact shows, featuring a few comics for each tour, but they serve to boost the morale of troops working in hostile conditions.

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We Love You, Mrs. Bevins follows stand-up comics Danny Bevins, Sarah Tiana, Dave Mishevitz and John Bizarre as they perform for troops throughout Iraq as part of the ongoing Comics on Duty World Tour. These aren’t A-list comedians by any means—they’re up-and-comers with a few TV appearances under their belt. Truth to tell, they’re often not even that funny. It doesn’t matter. They’re not playing to suburban audiences here. They’re working the room in remote parts of Iraq and Afghanistan, and the jokes are geared to that audience. A viewer in Iowa isn’t apt to get a joke about the daunting obstacles of using a porta-potty in Iraq.

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The comedy bits are only a backdrop for the film’s message, however. The central meaning of We Love You, Mrs. Bevins lies in its title. At every stop on the tour, Danny Bevins explained to the troops that he was sending a video postcard to his mom, and asked the soldiers to merely say, “We love you, Mrs. Bevins.” It’s a recurring theme that threads through the entire film—at shows and during interviews with individual soldiers. Far from being hokey, it’s something that rings with a universal resonance.The simple phrase, “We love you, Mrs. Bevins” humanizes the sacrifices of the troops serving in the Iraq War. There’s a sincerity that shines through every time a soldier says it before the camera. Some say it almost with a chuckle, others with the hint of a tear in their voice, but they all see “Mrs. Bevins” as the personification of all they hold dear. She’s why they’re there, she’s why they make the best of deplorable conditions and she’s their reason for coming home.

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We Love You, Mrs. Beavins isn’t a great comedy work. I don’t think it was intended as such. Don’t misunderstand—there are some good gags along the way. But it’s more of a video log tracing the journey of four comics discovering the everyday truths of war from the viewpoints of those who live it. Along the way, we find the soldiers fighting the fight can still find humor in the ludicrousness of their situation. Now if only the politicians at home could get the joke, we might find a way out of the quagmire. In the meantime, it’s good that Comics on Duty are supporting the troops with words that actually mean something on a visceral level.

Neverwas Is a Film of Might Have Beens

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It rarely bodes well for a movie when the studio skips the theatres altogether in favor of a straight to DVD release. It’s even more perplexing when such a movie boasts a cast the likes of Aaron Eckhart, Ian McKellen, Nick Nolte, Jessica Lange, and William Hurt. With such a stellar ensemble, it stands to reason the project would garner at least attention, if not respect.

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Neverwas, by writer and first-time director Joshua Michael Stern, valiantly attempts to be a meaningful, uplifting film. Unfortunately, what emerges instead is a movie desperately trying to find its identity. Eckhart plays Zach Riley, a supposedly brilliant Yale researcher who convinces the director of Mill Wood psychiatric hospital (Hurt) to hire him as a staff psychiatrist, a position for which he’s vastly overqualified. Unbeknownst to the Hurt character (since background checks apparently aren’t done at this hospital), Zach’s deceased father (Nolte), an acclaimed novelist best known for the children’s fantasy “Neverwas,” had been a patient there shortly before his suicide. Conveniently enough, Zach encounters a delusional schizophrenic named Cedric (McKellen) during a group session. Cedric insists that Zach is the long-lost savior of Neverwas, which Cedric insists is a very real place, an enchanted land of which he is king.

The problem with Neverwas is everything falls far too neatly into place, without ever engaging the viewer in the story. Zach’s love interest (Britanny Murphy) is conveniently introduced as a childhood friend who’s been enamored of “Neverwas” all these years. Jessica Lange, as Zach’s alcoholic mother, serves only as a bridge between his past and his current state. Sadly, both characters are drawn so broadly that they serve as little more than buoys to keep the plodding story afloat. Only Nolte, seen only in gauzy black and white flashbacks, lends credibility to the premise as the tortured, drug-addled writer of “Neverwas.”

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Other movies have blurred the lines between fantasy and reality much more deftly — The Fisher King and Finding Neverland come to mind. But where those films coupled a sense of wonder with an empathy for the mentally ill, Neverwas skirts those facets in favor of sugar-coated melodrama. As a consequence, its potential metaphors are discarded, leaving only a shell of a story rife with obvious clichés. What we’re left with is a film that has the aura of a made for Lifetime TV movie. Even its climax is contrived so as to provide a happy, if ill-advised ending.

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Neverwas, with its tagline of “Every fairy tale needs its hero,” held the promise of allegory, and indeed, it could have been. Had Stern focused his story rather than let it slip into pandering, and had the actors involved not called in their performances, and had they perhaps not gone with light and airy cinematography against a droning Philip Glass soundtrack, it might have been a movie that spoke to the human condition. The opposite happened, though, leaving Neverwas as a film more about might have beens than it ever intended.

Miles Davis Revisited and Revamped

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Had Miles Davis not left us in 1991, he would have celebrated his 81st birthday this year. He was one of those talents, like Elvis or Johnny Cash, who left such a body of work that saying he died just doesn’t feel right somehow. You can feel his presence everywhere in modern music—more in avant hip hop and funk than anywhere else—but he’s groovin’ in the background of all things cool. He’s in the clubs, on the street, in the movies, setting the mood for urban groove. But he’s still so cool, you’re not even consciously aware of his presence. You just feel the molten flow of that trumpet when you least expect it, and remember how Miles is the pulse of jazz, even now.

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Evolution of the Groove brings Miles back to Earth for too short a time. At just a little over 15 minutes, it’s more like a postcard from the nether than an actual visitation. Even at that, it affords us a glimpse of where the next phase of jazz may be headed—and it’s not in the retrograde shadings prevalent in mainstream circles. While it’s billed as a remix, Evolution of the Groove is more a subtle reworking—bits and pieces of Miles through the decades, tidbits of revolution that still sound fresh and imposing today. The problem here (if it is a problem) is that the five tracks here are teases that flirt with us, but ultimately leave us wanting more.

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Title tracks are deceiving—the opening number, “Freddy Freeloader” (from the Kind of Blue sessions) is nothing more than a minute-long montage of intro outtakes, with Miles bantering with the producer. It never goes beyond that, but serves as a segue to introduce “Freedom Jazz Dance (Evolution of the Groove).” It’s here that the EP’s concept of imagining the direction Miles’ music might have gone takes flight. Featuring a vocal by rapper Nas that pays homage to the greats of cool jazz, and augmented by the original track and a live jam, it hints at the hip hop flavor that interested Miles in his latter days. At 2:56, it whets the appetite, leaving us salivating for further exploration. An edit of “It’s About That Time” follows, featuring some tasty guitar by Carlos Santana laid over the original. Clocking in at 4:53, it’s the longest track on the disc, and the only one really given a chance to breathe. Abbreviated versions of “Honky Tonk” and “Black Satin” make up the final six minutes of Evolution. And though they’re painfully short, they nonetheless showcase the nuances of Miles’ trumpet style.

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Evolution of the Groove is a solid imagining of what Miles might sound like in 2007. More importantly, it’s a reminder of his continued influence. The only complaint I have with this little EP is it’s far too short. Then again, Miles was always mercurial. By the time we thought we’d caught up to him, he was already in another plane. We’ll never know with certainty what he’d be doing now, but in a universe of infinite futures and parallel routes, Evolution of the Groove is a nice rest stop.