Barton Fink (1991)

This is, without a doubt, my new favorite Coen Brothers movie. Granted, that's most likely just due to the fact that it's the one I saw most recently. In the past week, I've watched it twice (and I hardly ever feel the need to watch a movie more than once, these days). It's all I can do lately to keep myself from babbling about it, incoherent and enthused, ruining family dinners, birthday parties, and the lives of passers-by in the process. I'm writing this partly in hope of being able to shut the fuck up about it when I'm done. We'll see how that turns out.

When I mentioned this movie to a friend (to Mr. Andrew Kaspereen, as a matter of fact), he said he'd never heard of it. I had never even heard of it myself until recently. This is tragic. In a world where No Country For Old Men sweeps the Oscars, where The Big Lebowski is a de facto religion for a generation of dudes who don't even really grasp the significance of The Dude, where you can pick up 10-dollar copies of Fargo by your grocery checkout stand, it probably qualifies as some kind of Crime Against Humanity.

Because hot damn, son, this is one fine piece of movie.

Barton Fink is made out of things that look like paradoxes. It is the most disturbing comedy and the funniest psychological horror movie I have ever seen. The setup is simple; John Tuturro plays the titular character, a pretentious, neurotic (and successful) Brooklyn playwright with aspirations of creating a new genre of theater 'for the working man.' He holes up in a decomposing old hotel in Los Angeles to write a B wrestling movie, and is completely out of his element, unable to get started. Somehow he ends up making friends with his neighbor in the hotel, a friendly-yet-creepy insurance salesman played by John Goodman. In the meantime, he tries to get advice on writing "wrassling scenarios" from the perpetually drunk W.P. Mayhew (a Faulkner parody), and takes abuse from brusque Hollywood assholes (Tony Shaloub gives a memorably belligerent performance as one of them).

From here, the Coens proceed to risk wrecking the train, packing it full with dark left-turns, throwaway scenes, and oblique symbols, but it never goes off the rails. Instead of becoming a disconnected mess, the movie coheres remarkably well, deftly pursuing a number of thematic dualisms--the body vs. the mind, selfishness vs. empathy, authenticity vs. artifice, and the subconscious links between sex, death, and creativity, to name a few. Did I mention that it's fucking funny?

Third Eye Blind- Ursa Major

Apparently Third Eye Blind are a phenomenon. Hipsters hate them, college kids go crazy about them, and the world sits torn between writing the band off as a throwback or something much deeper and awe inspiring.

I think it's important to reveal to you that both schools of thought are wrong.

Third Eye Blind's latest album "Ursa Major", the outfits first in six years and fourth overall, isn't changing the world, it isn't going to ruin it either. It is, however, an incredibly satisfying listen that definitely tops my list of albums this year.

"Ursa Major" is a largely different beast than most of the band's catalog up until this point. It's very relaxed in comparison to their previous releases. It has it's share of "Semi-Charmed Life"-esque numbers, but ultimately falls short of being a throwback to previous sounds. It's not an adventurous album that is striking out into new territory, it's not rewriting how America and the world are thinking about pop music, and it is not the word of God or the Devil to the people.

That being said, it seems almost comical how much I enjoy it. The high energy songs are fist pumpers, the softer ones made me say "hey, these guys are pretty fun," and I do suspect that the lyrics of "Summertown" will probably make just as much sense during my mid-life crisis as they do now that I'm about to be an adult for real.

Wait, how can he like Animal Collective, Bowie, and all those other "important" bands and acts and still love this album? Well, it's because I realized that Third Eye Blind are just good, old-fashioned (not in a throw back sort of way)fun. If you like fun, throw them a couple bucks. You'll laugh at it (seriously, how can you not laugh at middle aged white rapping?), you'll think some things are incredible (Monotov's private Opera is a wonderful ditty), but ultimately sometimes you need to just relax and enjoy something for what it is and not try to turn it into something else.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Incubus - Live at PNC Bank Arts Center, 8/7/09

Even after you see a band in concert – whether it’s for the first time or the twenty-first time – you should always remember that they still have the ability to surprise and amaze you the next time around. I got the proof I needed at one of Incubus’ recent shows at the PNC Bank Arts Center in Holmdel, NJ.

The show, my second time seeing the band, proved to be a completely worthwhile way to spend $30, especially considering the setup of PNC is just as friendly to the lawn crowd as it is to the people in the first section of seating – my friends and I had a completely clear view of the stage from where we stood.

Some people may think that I’ve missed out on the live performance heyday of the band, seeing as how the only two times I have seen them were both after the release of their most recent studio album, Light Grenades, in 2006. Many think the band should include more of their early work, especially from 1997’s S.C.I.E.N.C.E., but they managed to put together a near-perfect 21-song show at PNC without delving too far into the past.

The band opened with 90’s favorite “Pardon Me,” and right out of the gate it was clear that we were all going to be hoarse by the time their set ended. “Nice to Know You” and No. 1 single “Anna Molly” followed, and our crowdmates wasted no time in taking advantage of the outdoor setting and lighting joints – one of the guys with me pointed out the hazy cloud surrounding one of the spotlights, to which I simply replied, “Impressive.”

Incubus finished off the first “half” of its show with Morning View’s “Just a Phase,” which the crowd easily recognized when the band stayed true to the album version and included the song’s almost two minute guitar and string intro; a good choice.

I say “half,” because although not technically correct, the band did divide the set almost in two with a three-song acoustic session, which included acoustic versions of No. 1 single “Drive,” A Crow Left of the Murder’s “Talk Shows on Mute” and “Dig.” Guitarist Mike Einziger sat on the right side of djembe drum-wielding singer Brandon Boyd during this portion, and the two were accompanied during “Dig” by bassist Ben Kenney – formerly of The Roots – who joined Boyd in the percussion section.

The band’s homage to earlier days came next, as Boyd broke out the didgeridoo for “Redefine,” off of S.C.I.E.N.C.E., and Kenney dazzled the crowd with a blazing fast solo – yes, bassists do those too, and this one was fantastic.

The closing four songs were a masterful choice, as they first played Light Grenades’ opening tracks – “Quicksand” and “A Kiss to Send Us Off” – in quick succession, hit again on Morning View with “Wish You Were Here” and then closed with “Aqueous Transmission” off the same album.

“Aqueous Transmission” was especially a joy to watch, as Einziger played the pipa – a four-stringed Chinese instrument sometimes referred to as a “Chinese lute” – and the entire band played to a spacey backdrop completely suited to the song’s ethereal tone.

To no one’s surprise but everyone’s complete enjoyment, the band came back on stage for an encore after a break that wasn’t quiet for one second thanks to the crowd’s enthusiasm. Looking around the amphitheater was like viewing a city from an airplane – lighters and cell phones illuminated tiny dots in the night.

The crowd erupted into applause as the band opened their encore with whale calls, signaling “The Warmth,” and then launched into “Sick Sad Little World” from Crow, complete with the two and a half minute bridge between the second and third choruses.

For the last song, it took a little while for the crowd to realize what was going on, but once they did, it was a dance fest from there on out. Incubus closed out the show with a cover of Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy,” which was a hundred times more electric live than it is off of 2009’s Monuments and Melodies – and that’s taking nothing away from the album version. The live song was just that good.

For one of my friends, this show was her first concert ever – simultaneously a good and a bad thing in my opinion. This was a hell of a way to be introduced to the world of live music, but trying to find something to live up to your expectations after it might be a tough task.

I COULD GO ON AND START A CONGA LINE

Pissed Jeans - "False Jesii Part 2"

This band essentially has only one song in their repetoire, and liking it depends on how funny you think pathetic self-loathing can be--Pissed Jeans happen to think that it is the zenith of hilarity. They've been dwelling on it for three whole albums now. A lot of people say they sound like Flipper...and while there is a little bit of sonic similarity, I think the two bands' attitudes are unmistakably different. The inheritor of Flipper's cynical soul is obviously Clockcleaner. Clockcleaner and Flipper are funny, sure, but in a rueful way. They make me grimace.

Pissed Jeans, on the other hand, make me grin. They're like an inside joke for people who have been depressed, and who therefore know just how ridiculous being depressed can be. "I COULD PUT ON A TIGHT BLACK SHIRT...BUT I DON'T BOTHER! AIAIAIAIAIAGH!" Matt Korvette's giant baby shtick backed by shambling sludge riffs is a good combo...Tantrum-rock. The band's one-dimensionality is also a weakness though; they work best one or two songs at a time, and so their albums tend to drag. The bonus points they get for being from Allentown PA is enough to balance that out, however.