Tonight.  The Tallest Man On Earth at the Highline Ballroom.  NYC.  Be there. :)

I have always loved John Lennon’s song Jealous Guy.  It’s a heart-wrenching and painfully honest song, a classic amongst his solo work.  To think that the song could be done justice by another, modern artist is hard to fathom.  Well, maybe excluding Elliott Smith’s take on the song.  But Casey James of American Idol Season 9 has honored the song masterfully.  Actually, he’s done even more.  He’s taken the song, stripped it down to an acoustic guitar with belting vocals, and has even managed to make Lennon’s version seem cold and heartless.  Bravo to him for a memorable performance.  

Forewarning: When he quivers with emotion halfway through the song, you might just get the shivers.

Enjoy!

Joe.

If you ever wish to take a second out of your busy schedule to consider just how small you really are, look up into the sky and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to see this.  I find it frustrating how religions - particularly Western ones - consider nature to be a product of God’s creation.  If anything deserves the title “God,” it would be nature itself.  But we, of course, are so small-minded that we must place all the power of life and death into one person’s hands (so much easier, right?), rather than acknowledging that we are actually a part of what we call God.    

cjbxz:

it’s two thousand and fucking ten. make it happen.

Ditto.

If I have even 1/20 of the albums Tom Waits has by his age, I’d be pretty content.  He’s a prolific artist with roots in all sorts of Americana music - ranging from folk, blues, jazz, rock and everything in its crevices.  

One critic has likened his voice to something thats been soaked in a vat of bourbon, left in a smokehouse for weeks, and then taken outside and run over with a car. I won’t disagree. His cool, bluesy style and his relentless insistence on remaining low-key and out of advertisements has garnered this guy a strong cult following.  Needless to say, his lyrics are powerful, unique and garnished with a little playfulness:

“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.” 

Amen to that.

Waits is best served dry, or on the rocks…shaken, or stirred. Actually he can be served on any occasion provided Jim or Jack are there to enjoy his company. 

Posted here is a song from his first album, Closing Time.  Entitled I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You, it’s a tough-man’s ballad about a guy who’s been weakened by love and wary about pursuing it once more. The setting? A bar.

Where else?

Enjoy :)

Roger Greenberg, the mentally unstable lead of Noah Baumbach’s new film Greenberg, puts anyone’s problems to shame.  His rationally unimportant complaints with the outside world - from vague assaults on the “sucky parts” of Starbucks, to the cramped seating at American Airlines - is just one of the many quirks that leads us into the psychologically unstable world of Greenberg.

The movie, in short, is a complex portrait of a narcissist, played to a T by Ben Stiller. After a brief stint in the ‘hospital,’ Greenberg winds up house-sitting the L.A. pad of his brother who’s oh-so-perfect and off somewhere in Vietnam…building hotels and conquering the world.  Meanwhile, Greenberg wants the world to know he intentionally plans on doing nothing. No, he’s not lazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.  He’ll say so himself.  He’s doing nothing by his own volition. 

Errrr…right.  Irritated yet? Me too.

But Baumbauch tries to carve a little soft spot into the audience’s hearts.  After a visit to the vet, Greenberg fervently looks after the health of his brother’s German Shepherd (played by Mahler…a dog).  And, in the midst of his self-proclaimed sloth, he sure does a lot.  He falls into a clumsy and awkward relationship with his brother’s personal assistant (Florence Marr played by Greta Gerwig).  He also bumbles around with friends of yore, rehashes would-be stardom in a failed college band, attempts to rekindle the fire of a lost love, and builds a doghouse on his downtime.  It turns out Greenberg, beneath the facade of his indifference, actually thinks, feels, and cares more than he puts on…which might account for his frequent expletive outbursts in crowded rooms.   

Let’s be clear, though.  On the outside, the guy’s an asshole.  The saving grace?  He’s a well-scripted asshole – and therein lays the charm of the movie.  The environmental symbolism for Greenberg’s inner anguish and bottled feelings are artfully employed.  Greenberg is trapped in his own mind, suspended in asocial passive aggression, hiding behind petty petitions and letters of complaint.  To set this claustrophobic mood, Baumbach has Greenberg coming from the confines of a mental institution to the foreign surroundings of his brother’s house.  What’s more, he’s constantly kept inside.  His brother’s friends use the pool everyday.  The only day they don’t, it’s raining.  A college house party gone awry only buries him deeper within himself.  He cannot drive.  He cannot swim.  He will not eat green eggs and ham (only whiskey and ice cream sandwiches).  Greenberg cannot escape, so he pretends he doesn’t want to.  He’ll be fine with doing nothing.

In comes Florence, a bumbling twenty-something with a heart of gold who somehow looks at Greenberg’s insecurities and mostly sees an endearing weirdo.  She coaxes the hermit out of his shell just long enough for us to glimpse some humanity, but not enough for us to lose sight of the crab he is.  It’s mostly the directorial style that I’m appreciating, not some sudden spurt of sympathy for Greenberg’s melodrama.  The artistry of the film grows on you the same way the narcissistic, ambitionless Greenberg doesn’t.  It would take a few more hours, coupled with some strong apologies and stronger alcohol, before I can sympathize at all.

I wouldn’t feel so passionately irritated, however, if it weren’t for the film’s authenticity.  Halfway through the movie I forgot I was watching Ben Stiller altogether.  Like many of his older roles, he stills plays a victim.  But this time it’s a psychological vulnerability, not a comically Kafkaesque one.  He’s wrapped up in layers so deep you’d need the newest edition of the DSM to unravel the mess.  His costar, Greta Gerwig, plays the role of an average, awkward, wide-eyed gal with captivating precision.  Silent profile shots of her driving along the city streets of LA immediately draw you into her life.  Together, the awkward couple compliment one another with unpredictable chemistry.

And then it all ends abruptly.  If you’re a sucker for ribbon-wrapped resolution, look elsewhere.  But the subtleties of the film stay with you long after the curtains fall.  Doing a case study on a man so particularly unlikeable, and one so detached from the human experience, ran the risk of repelling an unforgiving audience.  But it worked, thanks in part to a solid script and a believable cast.  Ben Stiller should look back on this film with pride.

Joe. :)

A trip down the Perfume River in Southern Viet Nam, visiting all sorts of ancient dynastic ruins.  

Tumblr won’t import some of my photos vertically. :(

You’ll have to do a few head-tilts. 

Speaking of Louis, this Overdub Bootleg of Armstrong’s What A Wonderful World layered with Radiohead’s No Surprises is a little slice of heaven. Maybe even two.

Both songs stand alone as masters, but together? What can only be described as a sexy smoothie.  What a Wonderful Surprise, indeed.