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NOTE: I realize my reviews have become somewhat irregular again.
Sometimes I post new shit every week, sometimes every ten days, and sometimes
I just decide to take a week off. But, I promise you, last week was a New
York City-marathon ordeal for me – not only did it seem like I was working
constantly (and you try waiting tables at a mid-priced Italian restaurant
the night of Valentine’s Day), but I actually took the plunge and got myself
a membership at the Bally’s Total Fitness center up the street. I’ve gone
almost every day since, for one to three hours – some days not working
out so much as screwing around in the pool area and staring at the well-stuffed
leotards of some of the fitness-nut chicks – and my calves are fucking
killing me, thanks to my first of three complimentary sessions with a gung
ho personal trainer who’s a dead ringer for The Rock. So Friday flew right
by, and I didn’t get a chance to even sit down and watch a music video,
much less review a dozen of them. Looks like I’ll be posting on Mondays
again for a while… Anyway, stay tuned for my Grammy report on musicfanatic.com
later this week.
yours truly.
A.
Aerosmith – Jaded
(***) I didn’t miss Aerosmith at all
during their post-Armaggedon absence. After all, can you think of
any more pathetic batch of singles than the stuff from 1997’s Nine Lives?
And can you not imagine a band has anywhere to go but down after recording
a derivative, godawful Diane Warren ballad like they’re fucking Chicago
or something? But here they are with “Jaded,” which is a hellacatchy jangle-rock
track that borrows from the Goo Goo Dolls/Bon Jovi comeback school of ultra-polished,
uptempo singles. “Jaded” is a good effort, and I doubt I’ll get sick of
it for a while. (Then again, I said that about Lenny Kravitz’s version
of “American Woman,” and that one’s still with us on a too-regular basis.)
The video, from director Francis Lawrence, is an ornate, rich-toned affair
set in an elegant, centuries-old type of building. Steven Tyler, who’s
been looking more like an aging Gloria Swanson (they both have that sour
sort of Lips-Manlis-from-Dick-Tracy face) his past few videos, here
is airbrushed to perfection and sporting a chestnut brown dye job whose
exact shade no doubt came highly recommended from Tyler’s good friend Mick
Jagger. And, yes, people – the video for “Jaded” follows the Alicia Silverstone
principle of making these rock stars in their fifties take a back seat
to a generations-younger female protagonist who is unquestionably hot.
That’s crucial to the male viewer’s getting through an Aerosmith video,
you understand. –Andrew Hicks
Ja Rule f/Lil’ Mo and Vita – Put It On Me
(**) I still view Ja Rule as the kind
of hip-hop star I can only tolerate in guest-star verses on other people’s
records, particularly if they’re better produced. The thing with Ja is,
even though he’s not particularly literate or engaging and doesn’t have
a particularly strong voice or flow, he’d be easier to swallow if his songs
just had strong beats and hooks. The change in record label and production
quality has done wonders for Mystikal, and it’s even made Jay-Z tolerable
to me on one occasion (thanks to the Neptunes, whose shit admittedly sounds
strikingly similar from one hit to the next). The best “Put It On Me” can
offer, though, is a half-assed back and forth chorus between Ja and… Vita,
I’m guessing? Or is it Lil’ Mo? Its video, directed by Ja and Hype Williams
(though I can guess which one did most of the work), has Ja getting arrested
and spending time locked up, his orange jumpsuit flaring and surprisingly
delicate mind wishing for the company of his girlfriend. The outside-world
girlfriend, Lil’ Mo (or is it Vita?), gets to rap out a decent verse, and
I’ll admit “Put It On Me” does tend to grow on you the longer you let it
play uninterrupted. So I’ll give this one two stars because, not only is
the general artistry good, but there’s a hilarious shot of Ja Rule, holding
a prison phone while he’s surrounded by fierce-looking inmates, and Ja
scream-shouts in that fucked-up voice of his, “Where would I be without
you?” and really emotes into the phone. Like, with his whole body. –AH
Limp Bizkit – My Way
(**) In the intro to this Fred Durst
auteur vanity piece (or something like that), the backward-ballcap bastard
comes out and admits there’s no concept to this video, that they’re just
going to shoot it and see what happens. As it turns out, Durst takes an
Eminem-type approach, filming himself lip synching both as Fred Durst and
about ten different characters, one of which employs a Flintstones-like
caveman costume. (Hey, think about it, his name is Fred…) The “My Way”
video itself is pretty easy to watch, but the song has that amateurish,
over-produced (read: watered down) quality innate to most Bizkit songs.
I’m amused, though, at the chorus’ declaration that it’s “my way or the
highway.” A few weeks ago, the owner of the restaurant I day-job in put
up a handwritten notice that all unauthorized consumption of food would
hereby cease. (“That mouthful of salad, that piece of roast beef, that
squirt of Grenadine to cherry-ize your Cokes – all that costs money.”)
At the bottom, in ominous, multi-colored block letters, the notice concluded:
“Remember – it’s my way or the highway!” So, naturally, that phrase has
been a workplace punchline ever since. Anyway, when it comes down to it,
“My Way” is one of the stronger Limp Bizkit singles. I can actually put
up with it, and that hasn’t happened since “N 2 Gether Now.” –AH
The Offspring – Want You Bad
(**½) In the same vein, this
Offspring track is surprisingly listenable. Imagine, an Offspring single
that sounds like a real song and not a goddamn three-minute novelty tune
you can’t possibly force yourself to listen to more than five times. (Okay,
so “The Kids Aren’t Alright” was a fairly straightforward number, but I
refuse to count it because it sucked so hard.) “Want You Bad,” though nondescript
and uninspiring, at least has the distinction of being the Offspring’s
least annoying single in three years. The video, as always, is goofy and
unrealistic, and it exploits the high-school world of TRL, crashes a high-rise
office party and later features a full-on soap bubble rave. Oh, and there
are intermittent exploding soda cans that contain some kind of white powder
or non-dairy, processed dessert topping. And if it’s titillation you want,
Offspring also has you covered – director Spencer Sutter cuts to some red-hot,
barely legal model kissing all over this guy every fifteen seconds or so.
It’s “complicated, X-rated…” –AH
Rod Stewart – I Can’t Deny It
(*½) I think I saw the funniest
Conan O’Brien in history last Thursday night. The monologue was strong,
the banter with Chris Rock was consistently entertaining, and the segment
with Triumph The Insult Comic Dog at the Westminster show was downright
hilarious. But most of the comic energy on that magical night of Conan
can be traced back to Rod Stewart, the creepy, menopausal Brit whose career
has lasted decades too long and who still seems to wear more rouge than
my grandma on Sunday morning. Rod had been booked on the show, presumably
to sing this new VH1 smash, and his people later called and canceled, with
no real explanation and only 24 hours notice. So the gloves came off, and
Conan tossed off some great one-liners at Rod’s expense over the course
of that hour. I don’t know, for me, there’s nothing more satisfying than
watching someone rip on Rod Stewart, and Chris Rock’s rendition of “Da
Ya Think I’m Sexy” was icing on the cake. Anyway, that’s my space-filler
anecdote for this review – makes it look at first glance like a healthy
chunk of writing with plenty of substance, but it really has very little
to say about the actual video for “I Can’t Deny It.” I don’t think I need
to go into the specifics here, though. You get exactly what you’d expect
out of this neo-Stewart video, plenty of shots of Rod and his new brown,
shoe-polished head roaming the cars on an ultra-stylish train. He’s bursting
into the dining car, asking all these people in the middle of their meals
if they can feel the rhythm of his heart beating like a drum and shit.
As little as I rely on train travel, the very notion of Rod Stewart harassing
me from here to Chicago may deter me from ever riding an Amtrak again.
BAD ONE-LINER YOU’LL HAVE TO IMAGINE ME SAYING IN MY BEST BEAVIS VOICE:
Is this, like, a… downtown train? –AH
Trick Daddy f/The SNS Express – Take It 2 Da House
(**½) It may not seem like it,
but “Take It 2 Da House” is an epic party video, and it’s also a better
high school clip than anything the Backstreet Boys or Christina could aspire
to star in. While the school band plays a brassy rendition of K.C. &
The Sunshine Band’s “Boogie Shoes,” the honky coach gives the basketball
team a pep talk. And the game begins, with footage washed out in gold tint
like a Master P video and ample shots of the school cheerleaders. There’s
even a disconnected sequence toward the middle in which the Slip N’ Slide
Express, the girl act that constitutes the video’s cheerleader population,
takes over the song with a sexy, well-timed verse. This song itself is
built around the aforementioned K.C. groove (how did I know there was a
copy of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack somewhere in Trick Daddy’s
collection?) and is entertaining the whole way through, in that take-it-or-leave-it
novelty song sense. It certainly beats out the TRL set in showing us shit
that actually looks fun, but it’s a total guilty pleasure, so I have to
dock it a half-star. –AH
GAY
VIDEO OF THE WEEK
Gloria Gaynor – I Will Survive (1979)
(*) This should be the ultimate gay
video of all time, but it’s really a rather lackluster effort. Come on,
we all know this song – I mean, by heart – and we’ve probably all even
seen a drag queen or two lip synch along to it. (Well, maybe you don’t
hang around the same bars I do… but damn it, sometimes life can actually
be perked up a bit by watching a drag queen named Vesta Bule perform her
Britney Spears megamix.) Anyway, at first Gloria Gaynor was afraid, she
was petrified, and she conveys all that through her stellar lip synching,
a visceral process which involves singing into a big silver microphone
and swaying in place while disco lights go off behind her and her image
is occasionally patterned off in a diagonal row, “Bohemian Rhapsody”-style.
Meanwhile, a stunt girl on roller skates dances around, the screen splits
into primitive-looking quadrants, and Gloria finally realizes she should
have changed that stupid lock and made the director leave his key. –AH
CLASSIC
VIDEOS
Cyndi Lauper – She Bop (1985)
(***) This is the direction Cyndi Lauper
should have gone in with her career – quirky, eclectic, danceable shit
like this and not those prefab pop songs her producers probably forced
on her. “She Bop” is the only Lauper song I love unabashedly, a coy ode
to masturbation (“They say I’d better get a chaperone / Because I can’t
stop messing with the danger zone”) with an irresistable synth bass line
and a funny, confusing video to match. It beats the hell out of “Girls
Just Wanna Have Fun,” “Time After Time,” “True Colors,” and any other (s)hit
you can think of. (Though, if you’re like me, you probably can’t think
of any.) The video is set around an old-time burger joint whose interior
looks like something out of a Tim Burton movie and whose exterior is crawling
with zombie-walking clones. And, as a waitress walks out to Cyndi’s car,
tray in hand, she comes across the singer’s steamed-up windows. And, yeah,
she’s in there all by herself, reading the latest issue of Beefcake.
Cyndi gets out of the car, flirts with some biker customers and plays a
psychoanalytically charged game of Masterbingo in some kind of dream universe.
There’s a cool cartoon interlude, a scene with Cyndi being brought to the
police station by a pair of overzealous bastards and, of course, the Marilyn
Monroe/Madonna/David Lee Roth parody ending with dancing, canes and a white
staircase. I’ve had plenty of friends who just couldn’t understand why
I wouldn’t let them turn the channel when this godforsaken video came on,
but I always defer to the words of “the immortal Francois de la Brioskee,”
who is quoted at the end of this video: “Everybody bops.” QUESTION:
Why has no rapper stolen this groove yet? --AH
Sublime – Badfish (1992)
(***½) Sublime’s 40 Oz. to
Freedom is one of those albums I wonder how I ever did without. For
three years, I operated under the assumption that the album was just a
bunch of cheaply produced four-track demos and not at all worth owning.
Then my brother nabbed the irresistible singles “Date Rape” and “Smoke
Two Joints” from Napster, and I came across a used copy of 40 Oz. one afternoon.
Ah, Sublime… “Badfish” is one of my favorites, and it turns up on the greatest
hits. The video is, yeah, bargain-basement, but it’s one of the few Sublime
efforts you’ll see with lead singer Bradley Nowell alive and well. That’s
cause enough to watch it and wonder, for the millionth fucking time, just
how good Sublime would be today if not for that crucial heroin overdose.
“Badfish” takes place mostly on the beach, with a collectively shirtless
Brad & Co. playing for a makeshift audience of beach bums and bikini-clad
chicks. The camera tints and movements and the editing keeps things passably
artistic, but really, the appeal of the “Badfish” video is the feeling
that you’re just along for the ride, watching the band hang out and play
some music. Some timeless music. –AH
P.S. One final note here – basic cable has just been blessed with
a whole new batch of Miss Cleo commercials. I continue to be fascinated
and amused by this woman, and I’ve cultivated a makeshift Cleo impression
for parties and such that seems to go over rather well. (“Just call 1-900-BIG-FOCKING-SCAM
and see the truth of the tarot cards.”) I’m noticing that, as the commercials
go on, Miss Cleo is starting to have even more power over her callers.
I mean, the copy writers for this shit have really adopted the poker-face
bluff of casting Miss Cleo as the soothsayer you can’t lie to, the all-knowing,
all-powerful being who not only sees the intricate details of your love
life and the gossip you yourself cannot detect (like whether Ray-Ray is
really your babydaddy), but she has the advice component to go along with
it (i.e. she takes the hard line and tells you to dump your loser boyfriend,
makes your important decisions for you) – and the no-nonsense friend component.
Cleo is God, Freud and Oprah rolled into one, with a phony Jamaican-Irish-soulsista
dialect in a tidy bow, and her services only cost $3.99 a minute. Like
I said a few weeks ago, I’d really be curious to talk to this woman/fictional
character if I thought the number would actually lead to Cleo and not one
of her “swarthy minions,” although I would also surely be entertained if
it turned out that the company behind this charming scam operation had
trained all of their operators, female and male alike, to imitate Cleo’s
distinctive if wavering Iro-Jamaicafrican accent. Anyway, fresh Cleo commercials…
you gotta love ‘em.
ta ta.
A.
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