Jenifer: If Taylor Swift and Sloth Had a Baby

The offspring's not as cute as you'd hope.

So I'm watching Jenifer, and I just have to talk about it. I like Masters of Horror a lot. Take a good horror director, give them an hour or so to do what they may. Step back and watch the limbs fly.

First off, there's a cool moral to it. Y'know, the perfect woman (blonde, hot and a mute) turns out to be not so perfect. Second of all, it's fucking hilarious. The fact that in this world, apparently all women are blonde and all teenagers listen to death metal is inconsequential.

Now let's talk about Jenifer for a sec. In addition to an apparent unquenchable thirst for raw meat, she's got, in the words of Frank's son, 'a killer rack,' one that she shows the world without impunity. However, she's decided to attach herself to one Frank, an apparently rookie cop, despite his advanced years, given her would-be murderer's murder is the first time he's put lead to flesh. But no matter. Turns out, wifey (who some may recognize as Brenda Gutierrez from the great Slither) disapproves of the body-off-baywatch-face-off-crimewatch sleeping on her couch, a feeling apparently mutual, given the odd lesbian-kiss-turn-face-eating incident that ends surprisingly blandly. Now, wifey and son fly the coop, and Frank is left with his crazy-with-a-body. They have sex. A lot. Somehow a guy ends up in the fridge, and for some reason the happy couple end up living in a cabin in the woods. The series of events is not important. Or explained. What you need to know is this:

Dario Argento believes the following are always true:

1) Always judge a book by its cover. If it's snarling like a beast and crazy eyed like a beast, it's probably Jenifer, and she's probably just eaten your cat.
2) Parents never notice when their children go missing, and the authorities never notice peoples' mangled corpses getting buried in the suburbs. Ever.
3) Men, apparently, can go from zero to crazy in about three days.

Thank you, Dario Argento, for showing me the light.

Also, props to the unintentional Rain Man impression by Frank's partner (if Rain Man was played by Joe Pesci) who literally shows up in two scenes before totally disappearing. Apparently, when your partner goes missing after shacking up with a near-murder victim, it's really not worth looking into, particularly if you're a cop.



Until I have enough cash to see a show,
Stay dee-lish.
--WF
Gross, hilarious, ridiculous.

[PS This whole thing is really in honor of The Horror Digest, a blog I have been reading far too much as of late.]

[It's awesome].

The Doubble Donkey Drummer

This is a weird thing I didn't think I would have to investigate at all. But, apparently, I do.
Two guitarists, I get. One rhythm and one lead, or maybe two lead for intricate work, or maybe two rhythm for really chunky basswork. Two lead singers can go anywhere from cute husband and wife duos like Arcade Fire or Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros to the damn Beatles. But two drummers. What the hell? Is your one drummer too damn lazy to hit the damn drums? It's like the anti-Busted; rather than too few drummers, it's too many.

Let's look at this for a second.
The Ruby Suns:


The Dodos:












The Friendly Fires:


Bear Hands:













White Rabbits:


I mean, I guess I get it. The double drummers in questions split into two sub categories; Ruby Suns, Friendly Fires and Dodos are of the semi-Afro pop variety, and White Rabbits and Bear Hands are of the ragey-thumpy-poundy variety. For the Afropops, where once upon a time a circle of drummers would've taken the spot, it's been reduced to just a couple kids with a bunch of drums (or, in the case of the Ruby Suns, three kids with a crap ton of drums). So I guess I can justify that.

Now, as for the ragey-thumpy-poundy types...I guess I'm less rational. I like White Rabbits very, very much, partially because I'm in love with their photographer, Andrew Droz Palermo, and the work he does is just bloody gorgeous, let's face it. I mean, the drum work isn't particularly intricate, it's just very, very loud. One drummer could potentially do the work of these two, it's just that the thump bang is a little more rewarding. I guess.

That doesn't feel like a very good resolution of the double drummer dilemma, but I don't really know where I'd want that to end up. Really, in conclusion, I think it's silly. This was a terrible article. I'm sorry.

Until I learn how to write,
Stay delectable,
-WF
I'm So Sorry

The bassist thing

On a sidenote, I discovered three bands that broke my theory (if it's a band with a chick in it, she's a bassist). They, however, also made me realize I need to add a caveat to my theory.
If the band isn't from the UK, and they have a chick in the band, then she is the bassist.
The Zutons: (saxophonist)

The Magic Numbers: (keyboardist)

Glasvegas: (drummer)

Ash: (ex-guitarist)


The Big Pink: (drummer)


Now, the Zutons have the dubious honor of being both dropped from their record label about a year ago this time, as well as just being terrible. As such, I'm a little reluctant to include them on the list, as in doing so, I am promoting a band that I would very much like to see ended. But they further my theory, so I shall persevere.

Additionally, the Magic Numbers have both a female bassist, and a female non-bassist, but it's a family of four children, so I put less stock in whether or not they have a female bassist.

Now, this made me question. Is there a reason for this division? The Raveonettes are from Denmark, so there's not much in the argument that it's an American thing. Is there something so radically different about the greater United Kingdom that inspires its female musicians to play actual instruments? Or, is it the opposite, and there is some force present in the United States and mainland Europe that encourages (if not forces) its lady parts (poor word choice, that was) to pick up the bass?

Now, I suppose this could be a record label conspiracy thing. Maybe the bands with women on guitar exist, they just get relegated to the back of the pack, never get signed, never get promoted, never succeed.

Then again, this could all be coincidence. I'll investigate.

No music today, but I finally updated the rest of the posts to feature their proper music, so that's enough for you.

Until next time,
Stay with a guitar on your lap,
--WF
Chick w/ Uke

I Effing Hate Christmas

It's true. Now, I know a lot of people declare their hatred of Christmas and all things Santa, but in my family it's become a sport: who can have the crappiest Christmas. I'm going to tell you why, and I promise it's interesting.
1) Our commute
It used to be that between Christmas Eve morning and Boxing Day night we'd spend about 20 hours in the car for about 10 hours of family bonding (the remainder being for sleep, of course). Things have since thinned out so that we spend Christmas Eve in Connecticut, come back that night to spend Christmas day here, and then drive down and back to New Jersey on Boxing Day.
That's a shit ton of driving to do with people you don't get along with.

There was the time a few years back when, after sitting behind the wheel of a car for the first time, I bottomed out going over a speed bump, and three days later when we drove down Christmas Eve to CT, our muffler half fell off, and we had to drag it the last four miles to my uncle's house. In case you aren't familiar with what that sounds like, imagine this, but literally forever.

2) The People
My mom's a WASP, and my dad's a Irish/Italian Catholic. Oil and water, dude. There's a lot of undiscussed tension between the more conservative and less conservative factions of each side, and subsequently it becomes a lot of what-can-you-say-without-somebody-yelling-at-you, including the time I may or may not have snapped at my then-70-year-old aunt for calling all Muslims violent because they are violent by nature and Islam is a violent religion*.
It sort of ends up a lot like this, only with more blood and crying. So, I guess like this with different hats.

Also, the men in my family tend to die around major holidays. One grandfather died around the fourth of July, the other died on Christmas eve, my great uncle died just after Thanksgiving, and my uncle died on Father's Day two years ago. So with each major holiday, my family collectively holds its breath to see who'll drop. (I should note one grandfather had cancer, the other was in his nineties, and the great uncle was 95. It is only the one who died on father's day that kind of came out of no where).

3) The music
Christmas music blows. If I have to hear fucking Kenny G playing some saxophone-ridden tripe one more time, I'm going to die. That fucking Waitresses song makes me want to hurt someone. Really the only good one is Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey, and that's more for it's What the Fuck qualities than anything else.

All of this brings me to my point: like everything else about the season, the best Christmas music will make you wholly forget what time of year it is, and where you are.


And so, on that note, here's a little wishin' of happy-let's-not-murder-our-family-the-presents-haven't-come-yet.

Also, here are some really good songs. Some are vaguely Christmas related. All are I'm-cold-and-this-weather-bloody-sucks related.

Sufjan Stevens - Sister Winter
The thing is, I know ole Sufjan has done plenty of Christmas-themed songs, but as I previously elaborated, the last thing I want to think about on Christmas is my family or Jesus.

The Walkmen - No Christmas While I'm Talking
I dare you to walk with this plugged into your wee ears on a bitterly cold day with the faint, dead sun casting your shadow in a waist-high snow bank and not feel like the whole world simultaneously wants you dead and supports you. Just like family.

Bon Iver - Wolves Act I and II (Live at the Parish 3/13/2008)
The name means Good Winter, and given that JV spent the better part of a Wisconsin winter wedged in a cabin pouring his heart out after his life fell apart, the irony (accuracy?) in the name seems pretty fitting for the given theme. Also, if you don't have this on record already, get the fuck out of here.

Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal
Like most of my picks, this is totally un-Christmas. In fact, it's kind of screwed up. A troop of people marching through snow, their heads (literally?) only supported by scarves, and one of them dies, leaving the snow bloodied. Again, I think the world has heard this song, but have you ever really listened to it? [/douchebag]

The Needs - Winter Gardens
This band used to be called the Special Needs. This wasn't such a good PR move, so they changed it to the Needs. Then they broke up. A damn shame, considering this little fucker is still catchy, some five years after they wrote it, and some four years after the band's demise.


Until I think of something relevant,
Stay warm,
--WF
New England Winter :(


*My mom also refused to convert for my dad (she comes from a long line of Methodist ministers, so I guess I can see her reluctance) and that comes up a lot, and I feel like this was my aunt's way of not-so-subtly jabbing at anything that isn't Catholicism. But, I mean, come on. The Crusades? The Inquisition? Under the Moors, Spain had the first street lights in Europe, and Britain was still trying to finish genocidin' all the Scots and Irish!

Gimme a T

So technically Tally Hall and Rooney (note the order) was Sunday. I was with siblings so I'm not really sure it counts. But I'll count it.

1) The place:
The Middle East Downstairs

2) The people:
It was all ages, but the short little high schoolers were pretty great. Lots of bounding up and down. Lots of screaming. Win.

3) The Performers
First were Crash Kings. We came late--about twenty minutes into their set. I'm mad we were that late. If we had come only a half hour later, we could've spared ourselves that whole set, and the night would've been that much better for it. For the most part, it waggled between radio-friendly pop jams and weirdly almost-Wolfmother pseudo-psychedelic shroom rock. The only track I remember not wincing at was the one from the Zombieland soundtrack, which I'm too lazy to find because frankly, it wasn't that good.

Second were Tally Hall, and honestly, it would seem most everyone was there for them. Five dudes in matching suits, each with a signature-colored tie. Dark blue (AKA Zubin, AKA the bassist) was my favorite, but let's face it; they're five endearing fellas that sing songs about working at the mall in matching suits and do four part harmonies stretched tight over very cute guitar/synth/uke. Everyone is your favorite. New material appeared to span some sort of concept album involving a medieval theme, but old stand outs blended in pretty seamlessly.

Third were Rooney. I felt kind of bad for them, tell you truth. Tally Hall owned the night, and once they finished, a pretty decent chunk of the audience fled for the hills. Following a literally overnight jump of 400% in sales following an appearance on The OC back in the day, Rooney have hit some hard times. Despite being a band for a decade now, they've managed two releases and an EP, with a third LP coming in the new year. Record label come, record label gone. New material...not so good. Every old track (The OC-era, 2003 self-titled release) was the heart breakingly cute pseudo British invasion I love. 2007-era Calling the World and beyond...less so.

They did a decent job. Not great. But alright. I always feel awkward when (Ash opening for the Bravery) the opener outshines the headliner. It's like a super hot bridesmaid and a tolerable bride. It's just weird.

So sorry, Rooney. Maybe next time stick with the crappy Crash Kings.

Until next time,
Stay chili (fries)
--WF
Or, write better.

Rooney - If it Were Up to Me
Tally Hall - Two Wuv

I DON'T CARE ABOUT TIGER WOODS OR ANOTHER 30,000 TROOPS IN A WAR ALEXANDER THE GREAT LOST THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO, ALL I CARE ABOUT IS WHETHER MORRISSEY IS ALRIGHT.


(No but really, the last news I heard was a month ago. A follow up would be appreciated)

--WF
Not bloody kidding

Waffle Fries Perkins in Loveland

So I just got back. Oh Jesus.

1) The Place
The Paradise

2) The People
The most unremarkable bunch of chaps I've ever met. There was no theme about them. No clearly defining features. Just a bunch of people. They clapped when they should've, they sang when they should've (albeit a few behind me really shouldn't've).

3) The Performers
Up first was Dave Godowsky. Although he claimed they had an album finished (which they'll send out to chippies who give them their emails (I am a chippy)) based on the one-minute verse-chorus-outro style they employed, I was led to believe otherwise. Regardless. It was decent folk music, but not really anything to write home about. This isn't home, by the way, so it's okay that I'm writing about it.
Bowerbirds continued the slow train to sleepyville with a painfully long, painfully slow set of music that would nicely suit alt-car commercials and little more. I could do without.
And then, thank God, appearing from the corner in the distance, came the Men in Dearland, who preceded to approach the stage from the audience after making a tour of the venue. The trumpet, slide trombone and drums were a bloody gift. Elvis Perkins, closer to seven feet than six, closer to 100 pounds than 150, slithered up to the mic from the traditional backstage, and what transpired next could only be called A Very Satisfying Set. Behind tiny glasses and a (quickly weakening) voice that warbled between a crooner and a folker came mostly new stuff (...In Dearland) but, a few covers from the Sacred Harp and some oldies and some off of the Doomsday EP.
Highlight:
It's just our fella up there, beard dripping with sweat, once-slick hair drooping in his face. "It's your turn to tell me what to do. What do I do next?" followed by a chorus of 'While You Were Sleeping' (and the requisite Freebird, as well as one for 'My Sharona' that he (almost) obliged)) to which our little hero replies "I don't think I could survive that one right now."

AND THEN DURING THE ENCORE HE PLAYED IT. OH. Poor guy shooting up chloraseptic like it's binaca and he's got a hot date. Poor guy turning the mic to us so we can fill in where his voice has failed him. When the boys all bowed and left (and then returned. and played. and then left again) we all understood, I think, that Elvis really had put all his everything into it, and when he left he wasn't coming back. He couldn't.

And we were okay with that.


Again, I'll attach music (particularly the Sacred Harp tracks. Holy god (no pun intended) those were good) when I get to my own laptop.
But for now, just appreciate how bloody good EPID is:
Elvis Perkins in Long Hair Land - Weeping Mary

Until then,
Stay madly in love with a man 13 years your senior,
-WF
Or more, actually.

Edit: Turns out, Dave Godowsky (now performing under the name John Shade) really does have songs that short. In which case, he totally gets props. The record's pretty good, if a wee on the short side. So props John Shade/Dave Godowsky, I dig you. I would like to know about the name change, though. Bit of a mystery, him.

John Shade - Kingdom Come
John Shade - Lullaby
Bowerbirds - Human Hands (LITERALLY THE ONLY BOWERBIRDS SONG THAT DOESN'T FILL ME WITH BILE-RIDDEN RAGE)
Elvis Perkins - While You Were Sleeping