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Archive: January, 2008
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| Zakk Wylde pic from Electrovoice.com |
You know, Ozzy still sounds great, still has that booming hellspawn voice that makes even the most empty headed lyrics sound full and evil. That's more than I can say for opener Rob Zombie, who pointed the mic at the crowd for the long notes and the rest of the time sounded like Cookie Monster. Dig through the ditches and burn through the witches and num num num cookie good.
But Ozzy was kinda great. Somebody thought it would be funny to give him some kind of foam-firing cannon and point him toward the crowd. That person was right. The Ozzman coateth the same 100 people relentlessly, thoroughly, repeatedly. It was a huge mess, but everybody seemed to rock out and have a good time. Except.
Okay, time for a little rant:
Zakk Wylde has got to be stopped. Yeah, he's kind of a thrash legend, but. But. Every opportunity — not that he doesn't force it, too — Wylde slides his fingers as far down on the thin strings as he can and makes these high-pitched screetchiddydoos. Seriously, he can't help himself. Every pause, every break, and my god, the solos. I dig the way he literally beats his own chest while he plays (and the 300 poster taped to his amp was a nice touch), but the dude turned "Bark at the Moon" into grisly, tedious pointilism. But the real problem is those screetchiddydoos. The things this man is doing to Randy Rhoads' legacy are unconscionable.
I hung outside of Ozzyâ s hotel waiting for him to get the tour bus over to the Spectrum. When he came out, he looked like a frail old man with a ghostly white face and newly black dyed hair. He was guided to the bus as the bodyguard stated no pictures. I complied as I was dumbfounded by the aging Ozzy. Earlier a few autograzzi ran into Zakk Wylde coming out of the Capital Grille. He posed and signed for the guys
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| James David Saul |
From the tooting-our-own-horn department: a pair of City Paper contributors with heavy wanderlust and good eyes for composition held First Friday photo openings this month. Rick Valenzuela and James David Saul's respective shows are both on display throughout the month of January. Rick, last seen in these parts working with Michael T. Regan on the Stenton Ave. Reprise cover, was our copy editor and resident skate nerd in early aughts. He left CP in 2002 to take a job at a English-language daily in Phnom Phen, Cambodia, and from there I have a difficult time keeping track, but I'm pretty sure he's hit up most major continents and Arkansas. His photo study of the experience, Wild art, is on display at Deep Sleep (54 N. Third St.). Some of it just shows curious scenes, shot on the fly; there's a crowd gathered outside a R.A.M.B.O. gig in Thailand, or a bunch of African children marching to protest the conditions of their schools...which, when you read the accompanying caption, make Philly's beleaguered district seem like the freaking Shipley School. The captions are part of the show's strength; the title "Wild art" is journo-jargon for stand-alone images run in daily newspapers, and Rick treats his pictures as such, giving each a detailed caption in a small rectangle to the lower right. While I think some images are mostly cool for what you're seeing in them (for instance, a shot of Gambian president Yahya Jammeh smearing HIV-positive villagers with his own home-brewed herbal cure, which he keeps in an Evian bottle), Rick's best stuff frames two subjects that seem to have no business being together. From Little Rock, we see a peculiar black and white of a very real woman trying to save a very artificial giant clown, whose inflatable body was knocked over by the wind. In Dakar, Senegal, a surfer rides a wave in one direction while a fisherman paddles a skiff in the opposite, creating this vivid clash of contemporary-versus-traditional.
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| Rick Valenzuela |
Around the time Rick was leaving CP, James was just getting started, first as Mike Regan's intern, then as a music intern, then a general contributing writer and photographer; he most recently showed up on The Clog with tasty visuals of the Spring Garden Market. James' wanderings have stuck primarily to the North American continent, and his self-titled show at 1 Shot Coffee, 601 Liberties Walk gives even portions of people and landscapes; there's mountain vistas and ghostly pigeons (see above) alongside kids partying at Space Jam. One particularly striking shot can be read as man invading the land: a long perspective on massive oil pipelines that run through evergreen woods in the Puget Sound region (the area where Twin Peaks was shot, the photographer points out). Nature still lifes are one of the hardest things for me to get into, and the placid lakeside shots in this show didn't do much for me. But the way James composed the stratified rock faces in South Dakota's Badlands National Park seemed almost multi-dimensional, a box containing layers of dead hills in front of layers of dead hills. Anybody who's ever been to the park will immediately relate to the broad expanse of nothingness, if you'll pardon me sounding like a philosophizing windbag. While James' shots from the road seem to tread lightly, almost timidly, his shots from back home display a clear sense of comfort, whether its a chaotic An Albatross crowd or a man quietly touching up a Kensington mural.
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| James David Saul |
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Through January 13, Lantern Theater Company, 10th and Ludlow streets, 215-829-0395 lanterntheater.org.
How do you make a religious treatise fun? Set it in Hell, and teach indirectly through the ironic voice of a middle-management devil instructing a minion how to steer a man away from "The Enemy." The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis (of renewed Chronicles of Narnia fame), seems an unlikely work for stage adaptation, but actor-writer Tony Lawton's energetic version succeeds.
Lawton, who made an engaging monologue out of Lewis's The Great Divorce last year, enlivens Screwtape's letters to his novice Wormwood with interludes featuring Genevieve Perrier as Toadpipe, Screwtape's icy-cold Bond Girl assistant. Each time she delivers a report from Wormwood, she and Screwtape engage in some sort of combat: acrobatic physical battles, a fire-eating contest, a ferociously fun tap duel, and even whip-cracking sexual games. These are all surprising, spectacular encounters, the thrill heightened by the small space (the squeamish should avoid the first row).
All this action spices the meat of the matter, which is an often clever and insightful exploration of the idea of Love as humanity's divine trait. Screwtape instructs Wormwood to battle against it with all sorts of temptations - the biggest of which, sounding very modern in its identification of the evils of television and video games, is idleness. The obstacle to the empty, tedious life Wormwood shapes for his victim is genuine pleasure - so, don't fear, this isn't another "just say no" lecture.
Screwtape confesses, however, to not understanding Love; it must be, he insists, merely The Enemy's ploy. Lawton shows this cocky devil beginning to glimpse greater ideas, making what in lesser hands would be merely recitation into powerful realization.
Missing The Screwtape Letters out of distaste for pumped-up election-year piety would be a mistake; though Lawton scores an easy chuckle when Screwtape hangs a sneering Dick Cheney portrait, the play skewers today's preening politicians regardless of party with venomous glee. (Some ironic commentary may be unintentional as Lewis couldn't have foreseen our current administration when he had Screwtape complain of "a failure of our intelligence department.")
Go for the showy pyrotechnics like Perrier's increasingly slinky outfits, the actors' daring choreography, even the witty PowerPoint presentation that illustrates Screwtape's letters . . . and stay for the fascinating rumination on contemporary morals through Lawton's all-too-human devil.
I saw it Friday (Jan 11) with my wife. It was terrific. Agree that the Cheney pic was a cheap laugh. Anthony Lawton is a wonderful actor, Genevieve Perrier is hot - and they are terrific in their physical work. CS Lewis is the star here - one of those works where there's a hard hitting, thought-provoking quote every few minutes that keeps you thinking for days afterwards.
So, is it supposed to be exit or excite? Either way, I have to say that the word excite (or at least a clever version of it) isn't normally applicable when talking about spreadsheets. And, to be honest, it isn't exactly applicable with Excit over at Kongregate. The game dares you to escape a spreadsheet (gasp!), but does offer some fun puzzles as you progress through 30 levels. Think of this games as 2008's Portal, but for number nerds and accountants. Basically, you use the arrow keys to move your Microsoft Excel-like cross-shaped cursor out of the maze. Once you hit a direction key, it'll keep moving until it hits an obstacle. Make it to the green square, and you're off to the next level. One thing that Excit has going for it is that it's pretty much the most work-safe game ever made. Feel free to escape the evil clutches of the spreadsheet from your cube without anyone being the wiser (they'll just think you're really into your work). Go play Excit here.
Can't. Stop. Playing...
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Al Gore says global warming is threatening our well-being and dammit we better listen. In order to make his point louder, he rounded up rockers from the past thirty years, and put a handful on each continent, except Antarctica. Europe had concerts in London and Hamburg to make up the difference. The CD/DVD, Live Earth: The Concerts for a Climate in Crisis, features performances from London, New Jersey, and Japan. The performances, overall, were above average, except for Madonna, but I'll get to that later. I found it interesting to see who aged well and who crossed into aging rocker territory.
I started with the second disc and watched Keith Urban and Alicia Keys cover "Gimme Shelter." I was disappointed with the sound quality. The guitar is overpowering and distorted, and Keys' voice is shaky.
New Jersey's homegrown '80s rocker, Jon Bon Jovi, jumped at the chance to play "Wanted Dead or Alive" for the world, and did so with open-shirted Richie Sambora belting out that solo just like he did back in '86. It was great to see The Police on stage together, and while the guy's are clearly much older, the music was still tight and Sting's voice is still on point. I was surprised the song, "Driven to Tears," was chosen, but after watching it, I realized how good it was. The Foo Fighters and Smashing Pumpkins had tight selections from their sets, and that made up for several other mediocre performances including Rihanna's lyrically astounding "Umbrella."
As for Madonna, it's always good to expand your musical horizons and show your musical diversity, but I will never understand why the producers close this DVD with Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" featuring Gogol Bordello. They took this '80s pop love song and turned it into an awkward gypsy dancing beast. The choreographed performance made me embarrassed for her. Somewhere between the Eastern European singing — done by Borat's doppelganger — and the shirtless African American dancer walking like an Egyptian, I lost interest.
With set drummers Chad Smith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Roger Taylor, Queen, Taylor Hawkins, The Foo Fighters, and a hot mess of percussionists from all over the world, the SOS All-Stars opened the London show, and the first disc, with a cadence of global proportions. There were a few other gems on the first disc as well. Snow Patrol kicks out their catchy hit "Shut Your Eyes," and Britain'scutest rocker KT Tunstall, dressed in gold tights, and a t-shirt saying "Save the Future" played her hit, "Suddenly I See." The performance that I was most impressed with was Angelique Kidjo with her song "Tumba." It's very tribal sounding, and Kidjo's voice soars over the sizzling Afro-beat.
I'm sure Metallica meant well with their performance of "Sad But True," but a song that personifies hate and pain, doesn't exactly fit in with other tracks like "Where is the Love," by Black Eyed Peas, or, "What a Wonderful World," by Paolo Nutini. The only thing that is sad but true is watching a white-goateed James Hetfield struggle to hit all the notes.
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| Photo l Deesha Dyer |
| 9th, Monie Love and the WU! |
It was cold and rainy, but if you were one of the bazillion people squished in Fluid last Friday to see (or should I say hear) DJ 9th Wonder - you were thankful for that cold air when you left the club. It was hot, but definitely for good reason. In addition to people coming out for 9th, the night dubbed as a birthday party for MC Reef the Lost Cauze , DJ Ultraviolet, and DJ Bo Bliz, who warmed up the crowd with a mix of hip-hop and local grooves. To be fair, Fluid is not that big, so it isn't hard to pack, but this night every crevice and wall space was occupied by beautiful people or just people who thought they were beautiful. I know that I say this is most of my DJ reviews, but 9th REALLY, REALLY HELD IT DOWN. The common factor on the dope DJ coming to town is DJ Ultraviolet. She brings the best to Philly, which should definitely be respected. Okay, back to the party. Some pseudo-celebrities were in the building like Monie Love (who played hostess for a minute) and CBS 3/CW broadcaster, Natasha Brown. In the 90 minutes I was there, 9th presented a blueprint timeline of rap and r&b from the late 80's to the present, even pausing on the New Jack City era. There is no way I can remember all I heard, but some artists were Wu-Tang, Soul 4 Real, Black Moon, Gap Band, New Edition, Redman, Nas, Das Efx, Luther Vandross, Jeru the Damaja, A Tribe Called Quest, Michael Jackson, and Stevie Wonder. Considering that was the age group of the majority of heads in there, 9th got a seal of approval in the form of a packed dance floor 100% of the time. Every few songs, he'd connect with the crowd and smile knowing that he was killin' it on the party vibe. There is just something that makes you feel so good and nostalgic about songs you grew up to and 9th definitely provided some throwback moments that made us all reminisce, reminisce. Sometimes, well most of the time...that is all you need. 9th Wonder MySpace
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| Photo l Deesha Dyer |
| Look close and you'll see that woman from the CW |
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| Photo l Deesha Dyer |
| 9th Wonder and DJ Afrodjiak |
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| Photo l www.greyboyallstars.com |
Although The Greyboy Allstars have been in existence for 15 years, I was late by discovering them just last summer. The San Diego funk and jazz band filled the downstairs of World Cafe last week. Not sure if it was sold out, but it was packed. After listening to a DJ for about 45 minutes, the 5 piece band took the stage. From there, everything just rolled on. They breezed through a number of hits from their latest release, What Happened to Television? Instantly, the audience started dancing. The groove didn't stop. The musicians consisted of the basics - drum, keyboard, guitarist, bassist, etc., but the band's leader, Karl Denson wore many hats. In addition to assisting on various percussion, he played the flute, saxophone, and also did lead vocals. I would have just been happy watching him honestly. He has gained the respect of musicians worldwide and I hope the other guys in the band understand what a wonderful opportunity it is to play with him. They played my favorite song, "How Glad I Am", which is actually quite cheesy and immature in the lyrics, but still so good. The song was sung by a male band member, instead of the female lead that appears on the album. That took a little getting used to and changed the vibe a bit. The songs continued to build momentum with each note. The band just kept jamming through songs only taking breaks to wish the crowd a Happy Holidays. After about 6 or so songs, Denson announced there would be an intermission! Well, it was late and I couldn't stay longer, so I left. Did the concert make me a bigger fan? I wouldn't say that. I would say that it helped me appreciate real musicians a bit more. The Greyboy Allstars had obvious chemistry on stage and each instrument complimented another to produce a polished and distinct funk/jazz sound. I hope the second half of the show was good as the first, if not better. I have no doubt that it was. The Greyboy Allstars MySpace
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