Third Eye Blind burst onto the scene in the late '90s displaying an uncanny ability - like Matchbox Twenty, Semisonic, the Goo Goo Dolls and their ilk - to pen hits that blended complicated, sometimes soul-crushing things with sugary delicious pop rock licks. Whether it be the depths of crystal methamphetamine, suicide, or an incredibly painful break-up, Stephen Jenkins and the boys seemed to be able to tackle it with a riff that made the crowds feel like dancing anyway.
Perhaps the one strength that set the 'Frisco rockers apart from their mainstream contemporaries was their very real, very raw way of talking about sex - its passion, its complications, its fundamentals. This is a band that wrote about wasting days in bed, Cunnilingus that would make Colonel Angus blush and orgasms that last ages of summer afternoons.
Which makes "10 Days Late," the third single off the band's 1999 album "Blue," a bit of an anomaly.
In a way, the song is vintage 3EB. It's got a bass line followed by a riff that will tingle your spine. The chorus does not shy away from the, ahem, practical side of sexuality, making the ditty perhaps the highest-profile song about a missed period in pop music history. Jenkins croons and delivers punchy soundbites throughout.
But much like Ben Folds Five's "Brick," released a year prior to "10 Days," the song is almost hopelessly wrapped up in how the man's life is affected by the early pregnancy of a woman. Our dramatic voice in "10 Days" shows his juvenile perspective by saying, "I'm in trouble now, and it cannot wait." Never mind the fact that this young girl he's impregnated is faced with a decision that has moral, legal and life-altering ramifications.
Also, for some reason, there's a need for a choir and a cowbell in this one.
In an effort to continue its track record of writing about complicated themes, 3EB may have bit off more than they could chew with "10 Days Late." It's little wonder why the band's popularity faded considerably after the release of the single (OK, hardcore fans, I know the inner turmoil with Kevin Cadogan probably didn't help much).
Where "Brick" succeeded by emphasizing the limited perspective of its dramatic voice and adopting a sufficiently somber tone, elevating Ben Folds to a level of popularity that lingers today and causes Folds himself to question the message his song about abortion is leaving with folks, "10 Days Late" comes off as something Jenkins insisted it wasn't - just a modern pop/rock song about menstruation. It had the potential to be so much more.
Or maybe I'm just looking at it too closely.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Why I'm anti-Mizzou. In one half.
I get funny looks every where I go after telling folks I attended the University of Missouri, but Kansas Jayhawks garb fills my closet and bedclothes cocoon me in the frigid Spokane evenings.
Today's SEC matchup, and specifically the response to the televised championship, have given me further ammunition.
I don't hate Mizzou. I don't hate their fans. In fact, because of my time there, when they're playing an opponent I don't particularly care for (like Auburn), I tend to throw my weight behind them. But it's impossible to continue to support a fan base that can find any possible excuse to say they're disrespected, when the simple fact is they're disrespected because they've never stepped up on the biggest stage.
In the past, it's been the BCS. Or referees. Today, it was the media. In the Tigers' fan mind, they are the greatest, and any possible adversity is evidence of an unjust deity pulling strings in someone else's favor.
Exhibit A: A tweet that gained traction sometime around halftime Saturday:
What the "Average Missouri Fan" doesn't want to admit is that Auburn's running game is completely decimating the Missouri defense. Once again, Missouri fans refused to look themselves in the mirror, evaluate themselves and their weaknesses, and admit that maybe they're not the unblemished image of football perfection they think they are.
I don't mean to say every Missouri fan is like this. And I certainly don't mean to imply they're the only fan base that engages in this kind of "wahmbulance" chicanery that afflicts all entitled enthusiasts.
But it's certainly an epidemic I see particularly among those I grew up with and with whom I attended classes in Columbia. You can write me off as a jaded Jayhawker if you must. I'll admit, part of me is dying watching the Tigers on such a big stage the day Kansas basketball lost a heartbreaker in Colorado.
But ask yourselves - if another Missouri meltdown is on the way, whose fault is it?
Today's SEC matchup, and specifically the response to the televised championship, have given me further ammunition.
I don't hate Mizzou. I don't hate their fans. In fact, because of my time there, when they're playing an opponent I don't particularly care for (like Auburn), I tend to throw my weight behind them. But it's impossible to continue to support a fan base that can find any possible excuse to say they're disrespected, when the simple fact is they're disrespected because they've never stepped up on the biggest stage.
In the past, it's been the BCS. Or referees. Today, it was the media. In the Tigers' fan mind, they are the greatest, and any possible adversity is evidence of an unjust deity pulling strings in someone else's favor.
Exhibit A: A tweet that gained traction sometime around halftime Saturday:
Drinking game: take a shot every time the commentators say something anti-Mizzou. Die in approximately two minutes.I'll be the first to admit that Gary Danielson is a giant douche, and Verne Lundquist is a human dollop of sour cream. I've done it in the past, and I'll continue to do so.
— Average MU Student (@AverageMizzou) December 7, 2013
What the "Average Missouri Fan" doesn't want to admit is that Auburn's running game is completely decimating the Missouri defense. Once again, Missouri fans refused to look themselves in the mirror, evaluate themselves and their weaknesses, and admit that maybe they're not the unblemished image of football perfection they think they are.
I don't mean to say every Missouri fan is like this. And I certainly don't mean to imply they're the only fan base that engages in this kind of "wahmbulance" chicanery that afflicts all entitled enthusiasts.
But it's certainly an epidemic I see particularly among those I grew up with and with whom I attended classes in Columbia. You can write me off as a jaded Jayhawker if you must. I'll admit, part of me is dying watching the Tigers on such a big stage the day Kansas basketball lost a heartbreaker in Colorado.
But ask yourselves - if another Missouri meltdown is on the way, whose fault is it?
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Page-turning: My thoughts on David Foster Wallace's "Infinite Jest"
After more than a thousand pages of signature prose from one of America's most distinctive literary voices during the past two decades, I'm left with two prevailing emotions setting up permanent shop in my gut: jealousy and despair.
These feelings have nothing to do with the brilliantly constructed dystopic future David Foster Wallace brings to life in "Infinite Jest," his epic novel published to nearly universal acclaim back in 1996. They have everything to do with witnessing a depressingly intimate look at substance addiction, narrative brilliance and synaptic hyperactivity from a writer, in his early 30s, who showed limitless promise and was taken far too early from this world.
To the uninitiated Wallace reader, Infinite Jest will sound in summation like the ramblings of a madman. The plot, so convoluted it prompted drawings of story maps resembling unpopped blackheads (warning: spoilers), centers geographically around a substance-abuse halfway house and academy for precocious and talented tennis-playing preteens in central Boston following the consolidation of North America into one nation-state. People remain glued to their entertainment screens (in a kind of cultural foresight that could only come from a writer so in-tune with social strata he turned an essay about cruise ships into a discussion of the loneliness of human existence) and the accumulation of garbage along the former U.S./Canadian border has turned the area into an exotic wasteland, where plants tower over humans and giant feral hamsters (yes) roam the countryside.
What keeps Wallace from dwelling in the absurd (that is to say, when he doesn't want to dwell in the absurd - as readers of DFW have come to expect, there are moments of comic hilarity where the absurd is precisely the initiating agent, but only when the author has a point to make) is the development of his characters. The Incandenza family is perhaps the most wildly realized nuclear unit in modern literature, but the pathos does not end there. Every character in the Enfield Tennis Academy (one of the novel's settings, where tennis prodigies - like DFW himself - go to hone their skills as they foster dreams of making 'the show') is fully realized. Michael Pemulus, a substance fiend and mathematical wunderkind, could flesh out his own novel in this fully realized world. This is to say nothing of Donald Gately, the square-headed football player who's reached his "rock bottom" on oral narcotics and serves as house manager at Ennet House, the nearby halfway facility for other substance abusers on the mend.
There is a scene in roughly the final 2/3 of the novel that perfectly encapsulates Wallace's brilliant fiction. The tennis youngsters are assembled on one of the academy's courts playing a game with tube socks, tennis rackets and balls that is essentially a play version of the kind of thermonuclear warfare that haunts Wallace's world on the brink, where the U.S. president is a lounge singer and Canadian officials are falling like flies to a band of wheelchair assassins asserting Quebec independence. Pemulus is the star of the show, developing a mathematical program that determines the payload of each nation and where their weapons caches are stored. Each team selects a "lobber" to send cruise missiles (tennis balls) at the other nations.
It's a tradition that marks every Interdependence Day in the novel, the day when American/Canadian unity is observed and the normal frenzied pace of the academy grinds to a halt. Wallace describes the game, "Eschaton," with a level of horrifying detail, that shifts effortlessly into comic relief as we're reminded these are 12-year-olds playing this game signifying mutually assured destruction. The game crescendos into a schoolyard brawl, hastening the drug testing that brings the novel's to its quasi-conclusion.
I say quasi because Wallace pulls a Tarantino on the reader, leading with details in the first few pages that become of utter importance in the novel's final moments. I read the hefty novel over a period of two months (I blame Grand Theft Auto and the arrival of a certain new feline companion) and was puzzled by the novel's seeming lack of resolution. I had to recrack the first few pages after finishing last night, reminding myself of the puzzles solved (or seeming to be solved) in the novel's opening scenes. A word of warning, then: Infinite Jest will command your full attention. Grant it the respect it deserves.
I've been a fan of Wallace's nonfiction ever since I read the opening lines to "Consider the Lobster" many years ago. I've been telling myself I'm making a grand error not cracking his fiction until now. "Infinite Jest" is a monster accomplishment that will leave you questioning what the role of entertainment is in your life and what constitutes an addiction in this new world of constant media dependence. It is darkly hilarious, deeply insightful, and simply a stunning masterwork of American fiction. Read it now.
Verdict: 5/5 stars
These feelings have nothing to do with the brilliantly constructed dystopic future David Foster Wallace brings to life in "Infinite Jest," his epic novel published to nearly universal acclaim back in 1996. They have everything to do with witnessing a depressingly intimate look at substance addiction, narrative brilliance and synaptic hyperactivity from a writer, in his early 30s, who showed limitless promise and was taken far too early from this world.
To the uninitiated Wallace reader, Infinite Jest will sound in summation like the ramblings of a madman. The plot, so convoluted it prompted drawings of story maps resembling unpopped blackheads (warning: spoilers), centers geographically around a substance-abuse halfway house and academy for precocious and talented tennis-playing preteens in central Boston following the consolidation of North America into one nation-state. People remain glued to their entertainment screens (in a kind of cultural foresight that could only come from a writer so in-tune with social strata he turned an essay about cruise ships into a discussion of the loneliness of human existence) and the accumulation of garbage along the former U.S./Canadian border has turned the area into an exotic wasteland, where plants tower over humans and giant feral hamsters (yes) roam the countryside.
What keeps Wallace from dwelling in the absurd (that is to say, when he doesn't want to dwell in the absurd - as readers of DFW have come to expect, there are moments of comic hilarity where the absurd is precisely the initiating agent, but only when the author has a point to make) is the development of his characters. The Incandenza family is perhaps the most wildly realized nuclear unit in modern literature, but the pathos does not end there. Every character in the Enfield Tennis Academy (one of the novel's settings, where tennis prodigies - like DFW himself - go to hone their skills as they foster dreams of making 'the show') is fully realized. Michael Pemulus, a substance fiend and mathematical wunderkind, could flesh out his own novel in this fully realized world. This is to say nothing of Donald Gately, the square-headed football player who's reached his "rock bottom" on oral narcotics and serves as house manager at Ennet House, the nearby halfway facility for other substance abusers on the mend.
There is a scene in roughly the final 2/3 of the novel that perfectly encapsulates Wallace's brilliant fiction. The tennis youngsters are assembled on one of the academy's courts playing a game with tube socks, tennis rackets and balls that is essentially a play version of the kind of thermonuclear warfare that haunts Wallace's world on the brink, where the U.S. president is a lounge singer and Canadian officials are falling like flies to a band of wheelchair assassins asserting Quebec independence. Pemulus is the star of the show, developing a mathematical program that determines the payload of each nation and where their weapons caches are stored. Each team selects a "lobber" to send cruise missiles (tennis balls) at the other nations.
It's a tradition that marks every Interdependence Day in the novel, the day when American/Canadian unity is observed and the normal frenzied pace of the academy grinds to a halt. Wallace describes the game, "Eschaton," with a level of horrifying detail, that shifts effortlessly into comic relief as we're reminded these are 12-year-olds playing this game signifying mutually assured destruction. The game crescendos into a schoolyard brawl, hastening the drug testing that brings the novel's to its quasi-conclusion.
I say quasi because Wallace pulls a Tarantino on the reader, leading with details in the first few pages that become of utter importance in the novel's final moments. I read the hefty novel over a period of two months (I blame Grand Theft Auto and the arrival of a certain new feline companion) and was puzzled by the novel's seeming lack of resolution. I had to recrack the first few pages after finishing last night, reminding myself of the puzzles solved (or seeming to be solved) in the novel's opening scenes. A word of warning, then: Infinite Jest will command your full attention. Grant it the respect it deserves.
I've been a fan of Wallace's nonfiction ever since I read the opening lines to "Consider the Lobster" many years ago. I've been telling myself I'm making a grand error not cracking his fiction until now. "Infinite Jest" is a monster accomplishment that will leave you questioning what the role of entertainment is in your life and what constitutes an addiction in this new world of constant media dependence. It is darkly hilarious, deeply insightful, and simply a stunning masterwork of American fiction. Read it now.
Verdict: 5/5 stars
Sunday, October 20, 2013
An Inexplicably Close Look at an Obscure Song: Jimmie's Chicken Shack "Trash"
I remember my early encounters with pop-ska-rockers "Jimmie's Chicken Shack" with a fondness that came from two sources.
The first being my excitement that I had another group of counter-culture dudes to look up to with which I could ignore the drivel that dominated Total Request Live. The second, much-earlier bout of happiness came the first time I heard the group announced on the radio and hopes sprung that we had a new restaurant in town that could compete with the dry-heave-inducing Popeye's (Louisiana Fast...all the way to the john).
Those first hopes were sustained through the band's first effort I was aware of, 1999's "Do Right" off the group's second-major release, "Bring Your Own Stereo." It was the perfect blend of angst-y, drunken fantasy mixed with power chords that mixed well with the Blink-182's and Sum 41's of the era.
Then came "Trash," the second single off the album.
It's not that the sophomore effort is worse than "Do Right" in any way, it's simply that, at its core, "Trash" is the exact same song. For a band with "chicken" in its name, Jimmie's Chicken Shack's music is surprisingly more like pancakes - as the great Mitch Hedberg once told us, great at first, but by the end, you're fuckin' sick of 'em.
In "Trash," we're introduced to a dramatic voice that, for all intents and purposes, is likely the same manic-depressive mess of a lead singer who's regaling us in "Do Right." Indeed, lead singer Jimi Haha (I wish I was making that up) has said the entire album is about his ex-girlfriend from New Jersey. In other words, this pony's doing the same trick over and over.
While "Trash" attempts to do a few things its predecessor did not, including a foray into the trilingual ("Auf Wiedersehen, yeah my mon ami"), the basic premise is the same: I'm more than you're making me out to be. And, predictably, the final few lines of the song unravel into a nonsensical rant about "jumping right in," presumably to attacking the "mom" in the song that keeps calling our sweet Jimi trash.
By the end, we've learned that the judgmental matriarch enjoys purchasing drugs from our sweet Jimi and ignores personal hygiene.
The first being my excitement that I had another group of counter-culture dudes to look up to with which I could ignore the drivel that dominated Total Request Live. The second, much-earlier bout of happiness came the first time I heard the group announced on the radio and hopes sprung that we had a new restaurant in town that could compete with the dry-heave-inducing Popeye's (Louisiana Fast...all the way to the john).
Those first hopes were sustained through the band's first effort I was aware of, 1999's "Do Right" off the group's second-major release, "Bring Your Own Stereo." It was the perfect blend of angst-y, drunken fantasy mixed with power chords that mixed well with the Blink-182's and Sum 41's of the era.
Then came "Trash," the second single off the album.
It's not that the sophomore effort is worse than "Do Right" in any way, it's simply that, at its core, "Trash" is the exact same song. For a band with "chicken" in its name, Jimmie's Chicken Shack's music is surprisingly more like pancakes - as the great Mitch Hedberg once told us, great at first, but by the end, you're fuckin' sick of 'em.
In "Trash," we're introduced to a dramatic voice that, for all intents and purposes, is likely the same manic-depressive mess of a lead singer who's regaling us in "Do Right." Indeed, lead singer Jimi Haha (I wish I was making that up) has said the entire album is about his ex-girlfriend from New Jersey. In other words, this pony's doing the same trick over and over.
While "Trash" attempts to do a few things its predecessor did not, including a foray into the trilingual ("Auf Wiedersehen, yeah my mon ami"), the basic premise is the same: I'm more than you're making me out to be. And, predictably, the final few lines of the song unravel into a nonsensical rant about "jumping right in," presumably to attacking the "mom" in the song that keeps calling our sweet Jimi trash.
By the end, we've learned that the judgmental matriarch enjoys purchasing drugs from our sweet Jimi and ignores personal hygiene.
Not included in the liner notes: Whether it would be a reasonable expectation for a Baby Boomer to label those pictured above as filthy.
The final line of the song gets in the ultimate dig for a musician clawing his way up the modern rock charts: "Tell your mom, I'm on the radio." Yes, Jimi, yes you were. For about 14 minutes and 59 seconds in an era jam-packed with post-grunge talent, some extremely gifted and others not so much.
Jimmie's Chicken Shack may have cornered the market on angst-ridden young men heaving spite at past lovers. One wonders if this band, which had a unique sound and a hook unlike many of their contemporaries, could have clung to a little more fame had they branched out, song-writing-wise.
But perhaps I'm reading into it a little too much.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
A postmodern meltdown: Some thoughts on GTAV and contemporary culture
'Cause I got bats in the belfry
I'm in the kitchen boiling society
I'm in the open catching all the leaves
We all see what we want, yeah
-Dispatch, "Bats in the Belfry" (Bang Bang 1997)
As Franklin Clinton, one of three protagonists in Rockstar Games' latest iteration of their billion-dollar Grand Theft Auto franchise, I'm cruising back to my pad in Vinewood, GTAV's version of Hollywood set in the hills over Los Santos (read: Los Angeles). I notice a patrol car speeding toward me, a not uncommon occurrence in a title that sets fits of unbridled rage as a gameplay mechanic. Except this police officer is chasing another violent offender, who is seconds away from veering in front of my vehicle's path.
Here's where choice sets in. And we're not talking the "will you or won't you" narrative mechanic like something out of Bioshock. This decision in front of me will have no bearing on my character in the long-term or how the game's story unfolds. It's simply a moment, in the countryside of San Andreas, where I as a player have to choose.
I swerve in front of the crook, blocking his path and making the pursuit all that easier for the patrol car. Both pursuer and pursuee (word?) emerge from their vehicles, weapons drawn. I do the same, hunkering for cover behind my sedan's engine (in retrospect, not the likeliest choice for safe-hiding-spot in a shootout). I pull the left trigger on my Xbox 360 game pad to go into targeting mode with my pistol. In another subtle nod to my choice as a player, I default to targeting a police officer, but I don't pull the trigger. Instead, the crook blasts him away before my eyes. Law is restored when his partner, at a different angle, takes one shot to put the murderer down.
GTAV isn't a perfect recreation of modern life. Following this encounter, the involved officer simply strolled back to his patrol car (I half expected to see him whistling) now sans one of its prior occupants and drove off. But these serendipitous moments of choice, and just HOW MANY there are in this massive game world, elevate Rockstar's latest above mere interactive entertainment to something more.
The chorus above is from one of my favorite ditties by 90s jam rockers Dispatch. The song begins with some psychedelic riffs on the electric guitar that fade into more ska/reggae beats at intervals. In the song's final act, the guitar swells to a pulsating fit of hyperactivity, echoing the mind of our speaker as he descends slowly into madness (hence the title) by the frenzied pace of modern life.
The Grand Theft Auto series has always been about choice. It was arguably more about choice before its 3D days, when the first two numbered installments in the series were "beatable" only after you obtained enough cash to proceed through a series of locations. GTA grew up with its first appearance on the PS2 and Xbox (GTA3), and has become a cultural force to be reckoned with.
The genius of GTAV is that it perfectly encapsulates the kind of frenzied mind that is created by the postmodern world. Michael and Trevor, the two other protagonists in the game, are relics of a bygone era, former heist aficionados sinking their teeth back into "the game." Because of ten years of cultural evolution that have left them behind, both have become mentally unstable in their own ways. The player, faced with a map the size of Rockstar's previous open-world games combined and numerous potential tasks throughout that world (in addition to just wreaking mayhem, a staple of the series) faces a similar kind of emotional distress (or, at least, I have multiple times while playing).
I'm not nearly finished with GTAV. I plan to sit down for a good long while with it today, some caffeine and alcohol at the ready for my fits of existential calamity. But, to date, the most impressive thing about the title is its ability to mimic the malaise of living in a world where choice is omnipresent and morals are blurry at best.
I'm in the kitchen boiling society
I'm in the open catching all the leaves
We all see what we want, yeah
-Dispatch, "Bats in the Belfry" (Bang Bang 1997)
As Franklin Clinton, one of three protagonists in Rockstar Games' latest iteration of their billion-dollar Grand Theft Auto franchise, I'm cruising back to my pad in Vinewood, GTAV's version of Hollywood set in the hills over Los Santos (read: Los Angeles). I notice a patrol car speeding toward me, a not uncommon occurrence in a title that sets fits of unbridled rage as a gameplay mechanic. Except this police officer is chasing another violent offender, who is seconds away from veering in front of my vehicle's path.
Here's where choice sets in. And we're not talking the "will you or won't you" narrative mechanic like something out of Bioshock. This decision in front of me will have no bearing on my character in the long-term or how the game's story unfolds. It's simply a moment, in the countryside of San Andreas, where I as a player have to choose.
I swerve in front of the crook, blocking his path and making the pursuit all that easier for the patrol car. Both pursuer and pursuee (word?) emerge from their vehicles, weapons drawn. I do the same, hunkering for cover behind my sedan's engine (in retrospect, not the likeliest choice for safe-hiding-spot in a shootout). I pull the left trigger on my Xbox 360 game pad to go into targeting mode with my pistol. In another subtle nod to my choice as a player, I default to targeting a police officer, but I don't pull the trigger. Instead, the crook blasts him away before my eyes. Law is restored when his partner, at a different angle, takes one shot to put the murderer down.
GTAV isn't a perfect recreation of modern life. Following this encounter, the involved officer simply strolled back to his patrol car (I half expected to see him whistling) now sans one of its prior occupants and drove off. But these serendipitous moments of choice, and just HOW MANY there are in this massive game world, elevate Rockstar's latest above mere interactive entertainment to something more.
The chorus above is from one of my favorite ditties by 90s jam rockers Dispatch. The song begins with some psychedelic riffs on the electric guitar that fade into more ska/reggae beats at intervals. In the song's final act, the guitar swells to a pulsating fit of hyperactivity, echoing the mind of our speaker as he descends slowly into madness (hence the title) by the frenzied pace of modern life.
The Grand Theft Auto series has always been about choice. It was arguably more about choice before its 3D days, when the first two numbered installments in the series were "beatable" only after you obtained enough cash to proceed through a series of locations. GTA grew up with its first appearance on the PS2 and Xbox (GTA3), and has become a cultural force to be reckoned with.
The genius of GTAV is that it perfectly encapsulates the kind of frenzied mind that is created by the postmodern world. Michael and Trevor, the two other protagonists in the game, are relics of a bygone era, former heist aficionados sinking their teeth back into "the game." Because of ten years of cultural evolution that have left them behind, both have become mentally unstable in their own ways. The player, faced with a map the size of Rockstar's previous open-world games combined and numerous potential tasks throughout that world (in addition to just wreaking mayhem, a staple of the series) faces a similar kind of emotional distress (or, at least, I have multiple times while playing).
I'm not nearly finished with GTAV. I plan to sit down for a good long while with it today, some caffeine and alcohol at the ready for my fits of existential calamity. But, to date, the most impressive thing about the title is its ability to mimic the malaise of living in a world where choice is omnipresent and morals are blurry at best.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Sonic doom: In defense of Fun.
I've gotten a lot of guff over the past few months from friends who fail to see the appeal of Fun. I'll admit, they're kind of the kitschy alternative choice of the moment, and their melodramatic "Tonight (We are Young)," which is STILL burned ineffably into my car stereo speakers hasn't done much for my pro argument. Saturation has a way of destroying a pop song and the artist responsible (see the One Hit Wonder phenomenon).
Why, then, do I find myself consistently defending the New York, Fueled by Ramen rockers? Does it have something to do with the fact that I still (shamefully) dust off "A Mark. A Mission. A Brand. A Scar." some evenings over a bottle of red wine, dabbing at the corners of my eyelids with a handkerchief? (I don't. It's more like once every year...sort of.) Until this morning, on my first true run in about a week in the blazing Spokane summer, listening to the opening chords of "Carry On" that it hit me.
Fun. writes like the dramatic poets of old.
Yes, I seriously consider Nate Ruess' writing prowess up there with John Donne, Ben Jonson and even Goethe. Will bored schoolchildren read Fun.'s liner notes in two hundred years with the same lazy alacrity as they do in today's high school classrooms? Probably not. But they should. Consider the opening lines to the aforementioned "Tonight," often excised or sped through in radio edits:
"Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight
My friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State
My lover she’s waiting for me just across the bar
My seat’s been taken by some sunglasses asking 'bout a scar, and
I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you’re trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I’m trying hard to take it back."
Now, compare with the first few lines of Donne's "The Flea," that lyric poem you had to memorize then immediately forget before fourth-period algebra:
"MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be."
What combines these two pieces of fiction? Story, symbolism, narrative directness. Both Fun. and Donne (see why I did that now?) are speakers addressing an unknown audience. There's a history here that is explored partially in the words, but also invites those reading/listening to cast their own experiences through the language jotted down.
To be sure, Fun. are not the only pop artists engaging in this kind of lyrical storytelling. Indeed, the dramatic poets often set their verse to song, hence the terms "verse" and "chorus" and the invention of what is commonly referred to as an "earworm." But the prevalence of the technique throughout Fun.'s album, Some Nights (see also: the introductions to "Carry On," "One Foot," and the album's introductory track, for crying out loud), demonstrates a commitment you just don't see these days.
Pop artists usually pay lip service to the need for story, allusion and higher thought in their works. I suspect that's due to the ceaselessly shrinking attention spans of pop music's target audience: teens. It's nice to see incredibly successful artists recognize there is still an audience out there that gives a damn.
That's why I like Fun.
Why, then, do I find myself consistently defending the New York, Fueled by Ramen rockers? Does it have something to do with the fact that I still (shamefully) dust off "A Mark. A Mission. A Brand. A Scar." some evenings over a bottle of red wine, dabbing at the corners of my eyelids with a handkerchief? (I don't. It's more like once every year...sort of.) Until this morning, on my first true run in about a week in the blazing Spokane summer, listening to the opening chords of "Carry On" that it hit me.
Fun. writes like the dramatic poets of old.
Yes, I seriously consider Nate Ruess' writing prowess up there with John Donne, Ben Jonson and even Goethe. Will bored schoolchildren read Fun.'s liner notes in two hundred years with the same lazy alacrity as they do in today's high school classrooms? Probably not. But they should. Consider the opening lines to the aforementioned "Tonight," often excised or sped through in radio edits:
"Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight
My friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State
My lover she’s waiting for me just across the bar
My seat’s been taken by some sunglasses asking 'bout a scar, and
I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you’re trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I’m trying hard to take it back."
"MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be."
What combines these two pieces of fiction? Story, symbolism, narrative directness. Both Fun. and Donne (see why I did that now?) are speakers addressing an unknown audience. There's a history here that is explored partially in the words, but also invites those reading/listening to cast their own experiences through the language jotted down.
To be sure, Fun. are not the only pop artists engaging in this kind of lyrical storytelling. Indeed, the dramatic poets often set their verse to song, hence the terms "verse" and "chorus" and the invention of what is commonly referred to as an "earworm." But the prevalence of the technique throughout Fun.'s album, Some Nights (see also: the introductions to "Carry On," "One Foot," and the album's introductory track, for crying out loud), demonstrates a commitment you just don't see these days.
Pop artists usually pay lip service to the need for story, allusion and higher thought in their works. I suspect that's due to the ceaselessly shrinking attention spans of pop music's target audience: teens. It's nice to see incredibly successful artists recognize there is still an audience out there that gives a damn.
That's why I like Fun.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Virtual Dork: Thoughts on Xbox's Games with Gold promotion
Earlier this summer, perhaps anticipating the livid audience response to initial statements the new Xbox would require an online connection and restrict access to used games and other content, Microsoft announced its Games with Gold promotion. Modeled after Sony's Playstation Plus free game giveaway, Microsoft promised two free games would be released each month from June through December, dropping two titles at E3 (Assassin's Creed 2 and Halo 3) that would definitely be on the roster. The rest would be surprises.
Though I'd already played the two announced titles when they released, I was looking for a good reason to renew my Gold subscription earlier this summer in order to watch HBO Go on the pathetic Sanyo that was included with my rental unit here in Spokane. I'm squinting to see players in Call of Duty, so if I've stared at you funny in the last several weeks, know that's the reason and not that I'm losing my mind (probably). In any event, the first announced game, Fable 3, had not graced my console yet so I plopped the money down for a year's subscription and dutifully downloaded the three-quel overnight on my hamster-wheel ran WiFi.
This is a commentary on the game's we've received through the promotion so far. It would be unfair, I think, to compare Microsoft's offering with Playstation Plus. Sony clearly has a superior setup, offering games like Saint's Row the Third and Uncharted 3, both of which released in the last two years. The most recent offering from Microsoft to date has been Fable, which released in October 2010. Only one game is available at a time, whereas Playstation has a suite of options available each month. Finally, Sony has been running their promotion for quite some time, whereas with Microsoft it's a finite deal that feels a little reactionary, to be perfectly blunt.
Still, we're getting free games. During the summertime, that's a great thing, because the dog days are usually also the doldrums for fresh, blockbuster titles. With GTAV still an agonizing month away, Microsoft has been offering some decent diversions. Let's see how they stack up.
Fable 3
I have memories of playing the original Fable, but it must have been at a friend's house because I never owned the original Xbox. I thought it had been ported to the Playstation 2, my console of choice during the last generation. I may be confusing the game with Psychonauts, thought the relative quality of that game (even when compared to Lionhead's latest offering) makes that confusion unlikely.
Fable 3 is a tonally ridiculous game. You're supposed to feel some sort of compassion for the bizarre, cartoony humanoids of Albion who speak with regrettably ridiculous British accents and generally act as though Chaucer's Miller were their moral compass. The combat is fun, the possibilities for amassing wealth seemingly limitless. But when you throw in the moral weight of decisions whether millions of your people will die and one of the achievements requires you making that choice in a chicken suit, there's just not really any storytelling weight here. Add to the fact the nebulous nature of the evil facing your kingdom and an ending that I suppose is designed to make someone, somewhere cry, and this game is perfect for diversionary purposes. But Zelda-killer this is not.
Score: 3/5
Defense Grid: The Awakening and Assassin's Creed 2
I haven't spent enough time with Defense Grid, an Xbox Live Arcade title, to form an opinion. I've already played Assassin's Creed 2 and didn't download it again. I won't judge them for this piece yet.
Crackdown
August's first downloadable title was 2007's Crackdown, a game conceived by David Jones, the mind behind Lemmings and the original Grand Theft Auto. Primarily known for containing a beta key for Halo 3, Crackdown sold well enough to spawn what critics called an uninspired sequel in 2010 just as Jones finished up work on his ill-fated MMORPG answer to GTA, APB (All Points Bulletin).
Jones' prints are all over this game. It's fast, fun and tremendously shallow in the story department. Gunplay is satisfying, though twitchy. Driving is ridiculous and should be avoided in favor of your agent's incredible aerial abilities. As you progress through the (woefully short) story mode, your character earns new abilities through floating orbs that require platform puzzling to solve, not unlike lookout towers in Assassin's Creed. There are more than 500 to collect scattered throughout Pacific City, and if the ambient sound wasn't so terrifically awful I likely would have pursued them all. It's just that addictive.
When you've taken out all the bad guys, the game tosses what seems like an expository curveball at you: the disembodied voice of the "Agency," the group you've been working to help clean up the streets, has designs of municipal autocracy that you've helped him achieve. I'd be blow away if I wasn't yawning. Good time-waster, little more.
Score: 2/5
Dead Rising 2 and Dead Rising 2: Case Zero
The original Dead Rising was a massively popular title for the 360 published by Capcom in 2006, just a few months after the console was launched. I've been meaning to pick it up, but never really bothered with it. I purchased my Xbox 360 the summer of 2007 and by then my interest in the launch games had waned considerably.
Dead Rising 2 takes the solid foundation of its predecessor (according to reviews of that title) and builds upon them, making the save feature much more accessible to players and introducing a level of tonal absurdity that could only be inspired by a Japanese game company. You're in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, your daughter has been bitten and requires constant medical attention to avoid "turning," and you can wear assless chaps.
Yes, that's right. Assless chaps.
I haven't finished Dead Rising 2 yet, but so far it has — in my estimation — the cream of the crop of titles released under the Games with Gold promotion. Though the story is absurd, there's a real sense of urgency and progress here as the timer ticks down on certain objectives. Old-school saving IS frustrating, but the game more than makes up for it by designing a combat system that is just so damn fun. Squishing zombie brains never gets old, and thanks to the constantly regenerating undead masses in the over world of Fortune City, Nevada, you have plenty of time to oblige them.
Score: 4/5
Dead Rising 2 is the first game in the Games with Gold promotion I feel like I would have picked up for a price had I played a demo of the game beforehand. I hope the selections continue in this upward trajectory, which brings me to a wish list of games I want to see released over the next several months. Of course, GTAV will consume my free time beginning Sept. 27, but the option of starting a download that you can finish later is an ingenious offering by Microsoft for the busy gamer. And I intend to get my money's worth.
Games with Gold Wish List
Shadow Complex: This 360 exclusive Xbox Live title seems like a no-brainer. I planned on purchasing it back in 2009 but the time got away from me. There was a lot of outcry when Microsoft went with a XBLA title as its second GWG offering with Defense Grid, but I doubt anyone's going to complain if this Metroid-clone makes the list.
Telltale Games Presents: The Walking Dead: This is likely wishful thinking, as no game near The Walking Dead's launch window last year has been released yet. Perhaps as one of the final offerings, just as Season 2 is being released by Telltale, isn't too much to ask for? Microsoft has already given away one episode of the first season at Christmastime last year, which I hungrily gobbled up. If they released the next four for free as well, I'd be doing a happy zombie shuffle.
Bioshock 2: Microsoft has been making a habit of releasing sequels during the GWG promotion, and Bioshock 2 seems like a safe bet, especially with the episodic content of its successor, Bioshock Infinite, set to release sometime later this year/early next year. The original Bioshock is a classic, but I was kind of turned off by the return to Rapture without Ken Levine's involvement. Playing the game for free would alleviate those concerns.
Minecraft: This is extremely unlikely, seeing as how the genre-defying first-person builder is basically printing money on the Arcade. But perhaps, once market penetration reaches its max, Microsoft will decide it's OK to give the 360 port away for free.
L.A. Noire/Max Payne 3: Give me something from Rockstar (not Table Tennis, though). The first is probably more likely, given its age, but either gun-toting title would make for a fun 2 weeks this fall. I could see Red Dead Redemption too, but I hope not. I've already played that wonderful game to death.
Mass Effect: The original 360 exclusive has been on my list for awhile now, but I haven't had the necessary encouragement to run out and buy it. Microsoft would be able to push out one of its exclusives and attract new players to the series, a win-win in my book.
What games would you like to see released free in the coming months? Let me know in the comments!
Though I'd already played the two announced titles when they released, I was looking for a good reason to renew my Gold subscription earlier this summer in order to watch HBO Go on the pathetic Sanyo that was included with my rental unit here in Spokane. I'm squinting to see players in Call of Duty, so if I've stared at you funny in the last several weeks, know that's the reason and not that I'm losing my mind (probably). In any event, the first announced game, Fable 3, had not graced my console yet so I plopped the money down for a year's subscription and dutifully downloaded the three-quel overnight on my hamster-wheel ran WiFi.
This is a commentary on the game's we've received through the promotion so far. It would be unfair, I think, to compare Microsoft's offering with Playstation Plus. Sony clearly has a superior setup, offering games like Saint's Row the Third and Uncharted 3, both of which released in the last two years. The most recent offering from Microsoft to date has been Fable, which released in October 2010. Only one game is available at a time, whereas Playstation has a suite of options available each month. Finally, Sony has been running their promotion for quite some time, whereas with Microsoft it's a finite deal that feels a little reactionary, to be perfectly blunt.
Still, we're getting free games. During the summertime, that's a great thing, because the dog days are usually also the doldrums for fresh, blockbuster titles. With GTAV still an agonizing month away, Microsoft has been offering some decent diversions. Let's see how they stack up.
Fable 3
I have memories of playing the original Fable, but it must have been at a friend's house because I never owned the original Xbox. I thought it had been ported to the Playstation 2, my console of choice during the last generation. I may be confusing the game with Psychonauts, thought the relative quality of that game (even when compared to Lionhead's latest offering) makes that confusion unlikely.
Fable 3 is a tonally ridiculous game. You're supposed to feel some sort of compassion for the bizarre, cartoony humanoids of Albion who speak with regrettably ridiculous British accents and generally act as though Chaucer's Miller were their moral compass. The combat is fun, the possibilities for amassing wealth seemingly limitless. But when you throw in the moral weight of decisions whether millions of your people will die and one of the achievements requires you making that choice in a chicken suit, there's just not really any storytelling weight here. Add to the fact the nebulous nature of the evil facing your kingdom and an ending that I suppose is designed to make someone, somewhere cry, and this game is perfect for diversionary purposes. But Zelda-killer this is not.
Score: 3/5
Defense Grid: The Awakening and Assassin's Creed 2
I haven't spent enough time with Defense Grid, an Xbox Live Arcade title, to form an opinion. I've already played Assassin's Creed 2 and didn't download it again. I won't judge them for this piece yet.
Crackdown
August's first downloadable title was 2007's Crackdown, a game conceived by David Jones, the mind behind Lemmings and the original Grand Theft Auto. Primarily known for containing a beta key for Halo 3, Crackdown sold well enough to spawn what critics called an uninspired sequel in 2010 just as Jones finished up work on his ill-fated MMORPG answer to GTA, APB (All Points Bulletin).
Jones' prints are all over this game. It's fast, fun and tremendously shallow in the story department. Gunplay is satisfying, though twitchy. Driving is ridiculous and should be avoided in favor of your agent's incredible aerial abilities. As you progress through the (woefully short) story mode, your character earns new abilities through floating orbs that require platform puzzling to solve, not unlike lookout towers in Assassin's Creed. There are more than 500 to collect scattered throughout Pacific City, and if the ambient sound wasn't so terrifically awful I likely would have pursued them all. It's just that addictive.
When you've taken out all the bad guys, the game tosses what seems like an expository curveball at you: the disembodied voice of the "Agency," the group you've been working to help clean up the streets, has designs of municipal autocracy that you've helped him achieve. I'd be blow away if I wasn't yawning. Good time-waster, little more.
Score: 2/5
Dead Rising 2 and Dead Rising 2: Case Zero
The original Dead Rising was a massively popular title for the 360 published by Capcom in 2006, just a few months after the console was launched. I've been meaning to pick it up, but never really bothered with it. I purchased my Xbox 360 the summer of 2007 and by then my interest in the launch games had waned considerably.
Dead Rising 2 takes the solid foundation of its predecessor (according to reviews of that title) and builds upon them, making the save feature much more accessible to players and introducing a level of tonal absurdity that could only be inspired by a Japanese game company. You're in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, your daughter has been bitten and requires constant medical attention to avoid "turning," and you can wear assless chaps.
Yes, that's right. Assless chaps.
I haven't finished Dead Rising 2 yet, but so far it has — in my estimation — the cream of the crop of titles released under the Games with Gold promotion. Though the story is absurd, there's a real sense of urgency and progress here as the timer ticks down on certain objectives. Old-school saving IS frustrating, but the game more than makes up for it by designing a combat system that is just so damn fun. Squishing zombie brains never gets old, and thanks to the constantly regenerating undead masses in the over world of Fortune City, Nevada, you have plenty of time to oblige them.
Score: 4/5
Dead Rising 2 is the first game in the Games with Gold promotion I feel like I would have picked up for a price had I played a demo of the game beforehand. I hope the selections continue in this upward trajectory, which brings me to a wish list of games I want to see released over the next several months. Of course, GTAV will consume my free time beginning Sept. 27, but the option of starting a download that you can finish later is an ingenious offering by Microsoft for the busy gamer. And I intend to get my money's worth.
Games with Gold Wish List
Shadow Complex: This 360 exclusive Xbox Live title seems like a no-brainer. I planned on purchasing it back in 2009 but the time got away from me. There was a lot of outcry when Microsoft went with a XBLA title as its second GWG offering with Defense Grid, but I doubt anyone's going to complain if this Metroid-clone makes the list.
Telltale Games Presents: The Walking Dead: This is likely wishful thinking, as no game near The Walking Dead's launch window last year has been released yet. Perhaps as one of the final offerings, just as Season 2 is being released by Telltale, isn't too much to ask for? Microsoft has already given away one episode of the first season at Christmastime last year, which I hungrily gobbled up. If they released the next four for free as well, I'd be doing a happy zombie shuffle.
Bioshock 2: Microsoft has been making a habit of releasing sequels during the GWG promotion, and Bioshock 2 seems like a safe bet, especially with the episodic content of its successor, Bioshock Infinite, set to release sometime later this year/early next year. The original Bioshock is a classic, but I was kind of turned off by the return to Rapture without Ken Levine's involvement. Playing the game for free would alleviate those concerns.
Minecraft: This is extremely unlikely, seeing as how the genre-defying first-person builder is basically printing money on the Arcade. But perhaps, once market penetration reaches its max, Microsoft will decide it's OK to give the 360 port away for free.
L.A. Noire/Max Payne 3: Give me something from Rockstar (not Table Tennis, though). The first is probably more likely, given its age, but either gun-toting title would make for a fun 2 weeks this fall. I could see Red Dead Redemption too, but I hope not. I've already played that wonderful game to death.
Mass Effect: The original 360 exclusive has been on my list for awhile now, but I haven't had the necessary encouragement to run out and buy it. Microsoft would be able to push out one of its exclusives and attract new players to the series, a win-win in my book.
What games would you like to see released free in the coming months? Let me know in the comments!
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