Have I mentioned that I write music reviews for 411mania? Well, I write music reviews, and they can be read at 411mania.com.
No, really.
http://www.411mania.com/user_profile.php?user_id=5288
And that's not counting my frequent contributions to the Top 5 columns.
Go me.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, November 1, 2010
Review Of "He Was A Quiet Man"
It wasn't too long ago that enjoying an independent film required accepting a few cut corners. It certainly wasn't the place to go to see state-of-the-art computer generated visuals, or to even see complicated camera work. ("Clerks" was released sixteen years ago, but putting it up against the "modern independent film" (urgh), it feels more like forty.) To make an independent film was to make something that the major studios wouldn't touch and the minor studios could not afford to bet their existence on. They were strange, in other words, and possibly a little too personal.
In certain aspects, "He Was A Quiet Man" feels like a throwback to the original spirit of independent films: it contains an unsettling story, too dark for most studios wanting to put bank on it, but it is consistently quirky enough to make it through watching at least one time. There are also enough baffling choices by the filmmakers that keep this from being the classic that could have been.
The film revolves around Bob Maconel, played by Christian Slater under a lot of makeup (and yet somehow still looks like the 80's icon). Bob is a headcase, hopeless romantic, and matchstick artist all rolled into one. As part of his workday routine, he loads a revolver at his cubicle, counting off and naming each of his victims, before chickening out and resuming his work. In a series of quick coincidences, though, he ends up looking like a hero when he kills another coworker who goes postal before Bob can. Suddenly, Bob has to cope with being happy with his social standing after years of misery, a task that proves much more difficult than his previous miserable existence. On top of that, a cute coworker shooting victim, Venessa Parks (played by Elisha Cuthbert, of "Old School", "The Girl Next Door", and the television series "24" fame), has an unusual request for Bob.
It's best to start with what this film does well, because the final score is heavily offset by its devastating flaws despite doing a lot of things right. To begin with, "He Was A Quiet Man" does not look like an independent film. The writer/director, Frank Cappello, is an accomplished CGI artist, and was able to offset the budget for the special effects by doing them himself. This allows for shots of airplanes, potty-mouthed goldfish, and an entire alternate ending sequence that required no extra participation from the actors after filming wrapped. With the majority of independent films willing to use any workarounds they can for fantastical images, it is refreshing to see a film not use any and just show off its imagination. The color schemes for each scene are also sharp and distinct. It's not on par with "One Hour Photo", but it's better than most films, indie or not.
The performance that the cast gives exceeds expectations, at the very least. Slater plays Bob perfectly--an unsettling presence when he needs to be, but also likable enough to feel for the character when the story requires as much. The bigger revelation, though, might actually be Cuthbert. Though often cast as a pretty face and/or the object of lust, she is actually a very energetic and interesting person with a lot of untapped potential, judging by sit-down interviews she has done (including keeping up with Conan O'Brien at his manic peak). The role of Venessa requires her to play the role of a optimistic blond as well as a pessimistic quadriplegic, and she rises to both occasions. This isn't the kind of movie to look for future Oscar winners, but Cuthbert shows that she deserves meatier roles than she usually gets, if nothing else. The rest of the cast is made up of office stereotypes and suburban WASP-types, with the exception of William H. Macy as the company boss, who manages to simultaneously inspire hatred and laughter from the audience (intentionally) with every line despite never raising his voice and never telling a joke. He's a snake-oil salesman, and nobody is fooled by his act, which is why the character works.
With all this going for it, "He Was A Quiet Man" might sound like an underappreciated classic. The few flaws that the film has, though, are almost fatal. The biggest issue is that it can't decide what it wants to be. It begins as "Taxi Driver", changes to "Queen For A Day" in the middle, and the last third resembles "Donnie Darko". Granted, each section of the movie works well enough in their own vacuums, but the final third rings false after a great second act. Cuthbert and Slater have a warped chemistry that works very well--too well, in fact, as the romance between their characters ends up being more interesting than Bob's psychology. The turn that the film makes in its last twenty minutes feels tacked on and predictable--incalculably harmful for a film that had been unpredictable up until this point.
That's not taking into account the ending of the film, which almost destroys the worth of the film. I'll avoid spoilers, but suffice it to say that the ending is such a confusing mess that I had to watch the movie again with the director's commentary on to figure out what had happened. It turns out that he was attempting to cram a series finale's worth of tied-up plot points and deus ex machina into about 2 minutes. The ending he eventually decided on is better than either of the 2 alternate endings presented on the DVD, but that is faint praise.
Cappello admits that there was a long period of time between writing the film and the film's production, and that he respected his original script the same way that he would respect a script written by someone else. That is a brave decision, and one that is hard to fault, but much of the film's worst flaws could have been fixed with extensive rewriting. As it is, the film's end feels like it occurs about 65 minutes into it, which is a problem since it is actually 90 minutes long. If I were to rework it, the film's second act would have been extended by 15 minutes, and the film's third act would have either been excised or rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable. In the end, the film does lots of little things right. It is just unfortunate that it does a few big things wrong.
Score (out of 100): 59
Monday, September 27, 2010
Review Of "Shenmue 2"
The Dreamcast is on the list of things that I need to buy when I have the money, time, and stability to start spending money on things that will make me happy (you know, after I make my first $1 million). It was a fast console that had a library games with gorgeous graphics and unique gameplay. In the summer of 1999, while I was visiting my late grandfather’s place in Florida, I played a demo of “Sonic Adventure” that was on display for 90 minutes—a full 85 minutes longer than anyone was supposed to use it. I got death glares as I walked away.
The game that got the most praise from the press (not the fake gaming press, who only come around when video games become really popular or when a video game fanatic commits a massacre) was “Shenmue”, which I never got to play because I was stuck with a Nintendo 64 and a PlayStation 2. (Poor me, I know.) The game was advertised as having a wide variety of gameplay, stunning visuals even when compared to other Dreamcast games, and an absurd level of detail. On a system that housed two 3D Sonic games worth a damn, the definitive version of arguably the greatest skateboarding game of all time, and fucking “Soul Caliber”, “Shenmue” was considered to be the Dreamcast’s killer app.
The Dreamcast failed, but that was Sega’s fault; after the 32x, Sega CD, and the Saturn, they had lost the trust of their audience, who were more than willing to wait for the PS2 and skip the Dreamcast. “Shenmue”’s sequel, “Shenmue 2”, was eventually ported to Microsoft’s Xbox console, with better graphics and fewer discs. It was initially hailed as being a better game than “Shenmue”. “Shenmue 2”’s praise, then, could be considered most of the reason why I don’t listen to many video game critics.
The story of “Shenmue” is a simple revenge story, so leave it to Sega’s crack team of crackheads to tell it in extremely confusing fashion. To be fair, “Shenmue 2” comes packaged with a 90-minute DVD of cutscenes from the first game detailing the plot, as well as a 20-minute summary of the first game on “Shenmue 2”’s actual game disc, so it can’t be said that there isn’t an attempt to get you caught up on the events of the first game. The story going into “2” is that Ryo (you) witness the murder of your father at the hands of Lan Di, who believed that your father screwed him over many years ago. Even worse, he took your father’s mirror (yes, this is placed on the same pedestal as your father’s murder). You drop out of school in order to pursue revenge. In your investigation, you find another mirror that looks significant (I imagine that there was something long-term planned here). Also, you learn that Lan Di has left Japan and has traveled to China. When “2” begins, you are under instructions to seek out Master Lishao Tao, who apparently has connections to both your father and Lan Di.
While there wasn’t a North American Dreamcast version of “2” produced, it’s not hard to say that the Xbox version looks better. Unlike Dreamcast ports of other games (“Grandia 2” to the PS2 springs to mind), the Xbox doesn’t suffer from any stuttering or blocky characters; it runs the game at the speed on the original console, with the visuals actually cleaned up a bit. Unfortunately, the game’s artistic end of the visuals doesn’t take advantage of those technical capabilities. Most of your time will be spent in or in-between gray buildings, which lend a sort of depressed feeling to the game. The game looks best when it is rendering nature, but it is dead-set on having you stick to marketplaces and industrial areas—in effect, it is doing the exact opposite of what it is best at, which could be considered the real story of the game. Character models are about what you’d expect from a game made ten years ago—the more important the character, the better they look.
The sound of the game is underwhelming, to be generous. The soundtrack is repetitive, but individual tracks set the mood well, making you feel as though you’re immersed in Chinese culture. The audio for the voice acting, to be generous again, is fucking atrocious. There is a distinct hiss that begins and ends with each line, as though their lines were put on tape and then fed through a trial version of low-end mixing software. I’ve played adventure games from 1993 that had better fidelity than “2”. To make matter worse, the actual acting is terrible. Every line sounds as though it was done in one take and the actor was given his/her script only a minute before it was recorded. It made me wish for an option to play the game in its original Japanese with English subtitles, but unfortunately, there was no such option available. This doesn’t even include the major disconnect with having obviously-Caucasian actors voicing obviously-Asian characters, but all things considered, that might be the least of the game’s problems.
You control Ryo from a third-person perspective behind him most of the time, but controlling him is a chore. Ryo can seemingly only turn when he is already in motion, as if he were a rusty grocery cart. If you are trying to go down a path that is directly to one of your sides, good luck reaching it without walking into a wall. Though you are often required to travel long distances to reach objectives, there isn’t a convenient map system in place (you have to buy maps that you can access when you pause the game), and it is often easier to just walk up to a pedestrian and ask them to lead the way to your destination. It is slow and insulting, but at least you’ll get there, which is a remote possibility when trying to get there by yourself. It isn’t helped by everything holding distinctly Chinese names. As long as you are localizing everything else, you might as well change the names to something that I can pronounce without having to hear the names said out loud first.
Making progress in the game is flawed. Ryo does not have a source of income for himself, so he takes odd jobs in order to make enough money to get to the next area of the game. In most games, doing jobs for money lets you use that money for powerups or equipment to better your character. Here, it is used to open up new areas. You are specifically told that you can only enter “that place” when you get $1,000. This wouldn’t be a problem if the games were interesting and engaging, but the games featuring you moving boxes around controls worse than when Ryo is just walking across town, with the other option having you host games of luck, which are advertised as games of skill for some reason. Seeing as how the games of luck will get you more money, you’ll likely spend a lot of time standing by a stupid Lucky Hit board, hoping that somebody stops and plays your game, and then hoping that nobody visits your booth after you’ve made something close to resembling a healthy profit. On top of all of this money grinding, you are given an ongoing timer. “Shenmue 2” only supports a set amount of time for you to complete the game, and if you take too long, you won’t be able to complete it. Granted, you are given so much time that you’ll likely never actually run out unless you make a concentrated effort to fail (making me wonder why there’s even a timer in the first place), but with the story’s built-in urgency, the games feel like a waste of time that happen to be mandatory. Sure, this is likely the best way for a person in real life with limited resources to travel from country to country, but I don’t play video games to do boring stuff that I could be doing in real life.
The real gameplay draw is the combat and the QuickTime Events. QuickTime Events, or “QTE” as they are called by nerds, are sequences in which the game tells you to press specific buttons quickly in order to make progress in a scene. These scenes are handled well, but the variety of the QTEs is ill-explained or hinted at. At one point, the QTE flashes a set of instructions in a matter differently than had been laid out before—making the sound of a sharp sword being unsheathed, followed by a flash of instructions—and it took me ten tries to figure out that I wasn’t supposed to wait for the instructions to finish flashing before pressing buttons. The combat is similar to that found in “Virtua Fighter”—quick encounters, focusing strictly on hand-to-hand, with minimal button presses. The game’s pacing kills these sequences, though. I actually counted two whole hours of gameplay between fights, and after a great chase scene near the beginning, QTEs didn’t make an appearance for almost as long. The time in between having fun was spent on explaining the plot, which consisted of a character saying “I think DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT is hiding at Genericwarehouse2!”, and Ryo responding “Then I should probably go find DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT. He is at Genericwarehouse2.” Granted, this kind of writing was par for course in 2001, but considering how some people refer to this game as the greatest of all time, I’m left spellbound at how boring 37.5 of my 40 hours spent on the game were.
But, oh, those last 2.5 hours. Eventually, the game gets its shit together and pits you in one awesome sequence after another. You can barely catch your breath before the next scene starts, which offers new challenges. Fights can be avoided through sneaking, but at this point, that doesn’t sound like a punishment. A boss fight occurs, and it is actually difficult. Then, when the game should be rolling its credits, you are treated to a beautiful epilogue set in nature, allowing the game the chance to look good for more than two seconds for a change (fields of grass and everything). Sure, it ends on an unnecessary cliffhanger, but it was a fun ride until then.
Honestly, if the last 2.5 hours weren’t as good as they were, I wouldn’t feel bad in referring to this game as one of the worst games I’ve ever played. As it is, I feel bad calling it a disappointment. The game’s presentation is faulty, the game’s story is overly simplistic (though you’ll likely get confused due to the lack of localization for the names and the nicknames that each character has), and you’ll spend more time hoping to progress than actually making progress. It is at its best when it remembers that it is a video game, which are rare moments sprinkled throughout until the last 2.5 hours. The entire “Shenmue” concept is strange, too. It is a story of revenge, so you know how the ongoing story is going to end before you’ve even finished the first game, but the “Shenmue” series was planned to span several video games and comic books. That the planned “Shenmue 3” has never seen the light of day is little surprise, but in case it ever actually gets made, I’m going to spoil it for you: Ryo is going to kick Lan Di’s head in. Shocker, I know.
Score (out of 100): 43
Friday, September 10, 2010
Downey's "Classics" Presents: This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein
Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a poem that was not written by Gertrude Stein. Enjoy.
"This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein"
by John Downey
The bard bard is only bard because he told bard stories that the king does not allow, as those stories are of the king doing bard activities like singing songs badly, and also bard activities, like killing people for no reason. The bard is only bard from the bar, though, as assassinations are bard. The bard now tells stories of how his liquid honesty got him bard from telling truthful stories, and how he must now spend his days telling untrue stories, like how good a singer the king is. The king doesn’t mind, since he is usually in the bar, laughing about how he bard the bard from the bar.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a poem that was not written by Gertrude Stein. Enjoy.
"This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein"
by John Downey
The bard bard is only bard because he told bard stories that the king does not allow, as those stories are of the king doing bard activities like singing songs badly, and also bard activities, like killing people for no reason. The bard is only bard from the bar, though, as assassinations are bard. The bard now tells stories of how his liquid honesty got him bard from telling truthful stories, and how he must now spend his days telling untrue stories, like how good a singer the king is. The king doesn’t mind, since he is usually in the bar, laughing about how he bard the bard from the bar.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Downey's "Classics" Presents: Veni Vidi BuKAW
Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is unpublished work that he tried to get published. Enjoy.
"Veni Vidi BuKAW"
by John Downey
One day in late August of 2002, I was woken up by something that wasn’t my alarm clock. My alarm has a very distinct, piercing cut, strategically placed right next to my ear so that it is sure to do its job. Something beat the mechanism to its task, though.
It was a series of sounds. First, there was a long “eeeyaw”, as though someone was doing a bad impersonation of a donkey. Then, a string of 8 “yoinks”, straight from “The Three Stooges”. These 9 sounds were all stringed together in one seamless sequence, with a 2-second respite.
The sound was coming from the street, so I rushed to my window to find a large beast roaming the street. Its head was unspectacular, but its body was massive, though stocky. It walked on reptilian legs and wasn’t afraid to survey its surroundings, though its body language indicated confusion as to how it got there.
I summoned my stepfather. “Kevin,” I asked, “what in the world is that?”
It took him only a moment. “John, that is a turkey.”
Having a turkey walking around my block was strange for many reasons, though there were 2 that stood out to me. First of all, I was 16 at the time, and I was supposed to be well versed in what most animals look like (indeed, in what most of every basic life form looked like). That I hadn’t been readily been able to figure out what a turkey looked like was disconcerting to me. The 2nd reason that this was strange was because I was living in Andover, Massachusetts, where the demographics lean towards middle-upper class folk. Middle-upper class folk don’t associate with turkeys. I was told that the turkeys that had suddenly populated the area had been attracted by the recent construction done in Andover. I don’t understand it, either.
The reaction to the turkeys was typical by Andover standards. At first, they were ignored. Then they were acknowledged in passing. Then, when turkeys began attacking children at bus stops, the environmentalists went on the offensive, exaggerating the birds’ worth. How they were dealt with is beyond me—I know that one of them was killed, but the fate of the rest of them was never mentioned again.
They came, they saw, they were annoying as hell.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is unpublished work that he tried to get published. Enjoy.
"Veni Vidi BuKAW"
by John Downey
One day in late August of 2002, I was woken up by something that wasn’t my alarm clock. My alarm has a very distinct, piercing cut, strategically placed right next to my ear so that it is sure to do its job. Something beat the mechanism to its task, though.
It was a series of sounds. First, there was a long “eeeyaw”, as though someone was doing a bad impersonation of a donkey. Then, a string of 8 “yoinks”, straight from “The Three Stooges”. These 9 sounds were all stringed together in one seamless sequence, with a 2-second respite.
The sound was coming from the street, so I rushed to my window to find a large beast roaming the street. Its head was unspectacular, but its body was massive, though stocky. It walked on reptilian legs and wasn’t afraid to survey its surroundings, though its body language indicated confusion as to how it got there.
I summoned my stepfather. “Kevin,” I asked, “what in the world is that?”
It took him only a moment. “John, that is a turkey.”
Having a turkey walking around my block was strange for many reasons, though there were 2 that stood out to me. First of all, I was 16 at the time, and I was supposed to be well versed in what most animals look like (indeed, in what most of every basic life form looked like). That I hadn’t been readily been able to figure out what a turkey looked like was disconcerting to me. The 2nd reason that this was strange was because I was living in Andover, Massachusetts, where the demographics lean towards middle-upper class folk. Middle-upper class folk don’t associate with turkeys. I was told that the turkeys that had suddenly populated the area had been attracted by the recent construction done in Andover. I don’t understand it, either.
The reaction to the turkeys was typical by Andover standards. At first, they were ignored. Then they were acknowledged in passing. Then, when turkeys began attacking children at bus stops, the environmentalists went on the offensive, exaggerating the birds’ worth. How they were dealt with is beyond me—I know that one of them was killed, but the fate of the rest of them was never mentioned again.
They came, they saw, they were annoying as hell.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Downey's "Classics" Presents: Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver"
Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a review that he wrote as part of a contest. He does not agree with what he wrote here anymore, and the links don't work, but he still kind of likes it. Enjoy.
"Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver""
by John Downey
First of all, I want to thank my humble hosts this evening for allowing me to…ah, screw that shit; MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE HIZZOUSE, SAY HOOOO! …Okay, now everybody but Chet say HOOOO! …Well, fuck you, too.
Let’s get shit in order. Now, I usually (eventually) agree with most everything the CMG’s got to say about anything and everything, but Chris Benoit could have written a better review of “Sound of Silver”. And he’s dead. And even if he was alive, he would be too hopped up on testosterone to effectively pick apart “Someone Great”.
NEWELL: Well, I believe that this part is a direct reference to his dead best frie—
BENOIT: (shoots needle into ass) DAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT NO MAKE ME WORK OUT I GIVE YOU GERMAN SUPLEX FUCK YOUR ASS MAKE YOU HUMBLE! (puts on Timbaland’s “Kill Yourself”; gets evil ideas)
Yeah, a Chris Benoit review would require teaching a ’roided zombie how to use a keyboard, and HE would have done this shit better. I know this because Zombie Benoit (who can still wrestle, by the way; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2FzzOlNkSw ) is smarter than me, and I figured this shit out.
My issue with the review has a little something to do with the assessment, but first, let’s look at the score. Shit starts at 41%, since its closest sounding relative readily available to me, “The Third Hand”, was a pile of shit but still managed to get a 31%, so since “Sound of Silver” is at least 10% better than “The Turd Hand”, there you go. From there, we give it a 25%, since 14 of its 56 minutes—“Someone Great” through “All My Friends”—are so kickass, even the reviewer doesn’t deny them, and 14 divided by 56 equals 0.25, or 25%. Give it another 10% for being fun, and we’re up to 76% easy. That’s a whole 20% more than motherfucker gave it. Wassupwiddat?
Don’t worry, the Downdogger’s got answers. First, dude looks for something that ain’t there. He ends up talking about how this album could’ve been more fun, as though that was Jimmy Muller’s (or whatever the fuck his name is) intent all along. Hey, it might’ve been, but maybe not. I don’t know. As a straight-edge, I can honestly say that I fucking WANT that party album that ends with everybody waking up, realizing who they fucked the other night, struggle to stand to their feet, fall over while trying to take a piss, pour an entire gallon of milk all over the counter (with the exception of the tiny bit that goes into the glass), search their pants for a blunt only to realize that they’re not wearing pants, cut off the legs of the ugly sleeping bitch that is wearing their pants, and realize only after inhaling their blunt that some prankster has replaced the Virgin Mary with literal dog shit. Then I kick them in the balls and say, “Thought you learned your lesson LAST WEEK, motherfucker!” “Sound Of Silver” comes close to that shit, but misses by a lot, but it comes closer than any other album I’ve ever heard, and that earns it an extra 1%. But your dude’s all like, “Bummer, man,” and I’m all like, “STFU!”
And when the fuck did fun become so wrong? When? WHEN? Yeah, I get it, we’re all the boys in the corner, throwing spitballs at the good-looking douchebags who don’t know shit about shit, but you ain’t gonna get the girl unless you indulge in some of that shit. It’s like bobbing for apples in a bucket of shit: you don’t want to do it, but since you want to look better than that kid next to you with the “Kingdom Hearts” T-shirt and long hair that shows the dark side of too many “World of Warcraft” marathons ( http://3dotoday.classicgaming.gamespy.com/page%204/virtboxf.jpg ), you dive in anyway. You get some of that up your nose, and you get corn stuck in your teeth, but you get through that shit to get that fucking apple. And the chick is hot, and yeah. I forgot what my point was, but I’m pretty sure it was a good one. Did I mention that since your opinion is the lowest, it is automatically wrong?
Okay, maybe not, but the real shit sounds like this: according to your scale, a 56% is “slightly above average”. An album that doesn’t sound offensively bad and spends an entire quarter of its length being totally fucking awesome can’t be simply considered “slightly above average”. “Good, detracting problems” (65%-69%) sounds more appropriate for what Conrad (YEAH, I KNOW HIS NAME, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!) was trying to say. I’ve got my shit on a 77% through purely mathematical reasoning, which is what Amir would have wanted, and if he hadn’t been buried alive in an abandoned mine shaft in eastern Pennsylvania, he would be saying the exact same thing that I’m telling you now. In fact, he’d give it a 95%, and then you would be holding a contest asking people why “The Magic Position” should’ve been rated higher. (In case you decide to go with that idea, let me answer that right now: the Flying Dutchman and the Missionary have their uses, but after teaching my bitch how to perform the Magic Position, I’ve had no problems breathing out of my nose. Automatic 90% for making it easier for me to breathe.) So, mathematically, physically, literally, spiritually, sexually, and animality, “Sound Of Silver” does not suck more donkey dick than “Human The Death Dance”, which got a 3% better rating than “Sound Of Silver”. For that, I’ve gotten my buddy Goku to do some shit to Sage for passing out bribes. What, you ask? Why, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj37wpu_FDQ , that’s what.
Sincerely,
John Downey
P.S. Here’s a guy who can explain “Sound Of Silver” even better than I can. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0
YEAH, BITCH, THIS AIN’T A POSTSCRIPT, IT’S A GODDAMN RICK ROLL’D-ING! UNGH! FEEL THE POWER!
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a review that he wrote as part of a contest. He does not agree with what he wrote here anymore, and the links don't work, but he still kind of likes it. Enjoy.
"Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver""
by John Downey
First of all, I want to thank my humble hosts this evening for allowing me to…ah, screw that shit; MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE HIZZOUSE, SAY HOOOO! …Okay, now everybody but Chet say HOOOO! …Well, fuck you, too.
Let’s get shit in order. Now, I usually (eventually) agree with most everything the CMG’s got to say about anything and everything, but Chris Benoit could have written a better review of “Sound of Silver”. And he’s dead. And even if he was alive, he would be too hopped up on testosterone to effectively pick apart “Someone Great”.
NEWELL: Well, I believe that this part is a direct reference to his dead best frie—
BENOIT: (shoots needle into ass) DAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT NO MAKE ME WORK OUT I GIVE YOU GERMAN SUPLEX FUCK YOUR ASS MAKE YOU HUMBLE! (puts on Timbaland’s “Kill Yourself”; gets evil ideas)
Yeah, a Chris Benoit review would require teaching a ’roided zombie how to use a keyboard, and HE would have done this shit better. I know this because Zombie Benoit (who can still wrestle, by the way; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2FzzOlNkSw ) is smarter than me, and I figured this shit out.
My issue with the review has a little something to do with the assessment, but first, let’s look at the score. Shit starts at 41%, since its closest sounding relative readily available to me, “The Third Hand”, was a pile of shit but still managed to get a 31%, so since “Sound of Silver” is at least 10% better than “The Turd Hand”, there you go. From there, we give it a 25%, since 14 of its 56 minutes—“Someone Great” through “All My Friends”—are so kickass, even the reviewer doesn’t deny them, and 14 divided by 56 equals 0.25, or 25%. Give it another 10% for being fun, and we’re up to 76% easy. That’s a whole 20% more than motherfucker gave it. Wassupwiddat?
Don’t worry, the Downdogger’s got answers. First, dude looks for something that ain’t there. He ends up talking about how this album could’ve been more fun, as though that was Jimmy Muller’s (or whatever the fuck his name is) intent all along. Hey, it might’ve been, but maybe not. I don’t know. As a straight-edge, I can honestly say that I fucking WANT that party album that ends with everybody waking up, realizing who they fucked the other night, struggle to stand to their feet, fall over while trying to take a piss, pour an entire gallon of milk all over the counter (with the exception of the tiny bit that goes into the glass), search their pants for a blunt only to realize that they’re not wearing pants, cut off the legs of the ugly sleeping bitch that is wearing their pants, and realize only after inhaling their blunt that some prankster has replaced the Virgin Mary with literal dog shit. Then I kick them in the balls and say, “Thought you learned your lesson LAST WEEK, motherfucker!” “Sound Of Silver” comes close to that shit, but misses by a lot, but it comes closer than any other album I’ve ever heard, and that earns it an extra 1%. But your dude’s all like, “Bummer, man,” and I’m all like, “STFU!”
And when the fuck did fun become so wrong? When? WHEN? Yeah, I get it, we’re all the boys in the corner, throwing spitballs at the good-looking douchebags who don’t know shit about shit, but you ain’t gonna get the girl unless you indulge in some of that shit. It’s like bobbing for apples in a bucket of shit: you don’t want to do it, but since you want to look better than that kid next to you with the “Kingdom Hearts” T-shirt and long hair that shows the dark side of too many “World of Warcraft” marathons ( http://3dotoday.classicgaming.gamespy.com/page%204/virtboxf.jpg ), you dive in anyway. You get some of that up your nose, and you get corn stuck in your teeth, but you get through that shit to get that fucking apple. And the chick is hot, and yeah. I forgot what my point was, but I’m pretty sure it was a good one. Did I mention that since your opinion is the lowest, it is automatically wrong?
Okay, maybe not, but the real shit sounds like this: according to your scale, a 56% is “slightly above average”. An album that doesn’t sound offensively bad and spends an entire quarter of its length being totally fucking awesome can’t be simply considered “slightly above average”. “Good, detracting problems” (65%-69%) sounds more appropriate for what Conrad (YEAH, I KNOW HIS NAME, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!) was trying to say. I’ve got my shit on a 77% through purely mathematical reasoning, which is what Amir would have wanted, and if he hadn’t been buried alive in an abandoned mine shaft in eastern Pennsylvania, he would be saying the exact same thing that I’m telling you now. In fact, he’d give it a 95%, and then you would be holding a contest asking people why “The Magic Position” should’ve been rated higher. (In case you decide to go with that idea, let me answer that right now: the Flying Dutchman and the Missionary have their uses, but after teaching my bitch how to perform the Magic Position, I’ve had no problems breathing out of my nose. Automatic 90% for making it easier for me to breathe.) So, mathematically, physically, literally, spiritually, sexually, and animality, “Sound Of Silver” does not suck more donkey dick than “Human The Death Dance”, which got a 3% better rating than “Sound Of Silver”. For that, I’ve gotten my buddy Goku to do some shit to Sage for passing out bribes. What, you ask? Why, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj37wpu_FDQ , that’s what.
Sincerely,
John Downey
P.S. Here’s a guy who can explain “Sound Of Silver” even better than I can. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0
YEAH, BITCH, THIS AIN’T A POSTSCRIPT, IT’S A GODDAMN RICK ROLL’D-ING! UNGH! FEEL THE POWER!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Downey's "Classics" Presents: Old Review of "The Re-Up" by Eminem and Most Everyone Signed To Aftermath At The Time The Album Was Released
Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is one of the few music reviews he wrote "back in the day" that he still stands by, despite a bit of preaching. Enjoy.
Old Review of "The Re-Up" (2006) by Eminem, etc.
by John Downey
I reached a certain point in track 3 that made me realize that this album sucks. It is not a great album that has a few filler tracks. It's not even a halfway decent album. The whole thing sucks, for reasons that I'm hoping you'll listen to.
Doseone once said, in song, "Shove that gun up your ass." This was a direct diss towards Slug (of Atmosphere), since Slug had started to go from his "poet on the street with a thing for chicks" routine towards his present-day "this one's for the ladies" shtick. Earlier this year, P.O.S. rapped, "You're sick, homey, eat a gun (that's terrible)". Of course, this was in the same song in which he name-dropped Tyler Durden, went out for Bronson's part in the next Death Wish movie, and fired people because they enjoyed Fresca. Sage Francis's song, "Gunz Yo", made the correlation between guns and, well, take a wild guess, even more lucid, but still managed to have some pretty good lines in there. The point is that the connection between guns and a certain male organ is strong, and has occupied the minds of many skilled rappers. When done correctly, the correlation can shed light on some mysteries in life (ex: "Why have our guns gotten larger in size over the years?"), and also, offer some insight as to how the male mind works.
So, when Obie Trice said, on track 3, "My p**** is a mag, when I lift it hit you", over a beat that anybody with a decent drum machine could pull off in 15 minutes (but wouldn't, because it sucks), I had to turn off my CD player. I didn't find the line offensive; I found it insulting to my intelligence. If anybody is willing to argue in favor of the lyrical value of "The Re-up", all I have for a counterargument is Obie's declaration, as seen above. I mean, this is your big "We're Here" statement, and you bring that tripe to the table?
I did get around to listening to the whole album, by the way. I honestly wished I hadn't, since every beat here is terrible. It reeks of suggesting mood instead of establishing it, with "spooky" string arrangements and "gloomy"/s*** drums. Of course, since this is a "mixtape" (apparently, nobody at Shady has heard of the word "compilation"), production quality isn't the intended focus here; the presentation of the new talent that Eminem has acquired is. Thing is, I listened to the album the whole way through, twice, and I still can't tell most of these people apart. If they were looking to establish their own dynamic personas, they failed miserably. Take the single "You Don't Know", for example. In order to find out which rapper is Ca$his, the newest member of D12, we have to use process of elimation. "The white one's Eminem, the one who's asleep is Lloyd Banks, the guy with the charisma is 50 Cent, so that boring guy has to be Ca$his!" The concept behind this project was supposed to be a showcase of new talent, along with showing Eminem on top of his game, and yet, the only person on this album who comes out of this train-wreck smelling like roses is 50 Cent.
That's right, 50. No, I don't really like the guy, and no, his verses don't really have any worth from a lyrical standpoint. His enthusiasm, however, makes up for it. You can see him grinning from ear to ear as he manages to make each verse that he's on smell like hot s***, leaving Eminem in the dust with his pants down (then again, Eminem pulls his own pants down on every verse here, so that's no huge accomplishment). 50 is obviously still riding on the high he got from playing a young version of himself in the Get Rich movie, despite getting up there in years. It says something about either 50 Cent or Stat Quo, Ca$his, and Bobby Creekwater when a guy over 30 can sound better than a bunch of 20-somethings.
That said, there's going to be a lot of people who like this album. After all, it does offer a lot of "bangers" that dare you to doubt their seriousness (my hand's up). There's also going to be some people who are going to thank Eminem for being considerate enough to let Proof be on the album for all of 30 seconds, and who think that a remix of "Smack That" is a good idea. It's going to be the soundtrack to a lot of parties over the course of the winter and spring, so you might associate "The Re-Up" with good times. Well, you could be having good times while listening to "Hell Hath No Fury", "Audition", "Game Theory", "Mo' Mega", "Food and Liquor", and "Fishscale". None of those albums have any bad lines, and they have better beats, too. "The Re-Up" is one to skip unless you're a completist or a raver, in which case it's too late to save you either way.
Oh, and here's a weird connection: Doseone battled Emimem at Scribble Jam '97 in a consolation round (since Doseone had been DQ'ed for either shouting over Rhymefest or acting as his hype man, depending on how you look at it). Doseone used his time to curse out the Scribble Jam committee, while Eminem spit out a few more verses from his first EP and trying to pass them off as a freestyle, which he had been doing for the entire competition. Nowadays, Doseone has performed in many bands, released many albums, has many very loyal fans, and has plenty of outlets to release his creative juices. He is very secure in himself, since he's always acted true to himself and surrounded himself with good people. In contrast, Eminem starts off this album by questioning his legacy. Go figure.
So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is one of the few music reviews he wrote "back in the day" that he still stands by, despite a bit of preaching. Enjoy.
Old Review of "The Re-Up" (2006) by Eminem, etc.
by John Downey
I reached a certain point in track 3 that made me realize that this album sucks. It is not a great album that has a few filler tracks. It's not even a halfway decent album. The whole thing sucks, for reasons that I'm hoping you'll listen to.
Doseone once said, in song, "Shove that gun up your ass." This was a direct diss towards Slug (of Atmosphere), since Slug had started to go from his "poet on the street with a thing for chicks" routine towards his present-day "this one's for the ladies" shtick. Earlier this year, P.O.S. rapped, "You're sick, homey, eat a gun (that's terrible)". Of course, this was in the same song in which he name-dropped Tyler Durden, went out for Bronson's part in the next Death Wish movie, and fired people because they enjoyed Fresca. Sage Francis's song, "Gunz Yo", made the correlation between guns and, well, take a wild guess, even more lucid, but still managed to have some pretty good lines in there. The point is that the connection between guns and a certain male organ is strong, and has occupied the minds of many skilled rappers. When done correctly, the correlation can shed light on some mysteries in life (ex: "Why have our guns gotten larger in size over the years?"), and also, offer some insight as to how the male mind works.
So, when Obie Trice said, on track 3, "My p**** is a mag, when I lift it hit you", over a beat that anybody with a decent drum machine could pull off in 15 minutes (but wouldn't, because it sucks), I had to turn off my CD player. I didn't find the line offensive; I found it insulting to my intelligence. If anybody is willing to argue in favor of the lyrical value of "The Re-up", all I have for a counterargument is Obie's declaration, as seen above. I mean, this is your big "We're Here" statement, and you bring that tripe to the table?
I did get around to listening to the whole album, by the way. I honestly wished I hadn't, since every beat here is terrible. It reeks of suggesting mood instead of establishing it, with "spooky" string arrangements and "gloomy"/s*** drums. Of course, since this is a "mixtape" (apparently, nobody at Shady has heard of the word "compilation"), production quality isn't the intended focus here; the presentation of the new talent that Eminem has acquired is. Thing is, I listened to the album the whole way through, twice, and I still can't tell most of these people apart. If they were looking to establish their own dynamic personas, they failed miserably. Take the single "You Don't Know", for example. In order to find out which rapper is Ca$his, the newest member of D12, we have to use process of elimation. "The white one's Eminem, the one who's asleep is Lloyd Banks, the guy with the charisma is 50 Cent, so that boring guy has to be Ca$his!" The concept behind this project was supposed to be a showcase of new talent, along with showing Eminem on top of his game, and yet, the only person on this album who comes out of this train-wreck smelling like roses is 50 Cent.
That's right, 50. No, I don't really like the guy, and no, his verses don't really have any worth from a lyrical standpoint. His enthusiasm, however, makes up for it. You can see him grinning from ear to ear as he manages to make each verse that he's on smell like hot s***, leaving Eminem in the dust with his pants down (then again, Eminem pulls his own pants down on every verse here, so that's no huge accomplishment). 50 is obviously still riding on the high he got from playing a young version of himself in the Get Rich movie, despite getting up there in years. It says something about either 50 Cent or Stat Quo, Ca$his, and Bobby Creekwater when a guy over 30 can sound better than a bunch of 20-somethings.
That said, there's going to be a lot of people who like this album. After all, it does offer a lot of "bangers" that dare you to doubt their seriousness (my hand's up). There's also going to be some people who are going to thank Eminem for being considerate enough to let Proof be on the album for all of 30 seconds, and who think that a remix of "Smack That" is a good idea. It's going to be the soundtrack to a lot of parties over the course of the winter and spring, so you might associate "The Re-Up" with good times. Well, you could be having good times while listening to "Hell Hath No Fury", "Audition", "Game Theory", "Mo' Mega", "Food and Liquor", and "Fishscale". None of those albums have any bad lines, and they have better beats, too. "The Re-Up" is one to skip unless you're a completist or a raver, in which case it's too late to save you either way.
Oh, and here's a weird connection: Doseone battled Emimem at Scribble Jam '97 in a consolation round (since Doseone had been DQ'ed for either shouting over Rhymefest or acting as his hype man, depending on how you look at it). Doseone used his time to curse out the Scribble Jam committee, while Eminem spit out a few more verses from his first EP and trying to pass them off as a freestyle, which he had been doing for the entire competition. Nowadays, Doseone has performed in many bands, released many albums, has many very loyal fans, and has plenty of outlets to release his creative juices. He is very secure in himself, since he's always acted true to himself and surrounded himself with good people. In contrast, Eminem starts off this album by questioning his legacy. Go figure.
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