http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Sun, 14 May 2006 09:28:45 EDT http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. 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I don't know if it was the abundant electricity that flowed through my veins the minute they stepped on stage, or the scented waves of Mary-Jane that wafted past my face, but Wednesday night the Air Canada Centre in Toronto was the site of one of the best concerts I have ever experienced. Pearl Jam, as many of us know, has had their ups and downs, especially after the Ten album and the fall of grunge. But 15 years later, and with their abundance of talent, they have had a resurgence lately with the release of their latest self-titled CD. Their fans, many of whom I met on the train ride to the concert, would say that Pearl Jam hasn't gone anywhere. They would go on further to say that its music, as a whole, that has regrettably spiraled away from the independent core of grunge music to a place that is more commercial and void of defiance. To that end, I cannot argue. What I do know is that Pearl Jam, coming or going, can undoubtedly still bring the goods. To those of us who have had the pleasure of seeing them live, Pearl Jam is a band that begs to be seen in a large venue. Their music translates its inherent energy to the masses with an abundance in reserve. Eddy's pipes are as throaty now as they were when I first heard "Alive", and Stone's nimble fingers can still announce edgy riffs that shake your insides, charge your soul, and leave a ring in your ears that lasts for days. Believe me; I can still hear "Word Wide Suicide" as if they were playing right next to my computer.As the second hour passed, I noticed the band did its best to seamlessly integrate their new songs with old favorites, and throw in a cover of Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl" for good measure. We Canadian fans were much appreciative of the homage, considering the mutually beneficial relationship these two have had over the years. Argue all you want, but I believe Neil's early work was a precursor of the grunge movement, and I think Eddy would agree. Having only heard the new CD a few times through, I realized how the band had grown musically and how they have never left their core ideals. They are political, emotional, and, at points in the concert, maniacal, all without an ounce of pretension. Yes, the new songs serve us Jam fans well. Leaving the concert, I had the chance to engage other fans about their reactions to what we just experienced. The overwhelming majority gushed about the venue, the music, and the simple fact that Pearl Jam is as relevant now as they were when they first broke on to the music scene many years ago. I remember one guy, one intoxicated guy, who made it a point to tell me over and over Pearl Jam is, bar none, the best live band there ever was. To that end, I don't know, but what I do know is regardless of the numerous rumors of their demise, Pearl Jam still defines a type of music that is, at its heart, a righteous declaration of intelligent defection that leaves you pumping your fist and screaming at the top of your lungs. For me, that's the only way there is to leave a concert. On a side note -- I would like to thank Dani Lovett from Cornerstone for her tireless efforts in getting me in to see this show... thanks Dani! Music47714@blogcritics.org Sun, 14 May 2006 09:28:45 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/03/28/082111.php T StoddartFortune smiled on me the day I discovered reggae band J-San and the Analogue Sons. I am by no means an aficionado when it comes to the smooth beats and socially conscious riffs from the sunny parts of the world. And as a music lover, I know my knowledge of reggae is lacking. But, as a music lover, I can tell you that when a band gets it right, you can learn everything you need to know about a style of music in as little as three minutes. J-San and the Analogue Sons get it right. And from the first time I heard them, I was hooked. J-San, to me, is the next level of reggae. They are a natural infusion of blues, hip-hop, soul, and a touch of southern spice, that comes across as a perfectly blended tribute to every reggae artist who came before. They have placed themselves in the forefront of the new movement without ever losing touch with the spirited roots that made reggae a legendary world wide musical movement. There's no denying the thick beats, smooth guitar, playful horns, and vocals that melt your heart and put a fire in your soul. I'm tempted to call it dirty Reggae: a musical mix that makes you want to move, grind, and pump your fist all at the same time. J-San and the Analogue Sons hail from Ithaca, NY, where they have been jamming on the east coast for over a decade. J- San, the vocalist, has been described as a throatier version of Bob Marley with a touch of Marvin Gaye. To that end, I completely agree. He is backed by talented brass section led by saxophonist Lee Hamilton, and trumpeter Keaton Damir Akins. On the keyboards is Micheal Stark, whose weapon of choice is the Hammond B-3. And bringing the phat beats is drummer Matthew Saccuccimorano. As summer approaches, I can think of no other band that will help me define my sun, sand, and sangria's better than J-San and the Analogue Sons. For more information, or to buy their CD, please go to the artist's website. Music45611@blogcritics.org Tue, 28 Mar 2006 08:21:11 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/03/27/052248.php T StoddartAt one time, artists were a respected group in society. They were sought after by kings and emperors for their unique talents. Artists gave to the world, and, in that regard, defined what the world meant to them. Even now, we use art to define historic periods. To give us a peek into what the artist, as representative, was going through. Today artists, especially writers and visual artists, are considered among the lowest of the low in society. We are the joke. Our value is bankrupt. Anyone who has dared to venture into this world knows what I am speaking. It is a harsh, cut-throat, and wholly unstable existence. So, when I had the opportunity to review the book Living the Artist's Life, I jumped at the chance. I was hoping that this book would offer some inspiration, insight, and even consolation, and to that end, I was not disappointed. Paul Dorrell, the author, is not your average failed artist who turns to feeding on other artists' insecurities to make a few dollars. No. Paul has been through the wringer, several times. When you read this book, you come to understand, through Paul's conversational manner, that he has laid everything on the line for the sake of promoting the art and artists he believes in. Paul mortgaged his home in order to achieve his goal of opening an art studio, only to have the studio burn down. That may sound bad, but the worst part is that he let his insurance expire only a few days before due to lack of capital. He was ruined. But this part of the story is only the begining of his journey throught the world of art. Living the Artist's Life is Paul's journey, a journey Paul details with a warmth, and humor, that is inviting and completely interesting. I read the entire book in one sitting. I don't want to mislead you, this book is geared towards the visual arts crowd. Its information, of which there is volumes, focuses on how visual artists can break into this world, how they can get their works into galleries, and how they can learn from his mistakes to actually make a living for themselves. And that kind of information is priceless. But for us writers, the book is only partially useful. I still say that Paul's words of support are easily worth the price of the book. And, in reality, Paul started out as a writer, and with 20 years of tribulations in the publishing industry, I can think of no one more qualified to speak to us as a group.Living the Artist's Life is a hopeful, honest, and humorous look at the life we feel drawn into. He understands, he respects, and he supports us artists with true devotion and a full heart. And after reading this book, I have nothing but respect for a man who can find true happiness in a world that can be supremely self destructive. Paul makes me feel that my journey, although not easy, has immense worth. And maybe someday, with enough Pauls in the world, we will be able to regain some of the value we artists have lost. Books45549@blogcritics.org Mon, 27 Mar 2006 05:22:48 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/25/203231.php T StoddartI have to say that I was wrong about Daniel Powter. I assumed from his first release, "Bad Day", from his upcoming self-titled CD, that he was another pop artist who was able to create a catchy song with a great hook. A possible one hit wonder. But after listening to the complete album, it is plain to see that my assumption was completely erroneous. Powter, a native of Canada's west coast, is no pop star. He's had the success of one though, with almost one million records sold to date, and his single, mentioned above, is topping the charts in Canada, Germany, Australia, and France. Now, Powter looks to take his engaging falsetto, and R&B inspired sound, south to the U.S. This debut album is a study in contrasts. On one side, it's a smooth fusion of R&B, pop, and rock that gives the impression of thoughtful composition. On the other, it is a mix of lyrical experiments that are anything but mainstream. Songs like "Jimmy Gets High", "Styrofoam", and "Hollywood" are charged with a healthy sense of cynicism but are by no means depressed in their delivery. His music is quite the opposite. And, to his credit, Daniel has the amazing ability to bring an upbeat vibe that carries through this entire CD, even though his message can be anything but. I envision several hits to follow "Bad Day". Songs like "Song 6", "Free Loop", and "Lie" are my picks for potential chart toppers. Each of them delivers a mix that is terminally infectious. You can't help but surrender yourself to Daniel's vocal charms, and the depth of his delivery. He's the type of performer that could take the most nonsensical lyrics and meld them into one beautiful harmony that will have you entranced. Overall, this album is far from your average 'play it safe' debut. Daniel knows his range, both musically and lyrically, and he does his best to give us a full picture of who he truly is. And he has to be respected for taking chances on this CD, because, in the end, we are the better for it. Listeners will come to realize that Powter has a lot to say, and the talent to back it up. There is no doubt that he has the chops to carry himself for several more albums. And it's going to be very interesting to see where his creative inspirations take him, and his, music next. To those of you who will be hearing "Bad Day" on your radio soon, don't be too eager to dismiss him as just another manufactured artist blended with a catchy song. It would be a mistake as you would be missing a great release from a truly inspired artist. Music44135@blogcritics.org Sat, 25 Feb 2006 20:32:31 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/24/003618.php T StoddartSometime between 8 p.m. on July 1st and 7 a.m. on July 3rd, 2003, Doug Bruce lost himself. That morning, riding alone on a New York City subway headed to Coney Island, he could not remember his name, where he worked, who his friends were, or how much money he had in his bank account. He was a man who lost his memory. This is the amazing true documentary of a man who, for some unknown medical reason, suddenly found himself completely unaware of anything before that fateful ride to Coney Island. This is Unknown White Male, a film by Rupert Murray, produced by Beadie Finzi, and distributed by Wellspring. If you didn't know, Wellspring has a great history of supporting the most thought provoking, inspired films of our time, and they should be applauded for their work. I love documentaries, and out the hundreds that I have had the pleasure of watching, this one blew me out of the water. Days later I am still pondering the events of Doug's life and the enormity of the situation he was dropped into. This documentary is a must see; I can't state it any simpler. I have never left a film with so many questions about life and the pursuit of happiness than when I finished watching this one. From the opening, we are thrown into a very confusing situation. The film maker, Rupert Murray, a friend of Doug's, catches up with him just days after the event. We see a confused and suspicious man who has no trust of anyone or anything. I have to say that Rupert does an unbelievable job at creating an environment where we, the viewers, feel the confusion that Doug is dealing with. We watch as Doug searches for any clues as to his past, all the while trying to come to grips with the tragic event that has robbed him of so much. The film smartly includes medical professionals who discuss memory, and provide their expert analysis about what could have happened. But with the mystery that is the human brain, all anyone can do is make educated guesses. This leaves Doug with nothing to go forward with. Ultimately, he is alone, and unaided through his recovery. The odd thing is, though, is that Doug's memory loss is not the most interesting part of this story. The real story of Unknown White Male comes in the unforeseen questions such an event creates. If you, like Doug, were to lose all of your memories, who would you be? Would you have the same personality, or would a new one be created? Would you go back to the job you had, or would your real purpose emerge? Would you even like the people who were your best friends before all of this happened? Most of all, would you even want to remember your past, or would you want to start fresh? They're all questions Doug faces as he tries to separate what was from what is and we are there for every moment. There are numerous parts in Unknown White Male that will have you at a loss for words. I had to pause the DVD player several times because I was overwhelmed by what I was seeing. There were funny moments, like when Doug sees the beach for the first time and as he is headed for the ocean, wonders if he ever knew how to swim. There are poignant moments as we watch Doug meet his father and sister. And there are sad moments when Doug's friends wonder if they will even carry on their relationships with him after losing fifteen years of memories. It is real, it is tragic, and it is moving. I say to all of you reading this, do yourself a favor and go see this documentary. And if you've never seen a documentary, this would be a great place to start. If you would like to get a glimpse into the film, and watch a few snippets, please check out their Web site. Video44048@blogcritics.org Fri, 24 Feb 2006 00:36:18 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/07/181813.php T StoddartI've wasted many years in the soul-crushing world that is big business. I've ranted, I've screamed, and yes, I've even cried, about the asinine ignorance that seems to pervade in this culture. But never have I read a book that perfectly mocks the system as Institutionalized by Fred Smith and Joe Schmoe, and published by Blood & Treasure. This book is a hilarious look inside the fictitious company Institutionalized Industries, a firm, like most of its real world counterparts, where those who occupy the top positions are the least capable of handling them. And at Institutionalized, insanity abounds. From the newly crowned CEO, and Napoleon fanatic, Bill Oge, we learn of I.I.'s new direction. And, as in the real world, it is a lot of hyperboles wrapped in the language of H.R. speak. A lot of sound, but definitely no fury. Anyone who's read a company press release will completely understand where this book is coming from. The author has expertly conveyed the neo-English that is corporate tongue. But it doesn't stop there. This book is littered with characters from all aspects of corporate life. They are all suspicious, flawed, and wrought with anxiety. Why do you think one of the new initiatives at Institutionalized was to spike the drinking water with a drug similar to Prozac? Even with these psychotic measures, the inmates still manage to run the asylum. And run it they do, right into the ground. From sexual harassment lawsuits, to environmental investigations, Institutionalized falls victim to them all. The real fun in this book comes from finding reality in such an irrational portrayal of it. I laughed many times when I came across similarities I found between each of the characters presented and characters from my own experiences. And, just like in the real world, everyone is out for themselves. They plan, scheme, and derail each others' plans the moment they are made aware of them, only to have their own plans blow up in their faces. The ineptitude at Institutionalized is insurmountable; even their own leader is seeing a "psychiatrist" who, in my opinion, is nothing more than a very expensive hooker. But such ignorance is built upon by characters like COO Harry Mucs, a pencil-chewing paranoid; Senior Vice-President of Sales Lance Kiravam, an up an' coming no bull crap kind of guy (who is my favorite character); Yvonne Revals, the very uptight, rule-enforcing Vice-President of Human Resources; and all the way down to a secretary named "Killer". Every freak of corporate nature is represented here. Institutionalized is a fun read for anyone who finds themselves stuck in the bizarre game known as office politics. You will find yourself in here, and you will most definitely find examples of people who you work with and for. There are some hilarious moments in this book, especially the product testing during which several people are killed, and the efforts made to set up shop in China, that makes it worth the read.The scariest part of reading this book, is that most, if not all of the memos passed in its pages could come from any company I have worked for. Yes, they are that accurate. And even in a highly fictionalized story like this, that makes the reality of working in big business all the more creepy.Blood and Treasure Books43322@blogcritics.org Tue, 7 Feb 2006 18:18:13 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/07/140310.php T StoddartFinally! For those of us so called Toriphiles who've been chomping at the bit for a comprehensive collection of Tori videos, well, since 1998, the wait will soon mercifully end. On February 14th, Fade To Red will hit the shelves, and I, the lucky one that I am, got an early release copy. I have been a fan of Tori's work since Little Earthquakes, and have followed her throughout her musical career. But, like most fans, I have always felt that there was a serious hole in my collection. I had gone out of my way to amass B-sides and rarities, concert recordings, and broadcast material, but never could I find an adequate source for all things video. Sure, I got my digital hands on a few second, and third, rate copies of some her earlier videos, but I was always searching, always pining away for something better. Many days I had to appease my needs by watching the 1991-1998 DVD release of her early work. Good, as it may have been, it only covered her first four albums. And when you have an artist as prolific, and visual, as Tori, productions of this nature should be released every year. But they weren't, and we, as fans suffered. That is until now.Fade To Red is exactly what I've been searching for, and more. This two DVD collection of Tori's work draws together a full nineteen of her most beloved imaginary tales, and includes two bonus videos (Professional Widow Remix, and Cornflake Girl UK version). The list breaks down like this:CD One: 1.) "Past The Mission" 2.) "Crucify" 3.) "Jackie's Strength" 4.) "A Sorta Fairytale" 5.) "Winter" 6.) "Spark" 7.) "Sleeps With Butterflies" 8.) "Cornflake Girl (US)" 9.) "Hey Jupiter" 10.) "Silent all these years"CD Two: 1) "Caught A Lite Sneeze" 2) "1000 Oceans" 3) "God" 4) "Bliss" 5) "China" 6) "Raspberry Swirl" 7) "Talula" 8) "Sweet The Sting" 9) "Pretty Good Year"Altogether, an amazing ninety minutes of Tori time. But there is more yet! Tucked inside the bonus material is a behind the scenes look at the making of "A Sorta Fairytale". Because of the heavily green screen work that went into this video, the production of it was quite involved, and we get to watch Tori go through the process. It's highly interesting, enjoyable, and a nice addition to an already bountiful DVD. My favorite part, by far, is the audio commentary that accompanies each video. Like a loose lipped magician, Tori imparts her wisdom and demystifies the iconic images that flow like molasses from each of her "children". And it is here that the DVD shines. With every story, we get to know Tori that much more. We feel closer to her and, in doing so, we gain a deeper appreciation for that which she creates. There were two moments that stood out to me. The first was Tori's admission that she was at a loss to explain the "Talula" video. I laughed along at the idea that even she was not fully sure of where its director was headed. But, with her innate ability to give herself over freely, she let him take the reigns. The second moment was much more personal. It was during her retelling of the "Spark" video. She brings us into the struggle she had with her miscarriage, and the meaning of the name "Skeeter" that was etched into a tree in the video. Most of you real fans already know this, but I was still affected by listening to her. There are many, many more moments on this DVD, and I am sure you will find your own. If you are a fan, no matter how fanatic, Fade To Red is an essential part of any collection. I would say to those of you, who have never met our red headed muse, buy this DVD and you will understand our adoration. For the rest of you, who are completely aware of her unequalled talent, you only have a few more days to salivate. On a side note: I also would like to thank Rhino Entertainment for giving her fans what we've waited so many years for. A job well done. Music43318@blogcritics.org Tue, 7 Feb 2006 14:03:10 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/02/202935.php T StoddartOkay, so there I was in the middle of my local cemetery. It was 11:59 p.m., and I was decked out all in black leather, CD player in hand, preparing myself for the audio experience that was the sound track to the new flick Underworld-Evolution. I figured that if I was about to review this evil collection of tunes, I would give myself over to it completely. At the moment my watch hit midnight, I pushed the play button...Puscifer's track, "The Undertaker (Renholder Mix)", came to life with an eerie buzz of vocals, which gave way to a techno inspired heavy bass beat that methodically pounded into my ears. I was a little freaked out, you know, the cemetery and all. But I liked the feeling, and, more than that, I thought this was a good start. After the first track passed away, I was greeted with "Morning After". A guitar infused, techno savvy rock track, lead by the strong vocals of Linkin Park's Chester Benninton. Although not as hard as some of the tunes I've heard from Linkin Park, this song does get the blood flowing. And flow it does, right into Hawthorne Heights' "Where Do I Stab Myself in the Ears (Legion of Doom Remix)". Another infused song that, along with the masochistic title, captured a feeling of rhythmic torment. A torment I was really getting into. But, alas, this feeling quickly went cold, only to be replaced by the upbeat sound of My Chemical Romance's "To the End (RnR Cheryl Mix)". Although enjoyable, this song seemed out of place with the dark, Goth-like feel of the other tracks. I felt at odds with my environment. This was no place for such agreeable rock. The departure continued with Slipknot's "Vermillion pt 2 (Bloodstone Mix)". A ballad of sorts, "Vermillion pt 2", is a haunting track that made the hair on my arms stand up. It was the perfect song for those long moonlit cemetery walks, and possibly the best song on the CD. Stalking Slipknot was Alkaline Trio's "Burn (Alleged Remix)", a return to the earlier electronic beat driven tracks sans their rock edge. This track is soft, as Slipknot's, but lacks the anguish so expertly evoked in "Vermillion". As the air grew frigid, and darkness enveloped me, my mind began to play tricks. I felt like someone was watching me, following me. At the very same moment, "The Last Sunrise (Dusk Mix)", from Aiden, let out a distorted pulse. I froze, and scanned the landscape for any signs of movement. "The Last Sunrise" heightened my fears; it's definitely not the song to hear when you think someone's following you. Something was happening to this CD. It was changing, morphing into something larger, more muscular, and definitely more hairy. It began with Senses Fail, and their angst riddled song "Bite to Break the Skin (The Legion of Doom Remix)". This song is layered with driving beats, squealing guitar riffs, and vocals that switched from melodic to throat ripping. Atreyu's "Her Portrait in Black", the next track, takes this raw energy to the next level. Its mosh pit inducing drum beats thrusts you headlong into the hunt. You want to tear off your clothes, and run wildly into the night. "Washing Away Me in the Tides", by Trivium, and "Eternal Battle", by Mendozza, grab this intensity and drag it, kicking and screaming, through the next eight minutes of music. "Our Truth", by Lacuna Coil, add harplike vocals to the male dominated guttural sounds, bringing with it a sound reminiscent of early nineties rock. It's not thrash metal, but it has a backbone. Gosling, with their song "Cat People (putting out the fire)", sounds like something straight out of a David Lynch movie. It's slightly offbeat, and, again, not really in time with the rest of this CD. But "Why Are You Up", by Bobby Gold, methodically strikes back with a naughty track that even Kate Beckinsale couldn't resist getting sweaty to. And just as you're about to score with one glistening Kate, in a cemetery no less, Meat Beat Manifesto's "Suicide" breaks the groove. Its message of death, was not the problem, it's the repetitive lyrics, and creative void, that annoy the listener. And most likely would cause Kate to sink her protracted canines into your fleshy neck. As I left the cemetery, single, I parted with the last song on this soundtrack, "Halloween 2", by Cradle of Filth. Its rapid fire drum beat put some the jump back in steps. It's loud, angry, and full of life. All the things one needs after they've spent the night among the dead. Music43094@blogcritics.org Thu, 2 Feb 2006 20:29:35 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/02/01/213735.php T StoddartA note to the reader (translated by T.):A Million Little Pieces is (not) about my memories of my time in a drug and alcohol treatment center (I passed by one day on my way to Starbucks). As has been accurately revealed by two (bastard) journalists at an Internet Web site, and subsequently acknowledged by me(Oprah made me), during the process of writing the book, I embellished(flat out lied about) many details about my (someone I met at a frat party's) past experiences, and altered others (I also heard at that party. Man that was a great kegger!) in order to serve what I felt was the greater purpose (my ego) of the book. I sincerely apologize to those readers who have been disappointed by my actions (sorry suckas, no refund for you).I first sat down to write the book in the spring of 1997 (just after my Mom made me a bitchin' grilled cheese). I wrote what is now the first forty pages of it (well, what would have been the first forty pages, if that editor didn't "fix" it). I stopped because I didn't feel ready to continue to do it (it was nap time), didn't think I was ready to express some of the trauma I had experienced (My Mom left the crusts on! Can you believe it?). I started again in the fall of 2000. I had been working in the film industry (getting coffees) and was deeply unsatisfied with what I was doing (getting coffees). I had wanted to write books (because some chick said it was cool) and was writing films (because some ex-girlfriend liked Quentin T). I saved enough money (my allowance) to give myself eighteen months (not counting naps) to write the book. I didn't initially think of what I was writing as nonfiction or fiction (I didn't know the difference, and I still don't), memoir or autobiography (auto...what?). I wanted to use my (well, not mine exactly) experiences to tell my story about addiction (to hot Cocoa with marshmallows) and alcoholism (I drank six beers once, in one night!), about recovery (my tummy hurt from those beers), about family and friends (those kids behind the 7-11 are way cool) and faith and love (for myself), about redemption and hope (I get rich). I wanted to write, in the best-case scenario, a book that would change lives (well, just mine), would help people who were struggling, would inspire them in some way (to pay me). I wanted to write a book that would detail the fight addicts and alcoholics experience in their minds and in their bodies and detail why that fight is difficult to win (or so I heard some drunk complain about when he begged me for some change). I wanted to write a book that would help the friends and family members of addicts and alcoholics understand that fight (because they're first hand knowledge is not enough). As I wrote, I worked primarily from (someone else's) memory. I also used supporting documents (somewhere around here, I can't find where they are because my Mom keeps cleaning my room), such as medical records, therapists' notes, and personal journals, when I had them (or made them up), and when they were relevant. I wanted the stories in the book to ebb and flow (cool words I heard some surfer say), to have dramatic arcs (I learned about them in Writing for Dummies"), to have the tension that all great (keg party) stories require. I altered (all) events and details all the way through the book. Some of those include my role in a train accident that killed a girl from my school (I'm a sick bastard). While I was not, in real-life, directly involved in the accident, I was profoundly affected by it (and thought it would be good for sympathy sex). Others involved jail time I (walked through) served, which in the book is three months, but which in reality was only several hours (I had to sit next to a bad man), and certain criminal events (I said a dirty word around a cop. Yeah, he heard it...I think), including an arrest in Ohio, which was embellished (out right lied about). There has been much discussion, and dispute, about a scene in the book involving a root-canal procedure that takes place without anesthesia. I wrote that passage from memory (man, I'm such a badass in print), and have medical records that seem (don't) to support it. My account has been questioned by the treatment facility, and they believe (know) my memory may (is) be flawed. In addition, names and identifying characteristics of all the treatment patients in the book and all of the facility's employees, characteristics including occupations, ages, places of residence, and places and means of death, were changed to protect (make my lame story seem kick ass) the anonymity of those (never) involved in this period in my (okay, not my) life. This was done in the spirit of respecting every individual's anonymity (because those people would kick my ass), which is something we (they) were urged to do while in treatment, and to continue to do after we (they) left.I made other alterations in my portrayal of myself (duh!), most of which portrayed me in ways that made me tougher and more daring and more aggressive than in reality I was, or I am (it's MY story, and I can be tough if I want to). People cope with adversity in many different ways, ways that are deeply personal (or so that addiction website said). I think one way people cope is by developing a skewed perception of themselves that allows them to overcome and do things they thought they couldn't do before. My mistake, and it is one I deeply regret (now that I've been called out on National T.V.), is writing about the person I created in my mind to help me cope (when I had no friends), and not the person who went through the experience (that would be the dork I was before I made millions). There is much debate now about the respective natures of works of memoir, nonfiction, and fiction (a debate my agent won't explain to me). That debate will likely continue for some time. I believe, and I understand others (everyone else in the world) strongly disagree, that memoir allows the writer to work from memory instead of from a strict journalistic or historical standard. It is about impression (lies) and feeling, about individual recollection (or lack of it). This memoir is a combination of facts about my (so-called) life and certain embellishments (all lies). It is a subjective truth (is that possible? Subjective truth? Is that like Objective lies...wait I'm confused), altered by the mind of a recovering drug addict and alcoholic (who I saw once on Dateline). Ultimately, it's a story (like a bedtime story), and one that I could not have written without having lived the life I've lived (community service pairs you up with some real criminals you know?). I never expected the book to become as successful (**cough-lies-cough**) as it has, to sell anywhere close to the number of copies it has sold. The experience has been shocking for me, incredibly humbling (profitable), and at times terrifying (my agent made me talk to real addicts when they asked me to sign their books...ewww). Throughout this process, I have met thousands of readers (suckers), and heard from many thousands more, who were deeply affected by the book (like I care), and whose lives were changed by it. I am deeply sorry to any readers who I have disappointed (no, I will not give you your money back) and I hope these revelations will not alter their faith in the book's central message--that drug addiction and alcoholism can be overcome (I guess), and there is always a path to redemption if you fight to find one (but don't ask me 'cuz I don't know what you're crying about). Thirteen years after I left (walked by) treatment, I'm still on the path (to no longer needing an allowance), and I hope, ultimately (with your purchase of my other crap book), I'll get there.James Frey (as transcribed by T) New York January 2006 Culture43057@blogcritics.org Wed, 1 Feb 2006 21:37:35 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2006/01/23/172902.php T StoddartI'm at a loss. I've been awarded the opportunity to review a compilation CD, Neil Young's Greatest Hits, and, for the first time, I feel that I lack the literary acumen necessary to define such musical mastery. Neil Young is a legend. His highly charged, and highly personal, lyrics have, along with his distinguished vocals, and razor edged guitar riffs, shaped music for the past thirty years. Even today, there is no denying his continued influence. Some call Neil the father of grunge. Some call him Canada's answer to Bob Dylan. To these ends, I know little. In my opinion, labeling an artist, who's indulged in every form of popular music, is artistically restrictive, and, with respect to Neil, is an injustice. Neil is an artist, an artist who defies convention, and description. His music is less a conscious assemblage of lyrics and melodies, and more of an intimate experience that becomes an anthem for life. And this CD marvelously purifies this experience into sixteen tracks. Greatest Hits, already surpassing Gold status in sales, takes the best of what Neil offered over these past decades, and presents us with a strong statement of why the moniker of greatness so aptly applies. Songs like "Keep on Rocking in the Free World", in which Neil shares the stage with Pearl Jam, and "Ohio", resonate with a politically charged atmosphere. Where songs like "Only Love Can Break Your Heart", "Gold Rush", and "The Needle & The Damage Done" emote emotions known only to those who've knowingly married despair. Although the bulk of Greatest Hits can be deemed Folksy, there is a backbone to this compilation. "Hey, Hey, My, My (Into the Black)" bellows with deep throated guitars, and a healthy dose of feedback. "Cinnamon Girl" also grinds with a rhythmic purity that can only be quelled by immediate toe tapping, and air guitar imitation. But these two extremes are expertly weighed with tracks that highlight Neil's interpretation of Blues, best heard in "Southern Man", and "Comes a Time", which typifies the feel of Country.Neil Young's Greatest Hits could not be a finer example of what one artist can achieve. It is truth, it is beauty, and it is raw. No matter your personal musical tastes, this CD will supply at least one moment of audio revelation. You may never become a devotee, but you will know why Neil is considered a legend. Just remember, to get the best results, it doesn't hurt to throw on that plaid shirt, that's been gathering dust in the back of your closet, and pop open some brown bottles. Music42660@blogcritics.org Mon, 23 Jan 2006 17:29:02 EST