Blogcritics Author: Tiffany Leigh

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, 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. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Why Most Film and Music Blogs Have No Voice

Tiffany Leigh — Sun, 18 Mar 2007 14:15:13 EDT

In high school media class I was taught to write news articles using the inverted pyramid, the lede, and the five W's and an H. Tease all facts out of the event, record facts coherently into template, spell-check, fact-check, print, and read. Ta-da! Journalism 101.Events covered could be boring or exciting, even historic, but that's immaterial to how they should be uniformly reported. When I read news I want information only: strings of facts that are credible, well referenced, and easy to assimilate. I want my news as dry, coarse, and joyless as eating Weetabix from the box. What I don't want is what the reporter thinks of the facts he or she is reporting while he or she is reporting them. When I want an opinion, I'll ask or look for it in more relevant sections of the paper (features, op-ed, the arts pages, reviews, the magazine, the crossword, the Jumble, or the funnies). Bringing sexy back isn't the goal in news articles, and the writer's thoughts, commentary, speculation, noodlings, or gossip is out of context and wholly inappropriate. Besides, when I want an uneasy mixture of all of those things at once I just read various and sundry film blogs. At their worst (film/fan) blogs ultimately place more importance on a blogger's personality than on the subject or the information. Facts are eclipsed or rendered mute. Bloggers hold them captive. Bloggers also hold the reader captive - in a stalled elevator during the blackout, or sharing your armrest and shoulder on the red-eye transatlantic flight. No quarter. It's a Trojan Horse. You want facts, but instead they spring out and beat you silly with nabobism.Metaphorically the worst bloggers are radio DJs that talk over the musical intros of all your favorite songs right up until the singing starts. Most of the chatter is talking just for the sake of talking. I hate them. Morrissey had it right when he sang his chorus of "Hang the DJ!" on Panic. Shut up and play music. You're not on television. You're not funny. Everything you say isn't amazing by virtue of your ability to draw breath. No one cares outside of "song title, band name," and in this Clearchannel day and age you aren't even spinning platters or loading CDs - you're pushing buttons on computer-generated song lists. You're fungible. You work in a field that's on the iPodded and XM'd cusp of extinction. You're not famous and you probably have a face for radio, so don't take it out on your hostages by blabbing whilst dreaming that you're Howard Stern or Wolfman Jack.Movie news entries on blogs are easier to compose than MadLibs:1) Piece of information (link, quote, source). 2) Lies, damned lies, statistics, first drafts, first thoughts, IMDB ratings, misspellings, speculation, what-if's, self-promotion, ballwashing, wishful thinking, randomness, spin, attempts at snark, stabs at humor, conventional wisdom, preaching to the choir, legislating from the bench. Newsflash: most readers just want facts. They want one-sheets and trailers and movie stills and casting choices. They want links. The other stuff -- where you offer your two cents -- is as effective as a Kent Brockman editorial. It's all noise and no signal. You most likely have no interesting voice at all, let alone one I trust. How do you get a voice? Having access to the information isn't enough. That's just a forum, podium, or soapbox. If there's no clear and distinct personality behind your reportage, then thinking the audience reads you and not your "music" is putting the cart before the horse. It's believing in your own bullshit. If you care about more than page hits and want people to (really) love you, and you want your byline to instill fear, envy, and the sound of a million mouses clicking, then find your voice. Cultivate it. Do your homework. Know your audience. Fact check. Spell correctly. Link things. IMDB and Google solves 99% of the world's blog-post deficiencies, yet blog posts are still undernourished with facts or opinion, and people still click to you instead of getting the story on their own. Bring something to the table. Try harder. I'm happy for your sponsorship and your web traffic, and you may not care past that, but until you have a voice, until you broker audience trust with each online offering, and until you build an honest, organic rapport, UR just another URL. If your posts are as inconsistent, annoying, or irrelevant as any other anonymous commenter on your site, then you're merely another DJ smucking up my songs.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

Quest for Lyrics: "Surgery" by The Vincent Black Shadow

Tiffany Leigh — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 22:23:47 EDT

Like Crash Davis in Bull Durham, I HATE when people get the words wrong. And people always do. Isn't "excuse me while I eat this fly," for its abuse of Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze", the charter member in the Misheard Song Lyric Hall of Fame? In the old days, you listened to the radio for a song and tried like hell to memorize every word until the next time the DJ played it hours later. Or you bought the album or cassette -- or taped it from the radio -- and wore out the plastic getting the words down. But with full disclosure and overexposure and bushels of information available it's now novelty NOT to have instant access to song lyrics. Liner notes are usually a treasure map to promised further riches: bonus material; easter eggs; links to official sites; MySpace pages; endless fan sites; tribute pages; Wikis; message boards; blogs. So let's hypothesize: a band called The Vincent Black Shadow -- whose music I've fallen slavishly and crushably HARD for -- records one king-hell of an amazing earworm eight tracks deep into their debut album, Fear's In the Water. The song - titled "Surgery" -- is a three-minute & seventeen second slice of galactic candy, an unmovable obelisk of pop awe & sonic wonder. And I'm wholly in its gravitational pull. It's all I can do to NOT be listening to the song 24/7, and speaking in its tongues. I yearn for time alone in the car, at home, on my computer with headphones so I can commune with it. (I listen at work, too, but sparingly -- the repetition drives co-workers batty). Now I want to sing along with "Surgery." Early, often, and at the top of my lungs. So, by the power of Zeus, I NEED to find those words and get them dead solid perfect.The album's liner notes include lyrics but they aren't complete and/or correct. This happens all the time - artwork and printing is usually due before songs are recorded. The Clash's London Calling is a famous example -- "Train In Vain" wasn't listed on the album cover or jacket when released because the track was an eleventh-hour addition. So maybe there was an up-against-it, last minute revelation in the studio for The Vincent Black Shadow, which contradicted "Surgery's" original lyrics. I don't blame the band - the track kicks total ass - but the song's ineffable words are sacred to me now. The song has touched me. I'm possessed, and well past anything save getting those damn words right. I must know the unknowable. My very sanity is at stake. "Surgery's"" lyrics are tightly wound and spill forth lightning-fast. So fast that it takes repeat listens. After 40 plays in a row -- over two hours on repeat -- I still can't dope out every last word. I get close, I have mini-aha moments, but not enough of them. So I throw myself on the mercy of the Internet to unlock the code. Google Makes You Smarter�-- right?I try lyrics sites. Most are HTML'd circa 1997 -- fugly and non-intuitive, smacking of pure spam. But I can't find the words. Not to say that I don't find "Surgery" lyrics everywhere - but they're from the album's notes, which I've already debunked. The sites also all cannibalize each other - (wrong) identical lyrics accompanied by the same thank you to "Megs," who ostensibly "found" them. When all she did was cheat off someone's incorrect paper. It's a cut and paste job from the album notes, bush-league, something that could have been fact-checked in three minutes. I hate her. [PS -- If you're out there, "Megs?" be glad I'm not CIA-enough to track you, find you, steal your Hello Kitty merch, freeze your parents' bank accounts, torture your teddy bears, sugar your VW Bug's gas tank, and give you serious, mind-numbing, embarrassing noogies in front of that cute boy you secretly pine for in sixth-period French class.]This means - incredibly, impossibly -- that I am the first person on the entire planet that has been this moved by "Surgery." How can that be? How can the power harnessed within this track not already have afflicted the masses? How can I be the only soul on this planet seeking this Rosetta stone? Because this song? By this band? Amazing. Pure pop horror. Sweet dark fantasy. Neo-burlesque, or goth vaudeville. With its deep crunching guitars and percussion like a telltale heart. With twinkling pianos straight from Dark's Carnival. A melody borne from a grand guignol jukebox.And the lead singer? Cassandra Ford? Her voice. People who namecheck Gwen Stefani get it wrong. While Stefani's busy sampling The Sound of Music (badly) and chewing on plastic tacky bubblegum from the undersides of kindergarten desks, Ford has serious pipes with actual soul. And those lyrics. They have teeth, and they leave marks. They're about being damaged and not necessarily ever getting well again. Flirting with the scary fringes of sanity and reality. A Poe or Lovecraft nightmare told with more conviction, as if Cassandra and the band knows the world and has seen in the twilight how it truly looks and works. I submit the proper (click to hear) music & lyrics to "Surgery" by The Vincent Black Shadow:Coming back from surgery, Coming up on seventeen, Some kind of heart-plasty or maybe a lobotomy.Coming back from surgery, Coming up on seventeen, I don't remember how I looked before he got to me.Coming up on twenty-three Cut a piece of skin off me, Never have to wait in line; they never seem to know it's me.And he's standing over me, Wide awake and clenching teeth, "Now it's time," he says "for you to open up so I can see."Caked... all... Caked all over...

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

More Than a Feeling: Brad Delp, Lead Singer of Boston, Dead at 55

Tiffany Leigh — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 07:27:39 EST

Brad Delp, the lead singer for classic rock band Boston, passed away on Friday and was only 55 years old. Table the "guilty pleasure" arguments because they're bollocks: Boston rocked totally, completely, and unironically. They were MIT buddies that scientifically invented their sound and owned the power chords and minor keys they engineered. The songs, with their multi-track harmonized falsetto vocals and earnest lyrics, threatened to collapse under the weight of their own humility, but they never did collapse because these guys were sincere, honest, and nice. You could feel that in their words. As well as their deeds: "Boston is a drug-free and opposed to violence and cruelty of any kind," states the liner notes on their "Greatest Hits" album. One of the new recordings on it, "Higher Power," was inspired by "Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous programs around the world."Brad Delp was a long-time vegetarian who, with the band (as stated in the notes), supported such organizations as the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, the National Committee to Prevent Child Abuse, PETA, and countless local hunger and homeless programs. They talked the talk and walked the walk. Their music was shaped by their karma. The sounds and his voice beamed you up and shook your bones as you were sent into space by their harmonies and melodies, and you wanted to spread that goodwill somehow. Their biggest hit by far, off their dazzling debut album, was "More Than a Feeling." "More Than a Feeling": Summer nights, speeding around in cars, radio cranked, the windows rolled down. A friend's basement and quiet crushes on classmates. A packed bar, a jukebox you dropped enough money in to own all night, over beers and chatter and endless possibility. "More Than a Feeling": More accessible than Yes, less prog than Rush, with more on its mind than Bad Company, and less cheese on top than Foreigner. "More Than a Feeling": A little-known Rosetta Stone to many diverse bands that came after. Listen to the fading licks of "More Than a Feeling" and "Enter Sandman"-era Metallica. There's a common thread whether you like it or not. "More Than a Feeling": A five-second flashback and perfect marriage of sound and vision in John Hughes' underrated She's Having a Baby, guitars soaring as Kevin Bacon sees Elizabeth McGovern from across a smoky crowded room in college and knows it's love at first sight. "More Than a Feeling": A first-round Hall of Fame Guitar Hero stalwart. If I had any gaming chops I'd salute them on my buddy's Playstation. Instead I'll settle for honorary windmilling and fretting in my apartment on my cherished air guitar while I blast the holy hell out of them all weekend, or find them in every jukebox in every bar worth its salt in the tri-state area.Their mates put it plain and simple on the band's website. Music that couldn't be happening to a nicer guy, or a nicer band. I'll miss him. "...I looked out this morning and the sun was gone Turned on some music to start my day I lost myself in a familiar song I closed my eyes and I slipped away...So many people have come and gone Their faces fade as the years go by Yet I still recall as I wander on as clear as the sun in the summer sky..."--from "More Than A Feeling"

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

2nd Annual NECCO Conversation Hearts Awards

Tiffany Leigh — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 20:19:45 EST

Each year the NECCO company introduces 10 new sayings to their popular chalky candy hearts. The 2007 additions are:Cool Cat Puppy Love Take a Walk My Pet Bear Hug Top Dog URA Tiger Go Fish Love Bird Purr FectNote: two phrases each for cats and dogs; one each of fish and fowl. No lions, one tiger, and one bear (oh my!). A generic "My Pet" to represent the rest of the animal (and/or human) kingdom. And surprisingly no horses (especially in light of the hysterical Barbaro Idiocracy that gripped the nation last year).Based solely on focus & cohesion of theme this year's offerings trump last year's. But there are always quibbles. Or as I like to call them, the Awards!I Am In UR Heartz: "URA Tiger." This one's a hangover from last year's Heart Class when the NECCO Brain Trust didn't consult ONE person under the age of 30 while including "ILU" as a "shoutout" to their peeps in Generation IM. They may as well have picked me up in the minivan directly OUTSIDE the mall in front of all my friends! Firstly: It's simply "UR." Secondly, Tiger doesn't need to get undermined by a lame letter triplet that no one in the IM-a-Verse uses or has ever used. What, only the Tiger is a total N00b? Srsly, ROFLLMAO. If you want to tap into the pulse of What the Kids Are Digging, log onto MySpace for five minutes or ask the ones that tour the NECCO plant in Revere, MA. Heart Most In Need of Pluralization: "Love Bird." Isn't a lovebird flying solo a bit daft? I mean if you are getting into the true spirit of sending people honest, open, passionate feeling notes stamped in sugar on candy hearts, shouldn't you be gifting your Crush Object™ with a one that implies that you have a future TOGETHER, as LOVEBIRDS? Not to mention that I'd have spelled it as ONE word: "lovebirds." I can't get confirmation that one spelling is right or wrong, but to me "Love Bird" is the "irregardless" of the NECCO world. Just because enough people spell it as two words doesn't make it suddenly socially or grammatically acceptable. Canine Swing Vote: "Take a Walk." This heart gives a slight implied edge to canines, since you don't walk cats, birds, tigers, bears, or fish. NECCO seems to be a dog person.Most Ambiguous Heart Part I: "Take a Walk." Based on pure syntax it's too edited down to retain any possible romantic notions or meaning. For example, which would you prefer on St. Valentine's Day? 1) "Let's you and I link arms in a moonlit stroll along the promenade and kiss by the water's edge." OR (keeping in mind the creature theme)2) "Curb your dog. And don't forget the leash, plastic grocery bags, and newspaper." Any way you slice it one can definitely be misconstrued in affairs of the heart with this particular message. Most Ambiguous Heart Part II: "Go Fish." Speaking of mixed messages. This seems to be a bit of a desperate reach to keep with the pet theme, so much so that it's less effective as a amorous or playful message to a paramour. In the card game of the same name, to "go fish" means that one's advances (a card request from another player) has been denied or rebuffed, so one must instead go trolling into the blind dating pool of the draw pile instead, which is traditionally viewed as a low-percentage, less ideal alternative. "Fish" also echoes a popular buck-up phrase: "There are other fish in the sea." This "look at the bright side" post-breakup pep talk is probably the exact opposite sentiment sought by romantics on St. Valentine's Day. Simply to keep aquarium owners with sweet tooths from waging strongly-worded letter-writing campaigns.Squinting Modifier: "My Pet." In addition to sounding mildly like Gollum's favorite, "My Pet" is guilty of being a misplaced modifier. Who, exactly, IS the "pet?" Worse, who is the "my?" The message raises serious ownership concerns which (due to space concerns and food expiration dates) the heart itself is not equipped to resolve. If this was a BDSM situation, or a role-play, or one was in fact giving this candied heart to one's fish or tiger or dog or cat, then there may in fact be an assumed dominion of one being over another. But should you really be giving your pets hard candy? Most Cromulent: "Purr Fect." I know that "purr" is onomatopoeia. But what in Zeus is a "fect?" Just spell "Purrfect" as one word -- seriously, trust in your Captain Obvious candy-eating populace that there's enough cute cats out there, and cute cat owners, and oodles enough of cute cat punnery that this gag is part of the inaugural class of the Cute Cat Pun Hall of Fame. It's 2007 and there's an Internet: "Purrfect" is recognizable from space.While I look forward to NECCO'S 2008 offerings, a quick memo to Mr. Necco: 1) Organize a focus group of 13-16 year-olds to suggest ideas. Anyone older, and you run the risk of too much ironic and self-referential Snark. --Pesky bloggers. 2) Bounce ideas off the Barbaro Message Board (granting the grief-stricken something creative and spiritual with which to channel their grief). 3) Outsource work to the Fortune Cookie or Page-a-Day Calendar writers. 4) Hire people who don't like your candy. Like dentists, or diabetics, or ME. That way there's no bias or subjectivity in Sweetheart Composition. 5) (By the way, my resume is on file, and references are available upon request.)

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya (Young Adult Young Adult) Sisterhood

Tiffany Leigh — Wed, 2 Aug 2006 15:43:36 EDT

What boggles my mind is the exponential growth, depth, breadth and excellence of today's young adult fiction. That's as opposed to In My Day™ (a halcyon time that dates me terribly, but doesn't have me going all grumpy old crone just yet). In My Day™ it seemed like there was only Madeleine L'Engle, Choose Your Own Adventures, and Island of the Blue Dolphins. That wasn't all, but you get the idea.Now? The term "YA" is no longer a four-letter word and is no longer synonymous with limiting, "childish" subject matter, fair-to-middling quality, or soft, weak niche sales. Quite the contrary. The market is booming. The writing is much more sophisticated. More so than standard adult fare often times. That demarcation line of "too old to be reading this" has blurred irrevocably. Today's YA genres are more specialized & more vast - wizards (duh), dark fantasy, magic realism, horror, and even satire and hard sci-fi. And things like sexuality, gender identity, depression, murder, suicide, and death are routinely (often realistically) addressed as opposed to being exceptions to the rule. Subjects deemed suitable for YA's nowadays were rare or unheard of In My Day™. And the quality of the books themselves -- their construction, lavish illustrations, and packaging -- represents a stylistic renaissance. The books look great on your shelves, like books you'd want to pass down from generation to generation, or discover when you're a kid to change your world forever. Many reasons behind this YA boom are cultural or anthropological. Generally speaking, there are more kids out there. Tweeners happened, as well as "Teh Interweb" revolution. And the significance of a book released in 1997 introducing a character named Harry Potter cannot be discounted. For better AND worse.Okay, my Rowling Rant: count me as one who surfs the tsunami wave of Potter backlash. But this stems from my three -- yes, three -- abandoned attempts to get through the first freaking book. Harry spent so much time dickering at the Wizard School Supply Store and the Bank that I couldn't be bothered, at page 100-something, to finish wading through thickets and thickets of Exposition by the Big Fat Wizard Guy & see him to finally get to his first class. And doesn't EVERY book start the same way (locked in his closet with his mean Muggle guardians, spirited away to the Wizard Bookstore, pages of Fat Guy Exposition)? Now a shelf of Potter books later, the "you should really give it another shot" ship hath sailed.Besides, there's tons of superlative YA out there, thank Zeus. I do have minor quibbles with the unceasing YA volcano: 1) While grateful that J.K. Rowling kicked the door down like a SWAT team raid and unbottled the YA fiction genie, it's been at the expense of other more prolific & more talented authors. It ain't just Harry Potter, folks. To wit: Diane Duane scooped Rowling's "kid wizard" concept more than 10 years before the first Harry Potter novel with her Young Wizards series. The bright side: Duane's OOP books got republished & now she's got a bigger readership (she doesn't have to rely solely on those Star Trek novels). 2) It being a business, everyone and their mothers now wants to write (or worse, merely thinks they can write) a YA novel. Lots of "serious" adult authors are breaking both ankles hijacking the YA bandwagon. I see the appeal - growth market, change of thematic pace, and they probably write them in between their meatier, adult fare. Some of these are excellent (Michael Chabon's Summerland, Carl Hiassen's Hoot & Flush). Others give me cynical pause, like James Patterson's Maximum Ride. He cranks out 80 cookie cutter thrillers a year so this seems more an unconcealed two-fisted grab at the YA market, or a potential gateway drug for said YA's to go buy Patterson's mediocre Alex Cross tripe-ery once they graduate.3) Worse than people simply thinking they can write a novel, they go for an entire YA series. Thank Rowling for that too. Multiple books make sense for the readers, writer, and publishing houses. But it runs the risk of lesser writers producing the literary equivalent of a Rocky XVIII.All great YA fiction has one truism in common: it respects the readership, and treats its readers like adults. This emphasis on "adult" in the phrase "young adult" is clutch. Books that treat kids like kids are anathema. Books that are the metaphorical equivalent of a condescending aunt patting you on the head murmuring "goo-goo-ga-ga" instead of noticing that you can handle something much more maturely. Here's a list of authors I recommend and others that I'm shilling based strictly on buzz:Francesca Lia Block is a gorgeously gifted writer. Reading her words is like feasting on a sumptuous, home-cooked meal with fresh ingredients and lots and lots of dessert. Her "Weetzie Bat" cycle of books (mostly collected in her novel Dangerous Angels) is the best place to start. Cornelia Funke is the third best-selling author in Germany (behind Rowling, natch, and R.L. Stine). But her second runner-up status doesn't diminish her book Inkheart, which comes up with a terrific concept: what if reading books aloud permitted the characters in them to come to life and inhabit this world? And what if it wasn't always the nice characters (Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter) but the not-so-nice (evil) ones too? MT Anderson and Scott Westerfield are critically acclaimed YA and sci-fi writers. Anderson's Feed and Westerfield's Uglies, Pretties, & Specials trilogy are equal parts speculative, satire, and scary. The best sci-fi also is human and emotionally honest, and these books are all excellent efforts as strong as any "adult" novel in the field. Eva Ibbotson exhibits more of Roald Dahl's spark on her grocery lists than Rowling has in her entire literary output. She's also been around a lot longer, trucking in the fantastic, the whimsical, and the fabulistic without trying too hard. Good places to start include The Secret of Platform 13, Which Witch?, or Island of the Aunts.And books I'm judging solely on the merits of their covers and blurbs:Monster Blood Tattoo by D.M. Cornish - the first book ("Foundling") of an epic, fully-realized, world-building series that is already garnering comparisons to Tolkien (hopefully without all the boring-as-hell Hobbity walking/eating/singing idleness);Here Be Monsters by Alan Snow (who also does lots and lots of woodcut-esque, old-timey original illustrations for the book);The 13 ½ Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers, a German writer who has penned and illustrated this massively imaginative tome;Kiki Strike: Inside the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller, who introduces a kick-ass female protagonist who meets a kick-ass female superspy in the secret tunnels and civilization under Manhattan.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

McCarren Pool Park in Williamsburg: A User's Guide

Tiffany Leigh — Sun, 30 Jul 2006 22:41:24 EDT

I saw a concert last night (Bloc Party, awesome!) at the McCarren Pool Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It's a fantastic slice of New York City history that's finally rousing from a dormant and fallow period of neglect that lasted over twenty years. In addition to the pool, McCarren Park includes surrounding acreage encompassing soccer fields, baseball diamonds, and a running track oval. The gentrified sprawl in Williamsburg has long made Bedford Avenue a prep school campus of homogenized hipsters and slackers (and NOT of the Fnord variety). But now that Creeping Hip has leeched into Greenpoint. And McCarren Park is the DMZ that separates the two territories. The pool area -- where the general admission ticket buyers stand/sway/mosh -- is 50,000 square feet. That's three times the size of a regulation Olympic-sized swimming pool. I could barely fathom the space filled with water in its heyday. But I longed to fathom it last night; the weather was hot and humid and I longed for a swim.The pool was originally designed to hold 6800 swimmers. That wasn't the sold-out capacity crowd they got last night but it was easily a couple thousand, which is still a lot of Bloc Party fans.Clearchannel (yeah, they suck, make no mistake) is hosting concerts at McCarren Pool all summer. The neighborhood, borough, and city politicking is in an immoveable scrum as to what to do with this unique space, when to do it, and how to pay for it. While everyone is still at a impasse, Clearchannel swooped in with this offer and the city took the money, giving everyone another possible option for the pool's use.This summer concert series isn't futzing around, either; upcoming August shows include top-flight talent like Sonic Youth & the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Iron & Wine, The Shins (with J Mascis), and Neko Case. I'd never been to McCarren to see a show before. If you are seeing a show at McCarren Pool Park in the future, here are some hard-earned first-timer tips:• DON'T try to get directions -- or even the park address -- online. MapQuest searches state that McCarren is on the corner of Bedford Avenue and North 12th. Actually, a corner of the park is there. The actual entrance where you'd be see the show is on Lorimer Street just west of Driggs. From Bedford and North 12th, walk one block west to Driggs, then one block north to Lorimer, then turn right onto Lorimer. Or cut through the park itself and head diagonally through the softball fields and the soccer field/running track. Or on the night of a show follow the sound of the music, and all the other mildly lost folks in the same boat as you. • SUBWAY, PART ONE: If at all possible, and even if not convenient, take the G-train to get there. For your own sanity. You don't want to deal with the L-train the night of a show, or with the claustrophobic Bedford Avenue stop, or with Bedford Avenue, or with the hip-deep legions of Le Hipsters that teem and pool and herd and stagger to the venue. The G-train is 1) four blocks closer; and 2) never ever packed with as much cattle. • SUBWAY, PART DEUX: If you don't take the G-train going there, DEFINITELY take it leaving. I G-trained it, transferred to the 7 into midtown, then to the F-train, and guarantee I STILL got to Manhattan faster than the masses wading eight-deep on the L-train Bedford Avenue citybound platform. • HIPSTER TERROR ALERT -- UPGRADE TO ORANGE: Everything they say about Williamsburg being hipstered to within an inch of its life is true. Holden Caulfield would have stroked out on Bedford Avenue after 30 seconds of people-watching. When visiting it may help to have your passport, and a copy of The Hipster Handbook by Robert Lanham.My dog-eared copy, even three years old (which is pet rock by today's culture standards) has been way more practical than Lonely Planet: Williamsburg.• FASHION VICTIMS UNIT: Don't be fazed by how badly people dress in Williamsburg. They're not putting you on. Really. They're deadly serious. What passes for fashion in Williamsburg is like an everyday Halloween parade sponsored by Goodwill for color-blind, humorless, aphasic high schoolers. And last night, these two chicas would had have a field day. No, a field year. • LIBATION: Get your drink/drunk on BEFORE you get to the Pool. The beer and bottled water lines inside are aggressively long and strong. And that's just to get drink tickets to THEN get in line for a beer. Beer that's poured into 16-ounce Dixie cups for five bucks a pop. With a quasi-selling limit. By the time you get a quaff, the show's over. There's a billion nearby bars where you can go pre-show and drink. That have air conditioning. All while making fun of what everyone else is wearing.• JUST SAY NO TO PORT-A-JOHNS: Those things at the venue are predictably nasty. And the "portable" sink stations weren't working after about two minutes of use (5:02 PM), so know that if you use their chemical toilets you wouldn't get to wash your hands. Ugh. Howard Hughes' worst nightmare. Make yourself go BEFORE you go.• PATIENCE: If you MUST buy beer at the pool or use their Port-a-Johns, hold out until the headlining band gets onstage and starts playing. The lines completely evaporate at that point so there's zero wait time. And sight lines are great so you can see the band from anywhere inside (except in a Port-a-John). • BLANKET POLICY: If you don't want to stand the entire time, bring a blanket or (Ford Prefect prefers a) towel to sit on. The general admission area comprises the entire drained pool. With its sky blue chipping paint and concrete crumbs, you don't want to sit on it bare. (I wonder if the paint was lead-based. Oh well, that ship hath sailed.)• BEACH TRAFFIC: Treat it like a day at the beach. Bring SUN SCREEN if you're catching the opening acts while it's still sunny out. • DEET: Bring INSECT REPELLENT because where there's park and grass and trees and heat and humidity, there be mosquitos.• "GRASS," NOT GRASS: Don't be alarmed if you smell something skunky in the air as soon as the bands start playing. That's just pot. Apparently, people buy the marijuana, and then roll the marijuana into papers in the shape of a cigarette and then smoke it like a cigarette. It wasn't in my Hipster Handbook, but I guess it's a Williamsburg thing.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

Why 13 Tzameti Kicks Hostel's Skanky Ass

Tiffany Leigh — Sat, 29 Jul 2006 21:54:44 EDT

I saw 13 Tzameti (pronounced "za-meddy") yesterday.Go see it. Go watch the trailer. And then let me segue into why it's superior to movies like Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek, those trashy beeyotches.There's a cratering trend of horror movie these days that puts the Average Joes (i.e. demographically-correct dumb teenagers) in gory & relentless peril by irredeemable Evil Folk (usually crazy cracker hillbillies). In these movies, the Evil Folk eviscerate the Average Joes simply for evisceration's own sake. Witnessing these "who 'dat?" victims being put through their joyless, fiddly, die-gruesomely paces like the "Finishing" kill move in a Mortal Kombat game is (to me) boring as all get out. Saw. Hostel. Wolf Creek. I mean you, you dummies.From a purely screenwriting point of view, Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek are not, by definition, "scary." They don't technically satisfy the classic definition of horror. Gory, sick, depraved, sure. Splatter or slasher film, maybe. But Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek are witless, and artless, and mostly (here's where I sound like a condescending & grumpy old Andy Rooney, but am only half-joking) a Generational Condition Of Our Times™. The Kids These Days™ suffer from the degenerative disease of desensitization. Probably from all the video games growing up, and the more permissive content allowed on television, and the private immediacy of The InterWebs. It's getting increasingly more difficult to get any rise out of them at all, any ripple in the facade. So stakes get raised. Until you reach the critical mass of the pseudo-snuff film like Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek. Seriously? YAWN. The gulf in quality between movies like Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek and 13 Tzameti is the size of a galaxy. Far, far away. 13 Tzameti is a lean and mean 90 minutes. It's shot in black and white so it doesn't get to use the color red in its palette as a crutch. But it's a superlative thriller & true shocker. It's everything that Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek is not for one simple reason: it creates characters you care about so that everything that comes after has real resonant weight & high impact. The characters' actions seem inevitable, like they HAD to happen, because it's borne from their excellent set-up characterizations. And you care what does transpire -- what does happen to them, and not in a "sucks to be them" kind of way.A refresher course in Screenwriting 101: 1) Character = Action. Characters do stuff. The stuff they do has an effect on them & others. The effects determine what stuff they do next. Lather, rinse, repeat. 2) Action = Structure. A script strings together characters doing stuff, the results of the stuff they do, and then doing more stuff either in response or defiance of the previous stuff they did, like pearls on a necklace, until the end.Worrying about & writing fleshed-out realistic characters & putting them in organic, inevitable situations is wicked freaking hard. And Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek isn't up for that kind of heavy lifting. Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek eschews any semblance of characterization. The people in these movies are interchangeable, and get killed matter-of-factly like a task force in Halo. You don't *really* care, even if you're being grossed out by the pulping eyeballs & the severed spines and are just glad it ain't you. It's like setting your Barbie dolls or GI Joe guys on fire just to watch them melt & burn. In 35mm.Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek is a crossdresser that so clearly doesn't pass in public -- hairy legs, five o'clock shadow, baritone, no wig, makeup by Ringling Bros. -- but that goes to the McDonalds on Times Square in the middle of the day anyway, just to jolt the Kansans coming out of The Lion King & watch the expressions on their kids' faces change. But Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek's easy. Just drown a bag of mewing kittens in the river. Or bury a baby alive. Get the cheap & easy thrill & the opening weekend's box office. These tactics are as crutch as the girdle Bill Shatner wore under his uniform in Star Trek. Saw/Hostel/Wolf Creek's gimmicky. All style over no substance (or in this case, no structure). So go see 13 Tzameti and see how it shows these other bitches how it's supposed to be done.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

How Do You Rock So Hard? - The Subways

Tiffany Leigh — Thu, 9 Mar 2006 08:59:40 EST

It's impossible to believe, even while watching & listening to UK band The Subways tear through their first-ever show in New York City at the sold-out Bowery Ballroom, that there are only three people on stage. There was another three-piece that more than ten years ago sounded this big, this fast, this tight, this important, this Next Big Thing: Nirvana.Yeah, I said it. Freals. And it's absolutely no exaggeration. The Subways are the first band that channels Nirvana's sound, but owns it outright and doesn't ape them. Think of the emotional rawness of Bleach then imagine if Cobain & Co. played their instruments as well as they did on In Utero, and you'd have Young For Eternity, The Subways' debut album.The guitar riffs and rock-and-roll howls are big-Nirvana, but The Subways lyrically downshift away from that band's cancer-eating, zeitgeisty angst: they don't have the weight of the world on their shoulders. They sing about sitting on the "City Pavement" with their friends, the demon boy meets devil girl of "One AM," or the I-Only-Want-To-Be-With-You of "Holiday." They rock (so hard) like Nirvana, but lead guitar/vocals Billy Lunn also sounds like another band you may have heard of: Oasis. These two bands are among Billy's admitted and obvious influences, and the album oscillates effortlessly between dreamy tidal pop, rave-up ditties, and the Rock. But if the best artists steal, then The Subways are Grand Theft Auto. They took the stage at 11PM, less than a week into their first US tour. They want to duplicate their wild UK success, and opening the show with "With You" leaves zero doubt that they will. Within moments Lunn is on the drums; not playing them, but climbing & launching from atop them with a perfectly executed rock-and-roll leap. For the rest of the show he can't stay off the furniture, and you know that there is no out-of-bounds in the venue. Charlotte Cooper isn't just pretty boilerplate or rock affirmative action or sexy chrome on her bass; she can f*cking play. And while she plays she doesn't stop moving, ever. She's a much-easier-on-the-eyes Angus Young - bouncing & spinning & whipping all over the stage, her head shaking up and down in perpetual loops, with occasional respites to sing along. It takes only 1.5 songs for drummer Josh Morgan to go shirtless. He plays like he's an alternative source of energy, possessed; between songs he slumps over his drum kit, sweaty head down, harnessing his power, coiling like a spring for the next salvo. Ten seconds into "Mary" they make good on Oasis' entire discography of broken promises; 20 seconds later they chorus their rave-up pop and it's the Beatles with nary a wink or karaoke smirk.The show stuck to the fast and furious, their inner nirvana. "I Want To Hear What You Have Got To Say" is an impromptu mass singalong. For "Oh Yeah" Billy's in the crowd to lead a rally - "I heard they don't dance in New York City," he teases (he's right), then he works the floor, bounding upstairs to rouse the passive shoegazers seated in the balcony. And in case anyone was comatose for the first 40 minutes of the show, "Somewhere" resuscitates. It's twice the length of any of their other songs at over four minutes. Their epic. It's a little bit metal and a whole lotta rock as architecture, a powerful and emotional and incredible song ending with Lunn's passionate yowls over crunching power guitars. And hearing it live, the song went to eleventh heaven. Their encore = "Rock And Roll Queen." You thought Billy Lunn might do it at some point and he finally does it here - he launches into the crowd and is surfed on the arms of the fans to the back of the room & slowly forth again. Retaking the stage he beams from ear to ear -- air-guitaring to Oasis and Pixies and Nirvana and The Jam in his bedroom again, learning to play rock-and-roll with his best friends in the garage again -- and with genuine excitement he says "I can't believe we just did that!!!" But with them, it's the beginning, and everything is possible.After the show I got a response via email to my question ("how do you rock so hard?") from Billy himself."Hi, I'm Billy from The Subways and I rock so hard because I like coffee, tea, scarves, violins, cellos, guitars, pianos, the paupers, the peepers, the needers, the squeelers, the honest, the bold, the silly, the pretentious, the genuine, the cold, the tepid, the warm, the hot, the scorching, the zeros. "I like the records that people are embarrassed to admit to liking, I like the cool bands, I like boy bands, girl bands, pop bands, rock bands, expensive brands, second hands, the lazy, the enemies, the ones who make it all worthwhile. "Do you like them too?"Yeah, I like them too. Their album is a revelation. Their live show at Bowery was like witnessing history. And their music, their sound, their debut album is a exhilarating declaration of rock independence.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

Morningwood - How Do You Rock So Hard?

Tiffany Leigh — Wed, 1 Mar 2006 12:20:50 EST

I barely have a chance to ask the only question of the interview before Chantal Claret, Morningwood's lead vocalist, a New York Girl fronting a New York Band and a Chick That Kicks Total Ass, launches a preemptive strike: "technically, Morningwood can ONLY rock HARD."There IS no asking how. Morningwood just is and has always been fully-formed & wholly realized rock-and-roll. And rock they do. Morningwood's self-titled debut album is a party. Not those squinty disaffected hip twinkling lounge parties with music you could shop to, but a full-on New York City tilt in the East Village that rages till dawn & the club kicks you out. And based on the band name it promises to be *that* kind of party if you play your cards right.Self-described as "a monster truck rally having tantric sex with a Bond girl," Morningwood bring it tight & loud. They flex between poppy new wave, clashes of electro, punk streaks, & swaggery arena rock. Their sound drops your jaw and has your senses asking you "are you f*cking kidding me?" with each zig and zag. And Gil Norton -- whose work with the Pixies is legendary -- preps the album for similar space travel with his unique sonic shine. Morningwood's track list is the party before, during, and after you left (hopefully with that hot friend). "Babysitter" is a fantasy seduction you're powerless to stop. "Easy" preps for a "Toys in the Attic" takeoff then buzzes the tower incessantly, echoing "Hot For Teacher" chords (oh yes I'm hot oh yes I'm hot) then sticking the landing after its lean sweaty breakdown. "Jetsetter" starts sugary then sucker punches with the bootstomp riffs of vintage Pixies. And "Nth Degree" launches a heroic squadron of new wave across the sky, bridged with a Speak-n-Spell sing along that somehow turns into a hot hookup in the stairwell of your Avenue C walkup. In a band that rocks hard, Chantal coos like Kim Deal & howls like Joan Jett in the same breath. She's backed by Pedro Yanowitz on a pogo-ing & athletic bass, and drums that make like a stuntman tumbling down the stairs of an exploding hi-rise. Their live shows strive to create bouncing, dancing, sweaty throngs that could launch 1000 new bands of their own after hearing each performance. Think of it as a religious movement, a cult of rock. Catch Morningwood this spring and hear them preach to the converted.This article appeared in slightly modified form on Tiffany Leigh's blog, Soundtrack To The Motion Picture.

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.

Best Picture Oscar Prediction (with one faux spoiler)

Tiffany Leigh — Tue, 28 Feb 2006 07:54:35 EST

As is often the case come Oscar time, the Best Picture of 2005 will not win the Best Picture Oscar this year -- because it wasn't even nominated. I'm talking about The Constant Gardener, for which I have been petitioning ceaselessly to make a Write-In candidate to anyone who will listen: strangers in elevators, policeman on street corners, telemarketers who suddenly can't get off the phone fast enough. You know, people who have no bearing at all on who votes for Best Picture.I've given up the ghost. Instead I'll focus my bluster here and pick an "official" winner. And in a fit of gracious sportsmanship I won't even spoil the ending to the film I think wins Best Picture. 1) It's An Honor Simply Being Nominated. The total nominations for each Best Picture:Brokeback Mountain = 8 Capote = 5 Crash = 6 Good Night, and Good Luck = 6 Munich = 5Sometimes a runaway train of noms lead to victory so Brokeback's gotta like its chances. But there's cause for superstition: in Oscar history, six movies in history have received eight nominations without winning a single statue. 2) Time Is On My Side. The average running time of all Best Picture Oscar winners thus far is just over two hours, and of those all but two have been over 100 minutes. (The two that were under: Marty at 91 & Annie Hall at 93). This tidbit introduces Golden Rule #1 = The longer the nominated movie, the better chance it has to win.Oscar wannabees often clock serious OT. The movies may not always justify their running times. Most don't. But the business side of Hollywood -- the side that likes to think it can predict market trends, target audiences, and box office hits -- likes concrete formulae, even if faulty. And the algebra says that Long = Important = Critical Acclaim = Oscar. Running times for this year's nominees:Brokeback Mountain = 134 minutes Capote = 98 minutes Crash = 113 minutes Good Night, and Good Luck = 93 minutes Munich = 164 minutesBy this metric both Capote & Good Night, and Good Luck have no chance, and Munich is the favorite. 3) It Was My Understanding That There Would Be No Math. Is box office gross an indicator of a film's Oscar chances? Not sure. But I know just enough math & Excel to be dangerously unreliable. Quick number crunches: The average box office gross of the past 26 Best Picture winners (1978-2004) = $144,779,253 and 54 cents.Take away two outliers - the highest grosser (Titanic by a nautical mile) and the lowest (The Last Emperor) and the average winners' gross slides to $129,978,673 and 92 cents. And wow, I just used the word "outlier."Here are grosses for this year's Best Picture Nominees as of this week, rounding up:Brokeback Mountain = 75 million Capote = 23 million Crash = 53 million Good Night, and Good Luck = 30 million Munich = 46 millionNone are near the target gross. Winners often make their bank after they win the award but that's reaching even for Brokeback, who's closest. The only thing I'm betting is that Good Night is slim-to-none and that Capote is definitely kaput: in the history of the event the lowest grossing movie has never won. Ever. Short running time + Least amount of $$$ = thanks for playing. 4) Biodome. Another trend is the Biopic. Three of the five nominated films last year were about Real People (and no, I don't mean the '80's television series starring Skip Stephenson): Howard Hughes, Ray Charles, and J.M. Barrie (the guy who wrote Peter Pan). This year sees a recurring theme: three of the picture nominees boast historical figures (Capote, Good Night, & Munich). Oscar likes Real People Movies, and Real People Performances are Best Actor/Actress Oscar magnets. Which is also a Best Picture nom's downfall -- a ballot clogged with biopics splits votes. In addition Oscar usually recognizes a performance and not the film itself (like Ray last year, or this year's Walk the Line, which was *not* nominated for Best Picture). 4) Vets vs. Rooks. Three of the Best Picture directors are newbies, and two are nominated for their feature-film debuts. The other two have been here before -- Ang Lee & Steven Spielberg. Oscar likes to go with known quantities (Clint Eastwood last year won his second directing award for Million Dollar Baby). Oscar also usually doesn't split the Best Director/Best Picture between two different flicks (it's only happened 26% of the time over the past 80 years). 5) It's Not Selling Out, It's Buying In. Here's a number: 130,000. That's how many movie "screeners" of Crash were sent to Screen Actors Guild members in January prior to the SAG Awards in February. The usual average amount of screeners sent out = 15,000. Here's another number: $4,000,000. That's how much money since January that Lions Gate has spent on marketing Crash and blitzing the media as we countdown to Oscar. I understand that the movie was released a year ago, and it wants to stay in the minds of the voters. But I'm a bit cynical about these sort of ploys -- namely, because sometimes they work. Old Miramax made this routine sing with nominally deserving movies. (Shakespeare In Love & The English Patient, I'm sneering in your direction). Crash comes off to me, more and more, as The Emperor's New Clothes. (Here's a concept: make a better movie). And Crash is already a huge success, making 12-13 times it's budget back. The full-court pre$$ should have gone to other movies, like Capote, or Good Night, or The Constant Gardener.Overpaying for Oscar is like the Yankees buying every single player in baseball to field a team. I hate the Yankees. So I can't in good faith root for Crash. 6) Punctuation. Good Night, and Good Luck has NO chance of winning. Not because it's the shortest film (though that's strike one). Not because it grossed less than the (unofficial) Best Picture of 2005, The Constant Gardener (strike two). But because of this magic bullet: no nominee with a comma in its title has ever won Best Picture. Previous Best Picture winners include four apostrophes, two periods, a colon, a hyphen, and even an exclamation point, but never a comma. So good night, Good Night. You can take it to the bank. And the Oscar for Best Picture goes to? BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN.Why? Because people remember how it ends. You can write an awful movie and make an awful movie. But if your ending is pretty good, or even just "doesn't suck," then folks still leave the theater fairly satisfied. A definition of a good ending, to paraphrase William Goldman: "it has to move the sh*t out of you."After experiencing a well-earned, plausible, and inevitable ending to a movie, the audience recalls not only how it ended but how they felt. Brokeback Mountain ends definitively & simply, and moves the audience profoundly, much more so than the other nominees. And while all the nominees have their doses of emotional impact, Munich, Good Night, Crash, and Capote deal in murkier shades of grey & multiple degrees of ambiguity (racial, political, moral, historical): endings where one's not sure if the characters are better or worse off. Brokeback is much more cut, much more dried, and much less grey than the others. Think of great movies, ones you love, ones you know by heart. You can succinctly sum up their endings 99.9 percent of the time. A sample list of memorable endings: They get married. The good guys win. The good guys lose. He dies. She dies. Everyone dies. It was just a dream. The butler did it. He's really a ghost. They blow up the shark.Plug in this year's five nominees. Only Brokeback has an ending that's listed above (FAUX SPOILER: Ennis & Jack blow up the shark). The rest don't. A good ending has to be simple, definitive, and moving, whether you leave 'em laughing, or leave 'em crying. Only Brokeback Mountain encompasses all three of these objectives, which is why it will win on Sunday night. This article appeared in slightly modified form on Tiffany Leigh's blog, Soundtrack To The Motion Picture. Edited: [!--GH--]

Pop�. Screenwriter. Part-time girl. Passionate activist against All Things Mediocre. Tiffany Leigh's blog, "Soundtrack to the Motion Picture," can be found right here.