Top Five Tuesday: BJ's (Not BJs, You Pervert—This Is a SFW Blog!!!!!)

Though can you imagine, some asshole ranking his favorite blowjobs and publishing it on his blog on his wedding anniversary? Not me, sir, no way. No, that would be even worse than a guy bitching about food shopping on a blog and praying that the wife with whom he is celebrating his anniversary today continues to not read his blog because if she came here today expecting to see some lovey-dovey goop and instead saw her husband of seven years complaining about the food shopping trip that she suggested in the first place. despite the fact that he said he was good and fine and not at all upset about it, and thus writing the exact opposite of that being somewhat suicidal, especially in this context, on this day of all days, no... that would be be worse.

Top Five Worst Aspects of Joining BJ's Wholesale Club

5. I hate switching to a new grocery store. I literally just went through this nine months ago, when we had to bid adieu to Lidl and switch to the Northeast Philly Aldi. Grocery shopping shouldn't be an ordeal, and one of the ways I make it less of an ordeal is by compiling the shopping list in the same order that I will pass those foods in the aisles. But to do that, you need to know where everything is. Going to a new place makes that impossible. It's all so disorienting, and it adds at least 20-30 minutes onto a chore that, in my opinion, should take as little time as possible.

4. Never trust a place that requires you to pay upfront. BJ's "guarantees" lower prices, but only to its members. In order to get a membership, you have to pay a fee. So in order to ensure that you are "saving" money, you need to use that membership x amount of times. It's the same reason why gym memberships make you pay an annual fee—they know it's going to put pressure on you to use their services as often as possible, and overall spend MORE money than you would've if, ya know, you didn't buy a fucking membership.

3. The prices aren't that much cheaper than Aldi, if at all. I feel like the reputation that BJ's (and similar clubs like Costco or Sam's) has earned is a bit out of date. Compared to shopping at Acme or Giant? Fuck yeah bro, the prices are much cheaper. But Aldi, which has just risen to prominence in American culture in the past decade or less, cuts it extremely close. I don't have the stamina to do a item-by-item comparison of respective trips, but off the top of my head, I can tell you that eggs and milk were a little more expensive at BJ's, but some of the meats and some of the snack items were a little bit cheaper.

To be clear, I'm comparing prices per unit. This is important, because BJ's mostly sells items in bulk. For instance, you can't buy less than 36 eggs at a time at BJ's. It was $4 for a 36-pack. Eggs at Aldi can be bought by the dozen, and are usually around $1.20. Do the math to see that Aldi is cheaper. That's just for eggs though. The argument that BJ's members might be inclined to make is that you are overall buying more items at a cheaper rate because you are buying more of it at a time.

2. But I hate the fact that we have to buy in bulk. It feels unnecessary to me. Sure, we might've saved $0.015 per frozen waffle when we bought 72 waffles at BJ's instead of twelve waffles at Aldi. That also means that we have to somehow store 72 goddamn waffles in our freezer. I'd almost rather just pay a total of one extra dollar over the course of six weeks and consider it a storage fee that we are paying Aldi to hold onto the waffles we don't need this week (or this month). I'd rather buy one pound of ground turkey two weeks in a row for $0.30 more total than buy two pounds of ground turkey now, have to manually split the raw meat in two, place one half in a pan, and place the other half in a ziploc bag to save for later. And so on.

1. The absolute worst part was seeing the price tag at the end of our trip. Forget the counter-arguments—the fact that we might save nickels and dimes in the long run, that we now have all the basic food to last us more than a couple weeks, the fact that Pam will be doing most of the shopping once me and Willow start school (both in exactly one hour after publishing this!)—and consider how I felt when I saw that we spent QUADRUPLE the amount of money that we usually do on a Friday food shopping trip. It was a punch in the fucking gut. I don't think there's anything else to say.

 

HONORABLE MENTION: Look, this is an argument that I'm making on the blog. I'm not going to make it directly to my wife, because it was her idea to go to BJ's in the first place, and I'm not gonna trash her idea, regardless of whether I agree with it or not. So happy anniversary babe. My gift to you is to not give you a single ounce of shit for our BJ's membership ever again. Your gift to me can be your forgiveness when you finally read this and realize that I needed to complain about this somewhere, and my usual mode of letting off steam is to go to the blog, which must be frustrating as fuck to you. But I feel better now! Writing about it worked! Thanks for understanding!

Album Review: Pressure Machine

Millions of words spilled in an effort to cosplay being a "music critic" and I'm still finding it uncomfortable to actually critique music. I read a lot of music criticism online as well, and it's just as easy to read negative opinions as it is to read positive opinions. Sometimes I feel strongly that the writer is "wrong," but I never hold it against them personally. So then why am I so afraid of this disagreement when I come at it from the other direction? Why do I have to continually couch any criticism in the caveat of "Well maybe it's just not for me"? Shouldn't that just be implied?

I went down this rabbit hole again after reading reviews of the Killers' new album before I sat down and actually listened to the thing. The quality I like best about the Killers is that they are unafraid to be loud and cheesy and bombastic (especially because their frontman's voice and style fits so goddamn well with that aesthetic). However, the band's take on their new album, Pressure Machine, was that they were consciously going against that reputation, and attempting to make an album that was softer, prettier, and a little darker than their previous work.

If you're into that kind of stuff—like, say your favorite Springsteen album is Nebraska, for instance—then this is good news. To me personally, this was not good news. I like music when it's loud and cheesy and bombastic, and if the Killers aren't doing that—i.e. if they aren't doing the one thing that keeps me coming back to the Killers long after many of my peers had completely written them off—then why would I expect to like Pressure Machine?

On the other hand, how can I possibly say anything bad about Pressure Machine when every criticism leads directly back to the statement of "it's just not for me"? That's some weak shit.

It's also a criticism that completely disregards all the interesting qualities that this album brings to the table. Pressure Machine is described by the band as a "song cycle" about the dusty rural towns in Utah, where Brandon Flowers grew up, and recently returned to during COVID quarantine. Songs about families struggling with poverty and opioid addiction probably don't require the loud-cheesy-bombast to be affecting, right?

That criticism would also be ignoring the fact that the classic Killers sound is still present on Pressure Machine. Songs like "In the Car Outside" are vintage Killers, with a driving beat and a soaring chorus and, yeah, taking all the right lessons from Springsteen. "Cody" is another, and is probably more interesting than "In the Car Outside," only because "Cody" cannot be mistaken for an Imploding the Mirage B-side. It's more subdued, and more melancholy, which makes the bright horn spots and the guitar solo hit a lot harder when they finally come in. If the Killers had said that their new album was "slower" but then every track was like "Cody," I wouldn't be complaining.

But not every song is like "Cody." There is some loud and some cheesy and some bombastic moments for sure, because the Killers just can't help themselves, but the majority of Pressure Machine is a somber affair. That can work—and does, mostly—but it's still not hitting that sweet spot that this band usually hits over and over for me. 

I think that's okay, because I also think it's great when bands try something completely new and don't fall completely on their asses, but it also puts me in a weird position. If my only criticism is that this band didn't again make an album that is specifically tailored to my (very basic) taste in music, then my review might rightfully lead toward the conclusion that the problem is me, not the album itself.

So I have no choice but to overrate Pressure Machine, because I have no real, substantial complaints about it. And let's be real, there is a very good chance that Pressure Machine is a grower, and so I'd rather give a higher grade and give it something to grow toward, as opposed to give the average score and then feel stupid about it later on.

GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5

Album of the Week: Power Chords

The idea is to go one level deeper. Instead of having the members of Record Club pick the Album of the Week, let's find people who were merely mentioned in a previous Record Club album review, and let's have them pick the Album of the Week.

 

We are more than halfway through our Two Degrees of Record Club project. One month to go! Shout out to all those who'd rather be reviewing new music, and are waiting patiently for this shit to be over! Just wait until 2022! Some month-long themes already queued up and ready to go! 1000 WEEKS OF RECORD CLUB!

 

Feel free to check out the archives and the playlist, but otherwise, read on to find out where this very, very dumb journey goes next.

WEEK 135 — August 29-September 4, 2021

What we're listening to this week:

 

ALBUM: Power Chords

ARTIST: Mike Krol

 

WHO "PICKED" THE ALBUM: Uncle Greg

THE REVIEW HE WAS FEATURED IN: Well, seeing as he was the artist who created RC album Not Even Regret, he was featured, more or less, in all three reviews for that album. But if you consider that a cheat, then he was also mentioned in Nate's Fyah review from a year and a half prior.

HOW WE ENDED UP HERE: Uncle Greg was always going to be the easy ask for Nate during Two Degrees of Record Club. Nate had no qualms telling him that his own music was up for critique in Record Club, so I can't imagine that it would be too hard to convince Uncle Greg to pick someone else's music for review.

We tried some other options for Nate, but they all seemed to be out of the realm of possibility. No one knows the annoying freshman guitar player's name; Nate allegedly attempted to contact his old coworker via Facebook, to no response; Nate has made it very clear that he refuses to review albums chosen by fictional characters, so Frank Sabotka was out; and so on.

So here we are with Uncle Greg's pick, and unlike everyone else in Two Degrees of Record Club, he was able to include a "WHY HE CHOSE IT" reason: "Because I feel it was, unjustly, somewhat overlooked, and I'm curious to see what the pervert community has to say about it." Either Nate embellished that quote, or all A****es speak the same way.

WILL UNCLE GREG WRITE A REVIEW: I doubt it. I doubt even Nate is going to write a review, seeing as how this Album of the Week post is going up the same weekend his daughter is due to be born. But, as always, we shall see!

ALBUM RELEASED: January 25, 2019

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: Garage rock

TRACKLIST:

1. Power Chords
2. What's the Rhythm
3. An Ambulance
4. Little Drama
5. Left for Dead
6. Blue and Pink
7. I Wonder
8. Wasted Memory
9. Nothing to Yell About
10. Arrow in My Heart
11. The End

LENGTH: 33:37

 

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: Bandcamp

 

READING SOME SHIT: I like tossing random fucking music blogs into this section, and it's not that hard—every week I do some googling, and another hitherto unheard of blog pops into the results. Here's Grimy Goods with a Mike Krol feature.

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: There are two here, and you can tell me which one is a bigger stretch. 1) The producer for this album, Mike McCarthy, has also produced an album for Fastball. 2) Mike Krol's first album is called I Hate Jazz, and if you'll direct your attention back to Nate's Fyah review, you might begin to understand why Uncle Greg picked this artist.

Happy listening, Uncle Greg! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: Live Through This

Yo, this is pretty great. In listening to Hole, I'm realizing that I don't know shit about grunge. Sure, I have a surface-level dilettantish appreciation for Nirvana, but man, after being on a Hole high all week, I'm starting to get this crazy notion that maybe Live Through This is better than anything Nirvana ever did. But that's crazy, right?

It's probably not even fair to compare the two bands, even though they are in the same genre. Just because their respective leads dated up until one's death doesn't mean we necessarily have to put them head-to-head. Especially when you consider the fact that everything I know about Courtney Love could fit on the tip of a heroin needle, I am really not qualified to go there.

Okay, but I think I feel comfortable in making at least one assumption here. While I found the music mostly comforting—in that I was afraid it was going to be "too hard" for me, but ended up hitting my sweet spot right on the goddamn bullseye—what I found fascinating about Live Through This is when I finally looked up the timeline. This album was released exactly one week after Kurt Cobain's death.

 

Now, because of this timeline, it would be tough to claim that Love was in any way influenced by her paramour's death in creating this album, since it completed and ready to go when Cobain pulled the trigger. But the assumption that I'm making is that this particular album, with this particular sound, might have been a comfort to Love, and to her and Cobain's mutual fans. It's angry, and their fans were angry too. But also, it's allegedly somewhat softer than Hole's previous work (it's all relative, baby), so no one had any excuse to get angry in an unhealthy way. I don't know if that makes sense, but I'm treading lightly here. I just get the feeling that many people are like me, in that melodies and hooks—no matter how drenched in distortion they are—are a greater source of comfort than straight-up noise.

Something else that I found fascinating was that there was a conspiracy that Kurt Cobain had ghostwritten all the songs on this album. There has been zero evidence of this, and Occam's razor says that of course Love is going to be influenced by Cobain's music, just as I'm sure Cobain was influenced by Love's music—when you live together, love each other, raise a child together, then certain parts of your lives are going to blend together. So I think we can safely conclude: the bogus theory is false and also sexist.

Finally, out of all the things I am unqualified to speak about in this blog post, I am probably the most qualified to speak about the beef between Love and Olivia Rodrigo. And yet I choose not too. Silly, silly stuff, y'all, and I don't want to take away from the raw power of Live Through This by getting into it. Kick back and listen to some primo grunge shit right here, and leave your conspiracies behind.

P.S. This was another album I took off the RS500 list from last year. It's probably the highest ranking of all the albums that ended up on the Year of Blind Spots list, and—surprise surprise—it's by far the one I've liked the best so far.

Masterpiece Theatre, Sam

I'd like to join in but don't have much time;

Therefore, I'll review Masterpiece Theatre with a quick little rhyme.

In some ways similar to Panic at the Disco and My Chemical Romance,

I didn't like those artists then but wanted to give Marianas Trench a chance.

There's something authentic and heartfelt and true,

But other songs are generic and grating and smell like poo.

"Acadia" should be an epic, anything but bad,

But it lacks proper nouns and sounds more like Libs that are Mad.

My conclusion that I often recite to thee:

This record is fine but not for me.

Masterpiece Theatre, Sunny

Listening to this pop punk album, I harken back to much of the pop punk we've listened to. Harken back to Free Throw. Harken back to Fall Out Boy. The album art does enough lifting on the second one.

It's maybe a bit unfair. Masterpiece Theatre does have enough variety in the album to give it a unique flavor. Tracks like "Celebrity Status," typical pop-punk, contrast tracks like "Masterpiece Theater I," with its heavy reverb opening. The duet track is cute with credit to Voegele's voice. In case you missed any of this intra-album variety, the band medleys it all together themselves with Mastapeece part 3, which, like a tech demo, is interesting if confusing.

Credit given, something about frontman Ramsay's timbre and presentation just doesn't click with me. It must be a personal problem. I can't point to anything wrong, just that these songs don't quite grip emotionally. Maybe I'm turned off by calling yourself a Masterpiece over and over. I don't know. Good on those who love this, I can see the unique value, but my pop punk tastes will remain elsewhere.

Masterpiece Theatre, Nate

There's a "drama star from a tiny high school" quality to this Radio Disney power-pop in the way it swings consistently for big emotional fences without ever conveying anything beyond a spirited reading. At times it sounds like praise music for teens at church camp—the Relient K radar is off the charts—in its coreless, empty exultation, it's altitude without oxygen.

I hold a soft spot in my heart for this kind of blind, maximalist, let's-give-each-other-a-handjob-and-cuddle presentation of the tone, if not the tenor, of Big Young Feelings. I am glad there is something out there for the folks who find the All-American Rejects too sexual, but who think Metro Station aren't punk enough. Everyone deserves to find their tribe, and if yours happens to really like Queen MySpace-era pop-punk, it's still better than being alone.

Masterpiece Theatre, Joe

I think there's plenty of criticisms to be lobbed toward Marianas Trench, based on what I heard this week. I also think that the band does a good enough job defending themselves against those criticisms that I can't hate them, even though, on the surface, this is absolutely a band that I would typically hate.

This is a pop band. Sure, there are guitars and bass and drums, and the members of the band actually play those instruments, and write their own songs, but at the end of the day, there is barely any difference between Marianas Trench and, say, a BTS-type group.

The defense against this criticism is two-fold. One, as we've already discussed numerous times over the past two and half years, any issues I have with "pop" as a construct have more to do with me than with the artists themselves. There is no substance here. It's all bright, clean fluff. But then you might be inclined to ask why I need substance. Do I? Or is that just pretension masked as music criticism?

Two, if this is pop, and if pop ultimately means nothing, and if this really is all a facade, then at least Marianas Trench seem to be aware of it. Opening track "Masterpiece Theatre I" finds frontman Josh Ramsay belting the chorus: "But this is just a part I portray." It's like when someone shows up to a Halloween party with a shitty costume on, but they acknowledge that it's shitty, and join in the mockery because it deserves to be mocked. There is no Jim Halpert smugness here; Marianas Trench are corny as fuck, and they know it. They are in on the joke. That's endearing, if nothing else.

Though I might sound like a broken record saying it, I'm gonna make the point anyway: at least half of this is very catchy. I think that's the ultimate defense of anyone who wants to claim that this is a shitty album. Bring all the personal baggage you want to this affair, but the ultimate defense is the hooks. (Sidenote: this is ultimately why I will never fucking understand the popularity of Post Malone's music—for real, where are the fucking hooks, man?)

I can stomach all the other bullshit if it's catchy. I'm not saying that's all there is, and indeed, if an album is just hooks surrounded by empty algorithm posturing, then I can't say it's a "good" album, either. But I'd rather have an album that's 50% catchy made by fools than an album that's 0% catchy meticulously made by an acclaimed genius artist. It's like when I get acid reflux—I know that Tums are gonna make me a little nauseous, but being a little nauseous is much better than burping fire.

But yes, okay, there is a lot to stomach here.

In the Tums column: y'all know I like a good treatise on toxic nostalgia in pop-punk form, and "Acadia" scratches the itch; the four-on-the-floor chorus of "All to Myself" is good stuff; "Cross My Heart," despite absolutely being the type of single that would get me to walk all the way across a room just to turn the radio dial away from Radio 104.5, eventually won me over; "Sing Sing" is a close enough approximation of something like Fall Out Boy that I rolled my eyes and enjoyed it in equal measures; "Celebrity Status" is not a good song, per se, but it was at least satisfying to understand Mariana Trench's place in the pop continuum, i.e. this could totally be a Taylor Swift song from the late '10s with a few small changes.

In the acid reflux column: plenty of shitty, not-catchy songs all over Masterpiece Theatre; "Good to You" is mawkish bullshit, and proves that Marianas Trench only has one lane that works; "Lover Dearest" is an absolutely snooze of a penultimate song, and does not adhere to the old performer standby of "leave 'em wanting more"; I honestly don't think I've hated anything on this earth more than the "ooo-way-ooo-way-ooo" chorus of "Beside You," it just completely fucking crosses the line from fun-corny to torturous-syrupy dreck; does this band really believe that they deserved a motherfucking encore with the completely superfluous "Masterpiece Theatre III," or were they just getting an early start on the whole trend of "remix versions" of pop songs that are so prevalent today?

Ultimately, the Tums win in a photo finish. But if I'm taking this many Tums, then maybe I should just change my diet.

GRADE: 2.5 pukes out of 5

Getting Old #4

Yes, that PoYB post from 2009 was an April Fools joke. Twelve years later, as far as I know, the Burholme firepit is still there.

I remember heading back there "one last time" at the end of the summer of 2007, right before some of us shipped off to college, to leave a single can of beer on the firepit, for "some kid to find and to realize that this was a special place," or some such nonsense like that. Hokey as it was, clearly we were striving for some sort of symbolism. This was OUR hang out spot. This is where we "grew up" in Northeast Philly. It was tough letting go.

But let go we did, obviously. I'm sure there were a few firepit hangs during winter breaks and summers in those early years of college. E.g. I remember splitting a case of Lionshead before a Turkey Bowl football game, probably Thanksgiving break 2009. Shit like that. But then everyone turned 21, and it was a little weird going into the woods again. The only encore that the firepit received was a pretty spectacular bachelor party for PoYB contributor Mike S., which was January 2016. We just drank a few cases around the fire—yes, an actual fire this time!

Even though that bachelor party—and the stabbing that took place during it—seems like just yesterday, it was over five years ago now, so it's been a while since I've visited my old haunt. I had no reason to, honestly. I miss my hometown friends terribly, but I don't know if I necessarily need to hang out with them in that context more than like once a decade, tops. This isn't that kind of post.

I only bring up the firepit because I actually did attempt to visit it a few weeks ago. Willow and Martha have been pushing the idea of going to the playground at Burholme pretty often these days—I don't know why they like it better than playgrounds that are geographically closer, but they do, because toddlers' preferences are abritrary—so during one visit, I asked them if they wanted to walk into the woods. They agreed (W: "Yes!" M: "[grunting]"). We parked in the small lot next to the entrance to the path, and took a stroll.

There was a period in my life when I could literally close my eyes and easily make it to the firepit. I know this because we often visited in the dead of night and you could see anything through the darkness even if you had you eyes wide open. Here we were now, though, the three of us, in the bright daylight, and... I couldn't find my way to the 'pit.

It wasn't like I was distraught or anything. There was no reason to go to the firepit on this day except to kill time with the kids while Pam was at work. It was hot as hell, and the gnats were fucking relentless, and Martha refused to walk so I was carrying her with one hand and holding Willow's hand with the other, and so I didn't have a third hand to swat away the bugs, so, like, none of that helped in the search.

Still, it was fucking weird, walking up and down the path, and not seeing any way into the woods. It almost seemed like the hill we'd have to go down was a lot steeper than it used to be, a lot thicker with brushes and weeds, a lot more intimidating. We left.

It was only after reflecting on the failure later that I understood that the failure to be a bit more meaningful that it was at first glance. It was more than wasting our time in the woods. It was that a part of my childhood seemed to be permanently blocked off. Ten years ago, I felt like I would be uncomfortable if I were ever to return; now, I literally could not return.

This is probably for the best. Maybe the firepit would've seemed too small and insignificant, seeing it now, and that wouldn't have felt good either. Maybe this is a sign that I should tread carefully when attempting to expose my children to things that were important to me in my own youth—they are their own people and feeling pressure to enjoy things Dad enjoys could possibly feel suffocating.

Nevertheless, it was a bizarre experience, and it didn't make me feel that good, psychically. Really, it just... made me feel pretty fucking old.

Getting Old #3

Good news and bad news abound this summer. Definitely the most innocuous bad news I received came in the form of a press briefing about cheap beer sales. Hamm's Special Light is dead.

Its demise affects me more symbolically than practically, at least at this present moment in my life, but that doesn't mean I can't still mourn the loss. At one point in my life, HSL was pretty important to me. Even though I haven't drank one in about two years, I can still say that it was the perfect beer for me, and now it's gone.

I've told the story of Hamm's before, so I won't repeat it here. Missing in that tale, however, was any significant talk of the "light" version of Hamm's. It had everything its big brother had, except for one tiny change that, for me, made all the difference.

Two qualities that Hamm's Special Light shared with Hamm's Premium is price and taste. It was cheap as shit (usually less than $15 per case, even into the 2020s). It tasted like a regular, plain mass-produced American pilsner beer, which suits my needs just fine. The third quality that Hamm's Special Light alone had, at least in the Hamm's family, is that it was extremely low on the ABV scale. Low enough that I rarely or maybe even never had to worry about blacking out when drinking HSL. It kept me tethered to earth. I appreciated that.

The fact that I appreciated it's inability to black me out speaks volumes about my personal issues with alcohol, probably. But at least consider the fact that I find it important to not black out, even though I often failed at the goal. Put it this way: If I can't trust myself, then at least I could trust Hamm's Special Light. Right?

But that's all gone now. I guess I was in a minuscule minority when it came to choosing my beers based on its inability to get me too drunk. That's stupid. But ya know what? I'm stupid. And Hamm's Special Light was stupid too. And together, we kept each other from getting too stupid. And there just isn't a market for stupid beers and stupid people these days.

This is the end of an era. That makes me feel so goddamn old.

R.I.P. Charlie Watts (and to All Those Who Suck Ass)

Yup, I knew as soon as I wrote this, I was going to feel pretty awful about it eventually.

"Fuck this man. I hope I don't die before Charlie Watts does, because I want to experience a world in which rock 'n' roll exists without him and his shitty drumming. It's gonna be a great time in my life, assuming I survive."

Hyperbole can go too far sometimes, folks! Because Charlie Watts is dead, and I don't feel any immediate improvement. In fact, I guess I could say I feel a little worse, since I pretty much wished death on an old man whose only crime was being incredibly overrated in his chosen craft.

Here's what I know for sure: a lot of people enjoy his drumming. I was not one of them, but there is ample evidence to conclude that I am in the vast minority when it comes to opinions about the Rolling Stones' drummer. I've laid out my evidence before—to summarize and succinctly as possible, his drumming style was stiff and disinterested, which may be technically sound, but lacks the heart and flair that I enjoy in all my own favorite drummers—but who the fuck am I to say? I haven't touched a drum set in almost a decade now. My opinion means less and less, especially considering that no one else seems to think this way.

Here's what I also know for sure: for every one person who sincerely enjoyed Charlie Watts' drumming, there are at least two people who miss Charlie Watts, regardless about what you thought about his music. That's a lot of people and a lot of love. I have no reason or desire to disparage these very real feelings of grief. After his death, he is remembered for his drumming, but that's not what made him important as a human being. I don't know what else he brought to this world, because I didn't know him personally. But because I didn't know him, I have no right to say anything about his life or make judgments. I know that plenty of people loved him, and at this point, that's all that matters.

I will not be deleting the "Charlie Watts Sucks Ass" tag on Puke on Your Birthday (though it is not currently advertised on the top of the page, and hasn't been for some time, it still exists). I just hope that it has always been implicit that when I say he "sucks ass," I'm talking about his chosen career and his performance in it. I don't think Charlie Watts "sucks ass" in life any more than I would say that any rival sports athlete or any movie actor sucks ass, or doesn't suck ass, or whatever. To be clear: Charlie Watts sucked ass as a drummer. I will be respectful toward him and his family, though, and assume he very much did not suck ass as a human being, and that in this time of mourning, it is I who very much sucks ass.

And c'mon, he was an integral part of one of the greatest rock 'n' roll bands of all time! Regardless of his individual contributions, there's still something to be said about that. There has to have been a reason that he was essential to the Rolling Stones for 58 years, even if I personally will never see it. Maybe it doesn't matter if I see it or not. Maybe it doesn't matter that I think he should've gone the way of Pete Best, because his bandmates saw otherwise. They—Charlie and all the rest—will never be forgotten for as long as the earth is still spinning. And me, your lowly sarcastic blog writer who hated Charlie Watts when he was alive? Just an infinitesimal blip in the vast universe, to be remembered by no one.

Rest in peace, Charlie Watts. I will always remember you.

Getting Old #2

About a month ago, my parents casually mentioned that one of my high school classmates was dead. It was a pretty horrifying moment on a few levels (on top of the fact that someone in their early 30s had died suddenly).

It was sad because it took them like 60 very long seconds to remember what his name was, and I spent those 60 seconds worrying that it was one of my old pals from back in the day. We only graduated with 250 dudes, so the odds were not that long.

It was sad because I've spent a fair amount of time recently thinking about my friendships from high school, and how pretty much every single one of them has withered away over the past fourteen years. It's just so fucking weird to think that I counted among the LSCHS Class of '07 some of my very best friends, and how I just straight up don't talk to anyone from that group anymore. It's not even something like "I just don't get invited." I just think that it's literally a matter of my friends from that time scattering themselves around the country, growing apart in a way that geography usually causes to happen, inevitably.

It was sad because I did know Phil. I wouldn't consider him part of my friend group that I referred to in the previous paragraph—i.e. he wasn't in band or theater—but I did share a pretty intimate experience with him—me and him were selected as Kairos leaders at the end of our junior year, which seemed like a pretty big honor at the time. And performing as those leaders at the beginning of senior year, we got to share stories from our youth of pain and despair, stories that created a bond. I never hung out with him extracurricularly after that, but we always said hi to each other in the hallway. There was always an acquaintance between us from that shared experience, and it was one I appreciated even if it was never fated to blossom into any sort of friendship. I liked Phil a lot, and I can't imagine I'm mistaken in saying that there has to be plenty of people out there who miss him pretty badly right now.

It was sad mostly because I know this isn't the last time this is going to happen. It's depressing as hell to think about the fact that there are two options here: either 1) my name is going to be added to that list and some other LSCHS grad is gonna be standing in his parents' kitchen and his parents are gonna mention that I died but they can't even remember my name because it's been so long, or 2) that it's gonna start to feel like Superman in the graveyard, surrounded by my loved ones, and those whom I loved back in high school, and whom I don't really talk to anymore, and I have to watch as that flame of friendship, which was barely flickering to begin with, is finally extinguished.

It's making me feel old, yo.

Getting Old #1

Rugrats has been on my mind ever since Tommy Pickles took on Spongebob in The Ringer's final round of their Nickelodeon bracket a couple weeks ago, but it was definitely coincidence when an episode ended up on the TV during vacation last week. I hadn't watched an episode in at least fifteen years I'd say. Shit's different on this side of the parental divide.

Whereas in my youth I probably found a lot of fun in the exploits of Tommy and the gang, watching it as a dad just gave me anxiety. The gag is that the babies always get into trouble and destroy shit and it always works out for them—i.e. they are always safe and they never get hurt—but we know that it's not how the world actually works. I spend so much mental and emotional energy supervising my kids and making sure they don't get hurt due to neglect on my part, and it's literally heartburn-inducing to see these babies have free reign to do whatever they want, cause whatever havoc they want, and have literally no one give a shit about their well-being or the destruction they cause.

Like, I was watching the episode when all the families go to the movies—the Pickles, Chuckie and his dad, the twins and their parents, plus Grandpa—and the adults get so wrapped up in the movie that they don't even notice that the babies have wandered off. The kids absolutely ravage the snack bar, and then they go up to the projector booth and dismantle every projector and every inch of film in the room. The wreckage they leave behind must be cleaned up by the poor employees who didn't do shit to deserve all this except make the reasonable assumption that the parents in the theater weren't going to be so neglectful of their infants that they could literally wander off and do whatever they wanted.

I don't even know what my point is here. If the context is that I am now a parent and that I view Rugrats differently now, then it's either: 1) the level of neglect that these kids' parents show is so aggravating that I can barely stand it, or 2) the idea of one-year-olds wandering around by themselves is so scary that I can hardly watch. Probably doesn't help having a career in child social services and mentally picturing the list of child abuse allegations on a rap sheet for Stu Pickles.

Anyways, this shit makes me feel old.

Album of the Week: Masterpiece Theatre

The idea is to go one level deeper. Instead of having the members of Record Club pick the Album of the Week, let's find people who were merely mentioned in a previous Record Club album review, and let's have them pick the Album of the Week.

 

Meow.

 

Feel free to check out the archives and the playlist, but otherwise, read on to find out where this very, very dumb journey goes next.

 

WEEK 134 — August 22-28, 2021

 

What we're listening to this week:

 

ALBUM: Masterpiece Theatre

ARTIST: Mariana Trench

WHO "PICKED" THE ALBUM: Kailyn, the artist who drew me riding a giant cat

THE REVIEW SHE WAS FEATURED IN: My Sorry for the Delay review

HOW WE GOT HERE: It was less weird than you'd think. I mean, it was almost less weird than commissioning a stranger on Reddit to draw me riding a giant cat on the way to the studio, anyway.

Basically, I emailed her again, almost a year after I had last emailed her about the giant cat, and said:

I have a question, and sorry that it is kinda random. I'm doing this thing recently where I reach out to everyone I've ever had a Reddit conversation with, and asking them: What is your favorite album of all time? I just listen to a lot of music and am always looking for something new, and figured that people I meet on Reddit would have a wider range of suggestions than friends who I talk with about music too much anyway.

She didn't acknowledge once that it was bizarre that a stranger would be emailing her to ask about her favorite music. Kailyn was also very helpful in her response, stating that she listens to all kinds of music, and then gave me a long list of some of her favorite albums. I don't know what I expected out of this, but I know for sure that I didn't expect this.

• Steal This Album by System of a Down
• Me and My Gang by Rascal Flatts
• Stand Up and Scream by Asking Alexandria
• Stadium Arcadium by Red Hot Chili Peppers
• Avenged Sevenfold by Avenged Sevenfold
• Hybrid Theory by Linkin Park
• Meteora by Linkin Park
• Masterpiece Theatre by Mariana's Trench
• Don't You Fake It by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
• Boys Like Girls by Boys Like Girls
• "Pretty much all Eminem albums but tbh, I really enjoy Relapse (it gets a lot of hate)"
• Hollywood Undead by Hollywood Undead [sic]
  
• You Get What You Give by Zac Brown Band
• Strummin' On Garth by Brooks Jefferson
• Red River Blue by Blake Shelton

I mean, what a fucking list. And, to honor how gracious Kailyn was in helping this internet stranger, I'll leave my comments about it at that.

 

So anyways, I picked the one single artist on the list that I had never heard of. You could get into what albums are disqualified (Hybrid Theory for already being written about on the blog, Stadium Arcadium for being too long), what albums I'd rather avoid too soon after Slipknot (e.g. Hollywood Undead, Avenged Sevenfold, System of a Down maybe), what albums I just didn't feel like listening to at all (Eminem; any of the whiter-than-white bro country bullshit on here), and what albums I was too confused about to even consider (I refuse to spend more than four minutes researching whatever the heck is the deal with Brooks Jefferson), but at the end of the day, I think it's better to listen to a "new" band. New to me, anyway. All apologies if you are bringing baggage to your Marianas Trench review.

 

And if you'd like to commission her for any future artwork to be shoehorned into a music review, or otherwise, check Kailyn out on Instagram. Just please be kind to me and do not mention the blog.

WILL KAILYN WRITE A REVIEW: I will die of embarrassment and shame if she ever finds out about Record Club, so no.

ALBUM RELEASED: February 24, 2009 (in Canada)

WHAT GENRE IS THIS: pop punk / symphonic rock

TRACKLIST:

1. Masterpiece Theatre I
2. All to Myself
3. Cross My Heart
4. Beside You
5. Acadia
6. Masterpiece Theatre II
7. Sing Sing
8. Good to You
9. Celebrity Status
10. Perfect
11. Lover Dearest
12. Masterpiece Theatre III

LENGTH: 45:41

 

WHERE TO LISTEN FOR FREE: YouTube

READING SOME SHIT: I try to find interviews that came out around the release of the album, which is sometimes hit or miss. This weird little interview with The Star Scoop seems like more of a miss, but it does give you some context about this band. But the big missing context is: this album and this interview both occurred before 2011's Carly Rae Jepson smash "Call Me Maybe," which was co-written and produced by John Ramsay, the frontman of Marianas Trench. Perhaps this, more than anything, clues us in to what we should be expecting from this album.

PREVIOUSLY ON RECORD CLUB: This is our sixth album from Canada, following albums from PUP, Operators, Ducks Unlimited (who are now called Ducks Ltd.), Alanis Morissette, and U.S. Girls. Yes, I keep a Record Club map, and yes, I will put it to further use at some point in the future.

Happy listening, Kailyn! Have a great week!

A Year of Blind Spots: Warning

There is a key song here (there always is), and that song is "Minority." It's a song that I have not heard on the radio in at least a decade, maybe more, but it was played enough during that brief period in between Green Day's two imperial phases that I was still intimately familiar with it. I like it even more in the context of the album, Warning.

I never really considered what a phrase like "I want to be the minority" must've meant to Green Day at this point in their careers. I've always just looked at it selfishly—i.e. a distaste for being part of the milquetoast masses—but I guess that it took on an additional layer of meaning for this band in 2000. With the popularity of Dookie and its follow-ups, I have to imagine that there were a thousand Green Day knockoffs popping up everywhere in the late '90s. It's possible that Green Day no longer felt unique by the turn of the millennium. It's possible that being part of the burgeoning pop-punk scene may have felt suffocating, even if they had helped shape that scene to begin with.

That's important on Warning, because on this album, you start to see the band stretching out in dozens of different directions, creating these musical moments that would have otherwise had no place on a pop-punk album. The harmonica on "Hold On," the sax solo on "Jackass," the weird Baltic-ish music of "Misery," and so on. I like most of it (besides "Misery"), but I like the idea of it even more. With Warning, you have Green Day trying on different outfits, and finding that there are successful ways to stand out, even in the crowded room they helped build.

Things would get even more "out there" when they started to connect all these sounds together into a cohesive story on American Idiot, and I would argue that it was even more successful. But with Warning, Green Day at least showed that there was more longevity in this baby than anyone could have predicted in 1994.

And at the very least, it was nice just chilling with a Green Day from back when they could actually write songs, regardless of how weird or not weird they were. Like, have you tried to get through Father of All Motherfuckers? Rough, rough stuff. There's nothing left in the tank. But two decades ago, the engine was still running pretty well, and that felt good this week.

Transatlanticism, Sunny

Can you tell me why you have been so sad?

If you're of a certain age, you might have been swimming around in "young adult" media in 2003. There was a new something for any curiosity. It took the edge off all the upsetting goings-on and generalized teenage angst. You got your Goblet of Fire, you got your O.C., you got your MySpace, you got your GTA: Vice City. And of course, in a certain sub-clique, you got your Gibbard popping off.

Postal Service's Give Up in Feb and then Transatlanticism in Oct was a one-two punch. If your musical tastes were still nascent, you might have found this mashing of narrative indie rock, electronica, and emo compelling. You might find it's the basis for all your tastes to follow.

So this is the new year.

The Sounds — Death Cab's probably most associated with morose, narrative, love songs. Transatlanticism is not not that, but the composition gives it a pop over their first few albums. We here at Record Club have had our fair share of love albums, even love albums about a single breakup or relationship, but now we have a concept album which is focused more on a stressor or trait—the distance in relationships.

Of course, it's Gibbard's long-distance relationship we're often talking about and that pain (probably) helped the writing, but many of these little vignettes feel terribly relatable. Adding more electronica, à la Postal Service, or some emo sensibilities, or little cross-song musical motifs brings dimensionality to an album which might otherwise just be dishing about your ex. There are fun crossfades like "Tiny Vessels" into "Transatlanticism." Or then the reverb heavy one-line chorus of said song, which is live show bait and just about provides an album thesis.

This is fact, not fiction, for the first time in years.

The Sights — The Crow tangled in string on the cover is sort of an easy cool. I don't know what it really means, if anything, but it jogs lots of other feelings, which is the best speed for Death Cab's lyrics. There's plenty of on-the-nose young love stuff, but it's the imagery and observations in everyday situations that hang around your mind.

Did you know crows might be conscious like us? The brain to body mass ratio on corvids is only a little lower than humans. So a crow tied up likely both suffers from being tied up and suffers about its suffering.

There was a poignancy with Transatlanticism as a young adult. A London-NYC relationship seemed halfway romantic and all the way painful; it's new and worldview-reforming. An adult-adult may not feel such poignancy thinking about a long-distance relationship. Or maybe the feeling is the same, but compared to all the other ways to be lonely it's not so unique. Loneliness is endemic around these parts. It's endemic enough to both feel the loneliness and the worry about staying lonely too. Perhaps Death Cab understands.

California, here we come.

P.S. —All I'll say about The O.C. is it's either the dumbest or most ahead of its time show. Maybe both. You also gotta love a show bookended by Phantom Planet and Imogen Heap. Was Jason Schwartzman the biggest success of that show?

Transatlanticism, Allison

I'm not big into superlatives. I have a hard time playing favorites. I don't really like committing to one thing (except for my husband). That said, Death Cab for Cutie might be my favorite band and Transatlanticism miiiiight be my favorite album (that was as difficult for me to type as I'm sure it was to read).

This album is a time capsule and opening it brought up a lot of, as the kids say, feels. 

I was introduced to Death Cab for Cutie in 2003 by a sad Seth Cohen-type boy I liked. He was two grades ahead of me, but we were in chorus together, so we became something like friends at the end of my freshman year. More importantly, we were friends on Xanga (throwback!), and I remember him reviewing this album at the end of the year. I'm almost certain he began a post on January 1st, 2004 with "So this is the new year and I don't feel any different." High praise from a sad boy was all it took to introduce me to my new favorite band. The sad boy would eventually reject me, go to college, and fall off the face of the earth*, but Death Cab stuck around.

Their next album, Plans, would be the soundtrack to my senior year breakup, but that's a review for another day...

In 2006, I took my soon-to-be college roommate Liz to see Death Cab at the Tower Theater. As she was unfamiliar with the band, I made her a CD with my favorite songs as a Death Cab Crash Course. As a prolific mix CD artist, I took a lot of pride in sharing my favorite band with my new friend. And the shared experience of live music further solidified our friendship. I immortalized the experience in a LiveJournal post that I will absolutely NOT link, but will share this poignant excerpt: 

"'Transatlanticism' was the most amazing thing ever. i nearly cried. ben was playing the piano and the stage was dark and blue ohhhhh it was magical..." 

Eloquently put, nineteen-year old me. But I still remember that moment. Strands of lights were lowered and illuminated the bare stage with soft light. Ben Gibbard stood center stage. Whenever I hear that chord progression, I am transported back to that theater. Sitting next to the person who would become my absolute ride-or-die best friend. I was probably wearing a stupid hat. It was magical. I'm struggling to believe that it was almost fifteen years ago.

So yes, I "used to listen to this shit in high school". And in college. And post-college. And well into my thirties. Because it's my favorite. There. That's the review. 

*Seriously, he has no social media presence at all. So don't bother asking me to get him to contribute, Joe. Not gonna happen. 

Transatlanticism, Joe

I'm assuming that you've just scrolled through two to five other Death Cab reviews, and I'm going to further assume that some, or maybe all, of them had something to do with the idea of looking back. Not only does Transatlanticism feature music that can come off as inherently nostalgic, the type of music that is perfect for wearing a sweater and drinking a tea while the leaves are falling and you're reflecting on life and what it's all meant, but also the album itself is probably an act of nostalgia for most people listening to it in 2021. It's the sound of the distant wreckage of a past long gone.

I won't, or can't, put you through that, because I was pretty stalwartly anti-Death Cab during the time in my life that many of my peers were listening to Death Cab and breaking up with their boyfriends and thinking "deep thoughts" about glove compartments in the first car they ever owned. Something about this sound always struck me as too soft, too whiny, or something like that. Or maybe I'm just an asshole. All I know is that I received a mix CD from my then-girlfriend in the mid-'00s, and the Death Cab track on there was the clear low point on the mix, both before and after that high school relationship fell apart.

After spending a week with both Transatlanticism and two people who are big fans of this band (my wife and her sister), I still don't really know if there's much of anything I can get behind. It's fine, I guess? And trust me, I understand completely that feeling of a particular album being of a particular time and place in your life. I have those albums, and I support anyone who feels that way about Transatlanticism. It's just, for me personally, Transatlanticism is the farthest thing from being "important" to me in any measurable way, and what's left in the wake of that is an album that has a few highlights and is otherwise content to meander from one sad slow point to another.

If I'm being honest, though, there was at least one song on here that got my goat and made me sad and reflective in a certifiably EMO way. And it's kind of the opposite of what I'm assuming the majority of Record Club is thinking for this one.

I'm talking about "The New Year," and I'm talking about how it accurately captures that feeling that we all get at the start of a new year, that feeling of hope mixed with nervousness for what lies ahead, and how that spurns us to make promises that we'll never ever keep. This isn't looking back, this is looking forward. Looking back can be sad, but looking forward can be fucking scary.

It might seem strange that such a song could hit me so hard here in the middle of August, but consider the fact that three days after this review is published, I'll be starting a new job, and seven days after that, I'll be restarting my academic career, and that double-whammy of a life change has got me almost paralyzed with fear for the future.

 

It's not that I'm afraid of failure—my new supervisor has the honor of being the first supervisor in my entire life to warn me that my new job is "pretty easy"; hopefully writing three million words on the blog in the past four years has adequately prepared me to start writing academic essays again—I'm just afraid of change, that's all. Clearly I have a pretty sweet gig right now—how else would you explain all the blogging, right?—but I'm giving that up for what I perceive to be, and hope to be, a reward that is waiting waaaaaay down the path, so far that I can't even see it right now. Leaping into the future requires an act of faith, then, and that's what's giving me the anxiety. The faith that I need to have in that future. It's scary.

And I think that "The New Year" gets that. It's one of the only songs on Transatlanticism to feel momentous, like it's singing about something that's actually important. Because this is fucking important! It all is! Having that faith in your future, it's so fucking important.

I'll sit here all day and talk about this goddamn song, but let's also be clear about it in this way: it is also a cocktease. No other song on Transatlanticism comes even close to matching the weighty importance and scope of "The New Year," with the possible exception of "We Looked like Giants" I guess. The rest of it is either cringey high school schlock ("The Sound of Settling" and it's "bah-bah" approximation of Guster and the title track's "I need you so much closer!") or a long, sad sigh. "The New Year" might be one of my favorite openings of any album we've ever covered in this club, but the rest of Transatlanticism is the sound of a band falling off a cliff.

I have no idea if this album is going to attract a lot of reviews, or if it's going to repel most would-be reviewers who find it too uncomfortable to revisit their sordid high school and college romances in this context (betting on the latter). But it's not really a good sign if I'm way more excited to hear what other people have to say about this album than I am hearing the album itself again.

So throw this review and this album into the trash bin of the past, as we close our eyes and step into the future.

GRADE: 2.5 pukes out of 5

Never Seen It, #56 of 200: Edward Scissorhands

The list of movies HERE, today's movie below. Hey, we made it to the next letter in the alphabet!

Edward Scissorhands

1990

Tim Burton

Did you know anyone in high school with a Tim Burton aesthetic? I knew a few (though maybe they were more Nightmare Before Christmas Chic than Scissorhands Swank). Pale, wore all black, and so on. The film nerd version of emo, basically. Everyone feels like they don't "fit in" at some point during those four high school years, but it really just comes down to how you express it. To those who expressed it through an adoration of the Edward Scissorhands character, and say to you now—I get it.

It was pretty clear from the moment Edward said "I am incomplete" that this was an allegory. Here was a boy who grew up on the outskirts of a monotonous suburbia (those bright pastels ain't fooling anyone), but who felt like he just didn't have a place in that society. His flaw (scissors instead of hands) made him feel like he could never assimilate, even if he wanted to. During a brief spell, that flaw was seen as "special," before inevitably exposed as just another reason for a callous society to turn on its own. Even with the best intentions, Edward is crucified by the normies for the crime of being different.

Edward Scissorhands takes what many teenagers felt in high school ("I don't belong") and made it literal—"How can I belong if I have scissors instead of hands?" The film confirmed for many teens what they already knew, deep down inside.

Obviously, it gets better. You eventually realize that being different is ultimately a good thing, and assimilation is the thing you want to avoid. But you can't blame teenagers for not being able to see the forest around the trees. You can't blame Edward either, who was murdered before he got the chance.

Which makes this movie sound brutal! But it's really not. It's fanciful and occasionally wholesome. It's a fucking Tim Burton movie! The man is (was?) a genius at making these child-like themes seem more adult than they actually are. They are "edgy" but ultimately for children (teenagers are children, a fact that is easier to see now that it's been a decade and a half since I've been one). This isn't a bad thing! But you can see why such a movie would make me reflect on years past than make me reflect on my current lot in life.

Again, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it. I liked spending 100 minutes in this world. I could give or take the whole Tim Burton whimsical gothic steampunk thing that he always does, but at least here it had a purpose—to juxtapose with the prim and proper straightedge suburban tedium down the hill from Edward's mansion.

And I really liked how it was just accepted as fact that this kid didn't have hands, and instead had scissors at the end of his arms. People were questioning whether he was fit for society, but, like, no one was questioning the logistics of having scissors for hands, if that makes sense. When Joyce finds Edward abandoned in his mansion, she just... takes him home. The scissors are excepted as fact. I like when the characters buy into the movie magic.

It kind of reminded me of Coneheads, in that way. Like Edward, the Coneheads were characters who looked different, but society kind of just accepted their appearances, or at least didn't comment on them. I dunno, maybe that's a stretch. Plus, I feel dirty making the comparison, because Coneheads just used this tension to make cheap SNL jokes that I fucking hate, and Edward Scissorhands used the tension to tell a cohesive and occasionally moving story.

The movie I should be comparing Edward Scissorhands to is Luca. The money line in Luca goes: "Some people won't accept him, but some people will, and he seems to know how to find the good ones." Luca and Alberto don't fit into regular society either, being sea monsters and all. But they were able to find friendships anyway. Edward does the same thing (though in a more passive way). Many people don't accept him, but some people do—Winona Ryder, mostly. For Edward, unfortunately, it's not enough.

I'm thankful that we all eventually get past our teenage years. For those who felt a kinship with Edward Scissorhands, I assume that most got past those years and realized that it's pretty rare that we'd meet the same fate as Edward, that what we might perceive as "flaws" in ourselves will eventually circle back to making us special. So I guess this is a sad movie! But then, isn't that what makes it so appealing to a certain type of teenager in the first place?

GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: Another long romantic drama with The English Patient. Hopefully it doesn't take me as long to get through it as it did Doctor Zhivago.

Never Seen It, #55 of 200: Drive

A thousand years ago, I made a list of 200 movies I've never seen, and through this project, I will have one day seen 'em (and written about 'em) all.

Drive

2011

Nicholas Winding Refn

Drew A******* and I took a few minutes to email back and forth about one of his favorite movies (or at least one of this favorite movies at one point in time). I insisted that we don't have to get as in depth as we did during our Cloverfield talk. Ain't nobody got time for that shit anymore. (Plus: spoilers abound!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe: You said back in 2019 during your interview that this was one of three recent movies that made you walk out of the theater in a daze, and whose intensity made you feel stuff, man. What was it about Drive that made you feel this way?

Drew: Thinking back as to why I left the theater in a daze, a lot of it has to do with the music. It has one of the best soundtracks I've ever heard (and a score by Cliff Martinez, who I guess used to be in Red Hot Chili Peppers) and it really creates a mood. Those synthy tracks like "Under Your Spell," "Nightcall," and most notably "A Real Hero," which is used twice in the film... It was emotional, it was sexy, it transports the viewer, and it actually made me feel the feels. And three quarters of the way into the film they throw in a classical aria! The contrast was beautiful. I really feel like this movie would not have been as impactful without the soundtrack. 

I could make a lot of other points about why this stood out to me, like just generally being something I've never seen before, and giving them props for holding nothing back with the gore. But I'm curious—as someone who knows a lot about music, how do you feel about Drive's soundtrack/score?

Joe: Yeah, I liked the soundtrack! I did not know Cliff was a Pepper. I would not have picked that up from his compositions here. The other guy who did the score, Johnny Jewel, was literally just in the news yesterday (well okay, the music blogs) because his band the Chromatics broke up (there's a Chromatics song on this soundtrack).

A lot of the tunes sound like that particular brand of electro-pop that seemed to be prevalent in the early '10s. Was thinking along the lines of Chvrches and Sky Ferreira, and then even male artists like M83. I mostly like all this stuff, but don't necessarily love it. 

But it fit the movie perfectly. It sounds vaguely futuristic without it being sci-fi at all, which at once puts the film in a particular time (the early '10s), and not at all. More importantly, it fits the overall minimalist aesthetic that Drive has going for it. The music isn't bombastic or theatric. Neither is the film (save for the opening chase, maybe).

Which surprised me! I thought this was going to be more of an action thriller a la Fast and the Furious. Not complaining! I liked how it was more of a... I wanna say character study? Though maybe that's wrong, since our unnamed protagonist had very little to say, and it was tough to figure out what he was thinking sometimes (long shots of him staring blankly).

I dunno, how would you describe this film? Noir? Mobster? Action? "Genre"? Do you think they did a good job with it, however you choose to describe it?

P.S. Before watching Drive, not knowing anything about it, I would have NEVER guessed that the soundtrack would be the first thing we'd talk about.

Drew: I would definitely describe this as a noir, or more specifically a neo-noir. Wikipedia describes film noir as a "stylish Hollywood crime drama" and I think that's perfectly fitting here. Albert Brooks' character has a great line when he describes the types of movies he used to produce in the '80s: "Kind of like action, sexy stuff. One critic called them European." It's SO meta, as this movie was always described that way since the director is European. Like Euro thrillers, it's a slow burn. The first half tests your patience, but then out of NOWHERE the last act turns into a BLOODBATH, and it's just jaw-dropping. From the moment (spoilers!) Christina Hendricks gets her head blown apart, this movie shows you what it really is.

I guess that's a good segue to the character study point you made, which I agree with. A lot of the viewing experience is devoted to figuring out just who this guy is on the inside and why he does what he does. He's got a full time job as a stuntman, so why does he need to rob banks at night? How does he go from being stoic and compassionate, to then pivot and become a killing machine? They talk about the parable of the scorpion and the frog (which is why he has the scorpion jacket). The scorpion gets a ride across the river on the back of a frog, yet stings him when they're halfway across, dooming them both. The frog asks why, and the scorpion says it's just his nature. It says a lot about the Driver—he usually lives a normal life, yet when put in a hostile situation, it's in his nature to become violent, or even seek out violence. I dunno, maybe I'm misinterpreting it. But there's a lot to unpack with this guy, despite the fact that he says almost nothing.

Joe: Dude, such good points about the meta stuff (it was really funny watching Albert Brooks in this and then having Willow queue up Finding Nemo in the same day), and also the scorpion/frog bit. The second one I especially did not pick up on, and the way you put it kind of gives me a different appreciation of the Driver as a character.

I don't know if it's necessarily a better appreciation for it. Not saying anything bad about Ryan Gosling, who is game to be mostly silent and violent and does a fantastic job with it. But it's more... okay, so we're saying that the Driver's "true nature" is violent, right? It comes out when he's backed into a corner. I'm not sure that that idea for a protagonist is interesting to me. It would be more interesting to lean thematically on what Nino says to him at one point: "You're not very good at this, are you?" Is he good at this? Some might say yes, some might say no, and I don't know that the movie was too interested in saying one way or the other.

Maybe that was the point, that such a movie could strip out a lot of the fluff and become this like spartan noir thriller and still work. And it did! For the most part! It was as sharp as a steak knife. I'm just saying that I don't know that I necessarily find a steak knife interesting. Shiny, and painful, but not interesting. I feel like maybe I need a few more bells and whistles? But what the fuck do I know, it's not like I watch a lot of noir films or actions films to begin with.

This is definitely one of those times when I'm just talking out of my ass, and just becoming more critical of something the more I type about it. Pulling back, I liked Drive, and I would probably give it a 3 or 3.5 (let's see what I land on when I get to the bottom of this blog post).

So I'll ask a three-pronged question about your opinion of this, and then we can put it to bed, unless you wanna walk down any other side alleyways, which I'm totally down for, but not requiring. 1) If this film is of a "type" of film, then I can ask if this is a type of film that you typically enjoy? Or was it a matter of taking a genre to a new or refreshing place, and enjoying it because of that? 2) Besides what we already talked about, were there any other standout moments in or aspects of this movie that you really liked / were memorable, now ten years after it came out? 3) What would YOU rate this, on the grading scale of your choosing?

Drew: 1) Interesting question! I really don't have a "type" of film that I enjoy. I can sink into any genre, as long as it's good. I'd say I generally do enjoy movies like Drive—I can appreciate something slower, stylized, weird. And this movie definitely went in new directions. But there are plenty of movies of that genre that are just bad. The director, Nicolas Refn, followed up Drive with Only God Forgives, which is borderline trash. Then, Ryan Gosling, after doing two movies with Refn, directed his first and ONLY movie, Lost River. It completely copied Refn's visual style and was so poorly reviewed that Gosling hasn't directed anything since. But no genre is perfect! There are good dramas and bad dramas, good comedies and bad comedies. And yes, there are good noirs and bad noirs.  

2) I have to bring up my favorite sequence in the film, which is when Driver puts on the flesh-toned mask and stalks Nino. It's different from the rest of the film in two ways: First, the music. I already mentioned it's the only time we hear a classical aria and not synth-pop. Second, the tone. After Nino's car is launched onto the beach, it becomes an '80s slasher movie. It has all the tropes: Killer wearing a mask, non-speaking, holding his weapon of choice (in this case, a hammer), and WALKING toward his victim slowly, not running. It could just have easily been Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers coming to kill Nino. The whole movie is dark, but in this scene we make a definitive jump from crime thriller to horror. 

3) ME? I prefer letter grades, and I'd give it an A+. Sounds extreme, but I wouldn't change a thing. I do remember writing a review in The Collegian and giving it 4.5 out of 5 stars, and the only reason I knocked off half a point was that I thought the extreme gore was polarizing. But now? IDGAF, perfect score. I get this movie isn't universally beloved, but it's one of my personal favourites, and I've seen a LOT of movies.

4) MY TURN (Massive spoilers ahead, so feel free to omit this from the blog if you so choose): At the end of the film, do you think Driver is alive or dead? Is he literally driving away, or does it symbolize him ascending into the abyss? 

Joe: Nah, I've never been squeamish about spoilers in this column specifically. If you've never seen Drive, why the fuck are you reading a blog post about Drive?

I'll admit that I hadn't even thought of that possibility, that Drive had the same ending as Grease—our hero is riding a car into heaven! jk jk But I sincerely never considered that the Driver might be dead. Two possibilities: one, because I'm a fucking moron; two, because I can't think of another example in this movie of anything that wasn't grounded in reality. Spectacular and larger than life occasionally, but no like fakeouts or trickery or magical realism or anything. In fact, I'd argue that the fact that he is a stunt driver—i.e. that he is making these huge stunts look mundane—says that the movie Drive itself isn't interested in heightening reality either. Take what happens at face value, it appears to be saying.

Then again, the dude got stabbed, and just drives away, so I dunno man, I'm probably just a moron.

Drew: No I'm pretty sure you're right, I'm also confident he's still alive. But it has been debated, and I like how it's got just a touch of ambiguity. People asked about if a sequel would get made and Refn stated: "No, there will never be a second Drive movie. [...] It ends too imperfectly. And that's why it works.". I think it actually DOES end perfectly, since he killed the gangsters to protect Irene, and didn't give a shit about the money. But that's just me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5

NEXT TIME: Snip snip baby, we got Edward Scissorhands on deck.