Month: October 2019

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DISMEMBER THE ALAMO at the Richardson, TX Alamo Drafthouse 10/26/19

So, you like horror movies, but can you sit in a theater for a ten-hour marathon of them? And can you do it even when each one is kept a secret so you don’t know what the hell you’re gonna see?

Sure, you can! It’s like trick or treat. All you know about this show is that your butt’s going to be numb when it’s all over and you’re going to see a lot of people die. Also, the coolest thing about it is they don’t show anything that this theater has shown before, which means that they have to dig deep and go for the weird stuff.

It gets you in the Halloween spirit.

Me, I’m a broken-down old creep. I don’t really do Halloween anymore. Maybe I’ll put on a Cramps record or watch some old horror movie faves (Arrow’s new An American Werewolf in London Blu-ray restoration should be in my hot little hands this week, says Amazon) in October, but I don’t carve pumpkins or wear costumes. I mostly enjoy the fall weather and rationalize eating some candy. That’s my idea of a party.

So the annual Dismember the Alamo horror-o-rama pretty much IS Halloween to me. Everyone’s in a good mood. Anticipation fills the room. Some people show up in costumes. Next thing you know, even a little introverted mosquito like me chit-chats with the guy in the next seat about the movie we just saw and what the hell might hit us next. (This year’s theme was creepy-crawlies. Snakes and bugs and worms, oh my!)

In other words, it’s a great show. It’s the kind of show that blasts your brain with movies like THESE:

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Robert Pollard-Mania! #40: WAVED OUT

Robert Pollard
Waved Out
1998, Matador Records

In 1998, Robert Pollard was 40 years old and his plan for Guided by Voices was that he was gonna at least take a stab at selling out Budokan while he was still spry. It was cool with me. I was rooting for him. A slick, Ric Ocasek-produced GBV album was something that I was curious to hear.

One might have wondered though if maybe we were losing the fucked-up psychedelic pop genius that we’d been following. Part of GBV’s character was a curious freedom on record. Noise. Accidents that sounded cool. Albums in which weird, misfit songs found a comfortable home next to killer hooks. A very uncommercial sort of beauty. It wasn’t mere indie/lo-fi snobbery. Robert Pollard found his voice (and his audience) embracing rough edges and home recording. It was how his songs sounded good. It was why he didn’t sign with Warner Brothers in 1994 and remake Alien Lanes for radio like the suits wanted.

How was any of Ocasek’s studio magic gonna compete with that?

If you were paying attention though, you didn’t worry about that much. Robert Pollard is a song machine. His does his job each day and new songs are not a problem. He was still writing little oddballs and making low-budget recordings. Pollard had stacks of fresh goodness that didn’t fit on Guided by Voices albums anymore. Great songs, haunting songs, shadowy moods, alien vibes and psychedelic nutcase stuff that the deep-diggers want to hear.

Sounds like a great idea for a solo album, to me.

Sounds like Waved Out. 

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Things I Will Keep #17: THE MUFFS, Happy Birthday to Me

The Muffs
Happy Birthday to Me
1997, Reprise Records (original vinyl on Telster Records)

The news of Kim Shattuck’s sad and unfair death at age 56, due to ALS complications, knocked all of the wind out of me last week.

I first saw it on Twitter and I couldn’t believe it (“Huh, Kim Shattuck is trending? I wonder wh–OH, FUCK!”). Total punch in the gut. Her illness was kept private. It was a complete surprise to us in the peanut gallery. At the moment, other people were around me and I had to walk away from them and find a quiet place to sit and think.

The deaths of musicians rarely get to me like that. Even if I liked them. For the most part, I tend to figure that they made their mark and will live on through their work. I might get a little wistful and misty, but I don’t feel hurt.

But Kim Shattuck’s passing hurt. 

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THE PRISONER #5: Schizoid Man

(October 27, 1967; writer: Terence Feely; director: Pat Jackson)

In 2019, the line between television and le cinema is blurred to the max. Major directors do important work for television now. Auteur shit. Shit that’s a part of the same conversations that people have about theatrical movies. There are people who will argue that there’s still a division between the two forms of media, but, from where I sit, it looks like the walls are a’ tumblin’ down, Charlie.

The rise of high-definition television and cable networks (and streaming services) who can be more ambitious than their more dorky broadcast TV counterparts, still tethered to those FCC regulations and Doritos commercials, are the obvious steps forward.

But there were earlier advances toward this. The original run of Twin Peaks is a stepping stone, for sure. In my opinion, Miami Vice was one, too. (I intend to write about that show here in time, if you care.)

And way back in the 1960s, The Prisoner was similarly ambitious. Over fifty years later, these episodes look and behave like “a movie” to me. Its shots are beautifully composed and packed with information. Its background characters are sometimes a Fellini-like collection of memorable faces and bodies. Nothing about it seems cheap. When they went for a special effect, they put in the work to pull it off.

“Schizoid Man”, in which star Patrick McGoohan plays two roles, is a perfect example of what I’m babbling about.

(I’m also going to spoil the fuck out of it in this piece, so beware.)

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