Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Sunday, 28 June 2009
MICHAEL JACKSON: DID HE STOP WHEN HE HAD ENOUGH?
No matter what you might think of Michael Jackson in his later years- by later years, I mean post 1987, when he had his best years behind him after the album "Bad"- he was a genius of showbiz talent and pizazz. Along with his mentor and super-producer Quincy Jones, his albums "Off the Wall", "Thriller" and "Bad" changed the face of modern music. These were stone-cold classics of mainstream R n b and that crossed over into the pop market. I vow anyone not to dance if "Billie Jean" ever came on in a club or at a dance or wedding, even "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and "Rock With You" have their moments. The album, "Thriller", didn't become the biggest selling album of all-time for no reason. Thanks to Michael's talent and Quincy Jones' production, the album was 40 minutes of tightly arranged music and amazing songs, seven of which were released as singles and all of which went to No.1, in country after country, transcending race, gender, nationality and class.
Jackson, a product of an over-bearing and emotionally abusive father, never had a childhood, and was propelled into the limelight far too young. Obviously he had the talent and it needed to be nurtured, there was no point in pushing him out to work like some Motown chimney sweep at such a young age.
Not surprisingly, his later years were a delayed reaction to not having a proper childhood, having far too much money, too many hangers on and having an identity crisis which made him as troubled as he was. The skin condition, so severe that it changed his pigmentation, opened him to ridicule. His relationship with a monkey, made a monkey of his reputation. His possibly sexualised interest in young kids, overstepped the boundaries of fondness for children, making him somewhat of a pariah.
I remember the 15 minute video of "Thriller", a sort of riff on "American Werewolf in London", in which Michael becomes possessed, mainly because nothing like that had been seen before. As a mini-movie it blew people away, especially with the special effects and choreography. Michael's grace and dexterity in his dance moves, along with the synchronised zombies was fantastic, especially for 1984 and which has stood the test of time. The video didn't have all the flashy whip-panning or crane shots or sweeping movements, it just was able to capture the entire essence, letting Michael do his thing. In the U.K the video was so 'scary', they rated it "15", meaning you couldn't see it unless you were 15 or over. For some reason, we all watched it under-age in a chemistry lab, with the teachers blessing. I think they showed it on TV sometime after. But the video started the sell-through VHS craze and fans were only too happy to pay the £20 (a lot in 1984) asking price for a bit of thriller.
There was no way he was going to be able to do 50 shows at the O2 in London. Even if these shows were not 50 in a row, they still would have tested the endurance of any man or woman. Even Madonna, as fit as she is, would have struggled. It seems all the prescription drugs he was taking, the stress and pressure he put himself under, the enormous debts, the near-miss conviction for child molestation, all compounded his frail frame, until he couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't care for his later work, after 1987, and after Bad. By then he had go a bit potty and his aura became irritating and put me off. I liked "Remember the Time" as a song, but the rest left be cold. He had all the moves and sang all the right notes, but I think he just couldn't live a normal life, which is what he so badly craved. His death seemed to be symbolic of that famous white glove being held up as some sort of indication of surrender. Truly stopping when he had enough.
Sad that he's gone, but his music will live on and for Generation X, my generation, he'll be forever known as our Sinatra, our Elvis.
Jackson, a product of an over-bearing and emotionally abusive father, never had a childhood, and was propelled into the limelight far too young. Obviously he had the talent and it needed to be nurtured, there was no point in pushing him out to work like some Motown chimney sweep at such a young age.
Not surprisingly, his later years were a delayed reaction to not having a proper childhood, having far too much money, too many hangers on and having an identity crisis which made him as troubled as he was. The skin condition, so severe that it changed his pigmentation, opened him to ridicule. His relationship with a monkey, made a monkey of his reputation. His possibly sexualised interest in young kids, overstepped the boundaries of fondness for children, making him somewhat of a pariah.
I remember the 15 minute video of "Thriller", a sort of riff on "American Werewolf in London", in which Michael becomes possessed, mainly because nothing like that had been seen before. As a mini-movie it blew people away, especially with the special effects and choreography. Michael's grace and dexterity in his dance moves, along with the synchronised zombies was fantastic, especially for 1984 and which has stood the test of time. The video didn't have all the flashy whip-panning or crane shots or sweeping movements, it just was able to capture the entire essence, letting Michael do his thing. In the U.K the video was so 'scary', they rated it "15", meaning you couldn't see it unless you were 15 or over. For some reason, we all watched it under-age in a chemistry lab, with the teachers blessing. I think they showed it on TV sometime after. But the video started the sell-through VHS craze and fans were only too happy to pay the £20 (a lot in 1984) asking price for a bit of thriller.
There was no way he was going to be able to do 50 shows at the O2 in London. Even if these shows were not 50 in a row, they still would have tested the endurance of any man or woman. Even Madonna, as fit as she is, would have struggled. It seems all the prescription drugs he was taking, the stress and pressure he put himself under, the enormous debts, the near-miss conviction for child molestation, all compounded his frail frame, until he couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't care for his later work, after 1987, and after Bad. By then he had go a bit potty and his aura became irritating and put me off. I liked "Remember the Time" as a song, but the rest left be cold. He had all the moves and sang all the right notes, but I think he just couldn't live a normal life, which is what he so badly craved. His death seemed to be symbolic of that famous white glove being held up as some sort of indication of surrender. Truly stopping when he had enough.
Sad that he's gone, but his music will live on and for Generation X, my generation, he'll be forever known as our Sinatra, our Elvis.
Saturday, 20 June 2009
TRANSFORMERS 2: WHAT AN ORDEAL!
I saw "Transformers 2" yesterday. For some reason, it opened in London before most of the rest of the world. Wow, this was probably the dullest, most stupid and irritating film I've seen in a long time. Like watching paint dry, while being punched in the face at the same time. Transformers as characters are dull visually, so I'm not sure why they would have made a good movie in the first place. The plot ends up being some symbol-driven Indian Jones quest for something that makes no sense, as does most of the film, which means there's consistency, but not a fun film, at all.
There's the stock shouty sidekick character, a lot of boring explosions and endless minutes of over-sized robots knocking the crap out of each other, which, without any characterisation or plot development is just an exercise in sitting with very expensive computers and having a lot of money to make these things visually interesting, which given the results means that isolating yourself from the screenplay and the rest of the movie, gives the money a fractured feel- between the non-existent plot and the explosion pornography.
If any of it made sense, then the payoff would be somewhat compelling, but this film insults its audience. Nothing wrong with dumb Summer movie, but not so quite stupid and annoying and boring would have helped. Especially, as they added two Transformers that have obviously being hanging around gangs in the ghetto, because they speak so "street". Jar Jar Binks-all is forgiven.
The set pieces are boring too, especially as they're made in isolation to any hint of a plot that engages or makes sense. At 150 minutes, it's at least an hour overlong. People may say, "well, what did you expect?". True, I wasn't expecting great things, but, in contrast, I didn't expect something so stupidly dull. I'm sure it'll clear up at the box office, but I'll be looking for Michael Mann's new movie to re-engage my cinematic taste buds. I'm not a film snob, but "Transformers 2" upset my sensibilities and didn't entertain. I'm sure it'll make a bundle... which is a pretty sad state of affairs for movies for the future. And Foxy Megan Fox might look hotter than Palm Springs in August, but she'd give Jeppeto a run for his money in the wooden stakes.
There's the stock shouty sidekick character, a lot of boring explosions and endless minutes of over-sized robots knocking the crap out of each other, which, without any characterisation or plot development is just an exercise in sitting with very expensive computers and having a lot of money to make these things visually interesting, which given the results means that isolating yourself from the screenplay and the rest of the movie, gives the money a fractured feel- between the non-existent plot and the explosion pornography.
If any of it made sense, then the payoff would be somewhat compelling, but this film insults its audience. Nothing wrong with dumb Summer movie, but not so quite stupid and annoying and boring would have helped. Especially, as they added two Transformers that have obviously being hanging around gangs in the ghetto, because they speak so "street". Jar Jar Binks-all is forgiven.
The set pieces are boring too, especially as they're made in isolation to any hint of a plot that engages or makes sense. At 150 minutes, it's at least an hour overlong. People may say, "well, what did you expect?". True, I wasn't expecting great things, but, in contrast, I didn't expect something so stupidly dull. I'm sure it'll clear up at the box office, but I'll be looking for Michael Mann's new movie to re-engage my cinematic taste buds. I'm not a film snob, but "Transformers 2" upset my sensibilities and didn't entertain. I'm sure it'll make a bundle... which is a pretty sad state of affairs for movies for the future. And Foxy Megan Fox might look hotter than Palm Springs in August, but she'd give Jeppeto a run for his money in the wooden stakes.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
CALIFORNIA LOVE?
I've just come back from a trip to Los Angeles to see my dad, catch up with some old NYU friends and make some new ones. This must be the fifth time in the modern era (post 2006) since my dad emigrated there. Whilst the weather is lovely, sometimes barmy, sometimes a little too humid, and, even, sometimes a bit chilly, certain aspects of Californian life bug the hell out of me. Namely, that because Los Angeles is such as car-o-centric city, it treats pedestrians as a massive inconvenience. Every time I walked across a road, I'd have a bloody car snaking behind me, impatiently trying to turn left or right. They couldn't wait for me to cross completely, oh no, that would be too much to ask, even though they're supposed to yield to people crossing the road, and so many of them stick one or two fingers up to that process. I got so annoyed with it, that, at times, I gave an extended finger, a clear indication of how pissed off I was because people were so bloody impatient and rude, sitting in their air-conditioned cars. California, especially Pasadena, is not a fast, zippy state. Its palm trees and good weather and plastic blond Stepford Wives identikit washboard stomached females don't really inspire running around like a blue arsed fly. It's a bit like the bunny in the Cadbury's Caramel ad: 'take it nice and slow.. take it easy'. Anyway, apart from that-some incidents where no one understood my accent and experiences of really annoying vapidity, which certain Californians do so well, ignoring nuance, sarcasm and irony-things went quite well; it's hard not to have fun in Los Angeles, no matter what you're doing.
Watching a half-cleaned up print of John Ford's "Stagecoach" was one of the highlights. I say half-cleaned, because UCLA touted this film as 'really cleaned up'- it wasn't close. But, still, it was great to see it on the big screen after a long absence in the Academy's screening room in L.A, complete with Buck Rogers episodes and a Loony Toons cartoon. Thanks, dad, for buying the ticket. My only gripe is that they need to be more contemporary, just like the stuffy Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. More like the New Beverly, which doesn't have the 'agenda' the Egyptian clearly does. Cinema needs to be inclusive, not exclusive. I'm sure my dad would beg to differ, but I'm sticking to my guns. The Hal Ashby 'Harold and Maude' screening on the 25Th of June looks excellent, taking back everything I just said about the Academy not being contemporary. ' If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. There's a million ways to be', as Cat Stevens once wrote and that ditty is the signature toon of Hal Ashby's joyful, humanistic comedy masterpiece 'Harold and Maude'- one the greatest movies of all time, and especially of the 1970s.
A trip to Oakland via Burbank airport went well. I enjoyed the BART subway line in San Francisco and the dinner that evening in North Beach went well, with a wonderfully beautiful trip walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Fisherman's Wharf and the Castro district followed in the morning/afternoon, including some shopping for a G-Shock watch, Old Navy T-Shirts and the plane back in time for early evening. I missed having lunch at Crackerbarrel- very few exist on the West Coast, but I made up for it in a decent diner in the same area.
The two trips to Long Beach were great fun. Visiting Rosco's Chicken and Waffles is something to be done only once, given the huge slab of fried chicken and waffle you get given. Tasty as all hell, but heart attack city if you made that a staple of your diet, which many seem to, especially in the deep South, where there are variations on Rosco's. The surprise trip to San Diego was great, especially the hotel with the harbour view. Downtown was a little too crazy for my liking, but booze, cherry pie and good company made up for it. The trip to Tijuana was aborted at the border when we chickened out of going through to the Mexican side, mainly because everyone had told us how dangerous it was. Taking a straw poll of various people, they all said 'no', in no uncertain terms.
But Coronado was great, especially the hotel where they filmed "Some Like It Hot' and the beach attached to it. The food wasn't great, but the company, atmosphere and weather made it a lot more palatable.
So, another successful trip to the West Coast. Thanks to everyone who made it possible.
As a post script to the holiday, I thought the flights there and back on Virgin Atlantic sucked majorly. The flight out was long, cramped and for some reason the new planes on Virgin's fleet are smaller, meaning less slack at the back of the plane where you usually can rest up, stretch your legs, which has been replaced by a poky toilet and crew food preparation and rest area. It makes the room in the galley pretty small with people frustrated that they have to use the tiny amount of space they have wisely and in consideration of others- not always successfully, I may add.
The flight back was even worse: crap food, more indifferent service, the same poky toilet set up, which meant up to 80 people for one loo. I had some female member of cabin crew slam the door on me because she had been too stupid to lock it, thereby avoiding that kind of thing. Good to see they notice their own notices- not! Also, throughout the night flight, around 15 times we entered pockets of turbulence, with a captain obviously covering his arse but not using best judgement. This meant returning to seat, fastening the seat belt and then having a pissed-off cabin crew with a pen-light coming round to check you've fastened your belt. I wouldn't have minded, but I was trying to get the bleach out of my eyes and sleep on the 10Th time. After it went on and on, I ended up calling them Virgin Pedantic and vowing never to fly with them again, which I haven't vowed since my trip to New Orleans in 2005 with U.S Airways when I had to sit next to a very large man, sitting in the seat side-saddle with some very rude and stupid cabin staff on that journey too.
Anyway, all in all a good time was had by all. Roll on the next time, but with a different airline that doesn't cut space to the bone , forcing customers to have an endurance of a flight rather than an enjoyable one.
Watching a half-cleaned up print of John Ford's "Stagecoach" was one of the highlights. I say half-cleaned, because UCLA touted this film as 'really cleaned up'- it wasn't close. But, still, it was great to see it on the big screen after a long absence in the Academy's screening room in L.A, complete with Buck Rogers episodes and a Loony Toons cartoon. Thanks, dad, for buying the ticket. My only gripe is that they need to be more contemporary, just like the stuffy Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. More like the New Beverly, which doesn't have the 'agenda' the Egyptian clearly does. Cinema needs to be inclusive, not exclusive. I'm sure my dad would beg to differ, but I'm sticking to my guns. The Hal Ashby 'Harold and Maude' screening on the 25Th of June looks excellent, taking back everything I just said about the Academy not being contemporary. ' If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. There's a million ways to be', as Cat Stevens once wrote and that ditty is the signature toon of Hal Ashby's joyful, humanistic comedy masterpiece 'Harold and Maude'- one the greatest movies of all time, and especially of the 1970s.
A trip to Oakland via Burbank airport went well. I enjoyed the BART subway line in San Francisco and the dinner that evening in North Beach went well, with a wonderfully beautiful trip walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Fisherman's Wharf and the Castro district followed in the morning/afternoon, including some shopping for a G-Shock watch, Old Navy T-Shirts and the plane back in time for early evening. I missed having lunch at Crackerbarrel- very few exist on the West Coast, but I made up for it in a decent diner in the same area.
The two trips to Long Beach were great fun. Visiting Rosco's Chicken and Waffles is something to be done only once, given the huge slab of fried chicken and waffle you get given. Tasty as all hell, but heart attack city if you made that a staple of your diet, which many seem to, especially in the deep South, where there are variations on Rosco's. The surprise trip to San Diego was great, especially the hotel with the harbour view. Downtown was a little too crazy for my liking, but booze, cherry pie and good company made up for it. The trip to Tijuana was aborted at the border when we chickened out of going through to the Mexican side, mainly because everyone had told us how dangerous it was. Taking a straw poll of various people, they all said 'no', in no uncertain terms.
But Coronado was great, especially the hotel where they filmed "Some Like It Hot' and the beach attached to it. The food wasn't great, but the company, atmosphere and weather made it a lot more palatable.
So, another successful trip to the West Coast. Thanks to everyone who made it possible.
As a post script to the holiday, I thought the flights there and back on Virgin Atlantic sucked majorly. The flight out was long, cramped and for some reason the new planes on Virgin's fleet are smaller, meaning less slack at the back of the plane where you usually can rest up, stretch your legs, which has been replaced by a poky toilet and crew food preparation and rest area. It makes the room in the galley pretty small with people frustrated that they have to use the tiny amount of space they have wisely and in consideration of others- not always successfully, I may add.
The flight back was even worse: crap food, more indifferent service, the same poky toilet set up, which meant up to 80 people for one loo. I had some female member of cabin crew slam the door on me because she had been too stupid to lock it, thereby avoiding that kind of thing. Good to see they notice their own notices- not! Also, throughout the night flight, around 15 times we entered pockets of turbulence, with a captain obviously covering his arse but not using best judgement. This meant returning to seat, fastening the seat belt and then having a pissed-off cabin crew with a pen-light coming round to check you've fastened your belt. I wouldn't have minded, but I was trying to get the bleach out of my eyes and sleep on the 10Th time. After it went on and on, I ended up calling them Virgin Pedantic and vowing never to fly with them again, which I haven't vowed since my trip to New Orleans in 2005 with U.S Airways when I had to sit next to a very large man, sitting in the seat side-saddle with some very rude and stupid cabin staff on that journey too.
Anyway, all in all a good time was had by all. Roll on the next time, but with a different airline that doesn't cut space to the bone , forcing customers to have an endurance of a flight rather than an enjoyable one.
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