The Best of 2020

Let’s just get it out of the way now, 2020 sucked.  Except when it came to music, TV, books and film.  As always in life, the arts kept us breathing, when certainly those in power seemed to have no interest in doing so.

So let’s get right to it.  Was there one or two records this year that stood out like the releases from Lana Del Rey and Billie Eilish did in 2019?  Depends on what day you’re asking (or were all the days the same).  Depends on my mood.  At any time one of the record topped it, only to be pushed to second place the next day.  So, instead of a top ten albums in order of preference, I resent simply the ten best albums of 2020, in order of their release date.

Soccer Mommy – “Color Theory” – It was mid-January when Sophie Allison’s new record was released.  The world seemed an okay place, except for perhaps in Allison’s world.  Behind the sparkling guitars was a darkness haunting the story telling.  In ten songs she captured the pain of isolation and longing.  There isn’t a weak beat on this record.  And in a way it set up what was to come brilliantly.

Torres – “Silver Tongue” – On the last day of January came a new record from Torres, whom we had recently seen open for Superchunk on their acoustic “Foolish” tour.  I have loved Mackenzie Scott’s guitar playing since the release of her first record, many years back, and was anxiously awaiting this first album on Merge after she was rudely dropped from 4AD.  And with “Silver Tongue” she takes it to another level completely.  This is a driving record that will put you into a trance, and “Good Grief” is the guitar song of the year.  Scott’s pain is palpable throughout, the anger of her voice dueling with her six string virtuosity.  Listen to this record on vinyl at the loudest volume you can endure.  It’s the closest you’ll come to a live concert this year.  Fuck, yes!

Lucinda Williams – “Good Souls Better Angels” – Late February.  Few singer/songwriters are better than Lucinda Williams when motivated, and Lucinda was angry.  Hell, we hadn’t even gotten to Covid-19 yet.  This was all Trump.  A pissed-off calling out that harkened back to the days of “Essence” genius.  She sang what so many of us were feeling in that boozy brawl of a voice that is unlike anything else in the world.  This was the sort of album you put on as therapy.  There are other people out there as angry as I am. 

S.G. Goodman – “Old Time Feeling” – Early March, I was in Nashville for the Seniors A Dogumentary world premiere, the next night I’d be seeing Lucy Dacus on the Opry, and the night after that Archers of Loaf.  Then I’d head home, and stay there.  The vibe of this record is one of the things that helped me through.  A bluesy old-school country feel without any hokiness.  There an authenticity here, heartfelt Americana, by way of Kentucky.  You can almost feel the ghosts of Patsy Cline drinking whiskey with Karen Dalton grooving to Goodman.  Love this record.

Waxahatchee – “Saint Cloud” – Late March brough us Katie Crutchfield’s best album since her 2012 debut “American Weekend.”  An album about healing in a time when the breaking of this country’s soul was still hitting its peak, this is the record that for anyone listening at that point in time saw the light at the end of the proverbial Trump tunnel.  Hopeful but not overly optimistic, it has shades of mid-60s Dylan, and that’s about as high a compliment I can think of to give any record.  Crutchfield nails it on this one.

Phoebe Bridgers – “Punisher” – Mid-June brought us a simply perfect album, Bridger’s second, and it any single album had pushed through to top this list, this would have been it.  This is an album so vast and beautiful, so intimate, yet at times brash and poppy, Bridgers has created a record where there are no songs to skip.  And even picking the example to post here.  In my head everyone must know “Kyoto” by this point because it was simply the best pop song of the year.  “Graceland Too” makes my mind explode.  “Halloween” breaks my heart.  There’s no place to start, because there’s no place to stop.  It’s just fucking brilliant.  And for anyone whose seen her numerous “live” appearances and performances since the pandemic began, you realize, Bridgers is the performer we need right now.  She never fails to bring a smile.  And what could be better than that?  

The Chicks – “Gaslighter” – Mid-July brought us the angriest album of the year.   And while sure, Natalie Maines and company were pissed at Trump, it was her ex-husband who really set the album on fire.  After a 14 year hiatus, the band dropped the Dixie, and the hammer.  Brutally honest, to the point where Maines’ ex tried to block its release, “Gaslighter” is about buying into the lies of someone who should have your best interests at heart.  We certainly could all relate.  Their video to “March March” was also the best music video of the year. 

Taylor Swift – “Folklore”/”Evermore”/”Folklore: the Long Pond Studio Sessions” – A week later Swift took over. She did in one year what most musicians aspire to in perhaps their lifetime.  A truly stunning album, followed by a live reimagining of that album, followed by a starker equally brilliant record.  And for those of you who just view Swift as some vacuous pop princess, you’re missing out on one of the great songwriters and story tellers of our time. Put on any song from one of these three collections and be whisked away into tales of a teenage love triangle gone wrong, a mansion of broken dreams, heartbreak, desire, revenge.  And gone is the slick dance/pop production of her last few outings, replaced instead by the simplest of arrangements.  These are timeless records, put one on from start to finish and you’ll be swept away.

Lydia Loveless – “Daughter” – Late September brought the long awaited fifth album from one of my favorite singers of all time.  And while the voice and (most of) the band remains the same, its Loveless song writing abilities that truly shines here.  Lyrically as good if not better than anything she’s done, the album focuses on giving yourself a long hard look in the eye and moving on, despite the pain involved.  It’s a record that grows on your with every listen, and the one not only Loveless needed to make, but the one we needed to hear.  

Miley Cyrus – “Plastic Hearts” – I love Miley Cyrus.  No pop star is more comfortable in their skin.  She just doesn’t give a fuck what you think.  In late November she turned her career around again with the release of a record that sounds like classic mid-80s rock, in a good way.  “Plastic Hearts” is the perfect diversion for the mind-fuck that 2020 became.  It’s a release, a fall back to a time when you could put on a good rock and roll record and not think seeing a friend might lead to your demise.   

Most Disappointing Album of 2020:

Car Seat Headrest – “Making a Door Less Open” – The band was supposedly trying to make their Bowie album. They didn’t.  A disappointing mess.

Best Single of 2020:

Archers of Loaf – “Raleigh Days” – I waited 20 years for this song, and it was worth it.  Raucous and exhilarating, and clocking in at under two and a half minutes, my favorite band in the world took two decades off my life, and made me feel like I was sweating and moving in unison with hundreds of other fans at some dive bar in the East Village. The single most perfect moment of this mostly shit year.

Best Reissue (tie):

Wilco – “Summerteeth” – Arguably Wilco’s best album gets a treatment fit for a queen with this stunning reissue featuring outtakes, demos, live performances, all beautifully packaged.  Blissful in every way.

Tom Petty – “Wildflowers & All The Rest” – The solo demo versions of one of Petty’s most loved records might be his greatest record of all.  A treasure trove of song writing brilliance.

Worst Reissue:

The Replacements – “Pleased To Meet Me” – You know I love this band, but for me this was a disappointment on every level.  There was nothing here I needed to hear, not ever, not once.  A beautifully remastered version of the original album on vinyl would have been much preferred.  So bad it almost destroys the memory of one of the greatest albums ever made.

Musical Discovery of 2020:

Karen Dalton – I’m obsessed. And how she could have slipped past my radar is beyond me.  The voice reminds me of Billie Holiday, but singing Americana.  It brings me to my knees.  Listen to this sample.  You’ll either love it or not.  (P.S. A great documentary on Dalton called “In My Own Time” is coming next year.)

Best Documentary: 

“Miss Americana” – Part cinema verité, part “Fog of War,” Lana Wilson’s documentary on Taylor Swift ranks as one of the great rock docs of all time.  Beautifully edited (and docs are ALL about editing), it tells the eye-opening story of the fame at Swift’s level, and how eventually she broke from the ranks of her many handlers and started running her career, her life, on her own terms.  There are not many films that I look at and say, “I wish I made that film.”  Well, this is one of them.  

Best Narrative Feature: 

“Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always” – a filmmaking tour-de-force that had no equal this year.  From the stark 16mm cinematography, to the performances from Sidney Flanigan and Talia Ryder, Eliza Hittman’s portrayal of a teenage girl who travels from rural Pennsylvania to NYC so she can obtain an abortion is the sort of film which will define “independent filmmaking” for years to come.  One of the best films of this century.  The scene from which the film pulls its title will stay with you forever.

Best TV (tie):

“Normal People” – Daisy Edgar-Jones  and ‎Paul Mescal will break your heart over and over again in what was easily the most perfect series in a year of amazing TV.  This is what chemistry between actors should feel like.  So damn good.  I almost wish I had never seen it, so I can experience watching it again for the first time.

“I Am Not Okay With This” – Sophia Lillis is quickly becoming one of our greatest actresses with this wonderfully fucked up tale of a girl with some weird powers and the geeky boy who likes her.  It’s seven very short episodes.  Just watch it and thank me later.

Worst Thing I Watched All Year:

“Billie” – a completely pathetic documentary about Billie Holiday that seems more interested in her drug use, who she was sleeping with, and the woman who died before she could finish writing Holiday’s biography, than it does in Holiday’s voice.  And the use of colorization on some classic old clips makes me want to bitch-slap the director.  Everything that could be wrong about this is. The greatest singer of all time deserves much better.

As for the rest of my 2020:

Thankfully two of my films, “Pizza A Love Story” and “Seniors A Dogumentary,” were released on DVD and streaming platforms everywhere, and have garnered a lot of love from viewers.  

“Where are you, Jay Bennett?” – my 6th rock doc is done.  We are out to film festivals, and one way or another, we will be screening by early summer, at the latest, hopefully to a live audience.

I completed my first short film in years, “The Matchbox Man,” which is also out to film festivals.  It will also premiere in very early summer.

“Factory,” our look at the crazy life behind the New Haven Clock Company building, is being edited.  Though once things are safe, we still need to film a few additional interviews. Watch for a new trailer, edited by Sydni Frisch, coming in early January.

With the help of some amazing people (Katherine, Tony, Haley, Cassandra, Karyl, Ed, Sydni, Ken, Matt) we were able to pull off a miracle with the 7th edition of NHdocs, and actually present 16 live screenings, plus another 100 or so films online.

I did at least get to see Archers of Loaf back in March the week before the shutdown, in Nashville, a city I love.  Ate a lot of Jeni’s ice cream too!

Kris and I cooked a lot. A real lot.  Painted our deck, rearranged rooms, got rid of clutter, alphabetized CDs. Variations of what everyone else was doing.

Our dogs, Springsteen and Dylan, are both doing well. 

And that’s it.  This damn year is over.  Be well, hug your dog, raise a drink (virtually) to the people you love and respect, eat good pizza, drink hot coffee, laugh, rock, play it loud, believe that things will get better come January 20, and be kind to everyone you meet (no matter what side of the aisle they’re on).  

Oh, and wear a damn mask!

Unadorned

Sometimes things just come together perfectly.  A year ago, in February, I brought together a group of six extremely talented young women to make a music video for a song on the about-to-be-released Matt Ryan record. Everything about “(I Just Died) Like An Aviator” rocked.  It’s one of my favorite shoots, one of my favorite videos. You can watch it here.

Then, last Wednesday, I read that Matt would soon be releasing an unadorned acoustic version of the same album.  He sent me a copy, and I immediately turned on the acoustic “Aviator” and before the song was over I knew what I had to do.

The texting began. I started with my Matt Ryan-impersonator Chloe Barczak as she would have to carry so much of the idea I had in my head.  She was in.  Then co-producer Charlotte Beatty to handle the organization.  And the first video’s guitarist Carina Begley, as the guitar was (except for a few piano notes at the very end) the lone instrument.  An acoustic version of the same team, so to speak.

Then I told Matt we were again making a music video of “Aviator.”  He never even asked what we were planning, and instead got American Songwriter Magazine to agree to premiere the video sight unseen.  He sent me the chords and even a video for Carina on how to play a few of the guitar parts.

By Friday of last week we had a schedule and a location.  The same location as the original video.  We all met at 8:45 AM on Sunday, loaded up my Jeep with almost all of my gear, and drove the two tenths of a mile to the home of Dean and Shellye.

As Carina got used to the feel of my Martin acoustic, Charlotte and Chloe helped me set up lights and camera.  By 10:30 we were filming, buzzing from a lot of Willoughby’s coffee, Coke-a-Cola, and salted-caramel Orangeside Donuts.

But this time around Chloe and Carina had their work cut out for them.  My concept was to present the video in one long take.  No cuts.  Just a perfect performance and some precise rack focusing. No sweat.

We worked on blocking the first half dozen times through, as Chloe worked on her emotional delivery.  She felt this version of the song was really sad.  Desperate.  Depressing even.  Both Charlotte and Carina agreed.  I was not about to argue.

We got the blocking just right, the lighting perfect.  And by the twelfth take I started noticing tears in Chloe’s eyes.  That was when I knew we had something special.  We knocked off one take after another, with barely a pause between, and she nailed it.  Take sixteen was fucking brilliant.  Take eighteen was perfect.  We did a few more.  I had a B-camera rolling just in case my impossible one-shot idea would not work.  And after the twenty-fourth take we wrapped.

I got home around 1:30 PM.  I copied the footage onto a drive as I put away the gear.  Then I started editing, going back and forth between takes 16, 18, 12 and 24…but ultimately the fucking brilliant won out.  It would be take 16.  I added titles, the slightest color correction, some film grain, and I exported the timeline.  By 4:30 PM I texted Matt, Chloe, Charlotte, and Carina a private viewing link for the video.

This is what Matt Ryan wrote to me after seeing it for the first time: “My god she’s killing me. I seriously have tears in my eyes.  I love it.  Breaks my heart.  It’s beautiful  Please tell them I love it.  Thank you for thinking to do this.”

His appreciation was appreciated.

Matt stripped down a beautiful song, and allowed us to do the same to the original video.  But this video is unadorned in other ways as well: void of ego, attitudes, rude people (unlike most of the rest of my past few weeks, hell, unlike most of the world we live in). It was just four people working together, all doing what they need to do, having fun doing it, turning a beautiful song in a visual work of art.

Thank you to Chloe, Charlotte, and Carina, my brilliant cohorts on this project. Thank you to Dean and Shellye for again letting us invade their home.  Thank you to Matt Ryan and American Songwriter for the blind trust.

And here it is:  American Songwriter Magazine

Sometimes things just come together perfectly.

The Tale of the Broken Neck

I spent a good portion of the past three weeks shooting WHO IS LYDIA LOVELESS?, which will be either my 13th or 14th completed feature film (depending on whether this or PIZZA, A LOVE STORY is completed first), and while I could share stories about the candid and amazing interviews with Lydia and her bandmates, or what a thrill it was to watch them record their new record, how freakin’ funny they all are, or even just how damn nice everyone is, I will instead share this.

The tale of the broken neck.

My crew arrived in Lydia’s hometown on Columbus on Sunday, June 14th, just in time to see Lydia and company perform at a free show.  But because of the ridiculous lack of cover on the stage, and the fact that is rained virtually every day I was in Ohio (and apparently always does in June), the show was a disaster waiting to happen.  Gear got wet, sound issues abounded because electronics don’t like getting wet, basically it was a cluster fuck on the part of the promoter.

When everything was finally working, and there was a break in the rain, an extremely frustrated Lydia and company managed to pull off their song “Wine Lips” (sweetly dedicated to a young fan), and a small part of another song before the clouds let loose with a torrential downpour.  Ben moved fastest, getting his upright bass under a tarp.  But as one of the dozens seemingly “in charge” of the event ran onto the stage and cancelled the concert, Lydia, completely frustrated by the events, threw her beloved Telecaster to the ground in anger.

For me, a lover of chaos in rock and roll it was a beautiful way to begin the trip.  My 5th Lydia show, only a song and a half long.  And as me and my crew walked back to the rental Jeep in the pouring rain, I couldn’t wait for the interviews to begin.

And this story might have ended there…

Until the next morning when I get to Lydia’s and Ben’s home, and checking out her office where the first of many interviews would be filmed, I picked up the Tele, making some stupid comment to Lydia about how indestructible they are.  And then it became obvious.  I noticed.  She noticed.  Fuck!  The neck of her favorite guitar was cracked.  Not a small repairable crack.  But cracked through and through on the headstock.

Now in my life I have certainly put my foot in my mouth many times.  But I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse about calling attention to anything.  Here we are about to begin the interviews, while I can see how truly upset she is about her guitar.  I felt terrible, even though I played no part in breaking it.

In the end of course, the guitar was quickly fitted with a gorgeous new neck.  The interviews were everything I wanted them to be and more.  I learned for the 1,843rd time this year to think before I speak.  And Lydia posted this on her Facebook page with a picture of the new neck: “New neck for my main squeeze. My guitar tossing days are over ‪#‎trymeditationforanger‬ ‪#‎onepunchloveless‬ ‪#‎whoamikidding‬

I even got to take home a little souvenir.

I don’t really collect much memorabilia anymore.  I have a few items from my favorites bands (y’know, The Mats, Archers, Wilco), but none of them have the meaning of this broken neck.

It sits now at the entrance to my office, the first thing I see every time I enter.

And it truly does represent the most rock and roll way imaginable to begin this film.

Broken Guitar Neck-small

 

A Masterpiece for a post-Hüsker Dü World

As a disclosure, let me state that I am director of the upcoming Grant Hart documentary EVERY EVERYTHING. But that said, if I didn’t truly love this record I would write nothing at all. As even my closest friends know, if they ask for an opinion from me, I will give it to them truthfully. I’m not one to sugar coat, or ever tell people what they want to hear.

Next, so you know where I stand, I believe these to be indisputable facts:

1. Hüsker Dü and The Replacements are the two most important rock bands of the past 32 years. That every single band that picked up a guitar and rocked post 1987 owes everything to these two bands. They saved rock and roll at a time when even punk had completely lost its edge and become new wave. So that is the regard in which I hold the members of these two bands.

2. Just as the Beatles had two great singer/songwriters in Lennon and McCarthey, Hüsker Dü had Mould and Hart. There is no Hüsker Dü without Grant Hart. He is as important to the band as Mould, and just as good a songwriter. As for their post-Hüsker Dü careers, Hart might not have been as prolific, but he delivered “2541” and “The Main,” which for me are the two best post-breakup songs.

Now, onto The Argument.

The Argument
This is a vast, impressive work. Hardly a collection of pop tunes that you can play on your car’s stereo system and listen to at leisure…at least not at first. In taking on a book most of us could not even get through the Cliff Notes on, Hart has given us a true rock opera, about good vs. evil, about heaven vs. hell, about lust and the snake in the garden. This is a post-punk rock bible, a “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars” or “Tommy” for our day. But the first half dozen times through you need to listen. To absorb. To take in the grandeur of what he’s accomplished. And only then you will find the pop songs. The rock songs. The songs to break your heart. Then you will begin to see the scope of “The Argument.” Then you will begin to see the influences Hart wears proudly on his sleeves, from an almost polished version of the noise we came to love as Hüsker Dü fans to nods towards Dylan (“For Those Too High Aspiring” is probably my favorite track, sounding like a lost track Bob Dylan contributed to “Zen Arcade”), the Doors (“Golden Chain”), the Faces (“Shine, Shine, Shine”), Buddy Holly (“Letting Me Out”), doo wop (“So Far From Heaven”), anthem rock (“Glorious,” which would make for a perfect very tongue-in-cheek Christian rock anthem), even a Rudy Vallée ukulele ditty (“Underneath the Apple Tree”), and yes, old Bowie (the brilliant title track). Hart is a walking history-of-music encyclopedia, and that knowledge shines through on every track.

The production is masterful. (The use of the beep from Sputnik on “Is the Sky the Limit” is a stroke of genius.) Hart’s voice is powerful when it needs to be. Frail, almost cracked, when he wants to rip out your heart. The instrumentation is at times a cacophony of blessed noise pop and at other times brisk, clean, clear. There are moments when a track ends and you actually wish for a breather before what will assault you next.

To take on Milton’s “Paradise Lost” might have seemed a fool’s game for most musicians. But Grant Hart isn’t like most musicians. He’s probably one of the smartest men in rock & roll. And while this might have been a glorious gamble that ended badly, he’s hit the jackpot. But no more so than the fans who get to experience this work of art.

Should you buy it? Well, I’ll answer that question with a question: would you go see Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” if it was in a gallery in your town? If the answer is yes. That you would have to see the genius in Van Gogh’s swirls in person and for yourself. Then, yes, buy “The Argument.”  Masterpieces only come around every so often.

new Waxahatchee album

The new Waxahatchee album CERULEAN SALT is out today, which makes this a glorious day. It rocks a lot harder than AMERICAN WEEKEND, but still Katie Crutchfield wears her beautifully wounded heart on her flowered sleeve. Only this time the guitars tears through your soul as well.  As I’ve said before, she is our most talented young songwriter.  And she’s one of the two or three best female vocalists making records today.  Get on the boat now…there probably won’t be a better album released this year.

 

Record Store Day

When Kristine and I moved to New Haven in 1989 so she could run the about-to-open Sam Goodys on Chapel Street (whose 20% off Saturdays are still legendary), we were on the verge of having seven record shops in a town of roughly 120,000 people. Think about that. We have one now. Most towns this size have none.

But on this national day of celebration (I’m sure many would think of it as a national day of mourning), I prefer to talk about the great majestic record shop of my impressionable years. Of a store that started in a second floor apartment on Bank Street in Waterbury, Connecticut. I’m guessing on the year here, but thinking 1978, give or take. It lasted there for only a year or so, then moved up the block into another second floor apartment over the Thom McCan shoe store on that same street, then after a few years in that location, moved into a sprawling space on the third floor of another Bank Street building that housed a jewelry store on its first floor, and an Arthur Murray dance studio on it’s second. Its original name was Cheapskate Records, and sometime during its run at its third location (yes, there would be a fourth, and now a fifth) became Phoenix Records. But it always remained Cheapskate Records to me.

Cheapskate was started and run by a silver-haired gentleman (gray way before his time), with crazed and brilliant eyes, and the ability to print in 6-point type. He was one of the funniest, most sarcastic people I’ve ever met. The missing Monty Python. His name was Professor Morono. Or simply The Professor to those who knew.

If anyone in my life has deserved the title of “professor” it was this man. He influenced my career, my art, as much as Holy Cross’ Sister Noreen who handed me Vonegut’s “Breakfast of Champions” and Brautigan’s “In Watermelon Sugar” during my Junior year of High School. As much as Donald Spotto who made me marvel at the wonders of Alfred Hitchcock during his course at the New School for Social Research. This Professor would on a weekly basis hand me the vinyl eucharist that would make me believe, make me see, make me into who I was destined to become.

Where should I begin? (Where could I begin!) The “I Will Dare” 12-inch from The Replacements, and later “Let It Be,” all the early Elvis Costello, it was where I bought “London Calling” for Christ’s sake. The first R.E.M. EP, Nick Lowe’s “Jesus of Cool,” The Sex Pistols, the Dead Kennedys, Pere Ubu, Devo, Siouxsie, Tom Waits, countless picture sleeved import singles, live recordings (that amazing Springsteen boot from the Bottom Line). At one point before moving to New Haven, I had a wall of vinyl that measured about 15 feet wide and 6 feet high, with another few dozen crates in my grandfather’s basement. Don’t know how many albums that is exactly. But it’s a lot. And a good part of them came from Cheapskate.

But it was more than just about vinyl. It was about the friendship. The never-ending dialog. The Professor and his cohort, the lovely Diane. Music was our politics, our religion. And no one was a republican or a democrat. We were Clash fans or Pistol fans. Punks or lovers or modern rock, or even hard core. Hell, even heavy metal, or old time country. We were old school, new school, any school. It was about the music. The music was all that mattered once you walked through that door into the collection of crates packed so tight you had to remove a dozen albums just to be able to flip through. The walls lined with those breathtaking 4×4 posters. Could I possibly fit another on my apartment walls? But how could I resist Paul Simonon smashing that bass in 4-foot-square glory? (Quick answer: I couldn’t. And damn I wish I still owned that now.)

When time came to write my first novel, “The Second Greatest Story Ever Told,” I made The Professor a fictional character (as I did The Replacements), one who would have a profound effect on the Daughter of God during her teen years. Turning her on to what was truly important on this planet: Patti Smith (that opening line to “Gloria” so made her laugh), the aforementioned Costello or The Replacements, and of course Husker Du, and with a song called “Green Eyes” how could they not appeal to our lovely green-eyed savior? The Professor was her John the Baptist. Perhaps he was mine as well.

I miss those days. When traveling around with my Replacements documentary “Color Me Obsessed,” the one stop I always make in any strange town is at a record shop, if one even exists. A couple of them, if I’m lucky. I’ll buy something from a local band. And I’ll think back to the days when I’d walk in to one of those less-than-glorious locations — okay, they were glorious to me, Cheapskate Records was a cathedral. My church of rock ‘n’ roll. I’d be handed a stack of vinyl. It was what The Professor had for me that day. A respite from life. Or perhaps the gift of life. A little salvation. And a whole lot of inspiration.

Thank you, Professor. For everything.

The making of COLOR ME OBSESSED – part 31 (I NEVER WANTED MUSIC!)

A perfectly over-rated example of the rock doc genre is the Ramones flick END OF THE CENTURY. Yes, it’s better that the average VH1 special. But not by that much. In every frame you know that Joey is already passed onto the other side. Had the filmmaker begun the project two years earlier, I wouldn’t be making this criticism. But the film feels wrong to me. As do most rock docs made after a band is longer with us (for whatever reason). Whether that band be X, the Beatles, or anyone in between. Something is missing.

Which is why I never (“NEVER!” I screamed) wanted for a moment to give my favorite band of all time such treatment. I truly believe that any “traditional” doc on The Replacements will play like one of these VH1 specials. So, when the opportunity to make this film fell into my lap, I knew I had to come up with something as daring, as unique as my subject. That fuck-you to tradition that The Replacements so deserved.

I knew some would have issue with my approach. That, like the band at so many junctures in their career, I risked falling flat on my face. But, and anyone who knows my career knows this to be true, is was a risk I was more than willing to take.

What probably surprises me most is that some people insist I’m lying. That I couldn’t afford the rights to the Mats music. I have to think those people just can’t comprehend risk taking, or doing something different. They’re so caught up in tradition, they see the world through blinders and are unable to accept originality. How they ever became Mats fans is beyond me. Perhaps they grew jaded and crusty as they got old. Or perhaps they’re just jealous that it worked. As I know it does. As the dozens of IMDB reviews from people who’s seen the film at festivals have confirmed. Many of whom who entered with their arms folded against my no-music nuttiness, only to leave with a satisfied grin plastered to their face. Originality can do that. It can make you feel alive again. (If you give it a chance.) Sort of like The Replacements did the first time we all heard them.

My next music doc!

The other day I came up with what really should be my next music documentary. A companion piece, if you will, to Color Me Obsessed. Me and a crew of three other camera-people each assigned one member of the band Vampire Weekend. We stalk them. We harass them. He break into their homes. We are there when they eat, sleep, call their mommies. We make their lives miserable. And all we ever do is pose the question: “Why do you suck so much?” Over and over again. “WHY DO YOU SUCK SO MUCH?”

I would see it almost as my gift to the rock ‘n’ roll world as the confrontations would inevitably force the band members to get hopefully angry, turn to alcohol, or better yet, hard drugs, to finally take off the white V-neck sweaters grandma knitted, grow into angry punks, growing some actual balls in the process. It could only help their sound. They’d ditch the rinky-dink keyboards, opting instead for barely in-tune fenders, taking out their frustration on the unknowing strings. (I could almost hear the Fenders whispering to one another at night. “This was supposed to be an easy gig. Never a scratch. Fuck! We should have gone home with Taylor Swift instead.”)

It could be a transformation caught for everyone to see on camera, turning the wimpiest band in history into something raw and potentially brilliant. (Okay, brilliant might be pushing it for these guys, but at least something that wasn’t vomit inducing.) But just picture them breaking down, stealing old ladies purses, screaming at stranger in the street, urinating in public!

Or of course it could backfire. We could so distress their gentle egos that they’d instead shrivel up and wither away.

Either way, it would make for great film.

And their fans really would have nothing to worry about, as I’m sure there’d be many other set of silly silly hipsters waiting to take their place, with an iPod commercial song and a Honda commercial song already in the can.

P.S. Before all the VW fans get their panties in a bunch, let me point out that it isn’t just about this band. But they are the poster child for hipster lame, for hipster wimp. This could just as easily be about dozens (hundreds!) of other bands, many from Brooklyn. They’re all so easily interchangeable you’d think someone would be embarrassed. Though I’m not sure that’s anything they teach you at hipster school.

The Best Music & Films of 2010

Best & Worst of 2010

I’ll be the first to admit that because I was making a documentary on The Replacements, I listened to them probably more than all other musicians combined. I rediscovered SORRY MA, FORGOT TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH, hearing things that I had somehow never heard before (perhaps I previously focused a little too much on LET IT BE, TIM, and PLEASED TO MEET ME). And I probably played IF ONLY YOU WERE LONELY more than any other song. If was like an old friend, whispering over my shoulder, giving me encouragement and at times enlightenment.

That said, here are what I believe to be the best albums of 2010, in order:

1. Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses – JUNKY STAR – If his voice doesn’t get you, the song writing certainly will. (Or at least the dirtiest guitar sound I’ve heard in a few years.) It was as if Steve Earle and Lucinda Williams had a kid, Eric Bachman was his older brother, and Paul Westerberg his obnoxious uncle. If that description doesn’t have you opening another browser window to order this damn thing now, then go and listen to HALLELUJAH (No, not the one we’d heard a million times over, another HALLELUJAH). I’ve given this album to a good half dozen people. The first word out of their mouths after one listen: “Hallelujah.” Then something like “wow.” Yeah, “wow,” says it best. This is a fucking great record, without a flaw.

2. Joanna Newsom – HAVE ONE ON ME – A three cd set that really defies description and begs to be heard from start to finish. A modern folk opera. Brilliant, certainly not for everyone, but if you give it a chance.

3. The Whigs – IN THE DARK – My favorite straight out rock album of the year. The closest thing I could find in the purest spirit of the Mats (that was actually worth listening to). KILL ME CAROLYNE is hands down my favorite song of the year.

4. Superchunk – MAJESTY SHREDDING – Shame on Mac and company for making us wait this long for another release, but one of the two best bands of the 90s (you know the Archers of Loaf was the other), returns to solid form with a record that sounds as if it could have been released in their heyday. LEARNED TO SURF is as good as rock gets in this decade.

5. Frightened Rabbit – THE WINTER OF MIXED DRINKS – An album of rousing anthems about drinking and screwing and all the things rock songs should be about. It’s one of those albums that just kept getting better on every listen. And that they can pull off the songs live was an eye-opener.

6. Ida Maria – KATLA – Last year she topped the list EASILY. And while this is nowhere the masterpiece of FORTRESS ROUND MY HEART, the gal from Norway nonetheless delivers 9 sucker punches. For anyone who thinks girls stopped rocking with Bikini Kill, give her a listen. Her lyrics are funny, sexy and the growl will make you weak in the knees.

7. Spoon – TRANSFERENCE – After writing these guys off because of their hideously lame GA GA GA cd from a few years back, Spoon returned to what they do best: catchy rock songs with good guitar licks. I know a bunch of people who wrote off this band after GA, take a chance and revisit them. While not as spectacular as GIRLS CAN TELL or KILL THE MOONLIGHT, still in a year of limp-doodle rock, it was damn refreshing.

8. Titus Andronicus – MONITOR – A concept album that may or may not be about the civil war. But who cares. It’s a rowdy collection of tunes that owe a lot to the spirit of The Replacements, and I can’t give a band higher praise.

9. The Gaslight Anthem – AMERICAN SLANG – Likewise Brian Fallon and company owe a bunch to the spirit of the Mats…with a little Springsteen tossed in. A solid rock album, a perfect summer driving record. Leading to…

10. Bruce Springsteen – THE PROMISE – outtakes from his best rock album (I’ll probably still take NEBRASKA over DARKNESS), his “punk” album if you will, are the sort of songs most rocker would die to write. Sure, it’s like reliving a time when rock music was exciting and vibrant, and it shook our worlds. Hmmm…because of that perhaps this should be in the number one slot.

The best songs of 2010 (in no particular order):
KILL ME CAROLYNE – The Whigs
CLEMENTINE – Sarah Jaffe
HURRICANE J – The Hold Steady
HALLELUJAH – Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses
LANTERN – Josh Ritter
PRECIOUS STONE – Pete Yorn
THE LONELINESS AND THE SCREAM – Frightened Rabbit
ANYBODY LOOKING FOR GOD – Grandpaboy

The most disappointing album:
THE SUBURBS – Arcade Fire – After the brilliance of NEON BIBLE my expectations were damn high. And at first listen I loved everything about this record. But by the fourth or fifth go around I was getting bored. And within a week it was removed from my playlist. I’ve never gone back. Have never even wanted to. Maybe it’s me.

MOVIES

Best Documentary: EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP (WAS IT REAL? Who cares? It was entertaining as hell, and Banksy proved himself one of the art geniuses of modern times.)

Best Film: THE TOWN (Riveting, edge-of-your-seat drama from Ben Affleck. BEN AFFLECK! A rare gem in which you find yourself rooting for the bad guys. Rebecca Hall is heartbreakingly great.)

Most Enjoyable Film of 2010:
KICK-ASS (a movie that proved a beautifully foul-mouth 12-year-old girl could quite possibly be the greatest movie super hero of all time)

Guilty Pleasure Film of 2010:
CHLOE (two words: Amanda Seyfried)

Runners Up (In no particular order):
WINTER’S BONE
THE SOCIAL NETWORK
THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE

Worst Film of 2010
SOMEWHERE (I truly loved Sofia Coppola’s LOST IN TRANSLATION. But I don’t know what happened here. I kept waiting for something to happen. Kept waiting to feel something for any of these characters. Still waiting. So utterly boring.)

That’s my list. It’s subject to change. Having spent most of the year filming and editing, I certainly didn’t get to see everything. I’ll update it as I do…

To a rockin’ Replacements New Year!

The Making of COLOR ME OBSESSED – part 16

The third day of filming for CMO brought us back to NYC. A really cold day, February 2, 2010. Just me and Adrian making the drive.

We began with someone who’d become one of CMO’s patron saints, Jesse Malin. He was our first official rock star. We shot the interview at his bar Niagra, on Avenue A and 7th Street.

Jesse was great! He told stories that seemed to connect with Jack Rabid’s, of seeing them on their East Coast Whirl back in 1983, of jamming with Paul Westerberg after their set at Maxwell’s in Hoboken. He spoke of how the band seemed like a real gang, nothing phony about them. And when asked what he would tell a younger rock fan to turn them onto The Replacements, he said:

“It’s real. It’s real rock n’ roll. It encompasses everything that rock n’ roll and punk rock should have. Great songs. Great energy. Rebel music. A fuck you. A comradery of the people. A great sense of humor. And a unique style. A unique sound. Fearless. Timeless in a way.”