Category: Andrew Earles

Oh, if anyone gives a hoot, I’ll have some record reviews in the next issues of both Vice and Spin. Lunch is on me!!! Not really.

Uh…did I mention that Grandma’s Boy was funny?

I stare at a lot of magazine racks. What stares back? Countless mid-level publications with innocuous titles. It’s as if the internet never happened. WRONG!! The internet did happen, it just killed the zine world. What’s left is a glut of glossies with respective readerships comparable to any zine from the mid-90’s. One can count on boring graphics, boring interviews (interviews are always boring, trust me, I written plenty of boring ones) with boring bands, and boring record reviews. Just imagine if Pitchfork was exploded into a hundred print magazines.

Of course, I’m not referring to the magazines that I write for. They’re awesome. They’re also the only magazines that I actively read, because I get comp copies. My favorite music mag, though, is one that I no longer write for. I wrote for Decibel Magazine, issues 2 and 3, but after a few months of unreturned e-mails and rejected pitches (I still try every two months or so, just for shits and giggles), my name disappeared from the masthead (funny note: it remained by mistake in the masthead for issues 4 and 5). Still, I continue to get comp copies, and I read most of each issue. AND…..I enjoy 50% of that “most.â€Â That’s a pretty good hit rate for this relationship between myself and a mid-level music glossy, especially one that couldn’t find room for my sizeable talents. And I’m sure that’s what it was, an space issue. I mean, no one can write a crappy, marginal metalcore review quite like me (Eugene of Oxbow had some funny things to say about writing for Decibel…scroll down).

Overall, Decibel writers remain a more caustic, humorous lot than what’s usually available in this insular bubble (made even more insular by the fact that Decibel covers “extremeâ€Â music, or rather, metalcore, death metal, grindcore, flimsy “artâ€Â metal, and the thrash revival). It’s miles above Revolver, which maintains a average IQ of 71 from cover to cover and remains stuck in 1998. Decibel gives way too much space to over-intellectualizing “intenseâ€Â pretty-boy boneheadedness like The Red Chord, As I Lay Dying, A Life Once Lost (and any band that could share its name with the title of a made-for-Lifetime drama) plus other garbage that’s one dinner away from Hot Topic fodder. Outside of this, I manage to read enough entertaining writing to briefly expand my “to steal from Soul Seekâ€Â list.

 

The mystery/crime section never fails to amaze. Expect fewer and fewer posts as I lose myself in the pleasure reading of titles like The Sudoku Murders.

Spike’s new series The Kill Point seems to have Wire fans in mind, as it features no less than four players from THE GREATEST TELEVISION SHOW EVER, including Michael J. Williams (â€ÂOmarâ€Â). Also, catch this: It’s good.

What was in my PO Box today: Reissues of both The Young Marble Giants’ Colossal Youth and The Fire Engines’ Hungry Beat (a discography of sorts). And some crappy metal from Century Media.

Believe it or not, I’ve never purchased a copy of The Best American Mystery Stories…until the other day. The 2006 version, edited by cigar-eater (I’m guessing) Scott Turow, is saved by the incredible writing of Scott Wolven, Jeff Somers, William Harrison, and Joyce Carol Oates. I shall pay $0.86 a piece for installments from previous years.

 

Been a while, huh? I promise to write more posts. I promise. My eleven readers deserve it. I’ve been busy.

Ramping up on the freelance front, I’ll have a small handful of reviews (three, to be exact) in the September and October issues of Spin Magazine. Might have something in Vice soon, and two large comedy-based features in either the August or September issue of Harp Magazine.

I made a crucial mistake in the current issue of Magnet Magazine. In my metal-themed installment of Where’s The Street Team, I referred to Death Angel’s Pepa brothers as “Latinoâ€Â when in fact, they are Filipino. Whoops. Perhaps I got confused, seeing as how Spanish is the dominate language spoken in the Philipines. Naturally, I was called out in the letters section. Magnet and Death Angel fans. Makes total sense.

Tonight, I’m writing a travel piece for the September issue of Memphis Magazine, even though I’ll be working from memory and it’s been three years since I’ve done any actual travelling pertinent to this feature.

A fourth remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Appropriate that Nicole Kidman stars, as she did in the godawful remake of another great 70’s horror film, The Stepford Wives. The new Invasion is PG-13 (strike one), and if you care enough, check out both Philp Kaufman’s ‘78 version and Abel Ferrara’s Body Snatchers from ‘93. Both are great.

So let’s end by rating some Ferrara films.

Driller Killer (1979) – Hilarious. Essential if you need another Grade D horror fix.

Ms. 45 (1981) – See above.

I cannot pick out the two episodes of Miami Vice that Ferrara directed.

King of New York (1990) – When someone spoofs or riffs on Christopher Walken, this movie represents a good reason why. Good crime flick, though.

Bad Lieutenant (1992) – See it if you haven’t. So over-the-top, laughable, and tragic that it’s amazing this film didn’t make more of an impact in the long run. This scene should push you to the rental store. Most of the other memorable scenes are also available on YouTube.

Aside from The Funeral (1996), it goes a little downhill in recent years. Or maybe I’m just lazy.

Bill Maher was a much funnier man prior to his most recent HBO stand-up special, when he wore designer jeans and a t-shirt featuring a cartoon picture of a dragon smoking pot. Bill, you’re 51-years-old and rich. Buy a mirror.

Wow. I really don’t feel like making a post.

The funniest part of the Reno 911 movie? The previews.

I just won a Memphis Pros (our ABA team, ‘70 – ‘71) hat off of eBay.

Colleague David Dunlap Jr. just turned me onto the Chingo Bling (and entourage) phenomenon. Giving further credence to the fact that the only important thing in Houston is Hip-Hop, this nuthatch deserves an audience. So as not to undermine Dunlap’s upcoming profile in The Washington City Paper, I’ll keep it short. Having invested a considerable amount of time and energy to Novelty Hip-Hop, I’m hooked for a few days. Just give the website a thorough run, and you’ll be hooked as well.

End your journey with the video by Chingo cohort, Coast (â€ÂHennessey and Cheetosâ€Â). Scroll down to the player and browse the list. That sample? Nice, brazen lift.

 

 

 

…and it’s rated G. 

When I was 17, Wild At Heart was the shit. Tonight, mumbling on in the background, it’s unwatchable. To think of the 90’s retro-robot awfulness that this thing inspired. I can’t. Intense? Fucked-Up? Yeah, alright. UFO or Bigfoot documentary NOW please!!!!

Ok, I like Blue Velvet.

But that’s it.

Who out there has seen a little Brit-Caper called The Hard Word? Not bad!! Could have been baaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!

Here’s the next ,and possibly last, installment of the SXSW table that I sat behind.

From Craigslist “Missed Connectionsâ€Â re: last weekend’s Pitchfork Festival:

Green-eyed girl standing behind me during Grizzly Bear at Pitchfork – m4w – 22

Reply to: pers-374122413@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-14, 10:42PM CDT

I’ve never done a missed connection before, but the vast amount of unthinking masses at Pitchfork, in their rush to see Battles, removed my position away from your proximity this fine Saturday afternoon.

You had spectacular green eyes, and a kind face. You were with what i supposed to be a group of your friends. I was wearing cuffed-up jeans, a black t-shirt, and a white/black biking cap, i also have a beard that i’m working on. Unfortunately, my physical description does not really seperate me from many of my peers at this festival, but perhaps you will remember we did that thing where eye contact is briefly made then averted; and the process again repeated.

I’ll be there tomorrow, Sunday; and i live in Chicago . I’m not a creep, i swear.

Monday, July 16th, is the first Monday in ages that hasn’t carried a deadline of some sort. Though I should be working on one of my running projects/book….things, or a deadline that falls a little later in the week, I elected to spend the afternoon with cable TV. Here’s the timeline:

1. The last 20 minutes of McVigar, a movie I’ve never seen (should have, tho).

2. Most of Dreamscape, a movie that terrified me as a child. This is one of the first movies to be rated PG-13. It could have easily been R-rated. The only hilarious aspect, at this point, is that it co-starred the poor-man’s Sean Penn, David Patrick Kelly. It’s possible that he never played anything but a villain. He was pushed from a cliff in Commando.

3. Took a nap. Read the latest issue of The Oxford American. Well, some of it.

4. Watched a couple of MSNBC doc shows, on of which was based in Memphis.

5. Toggled between 60 Minutes and Spike’s CSI.

6. Oh, a partial viewing of Roadhouse, a movie that I’ve seen 1,982 times, fit in somewhere.

7. Started the new Big Love, but switched over to Dog Day Afternoon, another movie that I’ve seen 1,982 times.

8. On to Entourage (a show that I always enjoy, despite….IT).

9. This is my third episode, out of six or so, of Flight of the Conchords. I’m not in the mood today, or of writerly capacity, today to give a readable, detailed criticism of this show. Don’t expect any of that.

A. Eight years ago, Beck did that faux-R&B, white boy falsetto crooning that hipsters find so amusing. When real live black people, like R. Kelly (current) or Luther Vandross (dead), do ballads, white people (including myself, but less so these days), find it amusing. This version is an 11th over dumb down. Some half-decent lines…yes. Otherwise, this show is not winning me over. I love how these two are portrayed as loveless losers, but they’re obviously super hot chick magnets. I detect a little too much nudge-nudge hipster humor (see Aziz’s Books on Tape short film) – all “that looks like a party I’ve been toâ€Â and no solid jokes.

 

Tonight on (my) channel 62, otherwise known as the Sci-Fi Channel, there premieres a movie titled Supergator. Unlike other Sci-Fi originals, this one does not star Coolio or Sonic Youth’s first drummer, Richard Edson. It does feature Kelly McGillis in a lateral move from Top Gun, and the reliable Scientist In A Wheelchair role, covered by John Colton (I think).

Fifteen minutes in and no gore. I can’t imagine the bikini clad victims-to-be/extras as anything more than porn stars in a parallel life. Whup….a fashion photographer and a buxom model were just eaten. The CGI is so obtrusive that the blood looked like a hovering, red cloud, and the scene was a total rip of Samuel Jackson’s last moment in Deep Blue Sea (a genuine, roll-in-the-floor laff riot….the scene, not the entire film).

Let’s do a little dissecting (horrible non-pun intended). Writer/director Brian Clyde (oh, and there are three writers credited here) hasn’t, eh, done too much, but star Brad Johnson is no stranger to F-list straight-to-DVD and made-for-TV fare. You’ll be able to catch him in a future Sci-Fi original called Copperhead (it incorporates a “wild westâ€Â theme!!). Supergator is a buffet of poor-man’s actors/actresses. The poor-man’s Swayze. The poor man’s Halle Berry. The poor man’s William Peterson. The poor-man’s Treat Williams (and that’s rough).

The salty, aging scientist/zoologist/hunter (not to be confused with the paraplegic scientist) pockets a pint of bourbon at all times. I haven’t done the proper amount of research to determine which actor plays this part. Whup….another bimbo met her demise through jump cuts of bloody body parts and screams. As we’re 50 minutes in, three separate parties are traipsing through the jungles of Hawaii: The scientists, the environmentalists, and three party dudes (fat wacky guy….check!!). Barely-clothed tarts are distributed throughout all three groups. One has been running through the woods for 30 minutes. Frances Doel, a co-writer, was the script girl for Cockfighter (the ‘74 adaptation of Willeford’s novel), and her subsequent writing credits make for a what’s what of disaster/nature-strikes-back….’78’s Avalanche all the way to ’04’s Dinocroc.

Wow! This just in: Roger Corman produced it! Ok, maybe that’s a “wow.â€Â

Shall we have a one-hour mark (btw…one of the gorier scenes just happened) wager re: how Supergator will be stopped?

1. Explosives

2. Pushed into live volcano (it must be noted that a live volcano “spawnedâ€Â the Supergator)

3. Shot with something…like an anti-aircraft rocket

4. Chopped up or dismembered

5. It escapes

Yes, this is what I’m doing when there are far more important projects to work on. Television, I love you.