One for Friday: Liz Phair, “What Makes You Happy”

I have a somewhat idiosyncratic opinion about the peak of Liz Phair’s music career. I’m fairly certain the consensus remains locked into amber that Phair’s very best album is her attention-getting debut, Exile in Guyville, which famously topped the influential Village Voice year-end music poll when it was originally released. I like that record fine, but I felt it got a disproportionate amount of attention just because of the raw language Phair used freely across the songs, a facet of the record she later admitted was a blatant tactic to to stir up attention. I knew plenty of women who … Continue reading One for Friday: Liz Phair, “What Makes You Happy”

Spectrum Check

Sheesh. I just realized that this didn’t post on Saturday as I intended. I’m inclined to pile this into this weekend’s Spectrum post, but I’ve actually got a lot of background to add to the things I wrote this week. On top of that all, I don’t think I’m going to have time to finish my intended post for today, so…that’s that. Here a bonus, delayed midweek Spectrum Check. There was a stretch in the early-nineties when it felt like crossover foreign cinema–to the degree that foreign cinema ever truly crossed over to broader audiences–was defined by crusty old-timers bonding … Continue reading Spectrum Check

Top 40 Smash Taps: “Who’s Your Baby?”

These posts are about the songs that can accurately claim to crossed the key line of chart success, becoming Top 40 hits on Billboard, but just barely. Every song featured in this series peaked at number 40. The line-up of the terrifically successful band the Archies was as follows: Archie Andrews on lead vocals and guitar, Reggie Mantle on rhythm guitar, Jughead Jones on drums, Betty Cooper on tambourine and Veronica Lodge on keyboards. Except, of course, it wasn’t. Transferring the popular comic book teenagers that debuted in the pages of a standard superhero anthology series a quarter-century earlier to … Continue reading Top 40 Smash Taps: “Who’s Your Baby?”

One for Friday: Rocket From the Crypt, “Lipstick”

I employed a lot of methods to try to keep up with new music once I’d graduated from my college radio station to “the real world,” which, I assure you, was, if anything, less real than the noncommercial broadcast outlet that I’d left. It was in the days before a countless number of online purveyors typed out everything any living soul could possibly want to know about every band out there so I relied on magazines, newspaper articles (this is band when the Chicago Tribune was actually a genuine newspaper) and what little I could glean from the fairly rare … Continue reading One for Friday: Rocket From the Crypt, “Lipstick”

Great Moments in Literature

“Anyway, the fascinating thing was that I read in National Geographic that there are more people alive now than have died in all of human history. In other words, if everyone wanted to play Hamlet at once, they couldn’t, because there aren’t enough skulls!” –Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, 2005 “GUESS I’M JEST GONNA HAFTA SNEAK UP BEHIND ‘IM WHILE HIS BACK IS TURNED–AN’ CLOBBER ‘IM A GOOD ONE! THIS SORT’A MOVE AINT EXAC’LY KOSHER IN THE SUPER-HERO’S HANDBOOK–BUT I CAN TURN IN MY GOOD CONDUCT MEDAL—AFTER I SAVE THE FLIPPIN’ WORLD!” –Len Wein, MARVEL FEATURE, Vol. … Continue reading Great Moments in Literature

Top Fifty Films of the 80s — Number Seventeen

#17 — This is Spinal Tap (Rob Reiner, 1984) Is there a better compliment for a satirical film than the adoring embrace of those who serve as the target of the comedy? From practically the moment of its release, This is Spinal Tap, Rob Reiner’s mock documentary about a ragged British heavy metal band and their concert tour marked by mounting indignities, was a favorite of the musicians who could reasonably consider themselves the real-world equivalents of the characters in the film. It may not quite have been required viewing on tour buses, but there were always plenty of people toiling … Continue reading Top Fifty Films of the 80s — Number Seventeen