You Can Go to Bobst, But You Can't Stay Here

As appears in today's issue of the New School Free Press



With finals and other end-of-the-school year hubbub right around the corner, it will soon be time for students to begin their annual camping out in the University Computer Center. So, I decided that for the next 17 hours, I would stay at 55 W. 13th St., first in the UCC, and the rest downstairs in the Student Activity Space (SAA) or the lobby.

Recently, the University Student Senate passed a bill that makes the lobby and SAA open 24 hours from Monday through Thursday, with extended hours during the weekend.

Hendrick Cho, chair of the University Student Senate, said, “Since the beginning of the school year, many graduate students have lobbied to keep their buildings open 24 hours for the purpose of studying.”

I arrived just after 5 p.m. on a Monday, and the UCC was already jam packed with Lang students working on essays, Jazz kids using the printers for whatever reason Jazz kids would use a printer for, Parsons folk doing confusing Parsons things, and one girl who seemed to be watching a making-of documentary of The Pursuit of Happyness.

When I’m at the UCC, I’m typically so focused on my work that I never stop to look around, but now that I’ve got nothing but time, I take a glance. Most people look frustrated and dejected, those eating glance suspiciously around so as not to be caught, and everyone slouches like Hans Moleman.

Around 7 p.m., my back begins to ache for the first time due to said slouching, and the feeling of being stuck in this giant room with gloomy artwork creeps in (I mean, have you ever *really* looked at the giant mural right by the K and L sections in the corner? It looks like the mind of an insane person). It was also around this time that someone began to talk loudly, and even with headphones on, it was rather annoying. Now I know how the rest of those working in the UCC feels when us New School Free Press people are closing the newspaper…

As the hours went by, so did my iPod battery life. I began my stay with Radiohead, followed it with the Smiths, moved over to the Kinks, and the rest is a musical blur that only my iTunes’ “Recently Played” will ever know.

A little after 10, the place is still pretty packed, mostly with Parsons’ students working on Macs. I keep waiting for something exciting to happen, like someone pulling a fire alarm or screaming, “Die!,” but then I remember, I’m in a computer center. On a Monday night. Nothing exciting ever happens in a computer center on a Monday night.

For temporary relief from boredom, I looked through the previously saved documents on the computer I’m using, M02. The first thing I find is an analysis of A Streetcar Named Desiree that is neither entertaining nor interesting. After wading through some bad student scripts, I find a letter someone wrote to NYU, which is where, I guess, they want to transfer to. Traitor!

At 11:30, the UCC closes, and while most students go home, some go to the SAA or work on the desk in the lobby.

For the next few hours, things remain quiet. Students either work on their laptops, sketch out drawings on large sheets of paper, or watch television in the SAA, including an E! True Hollywood Story on Will Smith in which I learn more about the Fresh Prince’s beginnings than any person should know.

I ask a few students why they’re here, and most give essentially the same answer: "I live far away.” “I have an early class tomorrow.” “I have work to do.” “It’s easier to stay here."

At 2 a.m., things finally get interesting. The security guard working the lobby comes into the SAA to tell us that the building is shutting down. If this had been a few hours earlier, people would have been in an uproar, but at this time, most people seem too tired to really care. But, there are a few who are upset, myself included.

We gather around the security guard, and explain that students received e-mails (and those hideous pink flyers around campus) saying that the lobby and SAA are supposed to be open 24 hours.

The security guard doesn’t seem to know quite what to answer with. A few times, I hear her say, “Yeah, I have no idea what’s going on” and “This is so confusing.” Next to her, the midnight security supervisor was explaining to some students that he didn’t know why those e-mails were sent, something about a fire warden not being there, and other non-answers.

On my way out, I ask the security guard on duty what it’s like working the late shift, and she says, “Babe, it’s not easy.”

A few days later, I received an e-mail from Gabrielle Sbano, the Assistant Director of Security, who wrote, “On the night you were present…[the midnight security supervisor] incorrectly interpreted that e-mail to mean that the first floor would be closing this week, and that it would be open 24 hours starting on April 27 as well.”

Sbano added, “I spoke to him the other night and he understands now that the first floor will be open 24 hours a day for students.”

In short: my plan to stay all night was disrupted because a security supervisor couldn’t correctly read a rather simple flyer or e-mail, making students either walk to Bobst if they wanted to continue to work or take the subway at 2 a.m.

Kate Griffin, a member of the USS and one of the students who had to leave the building, told me, “As a newly elected senator, I really feel like the students need to be better represented.”

She added, “The university needs to live up to its promises.”

By the time this article is published, the 24-hour cycle will be in affect for both the SAA and UCC, but on that early Tuesday morning, nearly a dozen students weren’t able to finish their expected stay, their homework, or their wondering of what spending nearly a full day at Arnhold Hall feels like. For shame, New School. For shame.

Why U2 Sucks

As will appear in tomorrow's issue of the New School Free Press



Last week, Daniel Lanois, producer-extraordinaire, told a Canadian radio station that U2 is working on a new album that'll be out for the fall, with production credit going to him and Brian Eno.

Is it wrong that I'm more excited about Lanois and Eno together than about the actual album they're producing?

Well, no, because U2 is, simply put, the most overrated band of all-time.

There are certain artists and bands that get way too much credit, critically or commercially (I'm looking at you, Elton John). But to be overrated, both of those criteria must be met, meaning critics need to rave about them and they've also got to sell millions of albums.

U2's songs revolve around Bono's howling and his emphasizing every word he sings, Adam Clayton's boring bass lines, Larry Mullen, Jr.'s non-descript drumming, and The Edge's chiming guitar work that sounds good in a arena, but has very little substance or emotion.

In 2004, Rolling Stone called them the 22nd greatest band of all-time (ahead of bands like the Band), and they've sold over 170 million albums worldwide, resulting in higher sales than Bob Dylan by well over 50 million.

But that doesn't mean they don't suck.

Where does this near-universal success come from? I'll admit that I like War but that's because it’s easy to digest. Tracks like "Elevation" and "One" don't require much thought, and sound catchy on the radio. Those songs, and many others in their catalogue, are horribly derivative and haven't introduced any new ideas to rock.

Universal messages of love, peace, and freedom help U2's overrated cause. There are very few instances where something Bono writes makes you stop and think because most of his lyrics are like this: "I threw the dice when they pierced his side/But I've seen love conquer the great divide." Bono is, of course, referring to Jesus, a common theme in his lyrics.

U2 also lucked out and formed at exactly the right time. Their first album, Boy, was released in 1980, a time when good rock 'n' roll was becoming increasingly hard to find on the radio. But just because they filled a void doesn't mean they should be listened to nearly three decades later.

A band also should be measured by whom they’ve inspired, and the bands they’ve inspired include the Killers and Coldplay, who are essentially U2, Part Deux. And terrible.

The next time you hear someone call U2 the "most important and influential band of the post-punk era," as MSNBC.com did, punch them in the face. Or just say to them, as Stan Marsh tells Bono on South Park, "At some point, can't you just kinda…fuck off?"

Your Life: TBA

As appeared in last week's New School Free Press.

When New School students received their fall 2008 course schedule packet, some students were surprised to see the number of TBAs and lack of class times and locations.

"I feel that it's really irresponsible of the school to not have the information we need," said Lang sophomore Terésa Franco. "And the information we get isn't very well organized."

Administrators and faculty acknowledged that the course registration system has been slow, and that this lag has complicated student registration. Administrators point to a myriad of problems behind the system, including late hiring of full-time faculty, a complicated scheduling system, and a lack of classroom space, due to the scheduled demolition of the 65 5th Ave. building in July.

As of press time, the online figures listed 50 courses with TBA as a professor, 24 without a date and or time, and 3 courses with neither. The printed schedule had 36 TBAs, 10 classes without date or time, and 13 classes with neither.

Those figures do not include senior project and ULEC courses.

According to Larry Jackson, Academic Coordinator in the Associate's Dean Office, there are 400-500 courses listed online, including Independent Studies and Senior Work classes.

"We're in the process of hiring full-time faculty," said Associate Dean of Lang Kathleen Breidenbach in an interview. "We're either still negotiating with them, or we're still working on getting information with them, so we might not know days and times."

She added, "They're not in the system, so we can't attach them to the courses."

In the writing department, the TBAs are there mainly "due to the hiring of new full-time professors," Breidenbach said, which includes Marco Roth and Mark Greif.

The New School has been hiring more full-time faculty because of increased revenue and a larger student body, which allows stability with courses being offered semester and after semester, according to Breidenbach.

"I would estimate that we are up to 500 or 600 changes since having first submitted the Schedule Builder," said Jackson, referring to the program used to arrange course information, including professors, dates, times, and credits given.

Jackson added that another complication this year is space issues, due to the 65 5th Ave. building coming down and, as Jackson said, "The University is not trying to obtain additional space for classes until we've shown that we've used all available space."

In separate interviews, both Breidenbach and Jackson advised students to find their courses online, rather than using the paper schedule.

Through all the problems with registering, Breidenbach says that the process is still better than the way Lang used to be six years ago.

"The year before I got here," she said, "everything was done on paper, and all students would gather in Tishman with the faculty, and the faculty would present their courses, with the student's names being called out, and they'd go up and say what their registration choices were."

Livin' La Vida '90s

As will appear in Tuesday's issue of the New School Free Press


Nostalgia is just plain weird. It can make boring things seem interesting, and interesting things seem boring, and music benefits greatly from it because it's easy to romanticize. Maybe that’s why, for current and recent college students, there seems to be almost an obsession with music from the 1990s.

While bands like Sugar Ray, Will Smith and Marcy Playground might not make it onto anyone's Favorite Music list on Facebook, everyone between the ages of 18-25 knows "Fly," "Getting’ Jiggy Wit It" and "Sex and Candy," possibly the most popular songs for those three bands.

Why is that? It's because we lived through it. While we can only fantasize about the 1960s while listening to the Who, we can distinctly remember being on a school bus to middle school and hearing "My Heart Will Go On" on the radio.

Or maybe that's just me.

I've been to countless parties where "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. got people singing. I can't count the number of times a discussion about Oasis' "Wonderwall" has come up. And don't even get me started on "Two Princes" by the Spin Doctors…

The romanticizing of music by decade is quite the phenomenon. While the 1960s had some of the greatest bands of all time (the Beatles, the Stones, etc.), people forget that the decade also produced some absolute dreck like the Archies and Donovan. The same goes for the '90s, for while there were some great, influential bands worth remembering like Sonic Youth, Pavement and Radiohead, let's not forget that the following bands and artists also had their glory then: C & C Music Factory, Sixpence None the Richer, Dee-Lite, S Club 7, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch and, of course, blink-182.

It doesn't seem possible to idealize the group that wrote "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)," but it's not so much about the song as it is remembering the song during elementary or middle school.

Vh1 recently came up with a list (surprise, surprise) of the greatest songs from 1990s, with "Smells like Teen Spirit" at the top, followed by "One" and "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys, "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston, and Madonna's "Vogue" rounding out the top five. While I admit the occasional guilty pleasure for those BSB songs, none of those choices are particularly musically relevant (or good) outside of "Teen Spirit.” But they do showcase the two genres that the ‘90s will be remembered for: pop and grunge rock.

While not my favorite musical decade (on a Five Best list, it'd be fourth), I do have a strong emotional attachment to the ‘90s. It's partially due to the quality of some bands, but it's mostly because I can remember being there.

Music to Road Trip By

As appears in today's issue of the New School Free Press


During Spring Break, my girlfriend, Nadia, and I took a road trip down to Nashville and Memphis, Tennessee, towns known for their blues and country music, respectively. Of course, on a trip like this, we'd need a lot of music for the nearly 20 hour drive to the mid-South.

Music on a road trip (especially when traveling nearly 3,000 miles) is as essential as the gas you put in your car. It's what keeps the driver awake when passengers sleep; it distracts from potentially awkward silences that could last for hours; and it's also just fun to sing along in the car with other people.

As Nadia doesn't have her license, I bore all of the driving responsibilities. So while she could sit reading her Cormac McCarthy in peace, I was left to concentrate on the road and consequentially had more control and mainly chose the music.

At 5 a.m. on Saturday, we began our trip with an epic song: "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional. I realize I'm putting all musical credibility on the line here, but it does really wake you up at that ungodly hour, mostly due to the hilarious sincerity of the song.

Nadia and I lucked out because a few weeks before our trip, one of our favorite bands, Wilco, performed five concerts in Chicago, performing every song on their studio releases. She downloaded the concerts, put them on her iPod, and we had roughly 150 songs to go through. I'll never forget the moment when I heard "Remember the Mountain Bed" performed during concert #3. Nadia was sleeping and I was fading, but when Jeff Tweedy began to sing, "Do you still sing of the mountain bed we made of limbs and leaves?," I was alert and completely immersed, as if I was in Chicago, not driving through North Carolina.

Having something like the Wilco concerts is great for a road trip because there's a common theme in the music, and a sense of accomplishment when you've gone through all the songs, like finishing a book.

Being in Memphis was perfect for a music lover, and I found a fantastic radio station: WEVL 89.9. In the span of two days, I heard Tom Waits, Ma Rainey, Hank Williams and Big Joe Turner, among many others. If you're going to be in a city for more than a single day, finding a great radio station is the best because you'll hear new music and it won't drain the battery on your iPod plugged into the cigarette lighter.

On the way home, the only thing keeping me going in the final hour was Derek and the Dominos and Traffic (especially "The Low-Spark of High-Heeled Boys") because by that point, I needed some of my favorite music for stamina, and that's what good road trip music should do: giving you something to concentrate on while you're driving through rural Ohio, passing Burger King #2,340.

Let's Go Mets!

As will appear in Tuesday's issue of the New School Free Press.



There are two things on the mind of every New York Mets fan: the September collapse and Johan Santana. The first was the Mets not making the playoffs after blowing a seven game lead with only 17 games left (which had never happened before), while the second is a season with baseball's best pitcher.

Santana is being used by the team to showcase a new beginning and to forget the way last season ended—and I think it'll help. There's nothing like an amazing starting pitcher, one that has won two Cy Young awards and has an amazing lifetime record of 94-44 with a 3.22 ERA, to forget about a disheartening season. It also helps that he's only 29, and should provide much-needed relief to last year's overworked bullpen.

And if you're a New School student who doesn't understand what I'm talking about—and, frankly, that's most of the student body—that's your loss. You're missing out on something that's at the heart of New York: baseball. And while the Yankees aren’t worth supporting because they represent a fake sense of classiness (among other reasons to hate them), the New York Mets represent something new and exciting—not to mention talented.

That talent begins with David Wright and Jose Reyes, whom I'd take over the Yankees' third base/shortstop combo of Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez. The Mets' duo is younger, amazingly talented (Wright hit .325 last year, while Reyes stole 78 bases, leading the league) and don't have their own fans disliking them, like Yankee lovers with A-Rod.

The rest of the Mets' team is extremely solid with players like CF Carlos Beltran (33 HR, 23 SB), 1B Carlos Delgado (24 HR) and 2B Luis Castillo (.301) leading the offensive charge, and great pitching from Pedro Martinez (3-1, 2.57 ERA in an injury shortened season), John Maine (15-10, 3.91) and Billy Wagner (34 saves, 2.63).

But that’s enough statistics. The Mets are just more fun to watch than the Yankees. They’re faster, more enthusiastic, can play both small ball and hit a slew of home runs, don’t play in the Bronx and, simply put, the Mets are a better team who will go further than the (damn) Yankees.

I predict the Mets to win the NL East and, if a few key players (that's you Delgado and Alou) stay healthy, they'll make the World Series. While I don't know what will happen when they face either the Detroit Tigers or Boston Red Sox (I think one of them will make it) in the Series, I do know that the Mets will make it further than the Yankees will.

Having the upper hand of the two New York baseball teams hasn’t always been the Mets' position, but this season, there’ll be a lot more blue and orange than those boring Yankee pinstripes around the city.

Instamatic Karma

As appeared in Tuesday's issue of the New School Free Press


Only one out of every 500 books on the Beatles is going to be worthwhile to read—especially because, according to Amazon, there are over 20,000. In May Pang's Instamatic Karma: Photographs of John Lennon, she manages to find a side of John Lennon that most don't see or think about.

Personal assistant-turned lover for 18 months beginning in 1973, Pang got to see Lennon as both boyfriend and boss, something that shows in her pictures. They're personal yet slightly removed as if she knew she was only there until Yoko's inevitable return (Lennon and Ono broke up earlier that year) and was just happy to be filling the role of stand-in.

Pang's black and white photographs aren't great but certain ones stand out, such as a picture of Lennon floating in the water, looking ghastly white with his eyes closed, or another where he's goofing around and playing the drums.

If you're a die-hard Beatles fan, it's worthwhile to skim through Instamatic Karma; otherwise, probably not.

Nerd Power

Over the weekend, I didn’t do the greatest job of updating Five Best because I was working on a special section to the student newspaper I work on, the New School Free Press. During class, while watching a movie called The Paper (I don’t recommend it), my friend Joe and I started scribbling down ideas for an insert to the paper. Ever other issue or so, two or three pages are dedicated to one topic; in the past, we’ve had the Activism Issue, the Outdoors Issue and, more recently, the Sex Issue.

On the list we were writing down ideas, I wrote The Simpsons Issue, due to our shared love of The Simpsons, and Joe revised that to The Nerd Issue. Perfect!

Over the past two weeks, Joe and I assigned stories, edited them, helped with design of our pages, and we’re quite proud of the results. There were stories about the New York Times Crossword Puzzle Tournament being in Brooklyn; a student (nerdy) group at The New School called A.D.V.E.N.T.U.R.E Force; a how-to guide about protecting yourself; a story about how to talk baseball without actually knowing anything about baseball; a profile of a professor at The New School, Ed Halter, who writes about video games, war, gaming and film criticism; and I wrote a brief profile on Nerd Rock.

Here’s the editorial Joe and I wrote:

According to the Princeton Review, Eugene Lang College is the school with the most dodgeball targets. This was mostly due to our school's lack of intramural sports and fraternities, but it made a few NSFP reporters wonder: are we all just a bunch of nerds?

While pondering this, a small amount of pride boiled effervescently within us. We wondered if there was anything wrong with being identified as nerds. We realized, after considering a certain Huey Lewis song about geometry, that the title is much broader than one might think. It doesn't matter if you're male or female, gay or straight, black or white, Klingon or Vulcan: everyone is implicated.

Looking beyond clichés—the large glasses, pocket protectors and socially awkward mannerisms—nerds take many forms. It could be that you argue the merits of post-modernism in a discussion class; you have a quote from Nietzsche pasted lovingly above your computer; was once president of the chess club in middle school; lost a retainer during elementary school lunch; spent hours organizing an iTunes collection; religiously followed a sports season; turned on an Xbox 360 rather than play outside; pre-ordered the seventh book of Harry Potter; and argued that the use of the semicolon within this paragraph is incorrect. The ways in which one can be a nerd are numerous and exhausting.

Rather than hide these guilty pleasures, it is of our opinion that we should embrace them. You, sir or madam, are a nerd.



Tomorrow, I’ll post my Nerd Rock column. Nerd on!

Apollo Theater Amateur Night

As appear's in today's issue of the New School Free Press



I came to the Apollo Theater expecting to be the only white person in attendance. After all, that's what movies like The Jacksons: An American Dream and The Buddy Holly Story have led me to believe. But I left with the image of a 70-year-old Jewish grandma doing the Rockaway to Fat Joe's "Lean Back."

The "World-Famous" Apollo Theater, established in 1934, has had some fantastic names grace its stage: Otis Redding, Jackie Wilson, Billie Holiday, James Brown—with many of those names performing at Amateur Night, held every Wednesday at 7:30 p.m. But seventy-four years later, Amateur Night is only a smudge of what it used to be.

Amateur Night works as such: if the audience likes you, you get to stay on the stage and finish your song, comedy skit, violin solo, whatever the participant thinks the audience will like; but if the audience doesn't like you, you're booed off the stage and escorted by the Sand Man, an "executioner" who dances and entertains the crowd, behind the curtains never to be seen again.

The night's MC, Drew Frazier, is like The Office's Michael Scott's impression of Chris Rock: loud and not funny. He led the audience through about twenty amateurs hoping to make it big, all the while telling the audience terrible, stereotypical jokes (Ever hear the one about black people not liking cold weather? Yeah—and it's still not funny). The amateurs ranged from American Idol-esque to a crew of steppers to a girl playing violin to Beyonce's "Crazy in Love."

The only truly memorable highlight was the house band, Ray Chew and the Crew. Sounding like a mix between Dave Matthews Band and Booker T. & the MGs, they provided some sorely needed soul to otherwise crappy performances.

The night I went, the Sand Man came out twice, and that was the best part of the show: seeing terrible singers getting booed off stage and just being generally humiliated. At one point, Mr. Man came out dressed as Michael Jackson, and made some easy jokes about being a pedophile. Forty years before this sad event, the Jackson Five tore up this very stage.

That's the main problem with the Apollo: there's an attempt to stay with the past, but that's only by name dropping people like Otis and Ella, not actually providing the kind of setting these artists would want to thrive in. At one point, a guy dressed as Ronald McDonald came out and told the crowd how great the Apollo is.

And up in Music Heaven, James Brown did not feel good.

(It goes without saying, but the picture being used was not taken by me)

Oscar Predictions

As appeared in yesterday's issue of the New School Free Press

With shows still in reruns (except for Lost, thank God) and relief not in sight, it's a good thing that the Oscars will be shown on February 24 on ABC. If not, the only thing else to watch would be repeats of the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet…With that terrible (and fuzzy) thought in mind, here are my Oscar 2008 picks:

Best Director
Joel and Ethan Coen, No Country for Old Men

You'd think it'd be impossible to do better than Fargo or Barton Fink, but somehow the Coen Brothers outdid themselves with No Country for Old Men. Beautifully shot and expertly paced, it's nearly a perfect movie, and one that will give the brothers their first directing Oscar.

Best Actor
Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood

When Daniel Day-Lewis decides to do a movie, it's a treat, and while There Will Be Blood has some ridiculous scenes in it (meaning pretty much the final ten minutes of the movie), he is endlessly fascinating to watch and always the focus of attention.

Best Actress
Julie Christie, Away From Her

This category comes down to two people: Julie Christie and Ellen Page from Juno. And considering the Oscars like old people rather than younger ones, I’ll take Christie.

Best Supporting Actor
Javier Bardem, No County for Old Men

Javier Bardem brings a terrifying vacancy to his character, the awesomely-named Anton Chigurh. Never being able to tell exactly what his character is thinking, Bardem gives no reason for the murders he commits—and it's simply chilling. One of the finest performances of the year.

Best Supporting Actress
Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There

It's Cate and everyone else. Cate does such a fine job playing one of many Bob Dylan's in Todd Haynes' I'm Not There that at the end of the movie, you forget you're watching a 38-year-old Australian woman, not Bob, circa 1966.

Best Picture
No Country for Old Men

The finest movie of the year will (and should) win Best Picture, which is something that doesn't always happen with the Oscars. After all, Chicago and Crash have won in recent years…

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited, Vol. VI

(As will appear in tomorrow's issue of the New School Free Press)

The Kinks
Lola versus Powerman and the Moneygoround

It's sad how little the Kinks are known, at least in comparison to two of their contemporaries they inspired, the Who and the Rolling Stones. But recently the Kinks got a much-needed boost of popularity thanks to Wes Anderson's The Darjeeling Limited. In the movie, "Strangers" and "This Time Tomorrow" are used during climatic scenes, and in choosing the songs to play instead of actual dialogue, it goes to show just how poignant the Kinks are.

Both of those songs are on 1970's Lola versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, which outside of being the longest named album by someone other than Fiona Apple, is also a rock 'n' roll masterpiece.

It's also an album that's particularly relevant today. Much of Lola deals with Ray Davies, lyricist and lead singer, and his utter frustration at record companies and the music industry as a whole. In "Moneygoround," he sings, "There's no end to it, I'm in a pit and I'm stuck in it," referring to the never-ending cycle of where song residuals go.

The Kinks draw on a sense of mature playfulness, which separates them from other bands at the time, like the Small Faces who could never get beyond amateurish lyrics. The playfulness side of the Kinks can be felt in their biggest hit, "Lola," a song about dancing with a woman who turns out to be a man, and includes the great line, "Well I'm not the world's most masculine man/But I know what I am, and I'm glad I'm a man/And so is Lola."

"This Time Tomorrow" is one of the Kinks best songs, and one of my favorite songs of all-time. Davies' voice sounds anxious and torn when he sings, "This time tomorrow, what will we know/Will we still be here, watching an in-flight movie show/I'll leave the sun behind me, and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by." The rest of the band (Dave Davies, John Dalton, Mick Avory and John Gosling) provides a tender musical background. Try listening to this song when leaving someone you love behind, and you'll understand its power. It's also one of the finest songs ever to begin with the noise of an airplane taking off, like the Beatles' "Back in the USSR."

The rest of Lola has songs about being free ("Intro" and "Got to be Free"), about going back to pre-industrial times ("Apeman") and a simple one about "daytime, nighttime, every day you can hear the music play" ("Denmark Street").

I hate it when most bands reunite because they're usually only a fraction of their former selves—look no further than Zeppelin and the Sex Pistols. But I do hope the Kinks come back together (they're thinking about it) just so that I might have the opportunity to hear "This Time Tomorrow" and the rest of Lola done live.

Red, White and Jew

As appeared in Tuesday's issue of the New School Free Press

Due to the fact that I'm Jewish and between the ages of 18-26, I was able to go on a Birthright trip—along with thousands of other people each year. Birthright's goal is to create more of a Jewish identity, and they do this by providing a free trip to Israel.

I spent eleven days in Israel, and had all my airfare board and most of my meals paid for. You could do the whole trip for around 200 shekels, or about $50.

We spent most of our time in Jerusalem—the largest city in the country—where we met our traveling companions: a group of eight Israeli soldiers who stayed with us for five days.

Spending time with the soldiers provided interesting insight into being a 20-year-old Israeli. When a citizen turns 18, they join the Israel Defense Force and are there until they turn either 20 for women or 21 for men. I tried asking a few questions about settlements and what life in the military is like, but it seemed that the military was the last thing the soldiers wanted to talk about. The conversation soon switched to asking Omer, the soldier who stayed with my roommate Matt and me, how to say "that's what she said" in Hebrew.

It's "Ze Ma She Hi Amra."

There are two things on the trip I'll never forget: going to the Western Wall and being in the Dead Sea. One religious, one fun, but both were once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

I don't consider myself to be religious, but even I, the most secular of all the group members, could feel something when I pressed my hand against the Wall. We went during Shabbat, a day of inactivity in the Jewish religion to honor when God took a day off from creating the universe. It goes from Friday sundown to Saturday sundown, and during the most holy time of the week, we went to the most holy of sites for a Jew. After waiting a few minutes to inch my way up to the Wall, I closed my eyes, put my hand up to it, said a quick something under my breath, and walked back to the group's meeting point, being careful to walk backwards so as not to put my back to the Wall. I looked around and saw hundreds of rabbis and other believers swaying and chanting, and I felt a strange mixture of respect for them believing in something so much and pity because they did believe in something that much. It was my very first religious crisis!

The Dead Sea is fun for only about ten minutes, and then you realize how much it stings. After walking down a mile-long road from the pits where my friends and I slathered ourselves in mud because it's supposedly good for your skin, we got to the beach, and with a Maccabee Beer in hand, I laid on the water as if I was sitting on a therapist's sofa and just floated. Of course, I scraped my hand pretty badly on the jagged, salty floor and accidentally drank the water. But other than that, it was great.

On my flight back to Newark from Tel Aviv, in between reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being and not being able to sleep, I thought about everything that happened over the past 11 days, and was left amazed that I had actually gone to Israel, my "homeland." Whether the trip changed me or not, I have no idea, but I am left knowing that I do have a better understanding of what being Jewish is about and with a desire to go back. And maybe even have another religious crisis, if lucky.

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited, Vol. V

As appeared in yesterday's issue of the New School Free Press

Blood on the Tracks
Bob Dylan

Whenever I speak to fellow Dylan fans and the subject turns to Blood on the Tracks, they invariably share a story, a piece of their past, associated with the album. It's a personal record, for Dylan and his listeners.

Recorded in September and December 1974 and released the following January, Blood was famously recorded twice—one session in Minnesota, another in New York. After he recorded ten tracks, Dylan thought they were too personal and decided to re-record them with a different feel.

Dylan's recasting of the album has sparked debates since its release, with fans arguing over whether the New York version of "You're a Big Girl Now" is superior to the Minnesota recording (it is), or if Minnesota's "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" packs more punch than the one recorded in our fair city (it does). Either way, it's a damn good album.

The album begins with "Tangled Up in Blue," one of Dylan's most popular songs. In his memoir, Chronicles, Dylan says he learned a new style of songwriting through painting, enabling him to travel between places and times without worrying about the song seeming uneven. Almost every verse takes Dylan to a new time and place, trying to "get to her somehow."

The song includes one of my favorite lines: "We always did feel the same/We just saw it from a different point of view/Tangled up in blue."

"Idiot Wind" (Or, "Ed-e-ot Wind") blasts violently off the record. The New York version is Dylan on acoustic guitar and a light stand-up bass in the background. The Minnesota version (the one actually used on the record) is louder and more venomous: "You hurt the ones that I love best, and cover up the truth with lies/One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes/Blood on your saddle." Even the humor is cutting: "They say a shot a man named Gray/And took his wife to Italy."

"Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" is an eight-minute tall tale about a bank heist, peopled with characters like a novel. "Shelter from the Storm" is one of Dylan's finest compositions, with every verse ending with a woman promising to give "shelter from the storm."

Soon after Blood was released, Dylan said, "A lot of people tell me they enjoy that album. It's hard for me to relate to that. I mean, it, you know, people enjoying the type of pain, you know?" Well, when I'm down and it's three a.m., the only music I want to hear is Blood on the Tracks.

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited, Vol. IV

As appeared in Tuesday's issue of the New School Free Press.



Sam Cooke makes me wish I were black.

Sure, white people can claim the vocal stylings of John Lennon, Levon Helm and Buddy Holly but they're nothing compared to the rawness and power that Cooke's voice has over his listeners—a combination notably apparent on Live at the Harlem Square Club, 1963.

Cook (he added the "e" because he thought it sounded classier) was born January 22, 1931, in Clarksdale, Mississippi (now home to the Delta Blues Museum). He began as a gospel singer and eventually starred with the hugely popular Soul Stirrers. In 1957, he took a secular turn with "You Send Me," which spent six weeks at the top of the R&B charts.

In the next seven years, Cooke had 29 Top-40 hits, including "Chain Gang," "Wonderful World" and "Cupid." His public image was clean-cut, but in private he lived the sort of life preachers warn against. Cooke's music was closer to R&B than almost anything else on popular radio.

That's why Harlem (from the name of a Miami club) is such a great album: It's not over-produced. All you hear are drums, guitar, bass, King Curtis' sax, Cooke and the screaming crowd. The opening track says it all: "Feel It."

Although the takes of "Cupid" and "Chain Gang" are fantastic, "Bring It on Home to Me" might be the high point of the album. It starts with Cooke singing like a preacher, the band waiting for his cue. Once they kick in and Cooke sings, "If you ever change your mind/About leaving, leaving me behind," the holy/secular line is blurred forever.

I return to my previous statement of, to quote Lou Reed, I wanna be black when listening to "Twistin' the Night Away." It's sexy and catchy and in this performance, Cooke teases the audience to "wave the handkerchief 'round." The album ends with "Having a Party," and Cooke's voice has grown hoarse, which he exploits. He implores "Mr. DJ" to "keep those records playing/'cause I'm having such a good time/dancing with my baby."

The following year, at the Hacienda Motel in Los Angeles, Cooke was shot to death by the hotel's manager. The details are sordid. It was a sad ending to the life of one of the great gospel/soul/pop singers. In 1986, he was in the inaugural class of musicians inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and Live at the Harlem Square Club was reason enough.

Greil Marcus Profile

As appeared in yesterday's issue of the New School Free Press.



If you've read Bob Dylan's Chronicles, you know who Greil Marcus is. If you've seen I'm Not There, you may have noticed his name among the credits. If you're a part of his class at The New School, you won't forget who he is.

Marcus, who teaches "The Old, Weird America: Music as Democratic Speech—from the Commonplace Song to Bob Dylan," was once described as the "bespectacled Zeitgeist surfer" because of his trademark round glasses and cross-cultural acumen. He is a treasure for The New School to have for he's one of the country's leading music historians and writers.

"I was invited by [Director of the Writing Program] Robert Polito," said Marcus about coming to The New School. "I go where I'm asked, and it's pretty much that. It was something to do that I hadn't done before," referring to teaching a lecture course.

Marcus was born January 1, 1945, in San Francisco, and attended the University of California-Berkeley during the epochal Freedom Speech Movement in the early nineteen-sixties. Berkeley, he said, "increased the depth and dimension of education" and "what you studied in class was played out every day."

After earning his B.A. in American Studies and while earning a Ph.D. in political theory, also from Berkeley, he started writing reviews for a fledging music magazine based in San Francisco: Rolling Stone. He started with the magazine, founded by Jann Wenner and Ralph J. Gleason, because "You could write about anything for Rolling Stone," Marcus said, and because "I was just so bored."

His first publication was a review of The Who on Tour, which he judged "a complete con."

"I was pissed off," Marcus says, "so I wrote a review, sent it in, bought the next issue and there it was."

Marcus became the magazine's first reviews editor, earning $35 a week for "about seven, eight months." But in 1970, Wenner fired him: "I went into Jann's office to talk about my role at the magazine, and after leaving the meeting, I felt great. When I told what had happened to my wife, she told me, 'Greil, you were just fired.'"

"To this day," he added, "Jann says that I quit, while I say that I was fired."

After his departure from Rolling Stone, Marcus started writing for another music magazine, Michigan-based Creem, where he reunited with the legendary music journalist Lester Bangs.

"I had read Lester's pieces in Rolling Stone in the spring of '69," Marcus said, "and when I became reviews editor, I noticed there was tons of stuff coming in from this guy. Lester was just fantastic and in my first issue, I choose two of his reviews: one for Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica and one by a band named It's a Beautiful Day."

In 1982, Bangs died of a cough medicine overdose, and in 1988 Marcus edited a collection of Bangs' writings, Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung: The Work of a Legendary Critic.

"On and off," Marcus said, "I found myself playing the big brother role to Lester."

In 1972, Marcus edited his first book, Rock & Rock Will Stand, which included several of his own pieces. Three years later, he published Mystery Train, which the New York Times said, "Should be read by anyone who cares about America or its music." Marcus places rock 'n' roll—specifically Elvis Presley, Robert Johnson, Harmonica Frank, Randy Newman, Sly Stone and the Band—in the context of American history and such quintessentially American characters as Captain Ahab and Stagger Lee.

Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the 20th Century, taking on everything from Dada to the Sex Pistols, came in 1989. Published in 1996 was the book closest to what Marcus is teaching at The New School, Invisible Republic: Bob Dylan's Basement Tapes, later re-titled The Old, Weird America. It can be described as a look at the creepy side of America through the lens of the recordings Bob Dylan and the Band made in the summer of 1967.

"It's a class about old folk music languages," said Marcus. "A set of languages that nobody wrote, but sets of people spoke and lived, and it came to be."

During the class, Marcus has discussed everything from folk songs like "I Wish I Was a Mole in the Ground" to the use of black face on The Sarah Silverman Program. The subject of Dylan frequently turns up. In fact, it was Dylan who gave Marcus the idea to re-visit the book.

"I met Dylan one time," Marcus said, "and he asked me, 'Why don't you write part two of Invisible Republic.' That meant he had read it, and found it worth talking about," adding, "It was very gratifying."

Marcus says on Dylan, "He's not a museum keeper, he's someone who plays with the tradition. Dylan sees it as the most interesting thing about the country."

Although Marcus will return to Berkeley to teach a course in Culture Criticism in the spring, in one semester at The New School, Marcus has given students some insights into what makes America America.

Juno Review

As appears in today's issue of the New School Free Press.




Juno
Starring: Ellen Page, Michael Cera, Jason Bateman, Jennifer Garner
Director: Jason Reitman

There's a song by the Velvet Underground that goes, "I'm sticking with you/'Cause I'm made out of glue/Anything that you might do/I'm gonna do too." It's played in the middle of Juno, and is the perfect fit because it details the kind of innocent and pure love that makes the movie so much fun.

The film—which details Juno (Page) getting pregnant with her maybe-boyfriend, Paulie (Cera), and deciding to give the baby to a seemingly-perfect couple played by Bateman and Garner—could have easily been full of clichés (Where the Heart Is anyone?), but first-time writer Diablo Cody knows how to navigate her way around a screenplay.

The first five minutes of the movie take getting used to because you must first get accustomed to Page's diction. She's full of lines like, "You should've gone to China, you know, 'cause I hear they give away babies like free iPods. You know, they pretty much just put them in those t-shirt guns and shoot them out at sporting events."

Once Juno and her father, played by Peter Parker's boss from Spiderman, decide to give the baby to Vanessa (Garner) and Mark (Bateman), Juno keeps going to their house when Vanessa is gone because of how much she and Mark have in common. Those similarities are in gory movies and the Stooges, though—not exactly ABC Family material.

Juno begins heading over to the house daily, not seeing how weird it is for her to be friends with the baby's "father." It becomes even weirder when she realizes that Mark and Vanessa have marriage problems, and that he has the hots for her.

For all fans of Arrested Development, you might be disappointed to know that Michael Cera and Jason Bateman don't share a scene together. But while Bateman isn't quite Michael Bluth, Michael Cera still retains much of what made George Michael Bluth so great.

Page and Cera are fantastic together, and Cody's dialogue for them sounds ridiculous when read off of IMDb, but really works in the movie.

The final scene of the movie, in which Cera and Page are both playing guitars and singing to one another, is the perfect ending to the perfect beginning of Cody's career—one that's worth following.

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited, Vol. III

As appears in Tuesday's issue of The New School's newspaper, the New School Free Press. This article was co-written with Kyle McGovern.

There are some great debut albums out there—Marquee Moon, The Clash, My Aim is True—but none as good as The Velvet Underground and Nico.

The first song, "Sunday Morning," was the last song recorded for the album, which gives it a sort of hindsight. Lead vocalist Lou Reed sighs more than he sings: "Early dawning, Sunday morning/ It's just the wasted years, so close behind." "Sunday" captures the strange partnership between feeling elated about what you did last night and fearing the consequences.

The Velvets never dressed anything up, and with "I'm Waiting for the Man" and "Venus in Furs," they're leaving everything in plain sight. "Twenty-six dollars in my hand /Up to Lexington, 1–2–5/ Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive." The piano's percussive shuffle on "Waiting" lends to the sense of urgency and paranoia that can't help but be felt when waiting for your man.

One of the most impressive aspects of the album is the way the VU could go from scenes of grime and desperation in "Run, Run, Run," (allegedly written on the back of an envelope on the way to a gig) to hiding the seduction of "There She Goes Again" behind a hook that could have been written by the Beatles.

German singer/model Nico, forced upon the VU by Andy Warhol, lends her ghostly voice for lead vocals on three songs, "Femme Fatale," "All Tomorrow's Parties" and "I'll Be Your Mirror." "Fatale" reveals itself to be a heartbreaking pop song; its cold delivery is just a ruse. The last twenty seconds, when Nico simply sings, "Oh oh, oh, oh," exposes her vulnerability.

It's not often that a song can scare the shit out of you, but try listening to "Heroin" in the dark, and not feel like John Cale's screeching viola is piercing your skin while Moe Tucker's drumming is following the heartbeat of someone on the title drug.

The final two songs, "The Black Angel's Death Song" and "European Son" end the album on a disappointing note. Both feel a bit thrown together, and rely more on making noise than being a good song—something that would be rectified on their second album, White Light/White Heat.

There's a saying that although only 100 people bought this album, those 100 went on to form their own band. This is the kind of influence that the VU had on music, and with albums like The Velvet Underground and Nico, it's easy to see why.

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited, II

As appears in tomorrow's issue of The New School's newspaper, the New School Free Press:

It's tough to find creepy songs to play on Halloween. It's even harder to find ones that aren't just novelty hits with lyrics like, "I said, 'Mr. Purple People Eater, what's your line?'/He said, 'It's eatin' purple people and it sure is fine'." But toughest of all is finding a good greatest hits album.

Somehow, Screamin' Jay Hawkins' Voodoo Jive: The Best of Screamin' Jay Hawkins manages to accomplish each.

Hawkins was born Jalacy Hawkins in Cleveland, Ohio in 1929. He wanted to become an opera singer at the beginning of his career, but when that didn't pan out, he started singing the blues.

Before long, he was creating murky, swampy songs that, in concert, would be accompanied by on-stage props like snakes, shrunken heads and a cigarette smoking skull called Henry. Hawkins also made his roadies drop "worms" on the audience's heads (although the worms were really only rubber bands).

Although generally considered as a novelty act, Hawkins was actually quite talented. Try listening to "Alligator Wine," "Little Demon," "I Hear Voices" and, with all due respect to Nat King Cole, the best version of "Orange Colored Sky" out there, and you'll soon hear a fantastic mix of Paul Robeson and Fats Domino.

Outside of his eccentricities, Hawkins is sadly known mainly for his single, "I Put a Spell On You," which is included on Voodoo Jive. If you've ever seen Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise, you know "Spell" because it's played nearly as many times as Bruce Springsteen has sung about cars in his career. The song has been covered or sampled by everyone from Creedence Clearwater Revival to Notorious BIG.

The best track on the album is "Constipation Blues." If you can't guess what the song is about from the title, maybe this'll help: "Got a pain down inside/Won't be denied/Yeah, every time I try/I can't be satisfied." This song would be at the top of my list of "Songs about Poop."

If that's not enough, Hawkins, who passed away in 2000, is thought to have 75 children and has an album called Black Music for White People—a number and title that are scarier than any Halloween outfit us non-Screamin' people could think of.

Rock 'N' Roll Revisited I

As appears in tomorrow's issue of The New School's newspaper, the New School Free Press.

It's easy to bash Eric Clapton for many reasons (can we begin with "Tears In Heaven"?) but as much as I dislike his solo career, the bands that he's been in have released albums that are required listening for anyone interested in rock—especially Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs.

Recorded in August and September of 1970, Layla would be the only studio album Derek (Clapton) and the Dominos (Bobby Whitlock, Jim Gordon, Carl Radle and Duane Allman) would release together as a band. But if you're only going to release a single album, it might as well be as great as this one.

Even 37 years later, Layla sounds fresh. That's due partially to the timeless quality of the blues genre that they're emulating, but also because of how good they sound. In songs like "Why Does Love Have to Be So Sad?" and "Have You Ever Loved a Women?" Clapton and Allman seemingly both try to outplay one another—a kind of, as Rolling Stone called it, "an electric, brotherly love."

Along with "Woman" and "Sad," a trend develops on the album of songs detailing lost love or a love that can never be. Other tracks like "Bell Bottom Blues," "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" and "It's Too Late" continue this trend, because Clapton had fallen in love with George Harrison's wife, Patti Boyd—an affection that even his heroin addiction at the time couldn't cure.

In "I Looked Away," which leads off the album, you can clearly hear Clapton's broken voice—an instrument that's sometimes more powerful than even the loudest and complex guitar solo.

Unlike most of Clapton's solo work (especially "My Father's Eyes"), this is an album that's brilliant and, more importantly, memorable from beginning to end. Great lyrics, impressive vocals and amazing guitar playing are tough to find on the same album, but on Layla, they're all there.

I Like Radiohead, But...

As appears in Tuesday's issue of The New School's newspaper, the New School Free Press:

The release of a new Radiohead CD is the closest thing our generation has to understanding what our parents felt eagerly awaiting the next Beatles album. The expectations are sky high and Thom, Colin, Jonny, Ed and Phil always have treated listeners to something great— even a flawed great like Hail to the Thief. In the case of In Rainbows, though, I couldn't help but feel let down.

Buying the album through their website for $5.25 (explained in further detail in "WTF, Thom?" on Page 14), I eagerly awoke the morning the album came out, downloaded it and was almost instantly let down.

Is it unwise to expect to hear another Kid A or OK Computer? Yes. Is it unfair? No. By that, I don't mean to say I want to hear "Subterranean Homesick Alien 2007," but I’m at least expecting to hear something solid, not the background music feel of Rainbows.

The album opens with "15 Step" and the lyric, "How come I end up where I started?/How come I end up where I went wrong?" The sound of the song seems to be Radiohead’s attempt at releasing a track that'll work on the dance floor. In whatever context it was meant to be, it doesn't work.

The guitar work of Jonny Greenwood and Ed O'Brien, normally providing a stellar complement to Thom's voice, doesn’t add much to the feel of the album—the sound is too synthetic, and on songs like "Bodysnatchers," the listener is left annoyed by the vocals.

The highlights of the album are the final two songs, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" and "Videotape." To get to those, though, you have to listen to eight other tracks that don’t do much to further Radiohead’s reputation as one of the great bands of our time. Or, as Yorke sings on “Nude,” “Don’t get any big ideas/They’re not going to happen.”

Update: Radiohead sold 1.2 million copies of In Rainbows through the download program. Wow.