Tag 90’s

When Bad Guys Were P*ssies.

Turner L. Watson Leave a comment

Maybe it was 9/11, you know? Like, maybe the horror and shock of that day forced us to ‘grow up’ for better or worse. We got tougher, a bit more wary and jaded. I don’t know. Maybe it was something else; Western Culture catching up a tiny bit with our European brethren, psychologically speaking. Whatever the case, the fact remains that back in the 80’s and early-90’s, we were soft, pink, mewling little kittens. 2015 us could wipe the floor with 1988 us.  Fact.

Here’s what led me down this particular path of discovery.  Recently I was doing an image search for actor Lee Tergesen.  I’d considered putting together another “That One Guy” blog, with a slight difference in focus:  I’d concentrate on one particular actor. Perhaps make a series of such posts, one for each iconic character actor. Lee is one of those guys who’s been in a lot of films and TV shows, usually sort of disappearing into his role, which is what makes him such a great actor.  The same guy who played Tobias Beecher on HBO’s prison drama ‘Oz’ also played one of Wayne and Garth’s metalhead buddies, thrashing along to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ before appearing as Evan ‘Scribe’ Wright in ‘Generation: Kill’ and so on and so forth.  Anyway, one of his earliest roles was that of Rosie in ‘Point Break.’

Rosie was the archetypical scary biker tough guy.  Bodhi’s muscle, in a very real sense. (Note to self: consider a blog entry that examines how Bodhi, Utah, and Rosie were all manifestations of the Super-Ego, Ego, and Id.) Rosie was frightening, and supposedly capable of gutting someone with nary a concern other than trying to avoid getting any ‘on his shoes.’  I remember seeing the film when I was not quite twenty years old and thinking he was fairly intimidating. Rosie wasn’t a surfer, he was ostensibly some sort of biker.  An outsider, even among the outsiders. He was a savage, and hey, remember that scene at the bonfire?  Remember?  The others are out surfing at night, but Rosie is back on the beach, drinking, and spitting booze onto the fire, making it flare up.  Remember?  I wonder what sort of wickedly potent, liver-pounding rot-gut booze he was slugging?

Wait…seriously?  He’s drinking…

KICK THAT FIRE, ROSIE! YEAH! KICK IT! KICK IT AGAIN!

KICK THAT FIRE, ROSIE! YEAH! KICK IT! KICK IT AGAIN!

CORONA?!  Are you fucking kidding me? A beer?! I mean, don’t get me wrong: beer is great. And Corona is easily one of the top-fifty beers from Mexico. But, c’mon. Rosie is a terrifying monster in bike leathers. He should be drinking moonshine or whiskey…maybe 151…ANYTHING approaching 100 proof. Beer? BEER THAT ONLY TASTES GOOD WITH A STINKIN’ LIME IN IT?! Might as well have been a Zima. (Actually, Zima was a malt liquor beverage with a higher alcohol content than most beers, so it would have been MORE manly.)  A kid that had never actually (up to that point) been to an illegal beach bonfire or nearly incinerated a friend while spitting and igniting grain alcohol and other things that maybe I should stop talking about right now might have been impressed with Rosie.  Shit, I was.  Now I realize he’d get his ass kicked in any place outside of Malibu.  Perhaps his ending was the most realistic part of the film.  It happens off-screen, but Utah tells Bodhi that Rosie apparently got knifed to death in Mexico.  What if that was Rosie’s first trip outside of his home county?  He thinks he’s a tough guy, orders a Corona ‘straight up’ and the Mexicans beat the living shit out of him with bottles of Pacifico and Modelo.

So, R.I.P Rosie and his tough-guy image. I sat there thinking about him, and my mind flashed on another badass that maybe wasn’t. Bennett.  The bad guy from ‘Commando.’ the actor’s name is Vernon Wells, and yes, I could do an entire ‘That One Guy’ on him.  The dude’s appeared in everything from ‘The Power Rangers’ to ‘Innerspace’ and has no fewer than twenty-one projects due to be released this year alone. But the role you will probably remember him from was from the iconic Mad Max sequel, ‘The Road Warrior.’  He played a character named Wez and holy shitballs, was he scary.

Even the Kurgan would turn tail and run from all that crazy.

Even the Kurgan would turn tail and run from all that crazy.

Wells would go on to almost exactly replicate that performance as a party-crashing biker/euphemism in ‘Weird Science.’  Again, an impressively crazy, wild-eyed psychopath on a motorcycle.  Jesus, I almost crapped my pants just thinking about him.

When the guy from 'The Hills Have Eyes' is your sidekick, you are officially a bad-ass.

When the guy from ‘The Hills Have Eyes’ is your sidekick, you are officially a bad-ass.

So when you learn that Vernon Wells is playing the nemesis in an Arnold Schwarzenegger action-adventure flick, you think “AW, YISSS!!  MOTHER FUCKING BAD-ASSERY!” and then you get to the theater and see…

Hey, nice tactical sweater-vest!

Hey, nice tactical sweater-vest!

Freddie Mercury?!  What the actual fuck, man?  What happened?  Is that vest made of old pop-tops or just nasty grey yarn that his grandma didn’t want, because seriously, who wants an olive-grey tea cozy?  Nobody, that’s who. Good call, grandma. While I’m talking about relatives, Bennett looks more like your weird uncle Gary that collects Thomas the Tank Engine stuff even though he doesn’t have any kids.  Maybe that’s more unsettling.  Could the makers of Commando been deliberately trying to give off that pedophile subtext?  After all, the main point of the ‘plot’ is that Arnold’s daughter has been kidnapped…were the studio types making a statement?  A subtle, veiled threat to the virtue and physical well-being of the girl in order to make moviegoers even more uneasy?

"Hey, kids...wanna see my Percy?"

“Hey, kids…wanna see my Percy?”

Or had Wells simply let himself go between roles?  Like, the casting director didn’t request an up-to-date headshot, and when Wells rolled up to his trailer on the first day of shooting, the director was all “Well…huh.  Fuck it, we’re on a schedule people.  Keep the mustache.  We’re rolling in five.”  Occam’s Razor makes that seem like the more likely scenario.  Either way, though, you’re never truly convinced that this doughy, sweater-vested, Bob’s Burgers cosplay guy is going to be able to physically match up with Arnold’s character.  They may as well have cast Kevin Spacey as the bad guy, although holy shit: Kevin Spacey in a mustache would be a GREAT Bob’s Burgers cosplay.

A really smug Bob 'Keyser' Belcher.

A really smug Bob ‘Keyser’ Belcher.

The point is, we were seemingly much more easily intimidated back in the day.  I won’t even get into how the Friday the 13th movies look so dated compared to modern horror films and television.  Seriously, the Jason Vorhees flicks remind me of old 50’s Martian invasion movies.  But initially, they were terrifying enough to spawn a generation’s worth of sequels.  I guess that’s sort of comforting.  The things that scare us often turn out to be not so bad after all.  Laughable, even.  (Gene Simmons used to terrify people.  Let that sink in for a second.) There’s a lesson there somewhere.  Sleep tight, America.

Tee Totalling

Turner L. Watson 10 Comments

Within the framework of this blog (as well as in real life) I’ve often lamented the loss of style in the modern world.  I’ve droned about hipsters, men without hats, pomades, etc. but must admit that there’s one item of casual dress that I wholeheartedly embrace:  the time-honored tradition of the T-Shirt.  I am such a fan that I must periodically return to my overstuffed t-shirt drawer and begin the painful process of weeding my collection of ratty, threadbare shirts.  It’s horrible.  I hate getting rid of my treasures.  So much so that I clutch tenaciously and feverishly to at least two different favorites, and in reality there are way too many.  Once as black as the darkest night, now they’re sort of light charcoal, and so theadbare and worn that when held to the light they resemble some loosely-woven mesh.  Cheesecloth, maybe.

However, the field must be tilled ever so often and fresh soil risen up to the daylight.  That’s what I do.  I churn my shirts, so to speak, and the ones that haven’t been seen since last summer are the first to go.  This process brought some old memories to mind, specifically thoughts of old t-shirt fads long gone.  Today’s Realtree fad will soon fade, and hopefully those ubiquitous “KEEP CALM AND BLAH BLAH BLAH” shirts will disappear from public consciousness, at least until the great retro 2010’s craze of 2025 rolls around, at which point reproductions will fly off the shelves again.   Certainly some trends will continue as they always have: throwback soda and candy logos, band tees, beer and sports teams…these will never perish from the chests of frat boys, hipsters, and concert-going blue-collar types. Ever.

The same can’t be said for these bygone relics…

 

Big Johnson

Technically, these shirts were introduced in the late-80’s, but they really seemed to take off circa Spring Break 1994.  Seriously, you couldn’t go to to the mall, the sports bar, or the beach without seeing some dude with a Big Johnson shirt.  The whole gag consisted of thinly-veiled sexual innuendos, like “Big Johnson Surf Boards…If It Swells, Ride It!” or “Big Johnson’s Casino…Liquor Up Front, Poker In The rear!”  They seem dated now, and the jokes are so stale they’re probably made of the same material as your basic M.R.E.  But the catchphrases were brand-new at the time, and twenty-something bros found them hilarious.  I mean, who can argue with this gem?

Subtlety. A lost art.

Subtlety. A lost art.

 

Hard Rock Cafe

This one makes me a bit sad.  The Hard Rock Cafe still exists and seemingly thrives, most notably the casinos in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, as well as vacation destinations such as Myrtle Beach and exotic Detroit.  However, the corporation seems to be just as dedicated to spreading the good old-fashioned American rock-n-roll experience to the rest of the unwashed world, with locations in Jakarta, Angkor, and Phuket (how that never made it to a Big Johnson shirt, I’ll never know) in addition to European strongholds like Oslo and Amsterdam, because there’s nothing else to do in Amsterdam, right?  Duh! The sad part is how the internet and cable television have sort of taken the mystery and adventure out of seeking out a place to get over-priced (but still pretty tasty) burgers whilst surrounded with all sorts of rock-n-roll memorabilia.  I remember sitting in the New York Hard Rock (see, that even sounded cool in 1988), scarfing down a burger and Dr. Pepper, while overhead loomed the awesome, gnarly axe-shaped bass guitar of the God of Thunder himself, Gene Simmons.  Nowadays, I can go on Ebay and shell out some hard-earned PayPal cash and own the sonofabitch.  (The axe, not Gene Simmons, although if the price were right…)  I could also order a Hard Rock t-shirt from the comfort of my living room, and never have to spend time at an airport or drive the six-plus hours to Toronto’s Skydome (that’s what they used to call Rogers Centre) to get the same exact shirt I picked up there in 1991.  The excitement, the discovery, the Kerouac-like feeling of literally being on the road, going somewhere; maybe somewhere you’ve never been.  The pride you felt when you pulled the shirt on and left your apartment and somebody read the words “Hard Rock Cafe Miami” and met your eyes with a look of envy and wanderlust.  Those days are over.  Thanks a lot, stupid fucking internet.

The SkyDome logo had a snappy, ultra-modern redesign. This was it. No, really.

The SkyDome logo had a snappy, ultra-modern redesign. This was it. No, really.

 

Hypercolor

I must admit that I was never cool enough to own a Hypercolor t-shirt.  Apparently, I was the only human in North America that walked the streets with a regular old shirt that didn’t change color when someone held their hand on it for like five minutes.  For the uninitiated, the whole gimmick was due to a revolutionary dye that changed tint when it experienced a change in temperature.  You’d put on a purple shirt in the coolness of your bedroom, go out to catch the bus in 80-degree weather and MOTHER OF GOD!!  MY SHIRT IS NOW RUSTY ORANGE!  Then they got tricky and started printing the damn things in tie-dye patterns, so it was a swirling cauldron of ambiguous chromatics, dizzying and dazzling onlookers and passers-by.  “WHO IS HE?!  A WEATHER-LORD OF TIME AND SPACE?!?  ONE OF ELTON JOHN’S BAND MEMBERS?!  YE GODS, LOOK AT HIS MAGICAL ATTIRE!  BEHOLD HIS COMING!”  Plus, yeah; when someone gave you a hug, you could totally see where they put their arms around you.  Show-off motherfuckers, gettin’ hugs and shit.  Some bullshit, right there.

Show me on the shirt where he touched you...

Show me on the shirt where he touched you…

 

I know I’m leaving some out.  I decided against the brand-name trends, like United Colors of Benetton, Gotcha!, et al., because that sort of thing is in constant flux.  Remember when a couple of years ago you saw FUBU everywhere?  Yeah.  But hey, feel free to suggest others in the comments section.  Especially you youngsters that might remember stuff from the turn of the century that old guys like me sort of missed. (Those shirts Guy Fieri wears, for example.)  On second thought, nobody mention Guy Fieri.  The rest is fair game.  And as always, thanks for reading.

 

Video Breakdown – Material Issue, Valerie Loves Me

Turner L. Watson 3 Comments

I had a blast breaking down the perplexing nonsense of Belly’s song “Slow Dog” because, well…the nineties.  The thing is, I really enjoy that song.  But early-to-mid nineties music and fashion, however enjoyable it may have been, invites people to make fun of it.  As a former college radio DJ and flannel-and-Doc Martens-wearing “alternative/punk” kid, I still create Pandora stations that sound like the legendary KROQ must’ve sounded back in the Jed the Fish/Rodney on the ‘ROQ days.

But the videos?  Man…they were usually ridiculous.  They were all grainy, shaky handicam shots or some asinine attempt at edginess.  Sometimes they told a story.  Sometimes they just put the band in wacky situations, like a piss-poor version of the Beatles’ “HELP!”  Sometimes they borrowed form all these formats and added some ‘live’ performance shots of the band itself.

For example:  this.  “Valerie Loves Me” by Material Issue.  One of my favorites from that era. The first time I heard the song I was POSITIVE that the band was one of the hot English acts: bands that cropped up in large part thanks to the “Madchester” scene that gave us Happy Mondays, Blur, Inspiral Carpets, and later branched out to the Soupdragons, the Farm, and Oasis under the group heading “Britpop.”  Material Issue fit nicely into that sub-genre of Alternative music, and I was stunned to learn that they actually hailed from Chicago, Illinois.

Huh.

Anyway, here’s the lackluster video to the amazing song.  Watch it, then join me for the breakdown.  Then watch it again and go “Oh, yeah!”

Okay, we begin with…RUN!! IT’S ENGLISH PEOPLE!!  (Editor’s note: we’ve already established that this band is from Chicago, not anywhere in England.)

:05 – Oh, hey!  It’s not English people, it’s a Liv Tyler look-alike!

:10 – Thank goodness.  The lost Gallagher brother.

:23 – Freddie Highmore is now in a band, but cannot afford a shirt that fits.  Perhaps he will grow into it?  Let’s hope!

D'awwwww...they grow up so fast! (And unattractive!)

D’awwwww…they grow up so fast! (And so unattractive!)

:29 – Remember when you had two hoop earrings in your left ear and none in your right?  Remember?  God, I do.  I also rocked the glittery Ankh on a French hook because ALTERNATIVE!

:33 – Sorry. It’s not Liv Tyler, it’s Ally Sheedy circa Short Circuit.

Seriously...is this even the same girl?!

Seriously…is this even the same girl?!

:59 – Young Ric Ocasek is just plain creepy.  Give her some space, dude!

Who's gonna drive you home NOW, bitch?

Who’s gonna drive you home NOW, bitch?

1:02 – Ally Sheedy says “Ha ha!  AS IF!!  L8R, sucka!”

1:23 – Uh-oh.  Mike Ness’s bastard kid is creepin’ in the girls’ room.

1:26 – My bad.  It’s really Arnold Horshack.  And he is SO BUSTED!

1:52 – “Hey, you gotta quarter?”

2:03 – It’s either “Hey, look at that hot piece of ass!” or the “Hey, why am I wearing sunglasses inside a dim, smoky bar?”

[INSERT CSI: MIAMI 'YEAAAAAHHHH!!!! HERE]

[INSERT CSI: MIAMI ‘YEAAAAAHHHH!!!! HERE]

2:12 – Air/Water.  Your choice.  Fuckin’ England. (Ed. note:  Chicago.)

2:18 – DOUCHENOZZLE ALERT!!

Beard? Check. Tie? Check. Shades? Check. Conclusion: 100% douche.

Beard? Check. Tie? Check. Shades? Check. Conclusion: 100% douche.

2:30 – One of my favorite parts of this song is completely wasted in this video.  Jim Ellison screaming “VALERIE LOVES ME!” is such a powerful, anguised counterpoint to his usual sing-song English (CHICAGO!) style of power-pop…and he doesn’t even get a closeup or a camera-shake.  Lame.  Probably why Ellison took his own life in 1996.

2:35 – That guy is totally rocking a Kurt Cobain-style shirt.  Man…the nineties…

2:45 – OH SHIT! GUYS!  SHE’S HERE!!

2:47 – The Aryan Drummer Brotherhood approves.

"Ich liebe Valerie! Und so spielen sie auf dem Schlagzeug!"

“Ich liebe Valerie! Und so spielen sie auf dem Schlagzeug!”

2:49 – Jesus, Horshack, could you be any creepier?

2:56 – “HA HA!  LOOK AT THOSE DWEEBS!  NICE SHIRT, HIGHMORE!”

We are totally going to be in that new 4 Non Blondes video, girl!

We are totally going to be in that new 4 Non Blondes video, girl!

3:04 – She is totally fucking with them.  “RUN, GEEKS!  RUN ALL THE WAY BACK TO ENGLAND! (Chicago.)”

FADE OUT.

Conclusion: great song.  Average video.  They get points for almost having a narrative.  The loveable losers in the band crush on Valerie (Fun fact:  all the girls in the 90’s were either named Valerie or Veronica) and spend the video trying to woo her, only to have her drive off at the end.  And you know she’s totally gonna hook up with that douchebag with the tie.  Fuckin’ ties, man.  That’s life, man.  That’s life.

But Valerie loves me…

Video Breakdown – Belly, Slow Dog

Turner L. Watson 2 Comments

Hey, gang!  Kind of an experiment here, and we’ll hafta see if it turns into a regular feature.  What we’re gonna do is watch this video together and see how it performs.  See, the 1990’s were a magical time.  The Alternative revolution had thrown wide the doors of musical variety, at the same time that mainstream rap and hip-hop were finding their way into regular ol’ Midwestern (i.e., white) households.  One of the bands that had sort of middling success was Belly.  Belly was fronted by the amazing Tanya Donelly, who had been in the indie college band Throwing Muses and then co-founded The Breeders with Kim Deal (Pixies.)  Anyway, in 1993, Belly released their debut “Star.”  It was great.  The smash-hit “Feed the Tree” made it to #1 on the Billboard Modern Rock chart.  The follow-ups “Gepetto” and this one, “Slow Dog” failed to make much of a mark.  But now we’re going to see if this video helped or hindered this mainly-forgotten band.  Here’s the video.  Sorry if must wait through an ad.  That’s the way of things.  It can’t be helped.

First impressions:  We get it, 90’s.  Jump-cuts are cool and interesting.  Even better when you de-saturate the colors.  Edgy Al-TER-na-tive!  And, oh!  Let’s put a blurry disc at the bottom of the screen.  Yeah.  It’ll sort of be like the Pixies video for “Here Comes Your Man” but in reverse!  (Never mind that the whole Pixies video was basically the band saying “fuck you, 120 Minutes” right down to the very obvious lack of any sort of lip-synching and the “inflated” head on Black Francis/Frank Black.)

"Hey, Pinfield! LIKE OUR FUCKIN' VIDEO?"

“Hey, Pinfield! LIKE OUR FUCKIN’ VIDEO?”

The blur-disc-lens thingy serves another important purpose in this misfire of a video.  See, Tanya Donelly is a cutie.  You might even say she’s downright gorgeous.  However, during the mid-90’s Modern Rock revolution, you were supposed to act like you WEREN’T gorgeous.  “Gorgeous” was for total posers, you guys.  So you dressed the hot babes in ModCloth retro dresses and put them just out-of-focus so that it looked like they were, like, totally just like me and you only WITH MUCH MORE HIDDEN PAIN!!  ON THE INSIDE!!

Poor, unfortunate, ugly 90's chick.

Poor, unfortunate, ugly 90’s chick.

Also, remember when those granny boots were in?  Often worn in conjunction with (ironically) babydoll dresses or, I shit you not, maternity dresses?  (Seriously, 90’s…you were weird.)

Anyway…we’re like :45 seconds in and we already know just about all there is to know about this video. We’ve seen a guitar smashed by a blonde chick with a pixie haircut.  We’ve observed a pensive surfer dude lean against the wall, trying to sort out life and all its ups and downs (why, pain?  Why must you BE?!?!) Also, we’ve been treated to some rusty things, some spindles, and the contents of my grandfather’s old tool shed being spilled onto the floor.  GODDAMMIT, YOU WILL PICK THAT SHIT UP OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GETTING THE BELT!

OMG, you guys...life is so hard...Hollister isn't open for, like...thirty minutes! I'm totes bummed!

OMG, you guys…life is so hard…Hollister isn’t open for, like…thirty minutes! I’m totes bummed!

But most importantly, we know this:  the video for this song doesn’t have one momentary, fleeting, thin, tenuous relation to the lyrics of the song itself.  This was a HUGE problem in the 90’s.  See, classic videos from the 80’s often told a story.  Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” was a good example.  Even so-called Alternative or Punk bands tried their best.  The Ramone’s “I Wanna Be Sedated” didn’t tell a story so much as make the viewer feel exactly like the song suggested.  The sped-up pace of the background characters and goings-on was a brilliant way of visually matching the song.  Even into the early-90’s, we had a sort of symbolic story-telling…remember Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy?”  Powerful stuff. Even Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” dealt with scary dreamlike images.  Remember when the semi truck hits the bed right at the “BOOOOOMMMM!!” part of the song?  Golly! Then, well…U2’s “Numb” happened.

You guys, this is going to make "Lemon" look like a sick joke!

You guys, this is going to make “Lemon” look like a sick joke!

“Numb”  happened the same year that Michael Jackson joined Eddie Murphy for “Whatzupwitchu.”  Holy shit, things were getting bad.  We should’ve seen the signs…like in Ace Of Bass’s videos.  Including, well…”The Sign.” At least in the U2 video, they’re trying to be artsy.  See, the main vocals in “Numb” are handled not by the bombastic Bono, but the monotone drone of The Edge.  (Rock stars used to have AWESOME names.) As a result, they tailored the video to Edge’s more sparse, mumbled, spoken-word type delivery and subjected him to a variety of distractions including, but not limited to, feet.  On his face.  Yep.  But even with this sort of nonsense going on, the video STILL MADE SENSE.  See, he’s numb!  He ain’t CARE ‘bout yo feet up in his grill, ya heard?

Yes, this actually happened. No, it was not supposed to be funny.

Yes, this actually exists. No, it is not supposed to be funny.

But then, well…everyone started getting “artsy.”  The old go-to “live concert video” was pretty much out, so they staged “concerts”in strange settings, before weird crowds of too-cool people, and the irony was that in an era where cheese and bullshit were eschewed and bands that participated in such chicanery were shunned, total bullshit dominated the airwaves at Mtv.  And in some cases, the lure of cutting-edge CGI effects was just too much. (Kurt Cobain cashed out at just the right time, it would seem. Can you imagine a video for “Rape Me” done with Lawnmower Man graphics?) This begs a follow-up question:  is it better to have an Mtv that shows virtually NO music videos, or one that only shows complete shit?

Okay, back to “Slow Dog.”  I’ll give the director one tip o’ the cap:  at least Ms. Donelly’s guitar seems to be actually plugged into something.  Since they were faking the whole thing, it would’ve been simpler just to have her hold the goddam thing and strum.  Kudos.  Now, onward…

My efforts to bring your attention to the guitar cable have undermined my efforts to bring your attention to the guitar cable. Damn it.

My efforts to bring your attention to the guitar cable have undermined my efforts to bring your attention to the guitar cable. Damn it.

Up to the 1:00 mark we go.  Wherein a bald maintenance guy (or Chef from South Park) passes out after nailing some cups to a sidewise table, the cameraman forgets how to frame a shot, and surfer-boy has trouble with his vice or something.  OH, AND HERE’S YOUR FUCKING CIGARS, PAL!!!

Quickly now.  To the 1:34 point in our journey.  FIX THAT GODDAM GUITAR ALREADY!!

To 1:45.  What, exactly, is so fucking funny, Tanya?  You think this video is some sort of fucking joke?!  AND HEY: PAINT MIXERS ARE NOT FOR GUITARS, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE!!  WE’RE WORKING ON A BUDGET, PAL!!

2:00. And now, Consuela has another lovely item for us.  It’s a pewter replica of a 2nd-century BC terracotta warrior statue.  We’ll start the bidding at $400…

2:00-2:30. Croutons, pewter chicken, burial.  Dear God…

2:30-3:00. Almost there.  Surfer-boy has sewn you a nice drum.  Consuela thinks this is “art.”  Chef/Iron Sheik/Maintenance Guy does shots.  Buttons, etc.  Please, let this be over…

3:00-4:00. Suddenly:  carnival rides.  Also, is that your cat’s corpse?  Consuela can’t stack cans for shit.  Chains.  Chef is ashamed.  Why, Lord?  Why?

WHY, GOD? WHY? WHY DID I LEAVE MY WATCH ON WHILE SUNBATHING?!?!

WHY, GOD? WHY? WHY DID I LEAVE MY WATCH ON WHILE SUNBATHING?!?!

Okay. A couple of things in review.  Jesus H Christ, that Tanya Donelly is a stone fox.  Actually, the whole band looks better than the cast of Dawson’s Creek.  They should’ve done an entire video of all of them standing around in linen shifts, backlit.  Or perhaps just closeups of Tanya’s sensual, willing, hungry mouth…

Yes, that very one.

Yes, that very one.

For comparison (and to bring this cumbersome ship back around to the original point) I went back and watched the video for “Feed the Tree.”  Know what one of the first shots in the video is?  A goddam tree.  And before we’re :27 in, we see a shot of an old man.  Right when, you know, the lyrics mention an “old man.”  How weird is THAT?!?!  The video almost perfectly mirrored the meaning of the song lyrics!  One can’t help but wonder if perhaps that’s the main reason why “Feed the Tree” is the only Belly song most people remember.  Also, one can’t help but wonder what Tanya Donelly would look like rolling around in a waterbed with myself and some Crisco in the summer of 1993.  Now THAT would be a great video, folks.

 
 
 
 

That One Gal (Swingers Edition)

Turner L. Watson 4 Comments

Thank you, Netflix.  Yes, your lack of new releases and DVD-Only versions of some classics frustrates the holy hell out of me.  One thing the Netflix gang does do well is keeping me in touch with some of my casual friends, the ones I haven’t seen in a while.  “Running Scared” (the Billy Crystal one, not the Paul Walker travesty) made it back to the Instant Queue and so did “Swingers.”  Damn, what a great flick.  Hard to imagine that it’s sixteen years old!!  Before Charlie Sheen, if you saw someone wearing a retro silk shirt and a chain wallet, you knew they were money, baby.  And the scene where Mikey calls Nikki’s voicemail…over…and over…is so agonizing.  The fact that–

Wait.  I’m getting ahead of myself.   The point of this blog entry is to underscore the amount of hot tail that you forgot was in this film.  And we might as well start with Nikki.  You remember Nikki, right?

Girl LOVED her some olives!

Yeah, Nikki.  The young lady from whom Mikey FINALLY gets some digits, baby, ’cause he’s this big fuckin’ BEAR, man.  The young lady with whom Mike immediately blows any chance of romance by calling her voicemail (sorry…it was 1996, so technically he called her answering machine) that same night, breaking a cardinal rule about waiting to ring up a beautiful baby.  Guys everywhere know that scene so well…because we’ve all friggin’ DONE IT.  It’s painful.  It’s excruciating.  We feel so bad for Mike, and scream at the screen for him to “stop, for the love of God!”  But part of the magic of that scene is knowing that Nikki is pretty hot.  Not just that she’s cute, but also confident and quirky.  We’d all love a chance to play “bear versus bunny” with her.  She was kind of an alt-chick.  The last person you’d expect to be a professional cheerleader, no matter how pretty she was.

Holy hell…GET HER SOME MORE OLIVES!!!

Yep, that’s Nikki.  Rather, that’s actress Brooke Langton portraying Annabelle Farrell, head cheerleader of the Washington Sentinels in the enjoyable TNT network staple “The Replacements.”  Apparently, Brooke has been in plenty of stuff like Melrose Place for years.  I still, however, cannot understand why she hasn’t become a superstar.  She’s gorgeous.  She seems to have a sense of humor, and she can play various types of hot chicks.  I mean, she’d make an excellent Catwoman.  Instead of, well.  Yeah.

Next up?  That one incredibly hot chick from Swingers.  Remember her?

Oh, yeah! Sure! (Actually, no. WHO?!?)

Maybe you know her better as “Girl With Cigar.”

Oh. Wait…that’s the SAME PERSON?!?

Yep.  The actress (who has obviously aged REALLY well) is Blake Lindsley, and she probably gets voicemails meant for Blake Lively.  When that happens, Blake Lindsley probably cries quietly to herself, wondering what might have been.  Even though the character in Swingers is simply credited as “Girl With Cigar” she makes the most of a relatively small role.  And it looked like she was going to be a breakout star, because the year after Swingers, she finally played a supporting character with an actual name…and we saw more of her skin, which is always welcome.

Everyone remembers this scene. EVERYONE.

In Starship Troopers, she was “Katrina” and it looked like she was on her way.  Seriously, in two years she appeared in two of the most-watched flicks of the late-90’s.  And sure enough, she parlayed her hot streak into roles like “School Teacher” in Glimmer Man and “Wife” in Ground Control. Wait…what?!  “Wife?”  That makes “Girl With Cigar” look like “Lady MacBeth!”  It’s too bad, because she seems quirky and fun.  Plus, she’s a natural redhead.  Another ten years and she’s Felicia Day.  Somebody should really give her another shot.  Seriously.

Now it gets serious. Ladies and gentlemen, Heather Graham as Lorraine and her amazing lip-bite.

Grrrrrr…daddy like!

Heather was no rookie when Swingers was released, having appeared in…get this…seventeen movies prior to this one.  That being said, her biggest role in cinema had probably been that of  “Mercedes Lane” in the amazingly over-rated (no, I mean it) Corey and Corey vehicle (I meant that, too.  I’m funny like that) License to Drive.  Of course, unlike Blake’s followup the next year, Heather’s was a blockbuster titled “Boogie Nights” which received three Oscar nominations and featured her full-frontal nudity as the now-famous Rollergirl.  Since then, Heather has appeared in a  bazillion movies, including recent hits like “The Hangover” and an amazingly sexy run on the TV show “Scrubs.” 

Speaking of television, I first discovered young Heather in a role most have forgotten…

Who cares about Laura Palmer? We’ve got Annie Blackburn!!!

Yep. Annie Blackburn from the incredible “Twin Peaks.”  Kids today don’t appreciate how much this show gave them.  Nowadays people flock to cable shows like The Walking Dead or Sons of Anarchy for their weekly dose of “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!?!”  But that just really didn’t happen prior to Twin Peaks.  It’s really fodder for a whole different blog entry, but imagine people meeting in coffee shops (this was pre-internet, people) to discuss last week’s episode of “M*A*S*H” or “Starsky and Hutch.”  It just didn’t happen.  And for me, Heather Graham’s Annie was the most amazing character of all, because she was so goddam beautiful with those Bette Davis eyes (THAT’S why she was in Swingers, I’ll betcha money) but she retained this air of innocence that was very rare in that sick, surreal setting.  Sigh.  STILL the best lip-bite ever.

On Hipsters and Nickelback.

Turner L. Watson 22 Comments

A little backstory.  Remember the scene towards the end of “SLC Punk” where Steve-O recounts how Bob turned him on to punk rock?  The two of them are playing D&D in the basement and listening to Rush?  That scene is so powerful to me because THAT’S EXACTLY THE WAY IT HAPPENED.  Well, not exactly.  See, I was Steve-O (which is weird, because people say I look like Matthew Lillard) and big-time into the D&D and the Rush.  Still am.

People fail to realize that we ALL looked like this.

Anyway, one day while playing an obscure role-playing game called “TOON” which involved being a cartoon character (I shit you not) my friend Steve (irony!) played a tape he had from a band called the Dead Kennedys.  We listened to “Kill the Poor” and “Holiday in Cambodia.”  It was…different.  I won’t lie and say that I was immediately hooked, but it opened my eyes and ears to a new world.  This was also my junior year of high school, which was my favorite.  The year my hair got long, I wore black t-shirts and flannel, etc.  That year my girlfriend introduced me to a place called The Ross Theater.  They showed Rocky Horror on the weekends and local bands played what would later be dubbed “alternative” music. That year I had a shit-eating smirk in my yearbook picture because I finally had stopped caring what anybody else thought. Very liberating. A year or two later, someone hooked me up with a cassette copy of the Descendents “ALL.”  THAT was when my journey to the dark side was complete. Halle-fuckin-lujia.

You're welcome, GreenBlinkCharlotteFX!

Fast-forward to the mid-nineties.  I had found gainful employment as a radio DJ.  I was living a double-life as a country radio DJ who happened to go to punk shows on the weekends.  Two awesome things happened the summer 0f ’94: I met my future wife and I got fired from the country station, right as a band called “Green Day” blew the fuck UP.  Rancid followed Green Day, the Offspring ran though the open door, and bands like Face to Face and Wax followed them out into the world.  It was glorious.  By that time I had started work at a local rock station and got to see this all happen at the same time as the second wave of great Seattle bands hit:  Pearl Jam’s second and third albums had pushed them right to the top, Nirvana’s “In Utero” was huge in spite of/due to Kurt’s suicide…rock was king.  Punk rock had put it there.  It was during this glorious time period that I saw the beginning of something dreadful, horrible…scene-destroying. I met my first hipster.

Thanks for ruining one of my favorite beers, assholes.

Don’t get me wrong.  There have always been and will always be music snobs.  Remember virtually everyone in “High Fidelity?”  Yes.  But this cat was…different.  His name was Marc, and he worked for a local entertainment magazine.  His music reviews were smarmy, his dress code bohemian-Greenwich Village/industrial, and his attitude smug and superior.  See, he had been part of “the scene” for years, but resented the fact that now HIS beloved bands and sounds were being…gasp…mass-marketed and sold at places like BEST BUY!!  OMG, it was like anyone…anyone at all could walk into a store and pick up a copy of fIREHOSE or the MC5.  Blasphemy!  So he started doing what hipsters do.  He put down his heroes, abandoning them in the same way that he imagined they had abandoned him.  I mean, this motherfucker had a vinyl copy of “Bleach.”  Now that it was being re-released for ignorant frat-boys to purchase, well…he just couldn’t have that.  Many of us had similar reactions.  I mean, the whole CULTURE had been based on the fact that the way we dressed, the music we liked, etc. was not for everyone.  We were outcasts.  There’s a reason the perfectly-named Misfits became such a counter-culture icon (seriously, think of five friends.  One of them has that spooky skull-mask t-shirt, don’t they?)

They just don't wear it quite this well.

But there were two ways for the disaffected to deal with this new world.  One, you turned back the clock and held on to your old bootlegged Stiff Little Fingers tape.  You put up old show flyers on your walls and wore unique colognes. (When I was younger, patchouli was used by all manner of subculture types, myself included.  Then it got co-opted by the Phish set and hippies have pretty much owned it ever since, even though patchouli and leather jacket is one of the most awesome scent combos ever.  Pity.) Two, you rejected anything and everything to do with the bands that you once championed.  You stopped listening to Rancid after they were featured on the Beavis and Butthead Do America soundtrack, and even went so far as to stop listeing to Operation Ivy.  You sought out the “next big thing” and got in early.  The only problem with that philosophy was that eventually the inevitable would happen:  the stuff you liked would get popular.  You’d hear a snippet of The Strokes “Last Night” in a car commercial.  The cycle completes itself.  Always.

Or worse...a KIA commercial.

Now, at the other end of the spectrum is Nickelback.  People know I don’t like this band.  I don’t like their songs.  I don’t like the eighties hair-band mentality.  You know, the “all we do is party and fuck! WOO-HOO!!  WE’RE FAMOUS!” attitude.  There have always been bands like this.  There will always be bands like this.  There will always be bands that try to emulate the sound and look of bands like this (COUGH – THEORY OF A DEADMAN – COUGH.)  And I’m actually okay with that.

"Whatcha thinkin' about, Chad?" Oh, just rock stuff.

See, it’s hard to hate on a band like this.  They’re succesful.  They’re a new generation’s Aerosmith.  And you know what Aerosmith used to be all about?  Partying and fucking.  I actually think that was the name of their second album (citation needed.)  You know what KISS used to sing about?  Yep.  how about Van Halen?  Ditto.  People, the Holy Trinity is this: Sex, Drugs, and Rock-n-Roll.  Notice that Rock-n-Roll finishes the race in third place.  Hell, for many bands Rock-n-Roll is simply a means to acquire the first two.  It’s okay.  I don’t particularly like it, but it’s okay.  Even better?  This sad, singular truth that the hipsters won’t embrace: If it weren’t for Nickelback and their ilk, there would be no reason for hipsters to exist.  There would be no punk rock, no counter-culture.  Without a Goliath, David is just a kid with a rock. 

In a world with Nickelback, David is a kid with a rock…that you’ve never heard of.