Sons and Daughters, “This Gift” (Domino) [3.5 STARS]
With their earlier releases “Love the Cup” (2003) and “The Repulsion Box” (2005), it was easy to dismiss the Scottish foursome led by Arab Strap veteran Adele Bethel as a second-tier entry in the New Wave of New Wave movement spearheaded by labelmates such as Franz Ferdinand and the Arctic Monkeys: Sons and Daughters’ dark, moody folk-punk brought to mind a Celtic version of X, but without the motivating grooves or particularly memorable melodies. “This Gift” amplifies the band’s assets, injects the previously missing ingredients and winds up a beginning to end winner.
Vocally, Bethel cuts loose on songs such as “Gilt Complex” and “The Nest,” evoking Debbie Harry with more range and the hint of a brogue as she romantically references Sylvia Path’s poetry or ’60s cinema while decrying these vapid and superficial times of celebrity obsession and reality TV. Meanwhile, the rhythm section veritably bounces off the walls, barely constraining its nervous energy long enough to stay in time through one three-minute explosion after another. With former Suede guitarist Bernard Butler producing, hooks that were only hinted at in the past are brought to the fore, and when it all builds up to an anthemic chorus such as the “whoo a-ooo” chant of the title track, it’s impossible to resist singing along.
10 new Chicago acts that should be heard from in 2008
So my editors said, "DeRo, we wanna do something special to launch our new 'local music channel' on the Web site! Something big, something super, something spectacular!! We want you to write about 10 of the next big bands from Chicago!!!"
Of course, I am pretty much trying to do that 365 days a year. But you know how it is: The bosses ask, you try to deliver. Sometimes it's easier than arguing. And everybody loves a good list.
My picks for 10 of the local acts destined to make some big noise in 2008 are here, with handy links to their own individual Web pages so you can sample some of their sounds. If you follow my work in the paper or online, you know that I try to devote one of my Friday "Live" columns every few weeks strictly to reviewing D.I.Y. local releases -- or what we used to call "demos" back in the old C30-C60-C90 days. Now, since we have the aforementioned spiffy new music channel, I'll be writing about one of the best of these local releases each week, posted online and printed in Friday's Weekend section.
As always, I'm happy to listen to any and all local submissions. But I do prefer to get them on shiny disc (I'm no Luddite, my computer's speakers just sound lousy, and MP3s tend to clog up my inbox), so send them along to me care of the Sun-Times at 350 N. Orleans Chicago IL 60654. It's always helpful to include a brief (one-page or less) bio or cover letter -- tell me who you are and why anyone should care! -- but don't worry about including a photo; if you have a good, clear JPEG posted online, just include the address for your Web page.
Erykah Badu, “New AmErykah, Pt. 1: 4th World War” (Motown) [4 STARS]
After a flurry of critically and commercially popular debuts -- Erykah Badu’s “Baduizm” (1997) and D’Angelo’s “Brown Sugar” (1995) chief among them -- the so-called “neo-soul” movement of the late ’90s sputtered out all too quickly in the face of the continued dominance of sonically slick, politically bankrupt R&B by the likes of Robert S. Kelly. Fans are still waiting for D’Angelo to release his third album, a follow-up to the dense, dark brilliance of “Voodoo” (2000), and with only one sketchy EP to her credit in the last eight years, it was all too easy to believe that Badu was retiring from music to concentrate on raising her children and practicing the New Age healing techniques of Reiki. Now, with her third proper studio album, Badu has given us the sinister and complex masterpiece we’ve long been expecting from D’Angelo.
With the exception of the sunny single “Honey,” included as a bonus track, this is a dramatically different Badu: Sure, there were hints of troubling shadows at the edges of the sunny spirituality circa “Mama’s Gun” (2000). But here, on the first of what is said to be a pair of albums coming this year, the singer takes an unstinting look at the harsh realities of a world where hip-hop is more powerful than god or government (“The Healer”), where black-on-black crime destroys the community (“Soldier”) and where drugs enslave buyers and sellers alike (“That Hump,” “The Cell”). The artist’s answer for coping in such a world isn’t some slippery, ethereal belief system, but one of the oldest tenets of the American philosophy: self-reliance.
“Sometimes I don’t know what to say/So many leaders to obey/But I was born on Savior’s Day/So I chose me,” Badu sings.
This is heady stuff indeed, but the sophistication of the music more than matches the concepts. Showing more vocal range than she’d ever hinted possible in the past, the former Erica Wright of Dallas alternately soars and growls or moans and rejoices through hypnotic, subtly shifting grooves crafted by Madlib, Sa-Ra and Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson and incorporating hints of transcendent gospel, down-and-dirty funk, old-school soul, cutting-edge hip-hop and even easy-listening jazz. Think of George Clinton or Curtis Mayfield working in New Orleans with a sampler and the most diverse bands of their careers, and you’ll still only be half way there.
Like “Voodoo,” “New AmErykah, Pt. 1” is by no means an easy listen. But it is one that will reward every minute spent with it, and which is certain to only grow more profound as its complex layers continue to reveal themselves.
If you’re a music fan wary of the overly twee or unbearably cutesy, there are plenty of signs that could warn you away from 32-year-old Australian-born pop singer Sia Furler.
For one thing, the artist -- who simply goes by Sia (pronounced see-ah) -- has been annoyingly ubiquitous in Starbucks: She’s the woman with the bad bowl haircut pretending she’s a five-year-old, drawing on her face with markers on the cover of her third proper album, “Some People Have Real Problems,” recently issued by the coffee chain’s Hear Music label.
The packaging alone is enough to fear some awful hybrid of Feist and “Juno” chanteuse Kimya Dawson. But then there’s Sia’s calculated displays of casual eccentricity: She’s been known to wear outfits that make Bjork’s infamous swan dress seem tame in comparison. She’s fond of telling interviewers she’s talking to them from the toilet or, in my case, the bathtub. And she’s apt to drop bizarre non-sequiturs in response to the most straightforward question.
“Mental, mental, chicken oriental!” the singer cracks when I note that her schedule has been pretty intense of late. (That turns out to be a reference to some British comedians in the mold of MTV’s “Jackass” team, but what that has to do with anything, I don’t know.)
The silly trappings disappear, however, the minute you listen to Sia’s music: She’s a witty, erudite, insightful and very smart lyricist with a voice that can range from a husky, jazzy purr (witness her cover of Ray Davies’ “I Go to Sleep” or her own “Death by Chocolate”) to the sort of breathy, girlish coo that Feist tries to pull off but can’t (“Academia,” “Little Black Sandals”). While many artists aspire to rejecting any easy pigeonholing, Sia actually pulls it off.
“Well, that’s very nice of you to say,” the artist says, presumably still in her bath. “I don’t read reviews or interviews or anything, just because I’m afraid: If I believed the good, then I’d believe the bad, and there will be bad. I’m sensitive and get easily upset and insulted. I’m just like anyone else who wants to change, grow and adapt to situations and communities, and I constantly seek new environments. I think it would be very difficult to maintain one kind of art or whatever for your whole life. I think it’s unrealistic.
“Also, I’m just into becoming better everyday as much as possible. I mean do-gooding and stuff. I’m into do-gooding, growth and change and all that in my personal life, so it’s pretty natural that it would be respected in my work.”
Sia’s seeming overnight success in the States has actually been more than a decade in the making. Born in Adelaide with a marginal connection to rock royalty -- her godfather is Men at work frontman Colin Hay -- she started her career as part of the Australian acid jazz scene, making two albums with the group Crisp before starting her solo career with “OnlySee” in 1997.
A few years later, the singer moved to the U.K and began to win a wider audience, first with a remix of her song “Little Man” that became a huge club hit, and then via her vocal contributions to hit singles by the group Zero 7. Eventually, she moved to the U.S. -- first L.A., then New York -- and prepared to capitalize on the exposure that came from her songs placing on the soundtracks of “The O.C.,” “Six Feet Under” and several other television shows.
Has this long and twisting climb given her any perspective on success?
“I think it’s just a noble appreciation,” Sia says. “I think after a lot of hard work and struggling to feel credible or cool or wanting to be accepted or approved of generally in life and by the entire universe… I think it was really difficult to accept it! [Laughs] I’m not cool or credible! When I finally decided I didn’t need to prove that in my music, and I just embraced the cheese and decided that it was fine if I wanted to make really middle-of-the-road pop music -- the awesome thing about it is that as soon as I accepted that, everything started to go really smoothly.
“People introduced my music to their moms and dads, Starbucks picked up the album and it’s selling like hot cakes. So I went from being a largely unsuccessful recording artist to actually starting to make a living out of it, which is really nice.”
As it happens, Sia’s commercial success coincides with a rosier outlook in her music: In comparison to her last album “Colour the Small One” (2006), “Some People Have Real Problems” is a decidedly upbeat and optimistic effort, as the title indicates.
“On the last album, I was really nuts -- totally cuckoo,” Sia says. “I was having a nervous breakdown, and I was in a really crummy place. Then, after fifty grand worth of therapy and just a lot of change, I’m in a better mood. I made a pop album. but that was rejected by Island records. I delivered a really upbeat pop album right after ‘Colour the Small One,’ and they were like, ‘O.K., you can’t do this. You’re a downbeat artist; you’re going to confuse your fan base. It’s too early in your career.’ I was like, ‘Well, that’s what I’m delivering, because that’s where I’m at.’ And they were like, ‘Well, you’re dropped!’”
Sia laughs about it now because she can: She is See Hear’s first signing of a non-“heritage” artist. “It’s great, isn’t it: We’ve got Uncle Paul [McCartney], we’ve got sister Joni [Mitchell] and we’ve got my boyfriend Kenny G!” With two out of those three, she is at least in deserving company.
FACTS
Sia, Har Mar Superstar
7:30 p.m. Friday
Park West, 322 W. Armitage
$15
(773) 929-5959
CLUB-HOPPING
Given that the Hives’ last visit to Chicago in support of their killer 2007 release “The Black and White Album” was as the opening act for the dreaded Maroon 5, you’re forgiven for skipping that show. But the Swedish garage rockers remain a powerhouse in concert, and this time, the played-out but inoffensive Donnas are opening for them at 7:30 Friday night at the Riviera Theatre, 4746 N. Racine. Tickets are $22.50 through www.ticketmaster.com, (312) 559-1212.
There’s no denying that when the Pogues are on, they deliver as inspiring a show as any you’ll ever see. Unfortunately, as the band has essentially stopped functioning as a recording act and a forward-moving artistic endeavor and come to rely on occasional tours to pay its bills, the question of whether or not things click on any given night all come down to the mental well-being or lack thereof of charismatic but troubled frontman Shane MacGowan -- not that this has ever stopped Chicago’s faithful from turning out in force. The champions of Irish-punk stomp perform at the Riviera Theatre, 4746 N. Racine, at 7 p.m. Wednesday and Thursday. Tickets are $40 through www.ticketmaster.com, (312) 559-1212.
As my esteemed colleague Bill Zwecker reports today, the much-lauded, Oscar-certified Brook Busey-Hunt of west suburban Lemont -- better known as former stripper/hipster poseur/seamy underbelly tourista turned "Juno" screenwriter Diablo Cody -- has plenty of projects on her plate to capitalize on her 15 minutes of fame, including an autobiographical screenplay about her days at Lisle's tony Catholic prep school, Benet Academy. Nearly as funny, however, is the spoof "leaked Diablo Cody screenplay" posted by the humor Web site Something Awful, first brought to my attention by reader Chad Mummert.
The heroine, named "Quotey," is -- surprise, surprise -- the sort of riotous grrrl who's "different and doesn't care who knows it." Picking up her Sports Illustrated football phone to chat with her dad -- "What's the haps, super-paps? It's your dime; spill it!" -- she waters her Christopher Walken chia pet while listening to Spoon, Broken Social Scene, Animal Collective and the Unicorns... though a helpful note in the margin of the screenplay emphasizes that that "could change if these bands become popular."
Great stuff -- and alas, all too true.
And, while we're doing a bit more "Juno" web-surfing, Ken Ota of the Chicago-based newspaper Revolution brought this article to my attention. Despite the publication's leftist agenda, the piece pretty objectively charts each barely hidden signifier combining to form what I've called the film's anti-feminist/anti-woman agenda. Oh, and it notes something I missed, an amazingly obvious "doh!": Juno is, of course, the Roman goddess of fertility, childbirth and marriage. How's that for championing family values?
If there’s anything sadder in popular music than a middle-aged diva refusing to grow up and reinvent herself, clinging instead to the coquettish sex-kitten pose that grew old a decade ago, it’s a middle-aged diva refusing to grow up and only reinventing herself by adding some creepy hints of S&M to the coquettish sex-kitten pose that grew old a decade ago. (See also: Madonna.) As Jackson sings on the gentle ballad that stands as one of the disc’s few good moments: “This can’t b good/This can’t b good.” And she ain’t kidding.
“It has a lot of different meanings for me,” Jackson said of the title of her 10th studio album, which arrives in stores on Tuesday, during an interview with MTV News. “But the most important is my discipline in my work.” Yes, well, work is exactly what “Discipline” sounds like: Long gone is the joy of the newly emancipated that powered the singer’s early albums and which made us forgive her limited voice. In its place is endless, empty-headed, near pornographic silliness that stoops even lower than the equally desperate, post-Nipplegate “20 Y.O.” (2006) and the ridiculous “Damita Jo” (2004).
“I’ve misbehaved, done some things I know I shouldn’t do/I touched myself, even though you told me not to… Daddy, I did something, now I want you to come punish me,” Jackson coos in the title track, an apparent attempt to out-nasty R. Kelly that falls flat both as seduction and as music. Despite the presence of some impressive guests, ranging from Missy Elliott to the great guitarist Ernie Isley, and top-drawer production talent including boyfriend Jermaine Dupri, Ne-Yo and Rodney Jerkins, these 13 tracks are strictly generic, with forced or plodding grooves and instantly forgettable melodies. Even worse, though, is Jackson’s robotic delivery, which sounds just as mechanical as that of “Kioko,” the computer that Jackson chats with during the nine interminable skits or “interludes” that have become a sorry trademark.
Really, someone needs to establish a retirement home for fading pop divas, a place where they could live comfortably on their royalties and avoid public embarrassment until they prove they can pull off a Cher. Among the first tenants: Jackson, Madonna, the Spice Girls and Mariah Carey (not to prejudge her forthcoming “E=MC²,” though I don’t have high hopes).
After playing their first gig at a homeless shelter on Christmas Eve, 1971, the New York Dolls made two studio albums: a self-titled debut in 1973 and the prophetically titled “Too Much Too Soon” the following year, by which point they were well on their way to disbanding. But the influence of those sounds has loomed large ever since, echoing in much of the punk, glam and hair metal that followed.
After three decades of resisting the urge to reunite and show the world where Guns N’ Roses went wrong, a new New York Dolls came together around the original group’s only surviving members, singer David Johansen and guitarist Syl Sylvain, once the Ron Wood to the late Johnny Thunders’ twisted-transvestite Keith Richards. This group has been touring ever since it first took the stage in London at the Meltdown Festival in 2004 at the behest of superfan Morrissey -- who, ironically enough, has always scoffed at the notion of reuniting the Smiths -- and it released a new album, “One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This,” in 2006.
I’m no fan of that disc: “A shameless exercise in cash-in nostalgia, this album is full of hollow, ersatz Dolls-like glam-rockers [that] draw on the familiar influences of ’50s rock and Motown, but with guitarist Steve Conte doing a poor job of invoking Thunders’ roar, and Johansen and Sylvain clearly only in it for the money,” I wrote upon its release. Yet there’s no denying that Johansen remains one of the most inspiring vocalists in rock history, and it is, was and always will be a kick to hear him tear through brilliant Dolls classics such as “Personality Crisis,” “Trash” and “Pills.”
We caught up in the midst of a tour that brings the Dolls back to Chicago tomorrow night.
Q. David, the last time we spoke was in 2001, when you performed with your blues project, the Harry Smiths, at the Old Town School of Folk Music…
A. Man, that was great!
Q. …And back then, when I asked you about the idea of returning to the Dolls, you said, “You’re either doing what you want or trying to give the people what they want.” What was the impetus for the Dolls reunion, besides Morrissey being a major fan?
A. Well, you know what happened: It was really that Morrissey called and asked us if we wanted to do a show. I think he just called on the right day, when everybody was up for it. So we thought, “Let’s go do this, and we’ll have a lot of fun.” And we went and we had a lot of fun. Then we started getting calls to do other shows, and we figured, “Well, let’s do a couple more shows, what the heck?” Before you knew it, it was like a year later and we were still doing it, so we decided to make a record.
Q. How was it different making “One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This” compared to the ancient history of making the first two?
A. To tell you the truth, I don’t really remember too much about making those first two. I remember that they had a lot of pretty lights on the [mixing] board! Basically, I went and I sang and that was it. I don’t know if there was that much difference really: We worked with Jack Douglas, who was the same guy who engineered the first record. I think we took three weeks on this one, but on the first one, we took a week.
Q. Did it just come right back again, playing with Syl?
A. Apparently it did. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really think about it too much. We just kind of went in and rehearsed for a couple of days and went onstage and played, and it was all just there. It was groovy.
Q. Do you ever feel like you have multiple personality disorder? I mean, there’s the New York Dolls David, the David of the ’80s solo albums, the Buster Poindexter David, the Harry Smiths David…
A. Yeah, but you know, I’m kind of like all those things and none of those things! I don’t know if I really identify myself by any those things.
Q. In any of those guises, is it still a kick to sing every night?
A. Well, that’s the trip: That’s what I dig doing -- singing. Being in a band like this is kind of cool, because everybody is doing their thing, and you’re not telling people what to play or anything. It’s being a part of something, as opposed to having to take all the responsibility. The whole becomes greater than the sum of the parts, or whatever that expression is.
Q. Will there be a second album from the Dolls’ second go-round?
A. Yeah, we just made a record; I just saw a copy of it today for the first time. We did a live record in New York between Christmas and New Year’s, and it’s coming out already. [“Live at the Fillmore East” will get its official release this spring, but the band is already selling it at shows.] Somebody there thought it would be a good idea to do this, and we thought it’s really probably a good thing to do right now, especially because we’ve got a tour going and all this.
Q. What about any of the other Davids? Any other plans outside the Dolls?
A. I haven’t really had time to think about that too much, because we’re just kind of constantly doing this now. And I’m really just having too much fun.
The New York Dolls, We Are the Fury
9 p.m. Saturday
Double Door, 1572 N. Milwaukee
$30
(773) 489-3160
CLUB-HOPPING
Kicking off a winter tour in support of the new DVD “After the Ceiling Cracked + 3,” hometown stoner-rock/doom metal mavens Pelican take the stage in their old stomping grounds at the Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western, following opening sets by Black Cobra and Unearthly Trance starting at 9 p.m. Thursday. The cover is $12; for more info, call (773) 276-3600.
If any debate remained before, hopefully the Grammy love showered upon the Foo Fighters eliminated any lingering doubts about whether Dave Grohl’s post-grunge pop band had an ounce of cool remaining. They don’t, but the group’s sold-out show on Monday features two fine opening acts: Serj Tankian, moonlighting frontman for System of a Down, and the righteously raucous punks Against Me! The show starts at 7:30 p.m. at the Allstate Arena, 6920 N. Mannheim Rd. in Rosemont, and as always with these sorts of gigs, it’s worth checking Ticketmaster or the box office to see if any last-minute seats have become available.
An inveterate self-promoter, Martin Atkins is, as usual, talking a mile a minute. But it’s hard to resist being charmed by his rapid-fire banter, because as always, he has plenty of impressive accomplishments to tout.
Born in Coventry, England but based in Chicago for much of the last two decades, the 49-year-old musician will perhaps always be best known for playing drums on one of the most influential albums of the post-punk era: “The Flowers of Romance” by Public Image, Ltd. (1981). After that, fans of avant-garde rock most often associate him with Ministry or Killing Joke -- he did time in both bands -- as well as with Pigface, his industrial-rock supergroup. (The long-running, ever-evolving combo has at various times benefited from contributors as diverse as Jello Biafra, Black Francis, Flea, Penn Jillette, Trent Reznor and Shonen Knife.)
These days, Atkins also is a father of three with a fourth on the way. He’s an instructor at Columbia College, teaching a class called “The Business of Touring.” He’s the author of an impressive self-published book entitled Tour: Smart and Break the Band, which just entered its third printing since September. He’s a wildly adventurous talent scout justifiably proud of the recent compilation album “Look Directly Into the Sun,” which introduced 18 bands from China to America.
And, oh yeah, he’s also celebrating the 20th anniversary of his label, Invisible Records, based in a loft on the South Side for the last eight of those years.
“We’ve released 350 albums in 20 years,” Atkins says from his office. “That feels really good. But I think if I was just sitting here and saying, ‘Well, the label is 20 years old and I want to draw your attention to a release from 1989 that’s our biggest release to date,’ then it would just be sad. The fact that the label and I are still doing what we always did is what feels great to me.”
What Invisible has always done is to champion music that few if any other companies would touch. There’s a reason for that: Artists such as the Damage Manual, Tub Ring, Chemlab and Atkins’ own Pigface make sounds that are the polar opposite of easy listening -- experimental music that can be as difficult to appreciate as a chorus of jackhammers. In comparison, most of the music on “Look Directly Into the Sun” is pure pop bliss.
“It all started when a band emailed me from China saying, ‘It’s amazing! You should come here!’” A year later, at the end of 2006, Atkins got off a plane in Bejing. “We had a great relationship with a club called D22, and they were very happy to show me the bands they liked. So I just started recording a bunch of them,” including groups such as China MC Brothers, Tookoo, Queen Sea Big Shark and Carsick Cars, which he also captured on videotape for a documentary he plans to show at the South by Southwest Music Festival next month.
Though many Americans still think of students defying the tanks in Tiananmen Square in pursuit of democracy and Western freedoms, Atkins says 19 years later, the Communist government doesn’t view the burgeoning rock scene as a threat. “I know that in the small clubs, things are left alone. If you were to upset someone, I don’t know the price you’d pay for that. But the bands playing venues under 1,000 capacity don’t seem to have any problems at all.”
Nevertheless, the practical difficulties of scarce equipment and few clubs make Chinese rock musicians all the more grateful find an audience. “I found this scene of bands who were gleefully involved in music, and that inspired me. It was like going to Disneyland with my children: I enjoyed it because of the look on their faces. I certainly got that from watching these bands, seeing the scene, watching these guys exchange instruments with each other and looking at what this club has done. It was so nice to be reminded of the power of music -- not to sound like a sap.”
The lack of sappiness and bounty of straight-talking advice are the strengths of the other project that Atkins is proudest of at the moment. The book grew out of his classes at Columbia, and though it took three years to write, he says it’s really the compendium of a life’s worth of lesson learned the hard way.
“There are a lot of things that can really f--k a band up that people just don’t think about. I met a guy two weeks ago who said, ‘My band broke up.’ I asked, ‘What happened? In-fighting? Musical differences? Drugs?’ He was like, ‘No, tolls and the price of gas!’ And that’s hilarious, but it’s true.
“Teaching was the impetus to write the book -- the straw that broke the camel’s back. When I went to teach my first class, I looked at the text book they were using, and it was written in 1964! So I started to bring my own materials into class. I had a decent textbook pretty quickly, just based on the logistical stuff. But then it was like, ‘Well, the touring musician also has to deal with the human stuff: the stress, the sex, the drugs. Those problems are as real as geography and gas mileage!’”
Weighing in at a hefty 564 pages, Tour: Smart includes contributions from a wide variety of experts, including Henry Rollins, Steve Albini, assorted Suicide Girls and Warped Tour founder Kevin Lyman, in addition to Atkins’ own amusing but insightful perspectives on everything from booking a tour and maximizing each night’s pay to staying hydrated onstage and “Tips for Safer (and Better) Sex on the Road.”
What’s next for the underground renaissance man? Pose that question and be prepared for another half-hour ramble -- though again, Atkins is likely to actually pull off most of his schemes, including a package tour of Chinese bands, a lecture series, opening his own “school of rock” and reconfiguring Invisible Records for the digital era.
“People ask if anybody will really need record labels in the future. Well, the reason that Invisible is still going in 2008 is that you wouldn’t have heard these Chinese bands without it. Why do we still need it? I think my office now is what I have always wanted a label to be: We’ve got my book, the China documentary, the music from China, publishing, merchandising, different packaging ideas…
“I feel like Invisible is just starting to do what our original motto promised: ‘Independence and strength through diversification,’” Atkins says. “I don’t even know what I meant when I first painted that on the wall. But here we are 20 years later, and I feel like we’re just getting started.”
National Review's cowardly, blathering blowhard rambles on
Here, in this post, in which he actually resorts to barbs about my weight and age (265 and 43, not that it matters in such high-minded discourse) while managing to convince me that he has not actually seen "Juno," or that if he did, he didn't pay any attention to it.
The reason I cited Patti Smith and the Stooges is that Juno cites those two acts in the film as among her very favorites, not because I am holding all modern music up against those touchstones in comparison. But I'll compare my vinyl, CD or MP3 collections with Mr. Williamson's any day, if he wants to talk about who listens to and likes more current sounds. And I will note again the incredible rupture between Juno liking those acts (and Mott the Hoople) on one hand and the Moldy Peaches and Antsy Pants on the other, while hating Sonic Youth and the Melvins in between. That aesthetic is as phony and contrived as Williamson's bluster.
As for the assertion that I don't understand this Interweb thing that Al Gore invented, well, excuse me: The NRO site is just badly designed, and when you read the media blog posts listed one after
