BOOKS:

Tom Shales & James Andrew Miller, Live From New York: An Oral History Of “Saturday Night Live” (20TH ANNIVERSARY RE-READ): Probably still the best book I’ve read about show business or any particular artifact of it, it benefits best from being done in the literary form of a “talking heads” documentary, covering chronologically the first 27 years of the show (an expanded, updated version has since been published, but I don’t care to read it) through just paragraph long literary sound-bites from various cast and crew and commenters. Between this and that book I read about the Germs, I wish more books would do this. Easy to read and informative at the same time. Too much mythologizing about Lorne Michaels though, who is only so fascinating of a figure. They also got no comments from Eddie Murphy and Dennis Miller is ignored entirely. So, uh, yeah.

William Faulkner, Light In August (20TH ANNIVERSARY RE-READ): I’ve always thought The Sound And The Fury was Faulkner’s best book and Absalom, Absalom! wasn’t far behind, but this–the first Faulkner novel I ever completed–is easily a shining bronze medalist. I have lots of memories of various bits ranging from Joe Christmas shaving with only a sliver for a mirror to Gail Hightower’s glass sign to the Christ allusions near the end when JC is killed, and all that came back for sure, but now that I’m older the whole thing fell into place beautifully in a way I wouldn’t have been able to fully grasp when I was 21. Was there ANY novel that dealt with race as thoughtfully and minutely as this–with seemingly every aspect of the book’s deep story tying back into JC’s racial confusion and what everyone else does with it–before 1932? And what of the stunningly detailed psychosexual relationship between JC and Joanna Burden? Was there anything like that in any book before this, let alone anything handled so luridly? Best of all, I barely felt a shred of confusion about anything that happens in this book. The flow is BEAUTIFUL. I’ll gladly read this a third time someday, but won’t be waiting for 20 years to do it!

Frank Herbert, Dune (10TH ANNIVERSARY RE-READ): I hadn’t forgotten the general plot of this, but that’s because of the movies, which have only been able to handle the general plot, which is an adventure. They have by and large not handled the book’s subtleties. Those subtleties are what I’d like to talk about this year. I read the book very, VERY closely (and slowly) this time around, paying extensive attention to the subtleties, which mostly manifest themselves in the form of how various characters react to everything going on with every other character plotwise, often in the form of internal thoughts and monologues, and I have three things to say about the subtleties:
a)They’re a huge, indispensable part of the book–Herbert does lots and lots and LOTS of this sort of thing, as he really wanted us to understand not just the world the story takes place in, but how both that world and that story affect every single major character.
b)They are, in turn, what make Dune a genuine “science-fiction book for grown-ups.” I’m firm and final in my opinion on this–I’ve always wondered how old this book’s target audience was at the time it came out, since it is, after all, a story about a teenage boy who becomes a messiah figure.
c)They are what would gradually ruin the series, becoming unbearably boring in the last two books Herbert published before he croaked in 1986.
We’ve discussed the “world-building” in the book, but I now feel that the stuff I’m talking about damn near IS the “world-building.” There’s lots of stuff in Dune that Herbert would expand upon greatly in the sequels because it’s really barely touched on in the original book. Like Tleilax, the Mentat planet that Piter de Vries comes from, or the Landsraad, or the Spacing Guild, or the backstories of various aristocratic families. And for all I know, that’s for the better–what worked for Tolkien may not have worked as well for Herbert. The book peaks in the middle anyway–between Leto’s death and the break when Paul and Chani have a kid (I forgot completely that Paul thinks his son is dead at the end of Dune!) The final fight with Feyd Rautha is only somewhat more interesting on the page than it is on screen, where it basically sucked both times, though for differing reasons. Paul’s fight with the Fremen warrior that he defeats is a far better centerpiece!!
At any rate, I did enjoy the book more in 2024 than in 2014, and I hope it’s the same for the other five books, but it probably won’t be for those last two.

Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (20TH ANNIVERSARY RE-READ): The first time I read this book, I found it hyperactive, obnoxious and graphomaniacal. The second time, after reading Wolfe’s other stuff, I liked it better, considering it good journalism by an annoying journalist. This time, I don’t feel like bashing Wolfe much at all–in lieu of the fact that he would become a Bush/Iraq War supporter decades later, it’s almost endearing to see Wolfe being nice to young hippies, chronicling all of their drugs and sexual exploits with barely a hint of judgment unlike he would have if he’d been even older than he already was. Although the “good journalism by an annoying journalist” snark would be better reserved for Hunter S. Thompson and Hell’s Angels, it’s got to be said that the only reason I’ve ever been able to remember bits and pieces of Ken Kesey’s adventure (the strobe, the Hell’s Angels orgy, the Beatles concert, Kesey sneaking back over the border on horseback) is because of Wolfe’s graphomania, which is still sporadically a bit much (you can tell that he’s often just filling paragraphs with lists of things to make the book longer, and sometimes he’s flat-out disgusting, like when he talks about STDs), but more to the point, it renders the book 380 pages of one thing. Maybe, given the subject, that’s the best we could ask for, as it admittedly makes perfect sense.

MOVIES:

Lousy Carter: David Krumholtz, the actor who played the egregious Jewish stereotype kid in Addams Family Values all those years ago, plays an English lit professor who–you’ll never believe this, because the movies never present English professors as anything else!!–is a pathetic, sarcastic failure who can barely teach anything to his disinterested students and regrets his life. He is sarcastic and unaccomplished and so is everyone else in the movie, and 75 minutes later, the film ends, with the guy from Blue Ruin showing up to kill him. This movie is practically daring you to hate it, but I can’t, because sometimes I feel this way too, and it can’t really be accused of being pathetic about its patheticness. Nevertheless, you can guess what the film’s like from my description, so consider yourself warned.

Last Year At Marienbad: It’s all about the style. If the style seduces you enough, you’ll like the movie regardless of whether you can pick it apart or “explain” it or whatever; if it doesn’t, you won’t. For me, it didn’t. It seems kind of effectively weird at first, but by the end, that creeping avant-garde organ music had started to really, really grate, as had the general tone of how the characters speak to each other. Reading essays about the film simply confirmed that this is how it’s supposed to go: Resnais apparently confirmed there’s no objective meaning to the film, but I think it’s pretty obvious that it’s just pointing to an extended essay on subjectivity and how we can never entirely get away from it. Yada yada. Hey, I tried.

The Truth Vs. Alex Jones: From the director of Leaving Neverland, this HBO documentary is pretty much what you would expect, and it’s preaching to the choir, but oh well. Jones is such a disgusting shuck that I’m not surprised the same country that would hold a “Rally for Calley” would fall in love with him, his stupid conspiracy theories, and his ridiculous supplements. If this were a long time ago, I’d be able to simply laugh at the redneck supporters he has appearing on his show and going around causing trouble on camera to try and help him, but the movie is quick to point out just how many of them there are. A depressing movie even if Jones loses in the end, because sadly, he only lost so much. He’s still there.

Nitram: From Justin Kurzel, who directed the 2015 Macbeth starring Michael Fassbender (which I did see!), this recent film is a depiction of the life of Martin Bryant, a disturbed man-child who got his hands on a machine gun and committed the Port Arthur massacre in Australia in 1996, killing 35 people and wounding many others. Starring Texas actor Caleb Landry Jones as “Nitram,” the movie leaves the shooting off-screen at the end, but any debate over whether any movie should “humanize” a stupid mass-murderer by showing his lame daily life in the events leading up to the terrible thing he did becomes irrelevant, because what’s on screen is frankly pretty paltry in terms of interest. “Nitram” was a typical manchild with messy blonde hair who had trouble talking to people, liked to light firecrackers, played with guns, had an odd relationship with a rich cat lady and acts stupid behind the wheel of a vehicle, all in a movie that’s almost too quiet and subtle for its own good. If you want to watch something this, I prefer Denis Villeneuve’s similar Polytechnique, which was also about a pathetic man-child, but which was better at giving me something to think about.

Pink Floyd: Live At Pompeii: I can’t entirely count this as one of the “best films I’ve seen prior to 2024,” because I’ve watched the “Echoes-Part I” and “Careful With That Axe, Eugene” clips probably 20-30 times apiece prior to 2024, and I’m familiar with other bits, like Roger bashing that gong, Richard Wright holding the dog down for when they do that alternate version of “Seamus,” and the silly Dark Side Of The Moon studio clips that were inserted into the film two years after its initial release, when Floyd were finally superstars. So I’d really pretty well seen most of it. Okay, I guess I hadn’t seen Nick Mason losing his drumstick, or “Echoes Part 2” where I finally get to see Roger making those wind noises with his bass. Whatever, it’s still good enough. I had to check it off the list y’know.

Troy (20TH ANNIVERSARY REWATCH): This film got accused of “lying” by taking liberties with Homer’s text, but the biggest “lie” it MIGHT have told isn’t when the end credits say “INSPIRED BY HOMER’S THE ILIAD” but rather “DIRECTED BY WOLFGANG PETERSEN.” Did he really direct this? This fucking thing is a Ridley Scott movie in all but name–I’d have an easier time believing that Ridley showed up and directed this than the conspiracy theory that Steven Spielberg directed Poltergeist! (He did, BTW.) The great visuals, classic costumes and expensive, super-violent, impalement-heavy battle scenes coupled with stone-faced, forgettable dialogue and inconsistent performances from A-list performers (and while I’m not a Brad Pitt basher, this definitely wasn’t one of his finer performances) SCREAMS “Ridley Scott,” or someone who wanted to be Ridley Scott, but why does WOLFGANG PETERSEN want to be Ridley Scott? I went to see this in theaters because I loved the whole Trojan War story in high school, but I don’t think much of anyone has ever loved it, and to make matters worse, this time I watched the extended cut, which adds infanticide and r*pe to the sack of Troy. Oh, and the iffy script was written by David Benioff, who went on to be co-showrunner of Game of Thrones. Now you know why season 8 is such a failure!!

ALBUMS:

Aerosmith, Pump: I love “Janie’s Got A Gun” and “The Other Side”, and always have. And now, I have “What It Takes,” which may be even better–I greatly enjoy this song, with its weird, drawn-out, hang-dog feel!! Not “Love In An Elevator,” though–I can come around to “Rag Doll,” but not LIAE–becuase I think its chorus is too close to “Rag Doll.” And then…yeah, there’s the usual bunch of slick, forgettable rockers filling the rest of it out, with me only giving lip service to one of the fast ones, namely “Young Lust,” a miracle considering these guys weren’t young in 1989. See, you can hate the hits, but I think the slick overproduction works in their favor–all those hilarious synths and percussion noises and slap bass and horns and crap make “Janie’s Got A Gun” and the like more interesting, all the more in contrast to all the forgettable rockers!! So yeah, this is three great hits and one nice non-hit and a bunch of slop. Because I really like the three hits, I can’t hate the album. But gawd.

Rainbow, Live In Germany: George gave this a raving five-star mp3 review a long time ago, as you may remember, but looking around the Internet, he’s just about the only one. It certainly does not rehash the first two Rainbow studio albums, though–nearly every song is stretched out to 10-15 minutes, and you’d damn well better LOVE hearing Ritchie Blackmore wank, because that’s what all that extra time is. Me, I think he’s…well, okay, but inconsistent. “Man On The Silver Mountain” is played faster, which is cool, and “Sixteenth Century Greensleeves” sees Dio really SNARLING out those “fire!!!” lines, turning a forgettable song into something punchier. But gawd, “Catch The Rainbow” is ruined–the studio production of the original has its silky arrangement replaced with what sounds like a guy playing three watery keyboard notes over and over in the background. “Stargazer” isn’t improved either, just interminable. I’ll probably only return, if ever, to the two or three cuts I felt got better.

Frank Zappa, Chunga’s Revenge: This doesn’t seem to be a particularly beloved Zappa platter; a lot of reviews snorted at the lengthier, jazzier stuff, and complained about Flo and Eddie, who I personally didn’t notice that much. I liked stuff like the title track and “Nancy And Mary Music” for the same reason I might like, say, Caravan’s lengthier excursions…? Yeah? “Sharleena” is good too, at the end, and that’s one most reviewers agreed on. I thought this was okay, but nothing mind-blowing.

Bob Dylan, The Times They Are A-Changin’: I liked most of this, knowing full well it has a reputation as being the bad egg of the 60s Dylan catalogue. I dunno, it’s a little forced lyrically, but Bob’s somber mood prevails enough, which just proves that I don’t much listen to songs for the lyrics? Pretty much all of the second half struck me as highlights, particularly “Boots Of Spanish Leather,” “The Ballad Of Hollis Brown” and “When The Ship Comes In.” I don’t mind the title track and I sort of took interest in “With God On Our Side,” maybe for a bit of a laugh, hearing Bob be so ham-fisted. Sometimes I do take interest in songs like that! But I digress. Like I said, I’m listening to these Dylan acoustic albums more as archaeology than anything else.

The National, Alligator: With each album the National become more diverse, more mature, better songwriters, and as such inch closer and closer to the greatness that defined High Violet. Meaning that unlike their first two albums, there’s actually some GREAT anthems here, like “Mr. November” and “Karen.” You also get the fast screaming rocker “Abel,” the pleasant “Lit Up,” the weird chant “City Middle” and the somber “Val Jester.” And more!!! I’m not a fan of “All The Wine” though. Say…do you want to discuss The National with me? You don’t? You’re too old for this mopey shit? Well…okay…

Black Sabbath, Forbidden: Well, at least for their last pre-reunion-with-Ozzy, Sabbath didn’t do what so many other aging hard rockers did in 1995 and try to “go industrial.” Could you imagine?!? The first song here has Ice-T on it, who…doesn’t really do a hell of a lot to make himself heard here, really, and I wonder how many people even remember that Ice T once collaborated with Black Sabbatical. The rest of this is…well, it’s like a guy walked into a mid-90s party dressed in a flasher’s trenchcoat representing 1987 and just couldn’t help whipping it out. They really couldn’t get away from that 80s style, no matter how hard they try. The band weren’t proud of this album, and nobody really cares about it anymore, but I would be willing to be nice to “Can’t Get Close Enough” or “Shaking Off The Chains,” one of which, I forget which, has a creepy guitar intro. “Get A Grip,” though, is really awful. But yeah, I won’t be revisiting this much, if ever.

Talking Heads, Little Creatures: It’s all fine with me that Talking Heads wanted to go all 80s-pop on us, since they predicted 80s pop in the first place. It’s not so fine that they dropped almost all of their edge by this point, though. Hey, Speaking In Tongues is Totally Eighties, but you could dance to it and the songs still had edge and power. This seems like…like, harmless music for 32 year olds at the yuppie office, or maybe sitcoms. “Road To Nowhere” will never beat “This Must Be The Place” as far as great Heads album closers go, but it’s a wonderful song, and even had a wonderful video to go with it! “And She Was,” “The Lady Don’t Mind” and “Walk It Down” are good, too, but that’s about it. The rest is pretty forgettable. This gets a neutral rating, the weakest Heads album since the debut. I guess Byrne was really overshadowing the rest of them by this point, then? Who knows.