BOOKS:

Neal Stephenson, Seveneves: This book peaks with its terrific opening line, the antithesis of Little Lytton: “The moon blew up without warning and for no apparent reason.” Sadly, it’s all downhill from there. Three decades into his career as a novelist and on his seventh consecutive book to pass 800 pages in length, Neal Stephenson has finally, definitively bitten off more than he, or probably anybody else, can chew. This is about 560 pages of a bolide-based apocalypse and the subsequent desperate attempt of humans to survive in space, followed by about 300 more pages set 5000 years in the future, as descendants of the “Seven Eves” attempt to recolonize Earth, only to encounter problems. Unfortunately, no amount of nova, extrapolations, explanations, rapid-fire writing, constant death-destruction-and-danger, and characters based off of Neil DeGrasse Tyson (yes, really) can really save an effort when you’ve got probably 3000 pages of material to cover in 860 pages, and while the first 560 pages of this is a crazy mess that at least beats Interstellar, the second part is just a crazy mess, with Stephenson more interested in sketching out as many futuristic ideas as possible than in coming up with an interesting plot (or explaining how people are still speaking English the way they do now), and I don’t suppose I have to tell you that it has an even crappier ending than usual for him. At least it’s a periodically interesting misfire, and I wouldn’t say it’s so eggheaded as to avoid having any emotional resonance. But read at your own risk.

Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash (RE-READ): Stephenson’s breakthrough novel not only made him a best-selling science fiction author at age 33 and made TIME’s 100 Best Novels 1923-2005 list, but seemingly served as a landmark that brought cyberpunk into the cool 1990s and was the link between Neuromancer and The Matrix in its evolution. I thought when I first read it that most of what he wrote afterwards was better, as all the “coolness” of the book didn’t make up for the fact that it started off with a terrific setup before collapsing into a sort of video-game or action-movie-like chase plot that read like Stephenson had a movie in mind (in actuality, he had a graphic novel in mind–he started off collaborating with an illustrator, but this didn’t pan out.) I had always meant to re-read it, not just because of its stature (it’s still being widely read) but because I’d forgotten most of what actually happened. That setup IS pretty great–a future Los Angeles full of “burbclaves” and “franchulates” have replaced the government, and people spend more time jacked-in via goggles to a virtual-reality “Metaverse” than anything else…yep, there’s that word, in fucking 1992. In fact, it’s that very 1992-ness that is the best thing about it; if they ever do the movie, I hope they somehow SET it in 1992. But I forgot the rest of the book, and a re-read makes the problems easy to spot. One is that the hero has to talk to a VR “Librarian” to find out what “Snow Crash” actually is–it’s a computer virus that infects humans, but Stephenson makes this possible through a giant info-dump connecting ancient Sumerian religious laws to modern computer viruses and religious cults led by the book’s villain, a thinly disguised cross between L. Ron Hubbard and then-Man-Of-The-Year Ted Turner. Honestly, it just reads like a big fat Wired article written by Neal Stephenson injected into the book. Then there’s a truly cringe-inducing sex scene between the book’s 15-year-old female skater protagonist and a henchman villain where you can practically hear Stephenson smearing himself with Vaseline. Finally, sure enough, the whole thing just collapses into a bunch of messy action scenes, including a predictably dumb finale that rips off Die Hard 2’s ending, but throws in an explosive robot dog. So it’s confirmed: the book where Neal Stephenson became Neal Stephenson isn’t actually one of his better books. Glad I got that out of the way.

MOVIES

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man: A decent, if slightly cheaply made, 2006 documentary about the mysterious Mr. Walker, who comes across as calm and normal in most of his interview footage here. The material covering his career in the 1960s is of interest because it shows that he actually seemed to be a pretty big deal–loads of newspaper articles and TV appearances, and he even had a fan club when he was recording teen junk in the 1950s as “Scotty Engel”! Later is of course the lonely avant-garde stuff, with the documentary gradually resorting to a lot of cheap graphic effects to present a sort of making-of for The Drift, so yeah, watch people punch meat and stuff. Bits of praise from people like David Bowie, Sting, and the non-Yorke members of Radiohead turn up, but it’s not terribly fanboy-ish; one Britpop guy says he hates Tilt, and another critic comes on to stick his finger down his throat when talking about the prog-rock bands that replaced Scott’s brand of bombast. Mostly, it just served to remind me that I need to hear the rest of his stuff!!!

Killers Of The Flower Moon: I’m pretty lukewarm on this and I hope it does NOT go down as one of Scorsese’s “classics,” let alone the last thing he’ll ever make. It cost $200 million and runs 206 minutes, but neither of those facts make sense on screen. I guess hiring lots of extras and rebuilding a 1920s Oklahoma town costs as much as Titanic did 26 years ago? As for the length, there is no way in hell there’s three and a half hours of plot on screen–it’s clear as an azure sky that Scorsese is just using the Apple TV format as an excuse to not cut any scnees, the whole thing could easily have been knocked out in two hours. Performance wise, Robert De Niro isn’t actually the problem I thought he’d be–it’s actually amusing how he tries to act all kind and “liberal” towards the Osage people, even if he’s obviously the bad guy. Lily Gladstone does pretty well too, albeit with the caveat that her work constitutes this year’s Lupita Nyong’o performance–her job basically just ends up being suffering a lot on screen, so it’s a tribute to her skill that she gets around such a thankless part. Sadly DiCaprio gives his career-worst here, using a cornball retread of his Aviator accent and baring that hideous downturned-mouth Brando frown of his for seemingly 70 percent of the movie. He’s really never been worse. And, of course, the Indians end up in the background. Gehhh. I watched it twice and I’m not convinced the critics’ ravings were justified this time.

White Noise: I’m a fan of Don DeLillo but not really a follower of Noah Baumbach, who was apparently handed quite a lot of money to recreate 1985 in this adaptation of DeLillo’s best-known work. The result is not a masterful adaptation, but it’s about as good as it could be given the source material; what director could really make a cinematic masterpiece out of something so literary and full of characters spouting endless postmodern psychobabble, anyway? Adam Driver fares all right as the main character, which is interesting since most people wouldn’t get a sexy movie star to put on graying hair and a paunch to play a novelty-intellectual college professor, though Greta Gerwig (who slowly seems to be morphing into Edie Falco) makes perfect sense as the wife. Most of DeLillo’s concepts (consumerism, failed intellectuals, modern fears of death, pharmacology) make it onto screen well enough, though I’m convinced that the huge budget mostly ended up being spent not on the “airborne toxic event,” but rather on a music video scene set in a 1985 supermarket, with EVERY shelf full of recreated 1985 product labels. The biggest weakness turns out to be the final act leading up to that supermarket scene, with Driver hunting down some German pill-dealer guy only to have the guy spout so much dialogue that no person would ever actually say that it takes me out of the movie. Worth watching once; if it’s not going to go down as a classic, at least it’s better than David Cronenberg’s Cosmopolis.

Risky Business: Probably the best movie I’ve seen in awhile, though it’s not really for the plot (which contains few surprises, and has been rehashed quite a few times anyway) but more for the examination of well-off white youth circa 1983 and their immaturities and the kinds of trouble they’d have gotten in back in an age of Young Republicans and Future Enterprisers, as compared to today; no surprise that kids back then would seem capable of getting into “adult” trouble that just don’t seem possible in 2024. That’s what the whole thing ends up satirizing (Cruise has to end up running a brothel out of his home to pay for all the damage he’s caused, and that’s when the Ray-Bans scene happens) and that’s why it’s still worth watching. It’s to his credit that Cruise does seem like an actual “kid,” and not a 26 year old in a letterman jacket. Oh and stylistically the film is well-shot and contains quite a bit of music I like–Talking Heads’ “Swamp,” Prince’s “D.S.M.R.,” a pre-Miami Vice “In The Air Tonight” and of course all that Tgngerine Dream ambient. It’s good, so it’s a shame the director, Paul Brickman, faded away…

Last Stop Larrimah! A miserably overlong documentary about a town in the middle of nowhere in Australia’s Northern Territory with 11 people in it, most of whom look like living there has caused their skin to develop Iggy Pop syndrome, where it looks burnt and melting off of their limbs like candle tallow. One of the 11 people is the hated town asshole and has disappeared, and was possibly murdered by one of the others, sort of an Outback version of the Ken Rex McElroy story. The documentary seems only half interested in that, concentrating instead on these people’s dull everyday lives while inching towards a possible suspect at the end of two very long hours. Yeah…so? This is like a Netflix true crime documentary on HBO, taking forever to get to either no conclusion or an uninteresting conclusion, meaning the master is now imitating the apprentice. BOOO-ring!!

ALBUMS:

Aerosmith, Permanent Vacation: Acceptable corporate swill. The production sounds fine, actually–if Aerosmith could have sounded like this in 1973, I’ve no doubt they would’ve–and it’s not the problem, the songwriting is. What I mean is, there’s a bunch of big slick loud rockers which don’t stick with me after I’m done listening. No reviews seemed to talk about “Simoriah” as a highlight, but I thought it had energy and a nice melody and was the best of these slick corporate rockers. Of the big hits, “Rag Doll” has actually gotten better–I used to hate it, but now I like the horn section punching up the chorus. “Dude Looks Like A Lady,” on the other hand, has been put in the same X-Zone as “You Shook Me All Night Long,” a song I feel nothing upon hearing it due to overplay. Elsewhere, I feel like I could take anything that would break up the monotony–“Hangman Jury,” the average instrumental “The Movie,” and the obligatory power ballad “Angel,” which has a generic melody, but is saved somewhat by its MELLOTRON use and a couple decent piano chords in the verses (sorry, Joe, I know you despise this one…but it’s no “Amanda.”) At least it stands out amongst all these rockers. But hey, I said the same thing about “Kings And Queens,” and people hate that song too…

The Mothers Of Invention, Cruising With Ruben & The Jets: An album of just doo-wop songs, which Zappa had already been doing a number of by the time he got to this, his fifth album. I’d always wanted to hear it, because I actually loved some of that stuff, like “Valarie,” “WPLJ,” “Go Cry On Somebody Else’s Shoulder,” and the like. Well…these aren’t that great. “Cheap Thrills” gets stuck in my head in a bad way (it’s honestly just kind of dumb), but I guess the album is salvaged by “Love Of My Life,” “Deseri,” “Jelly Roll Gum Drop” and maybe “Fountain of Love.” What does not work at all are the re-recordings of four songs on Freak Out!, none of which are better here. Oh, and there’s a controversy: Zappa remixed the album in the mid 80s for CD, re-recording some of the bass parts and such. Personally, I think the old vinyl recording sounds like it was recorded in a little pile of dirt in 1946, and it’s not like the remix is full of Casio keyboards or gated drums or anything! Whatever–this isn’t one of his classics anyway.

Rainbow, Rainbow Rising: It’s a lot closer to prog-rock than the first Rainbow album, I know that much–just listen to that buzzing ELO synthesizer on the opening track, “Tarot Woman.” I think the tracks that edge closer to prog really are the best though, with “Tarot Woman,” the hard-rocking “A Light In The Black” and the most beloved Rainbow song, the repetitive (but effective!) “Stargazer” serving as easily the best. It’s not really better though–the other three songs are painless, but don’t add up to much. I’d pick “Starstruck” as the worst of these and “Do You Close Your Eyes” as the best. Dio isn’t bothering me (yet) but I’ve heard Blackmore’s work was a lot better doing these songs live, so I’ll be listening to that German live album that George loved so much soon. If that one doesn’t work, I may only try a couple more Rainbow albums.

Bob Dylan, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan: Okay, okay: it’s a hugely historic album, and Bob was coming into his own as a performer here, and writing reasonably interesting lyrics for his young age. But…oh screw it, this kind of thing just isn’t much for me, I find it musically a bit dull. For obvious reasons. Duh. Meaning my opinion of it doesn’t mean squat. I liked “Blowin’ In The Wind,” “Girl From The North Country,” the often-disliked (but interestingly dark) “Masters Of War,” “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall,” “Don’t Think Twice (It’s Alright),” and “Corrina Corrina.” But I didn’t love ‘em. They’re just the ones I stand a chance of remembering. The hell with me. I don’t have anything interesting to say, and I’m being a dick unintentionally, so just beat me to death with a shovel and piss on my corpse you fuckbubble.

Black Sabbath, Cross Purposes: Nowhere near as bad as I was expecting, if still not particularly great. I’m hearing a couple amusing attempts at getting with the 90s on this band’s part, starting with the cover art (that font!) I’m tempted to say I like “Virtual Death” best, even though the band’s obvious attempt at aping Alice In Chains’ “Angry Chair” and “Dirt,” not just the melodies but the vocal harmonies and the sound, produces an almost laughable effect. But isn’t it interesting that Iommi got away with it, or even tried it, at all? “I Witness” rocks pretty hard, with an obvious rising-scale riff that sounds like the post-race music from F-ZERO X, and “Psychophobia” seems to go for an energetic grunge sound, and I think it works. One song has a Soundgarden-like riff too, though I can’t remember if it’s “Back To Eden” (the most respected song here, from what I glean) or “The Hand That Rocks The Cradle”…or was it “Cardinal Sin”? Uh, gimme a sec…one other sound, I think the last one, seems to be cribbing from Dream Theater a bit, of all bands. The main thing to know about the album, then, is that the guitars are in the 90s, but the vocals from a returning Tony Martin are still in 1986-90. The rest is pretty forgettable, and God knows if I’ll ever listen to this album much in the future. But I was practically WANTING it to be shit, and it wasn’t!

Talking Heads, The Name Of This Band Is Talking Heads: I “get it,”” but I don’t get it get it. I am only sort of a fan of Talking Heads–I think they have one five-star masterpiece of an album, and three surrounding albums that are pretty strong, and a few scattered nice songs on other albums. They’re good but I don’t worship them, and this double-live behemoth proves that I never will. The glowing WRC reviews that claimed that not only was this their best album but that it eliminated the need to keep listening to the studio recordings (good Lord) are what the REAL fans seem to say, and I can only agree with those reviews insofar as I get that the band played with somewhat more energy and power live. That applies most effectively to the 1977-79 albums, though, and NOT Remain In Light, no sir…and, you see, Remain In Light is the album I think is the “five-star masterpiece.” How is playing “Once In A Lifetime” with pallid vocal harmonies and someone playing three watery keyboard notes in a loop an improvement over Brian Eno? How is “Houses In Motion” dragging into a slower plodding dirge better? How is “Born Under Punches” being 8 minutes long better? Why no “Listening Wind” or “The Overload”? Yay for Adrian Belew, I guess? I mean, I finally figured out that the Absent Lovers “Sleepless” is better than the studio version, but I’m not seeing it with any of the stuff I’ve mentioned. If you like the band, you probably should hear this, and they WERE good, but take the glowing WRC reviews with a grain of salt.

The National, Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers: Their second album from 2003 was their first as a quintet, and it fleshes out the sound a bit, but the songwriting isn’t really on average more successful than their little-noticed debut album. Did you know these guys were getting pegged as “alt country” back then? One review said they were Joy Division crossed with Wilco, good God. (The lyrics are very bitter relationship stuff, to be fair.) “Fashion Coat” is notable for having the same vibe as the Notwist’s wonderful “One With The Freaks,” I know that much. “Available” is a barn burning intense rocker like something the then-popular Interpol might have been doing around this time? Remind me to hear more Interpol! “Murder Me Rachael” is a notable tune. Oh and there’s a song called “Slipping Husband” where the somber, Nick Cave/Michael Gira-esque vocalist suddenly starts screaming his ass off like Black Francis on “Tame.” Otherwise this harmless album slips through the cracks!!!