A reflexive funeral song

With the recent theatrical release "Elegy", director Isabel Coixet delicately crafted a tender film adaptation of Philip Roth's 2002 novella "The Dying Animal". The subtly nuanced dialogue from screenwriter Nicholas Meyer, who has experience adapting the work of Roth, having helped bring "The Human Stain" to the screen in 2003, highlighted the emotional intensity of the story's characters, but the greatest treat was watching the acting performances.

Penelope Cruz captures the enchanting essence of Consuela, as described by Kepesh; Ben Kingsley masterfully personifies the aging process, at once as wise as he is emotionally negligent; Dennis Hopper cultivates a humorous "reality-check" chemistry with Kingsley; Patricia Clarkson is sullenly genuine in her supporting role as Kepesh's casual longtime lover; and Peter Sarsgaard, as Kepesh's bitter son, offers an equally potent diversity and profundity of feelings.

At times, the charisma of Cruz's Consuela acts as a critical mirror for the introspection of Kingsley's Kepesh, leading one to question whether a long, accomplished life is ever truly fulfilled without a commitment to love.

Human evolution

In Saturday's New York Times article "A Teacher on the Front Line as Faith and Science Clash," Amy Harmon offers a penetrating portrait of one biology teacher's impressive attempts at teaching human evolution in a commonly creationist culture.

It's interesting to me that there are so many states across the country tentative to address human evolution in the high school classroom and yet nationally most preeminent colleges militantly hold these ideas to be as self-evident as common sense, an academic phenomenon provocatively dissected in Ben Stein's touching and insightful documentary "Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed."

Vicky Cristina Barcelona: Where the Erotic and the Neurotic Meet

I recently saw "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," an enticing, sexually-explorative dramedy of Kinsey-scale proportions.

Whereas all too often I find Woody Allen's films to be irritatingly neurotic, I think the erotic, quirky, and meditative notions of "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" make it much more thoughtful and entertaining than usual. The clear, bold, and keen descriptions from a third-person omniscient narrator framed this film as a well-written theatrical experience, a movie as suitable to the stage as it is to the cinema, much like "Match Point."

Of course, the assistance of some great actors certainly helped: A slyly nuanced performance by "No Country for Old Men" Oscar-winner Javier Bardem as a seductive painter and a disturbing yet hilarious supporting show by Penelope Cruz as his unstable ex-wife served to capture the romanticized local color of Spain while Scarlett Johansson and the lesser known but equally notable Rebecca Hall extended their roles as American tourists to an impressive degree, with Hall giving a particularly nice understated performance as Vicky.

Neckties in Springfield

I think it's interesting that Obama wore a solid red tie and Biden wore a solid blue tie during the vice presidential candidate announcement today in Springfield. The red, white, and blue of their outfits not only reinforce the candidates' patriotism, but these colors - Republican red and Democrat blue - also symbolically speak to Obama's platform of cooperation between parties and an end to divisive partisan politics. Here's my only complaint: During his speech, Biden weakened his statements with overuse of the word "literally." I kind of hope it's more of a public speaking habit, much like "um," rather than an attempted rhetorical device.

A different kind of street art

I want to walk down a street decorated with clever gutter art like this on a rainy day. Something about seeing stormwater drain into a smoker's mouth is hilarious: "Stupid rain! Got a light?"

A Road Not Yet Traveled

There's a certain symbolic peculiarity in passing under "Bliss Rd." every day during my morning and afternoon commutes. I've never been on that road. Its pearly letters on a green sign hang above me like that oversized rare-book on a bookstore's highest shelf, towering over an avid reader - uplifting in its confirmed existence and yet tormenting in its unprocurable state. Someday I will take a joyride down Bliss Road, but not today.

A Psychology Self

A once stolid and confident fellow, the wise gent trembled at the lifetime of emotion now coursing through his nerves, surfacing as red-pocked wrinkles and insomnia-pocketed eyes. He grabbed onto the young woman's arm, pinching her silken skin in his agonizing grasp. With an extra tooth jutting out from behind his loose incisor, he whistled in desperate gasps, repeating over and over, "Why didn't you listen? Why didn't you listen? Why didn't you listen?"

The young woman normally would have discounted these words as nothing more than the incessant rant of an old kook, taking the same approach toward him as a preoccupied white-collar worker passing by a homeless amputee - with deliberative dismissal, but there was something different about those specific words at this specific moment in her life. Why didn't she listen? It was no coincidence that her good friend decided to go to sleep the night before and never wake up. It was no coincidence that he called her before slipping into perpetual repose. And it was certainly no coincidence that she kept herself busy trying to figure out a three-letter word for "a psychology self" in a crossword puzzle instead of paying attention to the trauma in his voice. Why didn't she listen? The old madman was on to something.

All she could do was stare at the old man's ghostly transparent, coldly discerning eyes. Even as his grip on her arm tightened to a suffocating intensity, she could not stop thinking about her friend. Why didn't she listen?

A nurse came down the hall and escorted the old man away from the young woman. "Why didn't you listen to me, Mr. Donner? I told you earlier that the syringe would sting a bit. I even told you to listen carefully beforehand, and I warned you not to stand up too quickly after I gave you the shot." The nurse smiled as she playfully tapped the old man on the back. "You're just like my grandfather - stubborn as a mule." She turned toward the young woman. "I hope he didn't disturb you, Miss."

"No, not at all."

(Excerpted) Lyrics Worthy of Reflection

Here are some lyrics that I've recently been reflecting upon, from "Heaven Only Knows" by Canadian songwriter k-os, whose music is as spiritual as it is melodic. This particular song is off his 2003 debut album, "Exit," but I highly recommend the even more dramatic poetics of 2004's "Joyful Rebellion" and the excitable sounds that pop from 2007's "Atlantis: Hymns for Disco," including the refreshingly triumphant "Born to Run." Also worth noting is his collaboration on the song "Windsurfing Nation" with fellow Canadian act Broken Social Scene from its 2005 self-titled album.

"Heaven Only Knows" by k-os

Heaven only knows,
'cause I don't understand
understand now
Won't you tell me please
tell me,
what's the master plan?
master plan
Spend so many days
many days,
sitting on a cloud
sitting on a cloud.
Heaven only knows
only God knows,
so I'll just move the crowd.

Now I break out of my physical shell and exhale past this so-called body. Used to go to the party, but now I sit and chill with a pen and a pad, dropping ill philosophical science. Me and my dad, we talk about life and how it started, how we departed from life's path and probable right math. The task at hand is making people understand that we're not who we think we are, but in this land of the lost the cost of souls could be so high. People be gettin' high, wondering why we die. But it's all planned - forget your fear, take the hand. We keep on returning 'cause the lessons need learning.

...

Redefine who you are, but every person is a star;
so let your light shine far, and praise God.

Music and Memory: Your Life's Soundtrack

Have you ever heard a specific song for the first time after many years and instantly it triggered all sorts of vivid memories for you? Apparently, this isn't some crazy, random phenomenon; there is actually a scientific basis for that impressive way we associate personal memories with specific songs. Memory, a journal published by Psychology Press, printed an interesting study last year conducted by University of California, Davis, researchers Petr Janata, Stefan T. Tomic, and Sonja K. Rakowski called "Characterisation of music-evoked autobiographical memories," which notes the correlation between autobiographic memories and specific songs. To read further commentary on it, consider this post written by Dave Munger in the science blog, Cognitive Daily.

The Paradox of Creativity

If I sleep in on weekends, it's not because I'm lazy; it's because I'm creative. At least, that's what the work of notable psychology professor Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi asserts. Here is an interesting article published in Psychology Today containing an excerpt from Csikszentmihalyi's studies in creativity, profiling the characteristics of creative people. In this particular excerpt, Csikszentmihalyi lists - and expounds upon - ten paradoxical traits of creative people. Among the more interesting observations are the findings that creative people rest and sleep a lot despite expelling exorbitant amounts of energy and exuberance in their productive pursuits; creative people are at once smart and naive; and creative people balance a rebellious nature with reverence for conservative traditions. Csikszentmihalyi has written the book "Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention", which is an extensively researched analysis of creativity and the common traits of creative people.

Don't ignore DVD extras

Though most DVD extras focus on the making of a film, including features like deleted scenes, commentary, and interviews, there are some that contain documentaries and short films that are substantial on their own. For instance, the DVD of director Danny Boyle's horrifying science fiction tale "Sunshine" includes the award-winning short film "Dad's Dead", a creative and crass live-action/animation fusion by Chris Shepherd, whose haunting narrative wouldn't have come to my attention were it not for the extra.

Another welcome DVD extra surprise was off of "Children of Men." In addition to numerous extras, including film-specific comments by Slavoj Zizek of "The Puppet and the Dwarf" renown, there's also an impressive documentary by director Alfonso Cuaron called "The Possibility of Hope," which contains interviews by various scholars discussing serious issues such as the environment, globalization, and the end of civilization as we know it. Click here to watch the documentary in its entirety. It'll really blow your hair back.

I hope directors continue to optimize the feature capabilities of DVDs in these ways; it's a feasible means to getting these important ideas out to the public.

MUSIC REVIEW: Mops -- "Sapphire Mixtape"

Mops cleans up after mainstream hip-hop's party
By Thom Kudla

Mops, aka Ryder Timberlake, is just as likely to rock mics in fierce MC battles as he is to perform dramatic spoken word at poetry slams. It is this diverse dynamic – accompanied with an intense stage presence, a reverence for the mythos and music of old-school hip-hop, and a healthy sense of satire – that makes Mops an artist to watch.

Recently, Mops released his 7-track “Sapphire Mixtape” online at SoundClick, where it can be downloaded for free. His alias, Mops, represents the spurning of the self-glorified, materialistic nature of mainstream hip-hop - and even American culture as a whole. To further support this point, during the chilled groove of “Custodial Damage,” Mops says he is “hip-hop’s janitor.” According to his artist bio online, “There's nothing about the job that's worth bragging about, or saying ‘I'm better than you’ about, or worrying much about your image.” Therefore, Mops is an unsung hero of what mainstream hip-hop isn’t: humble.

Possibly the catchiest cut on “Sapphire,” “Hotwax (Aien’t Tonin’ It Down)” affirms the message of Lupe Fiasco’s “Dumb It Down” but instead of those heavy downbeats, Mops drives the track with a solid and rapid tapping, a triumphant electronic echo, and an energetic chorus: “You don’t like how I act? I ain’t tonin’ it down. You don’t like what I say? I ain’t tonin’ it down. You don’t like what I do? I ain’t tonin’ it down, I ain’t tonin’ it down, I ain’t tonin’ it down.” But it’s not just the fact that this chorus will be stuck in any listener’s head that makes this track impressive; the lyricism is profound, clever, and metaphysical. For Mops, the song serves as a profession of beliefs and a statement of purpose, as he rhymes, “We use music as flint/to start a spark,/light a fire whose glow/dispels the dark./We use music as a salve/to heal the heart./We use music to unite/what’s been torn apart.” Then the song takes this philosophy to an otherworldly level as guest MC Nate Willow prophesizes, smoothly and placidly, “Coming from dimensions and realms untold/I watch as strange new powers unfold./The world as we see it can never be the same/and, as long as we’re awake, we’re at the head of our game.” It’s ironic that this, one of the more pop-sensible songs on “Sapphire,” happens to be so layered in meaning. Hopefully, the revelatory ideas described in the verses will bounce from neuron-to-neuron in your brain just like the chorus will inevitably remain stuck in your head.

“Welcome to the Grad Life” is a graduate student’s hilarious foray into hardcore rap. Once promoted as “The Notorious G.R.A.D.,” this one finds Mops poking fun at his own pursuit of higher education. As an aside, it’s worth noting that the man behind Mops has a master’s in Hispanic Linguistics from Indiana University, which makes him all the more equipped to experiment with language, enunciation, and intonation. A pseudo-harsh guitar loop and heavy downbeat coupled with claps back Mops in his self-deprecating testimonial of “Grad Life,” complete with the chorus and its mimicry-mocking refrain, “… I’m a grad student lookin’ to make the grade./(He works 24-7 and he hardly gets paid.)/I’m studyin’ to learn the tools of my trade./(He hardly ever goes out; he hardly ever gets laid.)” Littered with college-specific anecdotes, “Grad Life” has the potential to work on its own as a cult-hit anthem for nerds and hipsters alike.

Taking the sarcastic tone of “Grad Life” even further, the song “Cook” glorifies the mundane – Mops simply talks about cooking up a meal, accompanied by a brooding backbeat and gloomy sound effects. During “Cook,” the bilingual Mops gets a chance to rap in Spanish, which is as impressive as it is difficult to discern for a listener who doesn’t speak fluently. The satire here is a bit heavy-handed: Transforming the mundane into something worthy of song is risky in that what’s average and unimpressive about the subject can pervade the artist’s depiction, creating something equally unappealing even in the interpretive realm of art.

In its playful synthesizer loops and eerie tapestries of faux-organ sounds, “Promiscuous Girls” finds Mops seeming like a bizarrely reformed Slim Shady, riotously (and humorously) preaching for promiscuous girls to stop having sex with his friends, and their friends, and then their friends, and a countless list of others. Although it’s an entertaining song, it does get tiresome after a while – there are only so many ways you can be critical of, pardon the euphemism, “seductresses” without reverting to crassness.

Telling a harrowing tale of a materialistic, image-obsessed millionaire, a mainstream hip-hop celebrity who neglects his family and later faces a fatal illness, “Gold Platter Pt. 2 - Top of the Game” proves that karma works. Mops is backed by descending notes of synth-horns here as he gabs as quick as possible to tell the story from the dying man’s perspective. It’s a lively song, an irony that accentuates the dreadful fate of the man.

Opening and closing with Mops’ dead-serious rendition of the provocative John Donne quote, “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main,” the song “Keep Your Distance” elaborates upon the toxic individualism of American society. With a lurching downbeat, a foreboding guitar clip, and vocal pitch manipulation, “Keep Your Distance” finds Mops taking on the personae of various questionable characters, proponents of such deplorable traits as selfishness, greed, and lust. In his clever wordplay and thoughtful storytelling, Mops manages to penetrate the defense mechanisms of these characters, stripping away their idiosyncrasies, giving his audience a clearer portrait of their motives, iniquities once protected by modern popular culture now revealed to be symptomatic of what’s wrong with American society.

Overall, “Sapphire Mixtape” is a strong first effort – the rhymes are smart and the concepts are potent. If Mops is ever granted access to more high-tech audio equipment and thereby given the opportunity to have his music equal the grand sophistication of his poetics and thoughts, then I have little doubt that he’ll have his sound bumping on iPods across the land. To read more about Mops and to download the “Sapphire Mixtape,” visit www.soundclick.com/bands/default.cfm?bandID=842559.

ARTIST: Mops
ALBUM: "Sapphire Mixtape"
LABEL: Self-released
LIST PRICE: Free (download here)

Song Lyrics Stuck in My Head

"Opened Once" by the late Jeff Buckley, from the first disc of 1998's posthumous release, "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk":

I once was open,
and one with a traveling heart.
I loved this sweet guy.
Just like a fiction
rushing in your riverbed,
arise like applause in my head.
And in the half-light,
where we both stand.
This is the half-light,
see me as I am.

Just like the ocean,
always in love with the moon;
it’s overflowing now, inside you.
We fly right over
the minds of so many in pain;
we are the smile of light
that brings them rain.

In the half-light,
where we both stand.
In the half-light,
you saw me as I am.
I am a railroad
track abandoned
with the sunset
forgetting
I ever happened,
that I ever happened.

The Value of a College Education

Charles Murray's editorial in the Wall Street Journal, "For Most People, College is a Waste of Time," raises some interesting points about the current degree-granting system of higher education. In particular professions, a college degree is too general of a specification. Indeed, certifications could help narrow the qualifications of a job candidate; however, to neglect the concomitant benefits of an undergraduate education is as mistaken as it is unsympathetic. Not all students know what they want to do with their life upon entering college. In fact, some students need some extra time to figure that out. Only in our current system of higher education are students given the opportunity to explore various fields and disciplines, to receive a broader education that diversifies their talents and provides them with a clearer understanding of their own potential. And, of course, the memorable recreational and social activities that result from the college experience are priceless.

Books vs. Television

A new study suggests that books have the same capacity to control your mind as television. Call me old-fashioned or otherwise crotchety, but I'd still prefer people to regularly read books instead of constantly watching television. Reading does require a more proactive, focused audience than television; perhaps it is the "work" of reading - the personal, "deep-in-thought" nature of comprehension - that makes books such an effective tool for propaganda. Then again, the passivity of watching television makes for an audience just as susceptible to thought control.

Writer <---> Reader

If you ever feel alone, talk to someone. If you can't talk to someone, read a book; you'll be surprised at how connected to the author you'll feel.

What is great literature if it isn't an affirmation of the interconnectedness among the world and imagination, an open conversation between reader and writer, a captivating story about characters as familiar to you as friends and family?

"To Wear Away From the World..."

I just finished reading "The Raw Shark Texts" by Steven Hall. It's quite an eerie, unsettling adventure, one which horrifies as much as it enthralls. Here's one of my favorite excerpts:

"What do you think is really going to happen to us?"

She looked into my eyes and I saw that cold in her; the deserted windswept beach, the boarded-up seafront, snow falling in the deep heart of a forest of bare black trees. She took her arm from around me and went back to looking up at the ceiling. "The truth?"

"Yes, please."

"I think we're going to wear away from the world, just like the writing wears off old gravestones in the aisles of churches." -Steven Hall, "The Raw Shark Texts," 229.

The Hobby

"It's just a hobby," the dentist would say whenever complimented on the elaborate ice sculptures he created for social gatherings. "Besides, what good is an art that melts before everyone gets a chance to see it?"

The dentist was a happy man, successful by many popular standards of the day. Before he started working on teeth, he concerned himself with road construction. At the time, there were many things that pleased him about building roads: the thunderous quakes of a jackhammer, the rawness of gasoline's polluting scent, the way cement slowly becomes concrete, the gallons of sport drinks downed before midday, the hilarious dirty jokes told among co-workers, the proud feeling of having a hand in projects that people will use for decades to come. With each new project, though, he began to lose interest; something about this profession wasn't meant for him. It wasn't the money. It wasn't the hard work. Something about it all just didn't suit him. When he announced that he intended on starting his studies in the field of dentistry, his fellow construction buddies concealed slight envy in their congratulatory pats on the back.

"I know I couldn't do that," Doozer, a scrawny, middle-aged man with long thinning hair, curled gray behind his reddish ears, said, slapping the future dentist on the shoulder. "Good luck to ya. Maybe you can get my daughter's teeth straight. Let me know when you're up for business."

A nod.

When he finally became a dentist, the joys of this profession were equally satisfying: the hypnotic buzzing of a drill to teeth, the minty aroma of freshly applied paste, the way the hygienist gently picks away at debris, the many cups of coffee consumed before lunchtime, the interesting travel stories fondly reflected upon by patients who recently returned from vacation, the sense of accomplishment in having played a vital part in protecting someone's mouth from decay. Things went well. The teeth of Doozer's daughter were straightened. The dentist and his family lived comfortably and happily, hosting regular dinner parties highlighted by intricate ice sculptures and other decorative periphery. But once again, the dentist began to lose interest; something about being a dentist wasn't right for him. It wasn't the money. It wasn't the hard work. Something about it all just didn't suit him. When he announced that he'd be leaving his dental practice in pursuit of a career in ice sculpting, his patients and colleagues alike hid their laughter in hardy shakes of the hand.

"I know I couldn't do that," Elise, a young receptionist with short blonde hair jutting upwards from her delicate round face like golden streaks bouncing off the surface of the sun, said, shaking the hand of a future ice sculptor. "Good luck, Sir. Maybe you could make something for my wedding someday?"

A nod.

It took many years for his longtime hobby of ice sculpting to become a fruitful profession, years which found him penniless, divorced, and estranged from his children, but when the day came when he was paid for his artistry, commissioned to create a grand centerpiece for a former associate's wedding, he felt a joy he had never felt before. It was an almost spiritual awakening that granted him not only the satisfaction of prior occupations, but also the ecstasy of being rewarded for doing something he truly loved. The ice would melt, but the sculpture would continue to live in the memories of myriad wedding-goers.

Waxing (and Waning) Philosophic

How could anything so real ever really be?

As I review history, a story undoubtedly written by those in power, and as I consider my own place in this world, a particular identity as inconsequential or influential as I deem and dream it to be, I cannot help but feel helpless. How can one person effect enduring change? I suppose I can make a difference in at least one person's life and that, in turn, will exponentially affect countless others, but it's such an overwhelming prospect, one which simultaneously weakens and strengthens me.

People are so busy, trying so hard to attain the material success they have been raised to value most. They are constantly doing things, and this obsessive desire "to do" is contagious. There have been times when I find it necessary to maintain my own level of preoccupation as to avoid being alone with my thoughts. I must do. I must achieve. Anything to avoid having to think too much. Anything to avoid simply being. But how could anything so real ever really be? There's this implied definition of existence deeply ingrained in my psyche, possibly hailing from a religious upbringing and a capitalist society: If you are not productive, then you may as well not be acknowledged. To be is not enough.

Artificial Life

The light was so bright that she had to cover her eyes, her dotted pupils drowning in oceanic irises, her fair skin reddened. After months of darkness, the sun was out today, and she was not prepared for it. Its rays dizzied her head with reminiscences of fond summertimes' past when she could look forward to steady daylight every day. Back then she could spend her days by the beach, sunbathing, resting, relaxing, catching a soothing breeze, eased into gentle repose by a lullaby of waves washed ashore. Smiles rose upon her face like flowers blooming in elapsed time. Every day was beautiful and bright and joyous. Then they decided to conserve the sun's energy, granting its appearance once every three months. The human diet no longer relied on fresh fruits and vegetables; in fact, meats, eggs, and bread weren't even necessary anymore. Artificial, chemically engineered meals in capsule form were suitable enough. The human body had grown accustomed to consuming empty calories; it was only a matter of time before scientists figured out how to use this human fault as a means to satisfying survivalist tendencies.

Eventually, she had begun to resent the sun. It was painfully hot. With clever contraptions transforming carbon dioxide into oxygen, taking the place of plants, and with all the living creatures in the world memorialized in technologically contrived imitations, there was really no need for the sun anymore, at least, that's what she thought. Soon her once celebrated memories of sunlight would be completely supplanted by this resentment. The sun was becoming as irrelevant to this life as it was inconvenient to her lifestyle.

The Red Door

Behind the red door,
a life waits to be regained,
a love stands to be realized,
a truth remains to be revealed.

Behind the red door,
emotions pushed down
like memories forgotten
become bittersweet dreams
lost in the numbness
of forgiven futures.

Behind the red door,
feelings finally feel,
rain falls musical
upon dramatic silence,
and smiles are real.

Beyond the red door,
an ordinary life
becomes forever
beautiful.

The Fated Words of Saquasohuh

"There will come a moment when all the world will unite and be as one. It is at this time that there will be no balance in existence. Everything will be weighted to one side, a scale without a functioning fulcrum, and no longer will there be any problems left to solve, thus rendering our lives meaningless. Utopia is an unnatural state - lifeless, thoughtless, and devoid of meaning. If the world doesn't learn to celebrate contradictions, to complement chaos with calm, and to allow for adversity, it will find in its stead an emptiness deeper than the most tragic of losses."

The writer as an agent of history

The New York Times published a nice retrospective on the life of Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who recently died. Click here to read it. In one of the more profound parts of the article, Michael Kaufman writes that "Mr. Solzhenitsyn outlived by nearly 17 years the Soviet state and system he had battled through years of imprisonment, ostracism and exile," stressing the historical importance of a persevering writer's spirit. Solzhenitsyn wasn't just a great writer; he was an agent of history, helping to expose the injustices within the Soviet Union. To make such a difference should be one of the highest goals of any artist. Thank you for your contributions to this world, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. May the next life be more peaceful than this.

The Dark Side of the Sun

The Dark Side of the Sun

The source of all energy
is more tired than lazy-
exhausted by our negligible
existence, willing to hide
itself away so there will be
no today, only hundreds of tonights;
escaping into interstellar cloaks
of regal-traced eclipses,
phases chased by lunar silhouettes,
looping in cosmic pirouettes;
a shared dance between dark and light,
dreamed in stardust,
at peace with deep space,
the dark side of the sun
if there ever was one.

The Heartsmith

He has the answer to the only question that really matters, but in order to share it with you, he'd have to lose himself, and he is quite content with who he is now, so you'll have to wait like everybody else, unless you're willing to give him your heart, in which case he'll gladly give you the answer to the only question you'll ever need to ask. He is the heartsmith, unlocking secrets like psychical treasure troves.

One-word Evaluative Index of Lollapalooza 2008

For each act I saw at Lollapalooza 2008, I wrote down one word to associate with the performance. Here it is, accompanied with some video links and my in-the-moment Twitter updates:

Friday, August 1, 2008
The Go! Team - energetic
Tweet: "Watching Go! Team energize the crowd."
03:12 PM August 01, 2008 from txt

Duffy - soulful
Tweet: "Duffy is even hotter in person, when it's hot outside."
03:29 PM August 01, 2008 from txt

The Black Keys - romping
Tweet: "Feeling Ohio-bluesy-crunchy as I watch The Black Keys."
04:16 PM August 01, 2008 from txt

Cat Power - chill
Tweet: "Chilling out with Cat Power."
05:19 PM August 01, 2008 from txt

Bloc Party - frenetic
Tweet: "AT&T Stage rest of night; Bloc Party face-melt and Radiohead metaphysical trip."
06:27 PM August 01, 2008 from txt

Radiohead - transcendent
Tweet: "Radiohead's performance alone was worth the three-day admission fees: http://tinyurl.com/62793v"
01:01 AM August 02, 2008 from web


Saturday, August 2, 2008
Mason Jennings - mellow
Tweet: "Mellowing out with Mason Jennings."
01:37 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

DeVotchKa - waltzing
Tweet: "Jamming to some tuba tunes by DeVotchKa."
03:43 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

Explosions in the Sky - soundscapes
Tweet: "Bursting with Explosions in the Sky."
04:49 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

Lupe Fiasco - bouncing
Tweet: "Checking out Lupe Fiasco get down and do backflips."
06:35 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

Toadies - intense
Tweet: "Going alternative-retro, seeing The Toadies rock out, stars above me." 07:46 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

Rage Against the Machine - fiery
Tweet: "All the Rage."
08:41 PM August 02, 2008 from txt

End of day tweets:
"Relaxing by the Chicago River."
11:28 PM August 02, 2008 from txt
"What a great day."
01:10 AM August 03, 2008 from txt


Sunday, August 3, 2008
The Blakes - rowdy
Tweet: "Getting cranky with The Blakes."
12:11 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

White Lies - operatic
Office - rawk
Tweet: "I was expecting The Weakerthans; instead, I got White Lies and Office. At least they both rocked."
01:31 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Tweet: "Catching crosscurrent tunes, feeling the breeze, reading under a tree." 01:49 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Amadou & Mariam - hopping
Tweet: "That was some nice Congo line action from Amadou & Mariam."
04:00 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Iron & Wine - soothing
Tweet: "All's sad, quiet, and beautiful with Iron and Wine on the lakefront."
04:13 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Saul Williams - moonstruck
Tweet: "The Saul Williams show was a mind-melt."
06:29 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

The National - melodious
Tweet: "Sensing soulful melodies of The National."
07:29 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Kanye West - showmanship
Tweet: "Watching Kanye do his thing in Chitown."
08:40 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Nine Inch Nails - dramatic
Tweet: "Seeing Nine Inch Nails tear into a darkened sky."
09:14 PM August 03, 2008 from txt

Final summary tweet: "What a weekend."
about 10 hours ago from web

Radiohead's performance at Lollapalooza 2008

From about 8 to 10 p.m. Friday, August 1, 2008, in Grant Park, downtown Chicago, Radiohead performed a masterful set. To complement the color motif of its latest album, "In Rainbows," Radiohead let faux-crystals shaped most like pipe organs hang from the ceiling of the stage, shining all sorts of bright colors and patterns during the show, a resplendent display befitting a new age psychadelic gothic cathedral. There were moments when the crystallized lights were so enthralling that they took precedence over the entire performance, as was the case with "National Anthem," when alarm-red streaks and waves seemed to interfere with the musical transmission, creating an otherworldly dimension (Click here to see a clip of that part of the show.)

The left and right big screens showed each member of the band in his own picture-in-picture, usually with an additional angle of Thom Yorke filling an extra slot in the 3 x 3 set, an experimentation with multiple cameras reminiscent of the band's video for "Jigsaw Falling Into Place." The crystallized light show altered the boxes throughout the concert, making for an engaging diversion, often fitting nicely with Yorke's vocals. As he sang of escaping at the bottom in "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi," the blue lights looked like drops of water on the big screens. During the encore, the big screens became a set of rainbow outlines of the video footage.

Radiohead played most of "In Rainbows" with many songs from all its other albums mixed in (less its debut album, 1993's "Pablo Honey"), including "The Bends" and "Fake Plastic Trees" from 1995's "The Bends"; "Paranoid Android," "No Surprises," "Airbag," and "Lucky" from 1997's critically-acclaimed "OK Computer"; "Everything in its Right Place," "National Anthem," "Idioteque," and "Optimistic" from 2000's electronic venture "Kid A"; "Dollars and Cents" from 2001's "Amnesiac"; and "2+2=5" and "There, There" from 2003's "Hail to the Thief," to name a handful.

The most profound moments of the performance had more to do with coincidence - as the catchy keyboard loop accompanied Yorke's crooning, "Everything in its right place," nearby fireworks went off, sometimes seeming in syncopation with the song's irrepressible rhythm. When the band moved forward into the quieter "Fake Plastic Trees," the fireworks seemed distracting but then, around the same time as the energetic crescendo of the song, the final blasts of fireworks rapidly exploded behind the audience's right-side big-screen image of Yorke's head, a triumphant feat of synchronicity, even if it was a mere coincidence. (Click here to see video of this part of the concert.)

Then, during one of the encores, as Yorke sang "2+2=5" with a frantic falsetto, bellowing, "Go and tell the King that the sky is falling in when it's not, but it's not, but it's not, maybe not, maybe not," a refreshing breeze off the lake brought an immense cloud with it. The cloud seemed close enough to touch as it swiftly floated above the crowds' heads, a news helicopter showering a spotlight through its dense and puffy cumulus coverage. As the final encore began, the cloud seemed to stop in front of the stage, as if entranced by the transcendent sounds of arguably the greatest band in the world today. I can't blame those clouds for loitering; it's only natural to appreciate the brilliance and beauty of well-performed music.