Filmy Residue

I got to see an "old" movie from 1987, the other night, called "Broadcast News."  I remembered it as a goodie -- a classic starring fave actors William Hurt and Holly Hunter.  It was the 80s, you know.  Sure, it had all the cheesy-ness of the 80s, a bit of gloss, a bit of dumbed-down interactivity inherent in commercial films, but there was indeed something more, here.  The dialog was sometimes clever. What wasn't said was just as important as what was. And the movie played slow, really slow, compared to today's big box office busters. No violence, not much sex (with just a glimpse of William Hurt's backside).  Why would anyone want to watch this thing?

I watched it because there was a story.  Yes, unrequited love (nothing new in Hollywood), a thin expose on phony newscasters, but nothing quite like the sledge-hammer, in-your-face "story"-telling of the recent Avengers film.  "Broadcast News" is a far cry from being the best move ever made, don't get me wrong. But I couldn't help notice that movies told a story, they were more like books, instead of headlines. Substance mattered, even if it was only a cute romantic comedy drama fairy tale.  Viewers had time to think, too, when scenes didn't race by, from one ridiculous flashy, jittery scene to the next. I think we were treated with respect, as if we had an attention span, like we could be interested, provided the right circumstances.

I saw the new Batman film today. I was looking forward to it, but I just couldn't bring myself to rush to the theater on Friday, after what happened in Colorado. So, I saw an early Sunday matinee.  Even with all the action and explosions, the flashy scenes, the cool costumes, people couldn't focus on the big screen in front of them. No, all over the theater, was the glow of smaller-screened cell phones. Throughout the entire film. Thank god there was a good story, or I might have been driven mad with their distraction.

Proper Dosage

Ed Roland and Will Turpin at the HOB.

Collective Soul, 

House of Blues

Houston

June 1, 2012

Having been to more than a few concerts in my life, I've gotten to a point where the experience is more important than the who or what.  I've seen Collective Soul half a dozen times now, so standing in the heat for hours, waiting for a chance for a decent photo, fighting with people in line, well, it ain't all that fun, when you don't have to.

To avoid most of that, the VIP Experience is worth all the money, and then some.  So, I got us tickets for the June 1 show at the House of Blues.  We were treated right, from the get-go. We, and about 25 others, were given laminated VIP passes, our tickets, and let into the air-conditioned venue way ahead of everyone else.  Why, well, because we also got to meet the band and get autographs, and our place at the stage. They gave us a signed lithograph, as well, which is very nice, indeed.

Lisa in the House.

Speaking of posters, the HOB restaurant had a custom poster advertising the concert in their restroom.  All I know is that somehow that very same poster ended up signed by the whole band and will be soon proudly displayed in my home.  Said bassist Will Turpin, "That'll look real nice, framed." Indeed, it will, Will.

The show was special because they played the entire "Dosage" album, in order, and then a set of their hits.  A very cool experience, and I hope they do it again.  Frontman Ed Roland saw my shirt for their "Youth" album, and expressed his delight that I was wearing it. When I explained that the album is my personal favorite, he remarked, "Maybe we should do that one next."  Please do, Ed. Please, do.

Hey, look, it's us!

Will's pick.

Part of Ed's setlist.

    

The music was fantastic. All those songs, how could it not be?  And the sound was perfect, from our vantage point, front and center.  That's how it should be. An easy, fun night, with great music by a favorite band, that you just happen to know a little bit better.

We're with the band.

Permanent Waves

Music is so powerful in my life that I can barely remember a moment without it. As children, my mom would pile my brothers and sister and me in the back of the family car, and we'd go for a ride to the outskirts of town. It was valuable, because that's when I learned to reflect, to think, to absorb the sights around me, but almost always turning thoughts into wonder about why the world is the way it is. And always, just as valuable, was the ever-present sound of radio, pouring out of the speakers, right into my ears, and casting an image in my brain. I learned much about melody and harmony and wondered even more about lyrics that for years to come would still not quite make sense to me.
One of the songs etching itself into my psyche was Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecilia." My God, those harmonies, that incessant rhythm, so different, so catchy, so uplifting, so indelible. The joy of music, so embedded in me, from the trips we took, when I was young, and lucky enough to have speakers that spoke to me. All I had to do was listen and feel.