Karma is a Beyaach

Californication

2011-01-29T21:36:00.000-08:00

It's a bit late, I know but I've only recently finished Season One of Californication.

Can't wait for Season 2, but damn Netflix only has it in DVD format sooooo I guess I need to be patient (which is not my best virtue) and just wait for it in the mail. (It doesn't help that hubby has a looooooong ass-queue of other DVDs on his list.)

Watching Californication made me think of getting my muse back. No wait, watching Californication made me WANT to get my muse back. All I've been writing lately are empty, non-sequitur editorials. And editing other people's crap isn't really helping me in my search for the holy grail.

If anything, I think it has deteriorated my confidence to write anything of substance -- I feel the need to be succinct about everything which of course, isn't a good thing.

A writer (at least the type of writer I wanna become) should never be succinct, unless you're writing for the news. And even then, some forms of newswriting require a heaping of persuasiveness. You can't be persuasive with information alone, you have to have the balls to fight for your opinion on issues, especially if you're an analyst and not just a mere messenger of facts.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand -- I really dig Hank Moody. Or is it because the character is being played by David Duchovny? I don't really know at this point. In my mind, Hank Moody and David Duchovny are one and the same. There can never be any actor who can play the role like David Duchovny -- sex-crazed and all.

Admittedly it was the oversexed vibe which kinda turned me off at the beginning. But I realized that the promiscuity was just a depiction of reality -- it's not the focal point but yes, it is very much a part of the whole plot. And aren't most writers horny, drunk assholes? That's another facet of reality if you think about it.

Hank Moody's battered Porsche is the real clincher for me. It's very symbolic of Hank Moody's feelings about LA -- decadent, pretentious yet rotting at the very core. And for him to have a battered piece of that decadence just speaks volumes -- it's practically hilarious.

The Basketball Diaries

2010-06-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

I NEVER REALLY LIKED BASKETBALL.

Until now.

When I was a kid, my lolo would always hound our only TV in the house. It was one of those tiny, black and white TV's that you'd probably only see in kitchens -- the kind of TV that household help would use to watch the earlier versions of telenovelas like Yagit, Heredero or Agila. But that humble set was the only one we had, and boy, my lolo was really stubborn and persistent in being couch commando, whenever a game was on.

Because of that, I developed an aversion for basketball and the PBA. It didn't make sense to me to see a bunch of guys kill each other over a ball. There were far more interesting shows to watch. After all, the 80's was one of the definitive eras for killer TV shows -- MacGyver, Airwolf, Knight Rider, Weekend Thriller, Different Strokes, John en Marsha, Duplex, Ang Manok ni San Pedro -- name it, I've seen it.

My grandpa HATED Tagalog shows. As in hated them. But he never won over my lola whenever she needed to see Anna Liza and That's Entertainment (which I'm actually not very fond of).

Soo...

If I ever did get a chance to watch something else besides basketball, I'd be stuck watching Anna Lisa and a batallion of teeny-bopper matinee idols make themselves look stupid for an old guy, whom they fondly refer to as Kuya Germs.

Anyway, before I digress any further from the topic at hand -- my interest in watching the game started when I was probably around 10 or 11. Going through pre-pubescence, it made sense that I would ogle over all these good-looking basketball players, combined together in one team (Purefoods) -- Alvin Patrimonio, Jerry Codiñera and Jojo Lastimosa. It didn't matter that when it came to the game, I was totally clueless. I just had to have my gwapo fix.

However, it did matter when my good-looking basketball heroes were getting crushed by a couple of jologs players from Ginebra/Añejo. I HATED THEM WITH A PASSION. I still hate them and the whole sub-culture of Barangay Ginebra that was conceived because of them-- a group of thugs who are just as equally jologs and dirty as the team that they rabidly support.

Inevitably, these good-looking ball players got too old and my pubescent ogling also died of old age.

The NBA was an even more alien concept to me. First of all, there was very limited access to watching NBA games back then and I wasn't willing to resurrect my shallow interest for the sport anyway.

Fast forward to 2004. I am now living in LA and have acquired a handful of friends who turned out to be staunch Ginebra (and yes, you guessed it) Lakers fans. I don't know if they've been Lakers fans ever since or if their enthusiasm only started when they themselves moved to LA.

(To be continued)

For Tita Cory, On Mother's Day

2010-06-01T16:37:00.000-07:00

May 9, 2010

Dear Tita Cory,

First of all, allow me to greet you a Happy Mother's Day.

On this special day for moms, and the eve of our country's national elections, the mother of all mothers comes to mind -- our most-beloved Inang Bayan. After all, she is the mother that we're willing to sacrifice our lives for, the mother that we're willing to leave our own mothers for -- in pursuit of justice, freedom and democracy.

It seems not too long ago when Ninoy made a most difficult decision -- to dedicate his life for the love of Inang Bayan. In an era where people could only bow their heads and comply with the whims of an autocratic ruler, it was Ninoy who fearlessly spoke up against the tyranny.

In the process, he may have lost every ounce of human dignity, but never his will for change.

Yet, despite all his efforts, people could only agree in silence and look away.

It was unfortunate that Ninoy had to be the sacrificial lamb in order for Filipinos to realize the urgency of ousting the unsurpassed oppressor in our nation's history. Had he lived, things would've been different. But God works in mysterious ways, and I believe that everything happens for a reason.

I can just imagine how profound you and your children's grief must have been when Ninoy was killed on the tarmac, his body thrown around like animal carcass by the monsters behind his assassination.

I wouldn't have had the strength to go on. I wouldn't have mustered even an ounce of sanity. But your love for Ninoy and his cause sustained you through your ordeal, perhaps, even gave you superhuman strength to take on the ropes yourself in order to contend with evil incarnate through a snap election.

You emerged victorious, because, for the first time in two decades, every kababayan had one thing foremost in mind -- winning back our freedom as a people and as a nation. 20 years of suppressed hate has unleashed the proverbial geyser in the hearts of every Filipino. And from this wellspring gushed forth People Power, and the tide was turned.

I may have been too young back then to comprehend the events that ensued, but my recollections of EDSA 1 remain vivid. And I am still grateful to this day, for being able to enjoy the rewards of our hard-earned democracy.

Fast forward to 2008. You were diagnosed with advanced stage colon cancer. It was also one of the most trying times under GMA's regime because of the controversial Con-Ass. You were faced with another moment of frailty, but you were able to muster enough strength to send out a most powerful message against GMA.

Your final days must have been your most physically agonizing and painful moment. But 'til the end, you showed us unfaltering courage and immense faith in God. To me, the massive outpouring of admirers at your wake was more than just a show of sympathy -- it was another sign. A sign that was just as equally powerful as Ninoy's death.

I know this because I've already given up hope on our country's governance a long time ago, when Erap became president in 1998. Fresh-faced, young and idealistic, I exercised my right to vote for the first time. After it was announced that Erap won the presidency, I withered, feeling powerless and worthless.

It seems that our young democracy has become another breeding ground for complacency -- even worse, idiocy. I decided to blend in with the status quo and became apolitical and apathetic.

When Erap was impeached in 2001, I thought there was reason to hope again. I became part of EDSA 2, the People Power of my generation. This time, I was there and I had my first experience of that proverbial geyser.

As it turned out, GMA became an even bigger disappointment than Erap. I got tired of the game. It seemed like my loss of hope has become a finality.

It's actually ironic that I only started becoming politically motivated again when I moved here to the US. I don't know what sparked it -- it might be the Pinoy trait of keeping in touch with your roots. It may be because of my constant bout with homesickness, or perhaps, it was because of fate bringing me the opportunity to work for the media.

Whatever it was, it compelled me to keep myself informed about the current affairs of the country.

I had no plans of registering as an OAV, simply because I didn't feel that there was anyone else left who was deserving of my vote. But when Noynoy started contemplating on the possibility of running for the presidency with Mar Roxas, that dormant geyser started flowing again -- bursting with a renewed sense of hope.

People may accuse me of being sentimental and impulsive, but I can't help but feel that Noynoy is the right one. With all the disappointing leaderships that have come and gone, I have decided to trust my gut this time.

I know it must pain you so, seeing how badly some people flagellate Noynoy, finding fault in every possible angle. Given his traumatic experiences -- a father wrongly imprisoned and murdered, a president mother who had to go through so many coup attempts, a bullet in his neck and arm from one of them, a thorn on his side with Hacienda Luisita -- he could've just walked away. But he didn't.

Yet even with this act of courage, he still found himself neck-deep in a muck of criticism.

His detractors don't seem to understand that it's not his lineage that matters. It's not whether you're an Aquino or a Cojuangco -- it's about you, as a human being fighting for meaning.

Because of all the mudslinging, even Ninoy's death and your well-deserved moniker as the icon of democracy have been sacrileged. They seem to have forgotten that even heroes and great leaders are humans too, and are prone to make mistakes.

But their opinions don't matter to me. Not anymore. I have lived a considerable part of my life with all this negativity. As Earnest Benn put it succinctly, "Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedy."

What matters to me now are the lessons I've gleaned from you and Ninoy and my unwavering confidence in Noynoy's capabilities, in his honesty and integrity.

Why I ♥ Noynoy

2010-06-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 14, 2010 at 11:22pm

People have their reasons for disliking Noynoy. I understand that perfectly.

Some people have their reasons for liking Gibo, because he's smart, Harvard-educated, has a brilliant yet doable platform.
Some like Gordon for his go-getter attitude and his willingness to get the job done and done right, albeit the arrogant way.
Some like Villar for his "sipag at tiyaga" credo and for making it big despite his humble beginnings.
Still others like Estrada, despite of him going down in history as a deposed president -- just because he has "charisma."
But I have my own reasons for liking Noynoy and believing that he is just as equally capable of bringing integrity back to our governance.

Detractors attack him on the basis of riding on his parents' reputation. But is it his fault that he's the child of Ninoy and Cory? NO. Is it of his doing that his dad died a hero? NO. Are the events that ensued in Hacienda Luisita his fault? Partly, maybe. But Hacienda Luisita is part of the legacy that he earned for being a Cojuangco. The decision-making is not all up to him.

So why do I believe that Noynoy deserves the presidency?

(1) He never expected to run for president. It was the people's clamor that made him do it. He didn't do it for himself. He did it because people wanted him to. And because he knew how totally screwed up the system was and he needed to do something about it.
(2) Despite being born rich, he lives a life of simplicity.
(3) He's always been there for his mom during the whole course of her presidency. He's no idiot as most people allege. He may have had deficiencies as a congressman and as a senator -- but with the tainted reputation of GMA's administration, does it really matter? Most of the bills that they passed are self-serving anyway.
(4) He smokes, he's balding, he doesn't know how to dress and people criticize him about it. In my mind, those things make him human and he is not afraid to show his weaknesses.
(5) He patiently waits for his turn to vote, even if it means waiting in line for four and a half hours. That shows character and humility.
(6) He was the candidate who got the most attacks during the whole course of the campaign period. And boy, did they attack him! At every possible angle, in every possible way. They made snide remarks about his mental health, his parents, Hacienda Luisita, Kris, even Baby James! But not even once did he flinch. He may have done a lot of mudslinging himself, but wouldn't you do the same for your family? When he dug up Villar's dirt, he didn't fabricate documents or make false accusations. He did his homework.
(7) And let's face it, if Noynoy didn't run, we would've had Erap take a second-term. Gusto n'yo ba yun?

And now that Noynoy's President-elect...
He's fighting tooth and nail with GMA re: making midnight appointments and choosing Corona as SC Chief Justice. He would rather break tradition and take his oath with a barangay captain, than concede to GMA's final whims. He hasn't even been inaugurated yet but he's already doing what he's meant to do -- put the most-hated bratinella in her place. Magagawa ba ni Gibo yan? Magagawa ba ni Villar yan? I highly doubt it. Baka si Gordon pwede pa.

He is the kind of President that you can gift with a "Dear Noynoy" compilation book, even if most of the comments came from his most rabid haters. I doubt that GMA would even waste a second, reading literature like that.

Let me put it this way -- the government, at it's current state can be likened to a fish tank. All the handsome-looking, fine breed of fish are there but you can hardly see because of the murky water. Noynoy is the lowly, humble janitor fish who will put the balance back into the ecosystem. It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it. Palagi na lang isang Aquino ang kailangang maglinis ng kalat ng kanilang predecessor, but maybe that's what they're meant to do.

I know a lot of you will attempt to contest my opinions of Noynoy, but I don't really care. All that matters to me is that I've followed him since Day 1. I was there twiddling my thumbs when Noynoy was still having second thoughts about running. I regret not being able to register as an OAV, but I more than made up for it by relentlessly campaigning for him in the best, possible ways that I could.

Some would allege that it's because EDSA1 was instilled in my education as bible truth. I was 8 or 9 years old when EDSA 1 happened. I didn't even know what it meant. But I know what it did to us as a people. We had another taste of democracy after 20 years of living under an autocratic rule. That was enough for me.

And when I did start to understand what was going on, Erap and GMA came into the picture. They made me cynical, apolitical and apathetic.

Before Noynoy, I didn't even give a shit about the Philippine government anymore. I voted in 1998 for Roco, only to be sorely disappointed because it was Erap who emerged victorious. One of the reasons why I left Pinas was because I was already overcome with cynicism.

Ang problema ng Pilipinas ay di lang nagmumula sa pamahalaan. Sabi nga nila, CHANGE should come from all of us. Kaya ako nagagalit sa mga taong patuloy pa ring naninira't nang-aalipusta kay Noynoy. Tapos na ang panahon ng pambabastos. Si Noynoy na ang piniling maging pangulo ng karamihan and people should respect that. Hindi pa nga siya nagsisimula sa panunungkulan eh natatadtad na siya ng pambabatikos!

Ang kinaiinisan ko pa eh yung mga taong nagmamarunong. Nag-google lang ng kung anu-ano, nagcopy paste ng mga nahanap nilang resources and voila! Political analyst na! Kala mo kung sino makapagsalita. Tanungin mo naman kung anong nagawa nila para sa ikabubuti ng bansa nila, wala namang masabi. Madaling maging kritiko. Totoo 'yan. Pero alam ko, mahirap talagang maging pangulo.

Ang kailangan natin ngayon ay pagkakaisa -- pagkakaisa bilang sambayanan para suportahan ang bagong pamunuan at siguraduhing ang luma at bulok na sistema ni GMA ay hindi na mamamayagpag. We may have differences in our choices for a new leader, but we have one thing in common -- WE ALL WANT TO PUT AN END TO BRATINELLA'S EVIL PLANS. Yan ang tuunan natin ng ating lakas at panahon dahil yan ang pinakamalaking hurdle sa kaunlaran ng ating bansa.

That, taken with a heaping of optimism that Noynoy can do his job, as much as we'll do ours.

Ending on a high note: A-ha's farewell tour in LA

2010-06-01T16:15:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 16, 2010

It's 10:48 pm and I should be hitting the sack soon. But, I'm still reeling in the experience that is A-ha's farewell tour( which culminated in Los Angeles) and I had the urge to write my thoughts down, lest I'll forget them.

Please pardon my lack of coherence as I write this note about A-ha's final and most meaningful performance.

Initially, I didn't know that it was going to be their farewell tour and that LA was going to be their final stop in the US. It was a choice between Tears for Fears and A-ha.

I don't actually know why I picked A-ha. It must've been some cosmic force leading me to the right decision.

I remember having my first taste of A-ha's music as a kid -- at a time when my "busilak" mind was still impressionable and my older sister's pre-pubescent hormones were already raging.

She would listen to all sorts of songs in our bedroom (yes, all three of us had to share one). To Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Tears for Fears, General Public (of course, A-ha) and all the old school relevant bands of the 80's --and I would lay there with her, in the dark, our sense of hearing heightened.

It seemed freaky for such a young mind to be able to absorb all the nuances, albeit subconsciously.

Perhaps it's also because of their breakthrough music video -- Take On Me -- that left an almost permanent imprint in my brain. Perhaps it's because they came from a country which was unheard of to me at that time.

Whatever it was, the only adjective that comes to mind for me to describe A-ha's music and Morten Harket's choir boy vocals is ETHEREAL.

And of course, Harket being drop-dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. He was probably every school girl's poster boy.

The last album of A-ha that I bought (a cassette tape at that) was their compilation album, Headlines and Deadlines. That was back in the late 90's. My only recent acquisition is an mp3 of Holy Ground, which wasn't even an A-ha song, but a solo effort made by Morten Harket.

Anyway, on to my experience of the concert.

Being so out of it, I didn't have any high expectations from their performance, although I did expect them to play one or two songs from their early albums.

We went to Club Nokia at a little past seven (gates were opened at 7pm and there was a long queue outside which, thankfully, dispersed quickly) after having a snack at Lawry's Carvery.

We had to wait for like an hour and fifteen minutes before the show started. The first set of songs were unfamiliar to me, so I just stood there, hoping and praying to the high heavens that they would play the songs I had in mind.

Towards the middle of the show, my dream songs began to materialize --a back-to-back performance of Stay On These Roads and The Living Daylights (extended play with audience participation) which was perhaps the climax of the whole evening; acoustic performances of And You Tell Me and Early Morning (with glockenspiel and acoustic guitars-- what Magne referred to as the "big guns") ; a bunch of tracks from Headlines and Deadlines, including Move to Memphis (with guitars solo); The Blood That Moves The Body, Crywolf and Manhattan Skyline; a first encore with Hunting High and Low and The Sun Always Shines on TV and of course, Take On Me as their second encore and finale.

I didn't want their performance to end, knowing that it was going to be their last. For some reason, I began to feel the same giddiness I felt as a kid. Wonderful memories of my childhood came flooding back.

More than the music, I was overcome with nostalgia. I was transported back to that happy place -- wasting time away, listening to music in the dark and letting it resonate in my spirit.

When it was finally over, I felt a lump form in my throat. I had to fight back tears on our way out. I was elated, seeing them perform for the first time, but I was also profoundly saddened by the fact that I will never get to see them as a group ever again.

In a way, it seemed like they took a part of my childhood with them.

Suddenly, I felt old.

Dear Gloria

2010-06-01T16:09:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 22, 2010 at 2:30pm

Dear Manang Gloria,
-Hindi pa po ba kayo napagod sa siyam na taong panunungkulan? Six of which is undeserved?
- Hindi pa po ba kayo napapapagod na pagtakpan, hindi lang ang inyong mga katiwalian, kundi maging ang mga katiwalian ng inyong asawa't mga anak?
-Hindi pa ba kayo napapagod magphoto-op tuwing magkakakalamidad, gaya na lang ng katawa-tawa ninyong posing with your chic Nu-yokah outfit, habang nakarain boots at nagkukunwaring tumatawid sa baha?
-Hindi pa po ba kayo napapagod magbilang ng pera? Kulang pa ata ang siyam na taon para mabilang lahat ng salaping ninakaw n'yo mula sa kaban ng bayan.
-Hindi pa po ba kayo nagkakasakit sa kakakain ng lobster, prime rib at sa pag-inom ng mamahaling alak sa mga sosyal na resto sa US, tuwing bumibiyahe kayo on official business? Tumatanda na rin po kayo, manang. Sa palagay ko'y kailangan n'yo ng ire-assess ang inyong diet, lalo pa't bumibigay na ang mga laman-loob ni First Gentleman.
-Hindi pa po ba kayo napapagod magsuot ng inyong mapagkunwaring mala-Divisoria outfits ? Magpakatotoo na at ilabas na ang mga Giorgio Armani at Louis Vuitton sa inyong wardrobe.

Magpahinga ka na ate. Sobra-sobra na ang ginawa mo(ng damage) para sa bayan, at para sa iyong mumunting katawang (lamang) lupa. Reserve your energy, dahil tiyak matindi ang haharapin mo(ng kaparusahan) sa kabilang buhay. :-)

Back from the dead

2010-06-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted any entries in this blog for the past two and a half years.

In retrospect, I haven't really blogged much ever since I got married -- just short and (hardly) sweet tweets and succinct posts in Facebook.

I think it's time for me to revisit my inner monster and start "blogging in tongues" again.

I'll try to be BOLD this time and take the bull by the horns. :-)

Dreams and Disturbia

2007-10-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

I HAVE always been fascinated by the realm of dreams and psychoanalysis. Dreams are windows to the innermost recesses of our minds, perhaps even our souls and manifest our deepest desires and fears.

Surrealism is a style of art and literature developed principally in the 20th century, stressing the subconscious or nonrational significance of imagery arrived at by automatism or the exploitation of chance effects, unexpected juxtapositions, etc.

A cultural movement that flourished in the mid-1920s, surrealism is best known for visual artworks and writings that featured the element of surprise, unexpected juxtapositions and non sequitur. However, surrealist artist and writers assert that their work is more than anything, an expression for philosophical movement and should be regarded as an artifact.

André Breton, the leader of the surrealist movement, explicitly asserted that surrealism was first and foremost, a revolutionary movement.

One of the notable surrealists of his time, Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domenech was acclaimed for his compelling and grotesque images. Born on May 11, 1904 in Figueres, Catalonia in Spain, Dali is a skilled draftsman who was deeply-influenced by the Renaissance masters. Taking after Spanish master painter Diego Velazquez, Dali grew a flamboyant moustache that became his iconic signature.

Salvador Dalí's much-awaited exhibit comes to Los Angeles. "Dalí - Painting and Film," formally opened its doors at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art last October 14 and will run until January 6, 2008. According to LACMA's website, "The exhibit aims to illustrate the cinematic influences and elements that present in Dalí's work as well as the contribution he made to cinema. The exhibition brings together a variety of key pieces from Dalí's oeuvre, incorporating painting, film, photography, sculpture, and texts."

Persistently Popular
Perhaps Dalí's most famous piece de resistance, "The Persistence of Memory," was groundbreaking because of its images of melted clocks. The painting epitomizes Dalí's theory of "softness and hardness," a popular school of thought during his time.

Wikipedia describes the painting as a fundamental part of Dalí's Freudian phase. "The imagery predicts his transition to the scientific phase, which occurred after the decisive dropping of the atom bomb in 1945. The imagery can be read as a graphic illustration of Einstein's theory of Relativity, depicting gravity distorting time.It's possible to recognize a human figure in the middle of the composition, in the strange 'monster' that the same Dalí used in several period pieces: it's a head."

"In general the tree means life, but, in this case, it has the same function as the rest of the elements in the picture: to impress anxiety and, in a certain way, terror, although it is likely that it was conceived as a functional element on which to drape one of the watches. The golden cliffs in the upper right hand corner are reminiscent of Dalí's homeland, Spain, and are derived from the rocks and cliffs at Cape Creus, where the Pyrenees meet the sea. It was there that Dalí and his wife Gala went for solitude."

It is rather uncommon for an artwork of such a small scale to afford colossal fame, but Dali achieves this well-earned recognition. Moma.org states that "Dalí rendered his fantastic visions with meticulous verisimilitude, giving the representations of dreams a tangible and credible appearance. In what he called 'hand painted dream photographs,' hard objects become inexplicably limp, time bends, and metal attracts ants like rotting flesh. The monstrous creature draped across the painting's center resembles the artist's own face in profile; its long eyelashes seem insectlike or even sexual, as does what may or may not be a tongue oozing from its nose like a fat snail."

"The year before this picture was painted, Dali formulated his "paranoiac-critical method," cultivating self-induced psychotic hallucinations in order to create art. "The difference between a madman and me," he said, "is that I am not mad."

"The Persistence of Memory" was completed in 1931 and has been a part of the permanent collection the Museum of Modern Art in New York since 1934. This artful masterpiece is one of the highlights of Dalí's exhibit at the LACMA.

The Dynamic Still
Dalí's juxtaposition of powerful and disturbing images amid an arid and desolate desert makes them even more thought-provoking. His recurring use of shadows and images like ants and human body parts make the scene feel more organic and transitory. Life and death are simultaneously occuring in this display of conception and decay.

"Autumnal Cannibalism" was perhaps the most compelling piece of work that I encountered in the exhibit. The message he wanted to put across had so many truths in it, and the images were truly powerful to make one contemplate on them on a deeper level.

According to Tate.org.uk, "Autumnal Cannibalism" was "painted just after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936, this work shows a couple locked in a cannibalistic embrace. They are pictured on a table-top, which merges into the earthy tones of a Spanish landscape in the background. The conflict between countrymen is symbolised by the apple balanced on the head of the male figure, which refers to the legend of William Tell, in which a father is forced to shoot at his son."

From Still to Motion
Dalí was also a masterful and visionary filmmaker. He collaborated with the likes of Luis Buñuel, Alfred Hitchcock and Walt Disney and cited Cecil B. De Mille and the Marx Brothers as his foremost influences in filmmaking.

A Spellbinding Peek
"Spellbound," a film collaboration with master of suspense Sir Alfred Hitchcock, was one of the main features of his exhibit. Set designs, scripts and storyboards of the film were prominent attractions at the exhibit.

"Spellbound" was released in 1945 as a psychological mystery thriller. An adaptation by Angus MacPhail and Ben Hecht of the novel "The House of Dr. Edwardes" which was written by Hilary Saint George Saunders (aka Francis Beeding), the film stars Hollywood's finest actors as Gregory Peck, Ingrid Bergman, Michael Chekhov and Leo G. Carroll.

I was especially drawn to the set design of "eyes" looking at different directions and with varied expressions. The backdrop was painted by Dalí himself and was an essential, mind-boggling element in the film.

Alternating Images
Another crowd-drawing attraction was a video clip of Dalí's "Destino," yet another film collaboration, this time with movie great and animation maven, Walt Disney. The film only came into fruition in 2003, years after Dalí's death in 1989. The seamless transition and subtle alternation of images reminds one of how life is constantly ever-changing, that we sometimes overlook the littlest details that evolve around us. It also compels one to ponder on the transient qualities of objects and beings and even life itself.

Dalí's work gives one a different perspective and perception of things, that objects are not always what they seem. This is possibly his way of contrasting his flamboyant, sometimes even comedic-looking disposition with his deep and thought-provoking sensibilities as a well-respected artist. (AJ)

Apolitical or Political, That is the Question

2007-10-16T23:33:00.000-07:00

IS it really that bad to be apolitical?

If you were born and raised in a country where politics is a joke, and where graft and corruption is the only thing that motivates leadership? If the only thing that fuels the vicious talk on politics is disagreement? If politics is their excuse to be righteous and to criticize or condemn each other's beliefs and principles? If it's the thing that keeps people from making sound decisions, if at all? If it's the obstacle to giving people what they really need?

Even if we don't admit it, we all have the same desired end. To co-exist peacefully, to get what is due, to be treated fairly, to live life with dignity.

There are only two things in this world that's keeping us from living life sublimely--two human weaknesses that we should transcend in order to deserve being on top of the food chain. Our lust for sex and yes, politics.

Whirlwind or Whirlpool?

2007-08-13T21:20:00.000-07:00

SO where did time go?

After all the chaos, everything seems to be back in its rightful place. I never thought transitioning would be this easy and effortless. Things at work seem to be running smoothly, the people who have left have moved on and so have those who were left behind.

Of course, rants and grunts and whining and bitchin' are still very much part of our everyday fare. I guess it's what makes life so challenging and exciting at the same time. But for some unknown reason, I have a positive vibe that things are going to get better from now on. I feel settled and more secure and more confident of the decisions that I've been making lately. But hey, I might be speaking too soon.

Been going out with this guy on a regular basis. Nothing romantic has ensued yet, and even at a snail's pace, it feels like we're making good time just being cool and laid back. I don't know if anything will come out of it, but having a new friend, with a different perspective and perception of things surely makes for a pleasant learning experience.

He is actually a very helpful gauge as to what I've become. I feel much much older now, and I feel that my feet are more grounded this time. There is no compromising what I want out of life -- from my job, from a relationship, from every teeny, tiny aspect of my life. Every atom feels as though its revolving in its perfect little axis, associating and disassociating with every particle at the exact time that it should and shouldn't.

For the first time I don't feel like myself. I don't feel the urge to calculate and analyze everything. Sweet surrender does exist.

Dazed and Confused

2007-07-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

I'M NOT KIDDING NOR EXAGGERATING. The past few days have been really a blur for me. It's like someone pressed the fast forward button and never let go.

Moving to a new place. Mass resignations at work. My 30th birthday in San Fran. Reorgs. These are things that can really blow your mind away and make you feel disconcerted, as if you're falling in an endless abyss. Too many changes happening at the same time. It's like everything around me evolved and I was the only one left that didn't. The primeval mass.

And with everything that has happened I am left with more responsibilities. The scariest thing in the world is getting left behind.

The Momentous Reunion

2007-06-24T19:56:00.000-07:00

WE were fortunate enough to score tickets for the reunion tour of The Police at the Dodgers Stadium.

When they say top deck they do mean top deck! Heck, that was perhaps the steepest row of seats I've ever encountered in all the concert venues I've been to. I couldn't manage to stand and wave with the crowd! And it was especially irritating that people couldn't sit still the whole time. What is it about the LA crowd? I always have more fun watching concerts in SF. The people from SF are rowdier, cheerier and definitely have more respect for the performing band.

Anyway, I was totally psyched after hearing that Foo Fighters will be playing as one of the front acts. Fiction Plane was an okay band, they just sounded too much like Audioslave. The vocals were definitely inspired by Chris Cornell.

The Police kicked off their performance with a crowd-enthusing performance of "Message In A Bottle." It was all downhill after that...well, up until they performed the last two songs before the encore.

The spoils of the day? An obscenely-priced Dodgers hotdog and a band shirt. Ah well...it's all worth it. :)

I Heart Weng Weng

2007-06-20T00:08:00.000-07:00

MY COUSIN sent me a link to Gabe Mercado's blog which featured this music video made by the Chuds as a tribute to the iconic Weng Weng. Months later, I find this interesting review in Spin Magazine's July 2007 issue:

MUST-SEE VIDEOS
The Chuds
"Weng Weng Rap"

Weng Weng was a diminutive Filipino actor and martial artist best known for playing a character named Agent OO in cheapie spy flicks with titles like "For Your Height Only," and this clip provides ample evidence of his legend. The montage of movie scenes is priceless, but the Chuds' cartoonishly enthusiastic rhymes overflow with understated punch lines. Good luck getting the hook out of your head.

Tsk, tsk. And I thought I was the only one. (Weng Weng, I love you my Weng Weng, hold me and kiss me, I love you WENG WENG!)

It's no wonder that my friend Dino had his own share of Weng Weng fanaticism a couple of years ago. Anyway, here's the link if you wanna see the video: (http://gabemercado.multiply.com/video/item/22) .

Turning Thirty-le

2007-06-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

THE GRAND THREE-OH. I've never had a clear picture in my head of how it would be like, but this is definitely not the way I sneak-peeked it. Being thirty meant security, a good-paying job, hot car, nice house, lots of idle time to waste on indulgent hobbies....pretty much living life like crazy. At the rate things are going before my 30th year of existence, only one was accurate. C-R-A-Z-Y.

I really have no reason to complain. It's not like someone pulled my hair and dragged me out here to make crazy decisions. But yes, I admit to having made a lot of them these past few years. And I have no rational explanation for my actions. They came along and I picked the ones which I thought were the wisest and soundest at the time that they rolled by. And yes...every decision you make creates a whole chain of reaction and by the time you realize how complex things have become, it's too late to turn back and undo the damage. It's pretty much like entering a wormhole-like cave. You have to crawl forward to get to the other side. There is no other way out once you risk entering the cave.

Life is a complex process, everyone has to go through it. Without risks and complexities you are as good as dead.

Anyway, what's the whole fuckin' point of this blog entry? I HAVE NO DARN CLUE.

Gibberish Goo

2007-06-07T23:34:00.000-07:00

I AM TURNING into an incoherent retard.

How can I not write about Bjork, or seeing Once and Knocked Up? My neurons have totally dissipated, my ability for language impaired. They are major must-sees in my book but as of yet, I cannot seem to grasp the right state of mind to write about them. Not a blurb. Not even a word.

Lately I feel all burned out...too braindead and numb to put my thoughts and sentiments into words. Must be a severe case of brain-turning-into-goo.

A Trail of Thought

2007-05-28T22:29:00.000-07:00

AFTER years and years of keeping a pristine, puke-free inebriation record, I finally hurled.

Yes, totally embarassing it was, the hurling thing. Five glasses of Jack and Coke later, I was totally out cold (and wearing shades while I was in lalaland). They had to haul my ass up and I, dreamy-eyed, managed to get up and get into the car ( with my laptop, believe it or not!)

We got home, safe and sound and I was walking my way up the stairs when out of nowhere, as if someone pressed the invisible button, I just hurled! and thrice at that! The stench of garlic, barbecued meat and stomach acid was all over me and all over the stairway.

That is it. No more Jack and Coke for me from now on!

Blocked

2007-05-22T22:53:00.001-07:00

SO how should I go about tackling the big review? Lemme figure it out. Meanwhile, here are some intro images...

The Happiest Place on Earth

2007-05-20T22:19:00.000-07:00

VISITED SF (yet again) over the weekend for the Bjork gig. Was terribly upset that I wasn't able to get tix for the Smashing Pumpkins show at the Fillmore in July!

I love San Fo. Always have, always will. That's why it's probably best for me to see it as a place of refuge instead of a place to settle in. Maybe someday, when things get better and I would be able to disassociate myself from the shiite of my day-to-day grind. I will buy myself a house in downtown SF if it's the last thing I'll do!

Had lunch with J at this pasta place called Vivande. It was quaint, the pasta was definitely fresh but was something was amiss. Had a blast at the Bjork concert with M. Highlights of the line-up included "Aeroplane," "Pagan Poetry," "Hyperballad," "I Miss You," a kick-ass version of "Army of Me" and a lot of other old songs that I should care to remember.

Can't wait to visit my happiest place on earth again this June.

Season Finale

2007-05-13T21:32:00.000-07:00

AND SO we're moving to a new place in barely two weeks. Why am I not so psyched nor enthused?

It's probably because our old apartment holds so many dear memories, both good and bad. Another chapter is unfolding, and I'm afraid of losing the impressions of this place. I know better days might be in the offing, but still I can't help but feel uncertain about the immediate future.

It's like ending a long-term TV show to give way to a new one. A new one that just might not make it big in the ratings. Why does everything have to move so fast, as if in a blur?

Anyway, I wanted to end this blog entry on a more positive note. Watching American History X (despite it's tragic ending) somehow made me more optimistic. I hope it lasts through another year.

Hate is baggage. Life's too short to be pissed off all the time. It's just not worth it. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.'

With that, I rest my neurons and leave everything to fate.

Second Thoughts

2007-05-07T21:46:00.000-07:00

Photo from Lomblad.net (Cool eh?)

I THINK I MAY BE HAVING SECOND THOUGHTS ABOUT JOINING THE NOT-SO-DIVINE COMEDY AFTER ALL.

I just had this vibe...an awful resounding negative reverberation in my head when I met up with the guys in Bev-leh Hills. We were supposed to meet at this austere, monumental, black-tie, shiny leather shoes-looking building along Wil-sha and Rex-fawd. Apparently not.

Good thing I had an inkling to get myself some form of bev-rej in Urth Caffe. Lo, the guys were all there. And I wasn't even forewarned that they were meeting up at the cafe. Strike one.(Thank God the chok'lit milkshake cooled me down.)

B took one look at me and he knew who I was. Interesting thought, but still not substantial enough to alleviate the nega vibrations. E comes up to me saying he's glad to have finally met me. Why wasn't I the least bit enthused? I wonder...

Possibly because when they did finally call me to come over and mingle with them, they were deep into this 'civil argument' (whatever that means)

When my turn came up to decide which task I'll be tackling, E suddenly turns into this ambitious, cocky....dick? (for lack of any other word) and undermines my suggestions.

Gawd...you guys haven't even pitched yourselves yet and already you're as proud as a cock in a henhouse. That can't be good.

Ah well...so much for divine comedy. Hope they get the last laugh.

Next Exit

2007-05-01T21:42:00.000-07:00

SO when do you know that you have to get off the next exit of life's freeway?

Lately, my roomie and I have been having huge, grating amounts of friction. Senseless arguments in dang text messages. If nobody invented the concept of text messaging, I doubt that L would ever find a way to face a confrontation. She's really pathetic actually, making all these lousy excuses why she wasn't able to argue with me face to face. And I'm used to it. This is not the first time that we got into a messy situation.

Truth is, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of riding the carpool lane with these pseudo-girlfriends. I really need to find my exit and drive through the next course of my life on my own. It sucks that I have been here for almost four years now, but the quality of my life hasn't changed a bit. I'm still a penniless pauper ( redundant I know, but it's the most concise description I can think of) and it's something that just can't be helped right now.

I guess I need to buckle up and endure the bumpy ride up until I think of a brilliant solution.(Hope the carpool lane doesn't end soon though, lest I'm better off exiting before that happens.)

Teeming with History (and Good Food!)

2007-04-29T21:16:00.000-07:00

FROM Barneysbeanery.com:

Barney's Beanery
By Domenic Priore

"And Barney is the level-headed St. Anthony, who packs a generous heart and mind for all who come to his place, whether they be tycoons of the Motion Picture Industry, star actors or writers or if they be humble extras or the cab driver on the midnight shift."

- Pepe Romero, 1957

Chile on an Indian trail. Route 66 Diner. Juke Joint/Pool Hall. '50s Beatnik hangout. A drag 'n' eat pad. A place where movie people go to let their hair down. Home base of screenwriters, authors and Pop Artists. Watering hole for rock 'n' roll legends, greater Los Angeles area residents and visitors from exotic locales reading tour guides about Hollywood. Barney's Beanery is all of these rolled into one, an esoteric and inclusionary delight in an increasingly exclusive tinsel town. A timeless, last bastion of the freewheelin' American West, and constant spirit of the open frontier that remains, historically, L.A..

As a business, Barney's Beanery took root in Berkeley, California. A Los Angeles native, John "Barney" Anthony attended the University of California at Berkeley for his education. Enlisting in the Navy during World War I, Barney served his special blend of chili burgers and onion soup to soldiers. On return to Northern California in 1918, he tried his hand as a boxing manager before opening his first Beanery, for men only, in 1920. "It was rough going at first" he described in a 1950s interview. "I did everything myself. The cooking, serving, marketing. I washed the dishes and scrubbed the floors."

The warm climate played a major part in Barney's decision to relocate his Beanery to its current location in 1927. At the time, this stretch of the old Route 66 was still "out in the toolies." Both Sunset Boulevard and Santa Monica Boulevard had originally been Indian trails, with the 66 annex stretching from Chicago to L.A. The area surrounding Barney's Beanery was primarily a huge Poinsettia field. But business was good in these pioneering days, as the rows of discarded license plates above the bar attests. "These were left by travelers, who came out to California to find a better life" claims Lauren Taines. "Their symbolic gesture was to leave the original plates of their home state behind at the diner."

This, perhaps was a reflection of a typical conversation with the owner. The restaurant's down to earth atmosphere is a direct reflection of his personality. In 1945, Hollywood Nightlife magazine noted the way in which Barney treated his customers, as if they were buddies from the service. "Barney Anthony is a name known to most writers who at one time or another have been broke in this town. Barney has always made sure that they have had food and just a little cash to tide them over." Another account from the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner shows the tough guy as a man of compassion and understanding; "He listens to their problems, gives good advice when asked, but it is his manner more than his words that carries the conviction." Barney was a realist, as his note at the bottom of the clipping, which he saved, reads "Hell, nobody is this wonderful!" Indeed, some of the license plates had been pulled for collateral on a dinner bill.

At the outset, Barney's Beanery was not the sprawling, sectional playground that it is today. A 1942 description in Rob Wagner's Script describes it as so; "It is a little wooden shanty, with a whole row of cheap floor lamps illuminating the counter, and a dinky little bar down at one end." The Herald called it "a shack, on Santa Monica Boulevard near La Cienega, which has not greatly changed since I dropped in there one afternoon in 1929 for a hamburger and root beer." Seemingly, the filmland community took a shine to Barney's laissez-faire, early. The first movie star customer to Barney's knowledge was Monte Blue. '20s screen goddess Clara Bow, swashbuckling John Barrymore, and the original blonde bombshell from the '30s, Jean Harlow, all made Barney's Beanery a regular stop. Into the '40s, the likes of Clark Gable, Errol Flynn, Bette Davis, Hoot Gibson, Lawrence Tibbets and Gene Fowler were counted as familiar customers. Celebrities would cause no heads to turn, because the guy in the corner may have owned the studio at which they worked. Barney treated them all the same, according to Herald-Examiner columnist Mike Jackson; "You do not get that great big smile when you are up. And you don't get the brush off when you are down. Barney has seen too many personalities through these ups & downs to be impressed by anyone."

In Mexico, one newspaperman defined the local condition in Hollywood more succinctly. "Barney has listened to more problems for the last quarter of a Century than there are pebbles on all the beaches of the world" reminded Pepe Romero in 1957. "How many careers Barney has encouraged with a thought packed with horse-sense and a meal thrown in to boot? I would bet a thousand to one that Barney has saved a few lives when despair possessed someone and suicide was being planned - His strong arm and his powerful rebuke changed that - but fast." Romero also pointed out Barney's familiarity with the people of his homeland; "Whenever I'm there throughout the years Barney always asks, 'How my pal 'Indio'?' (Emilio Fernandez, Mexico's Ace Director.) Then he asks after Gaby Figueroa. and another Indio. Bedoya, the fine character actor. Then he tells me that Tony Samaniego (Ramon Navarro's brother) was there last night."

But the primary reason it all works is because of the food, which is pure American comfort. Waffles, pancakes, burgers, pizza, burritos and of course, chili. There are now (at least) 85 different beers to choose from, and 45 different kinds of chili. The first selling point of the restaurant that Barney loved to push was the onion soup. Food critic Richard Sharpe nailed its appeal in the early forties; "The onion soup is way beyond the scope of any French rotisserie in town, and they also give you enough oyster crackers with everything, for the first time in recorded history." His assessment is in line with American spirit during World War II; "Rarest of all types of restaurants is a really good hamburgery. You would think that anything so simple would be bound to be delectable anywhere, but anybody with any taste buds left at all knows that the exact opposite is true, and that a beautiful hamburger is as rare as a benign Nazi."

As the mid-century expansion of the fifties took place, the changes surrounding Barney's Beanery were reflected within its walls. Still a movieland hangout, Barney took a step into futurism with a special rig for his regular clientele. "It is not generally known, but the old-fashioned coach lamp hanging in front of Barney's Beanery has a gadget inside it installed by a radionics inventor from U.S.C." reported Bill Kennedy in his Mr. L.A. column in a '55 issue of the Herald-Examiner. "Operating like a radio-controlled garage door, the coach lamp is able to pick up radio beam signals from as far away as 25 miles. By prearranged signals, messages flashed from a unit installed on a patron's car can inform Barney just how many will be in the party, what they want to order, and how soon they'll arrive. Among the celebrities who have installed a Beanery Beam are Lou Costello, Wayne Morris, Donald O'Connor, George Gobel, Otto Kreuger and Gloria Jean." The times were really beginning to change. It was also in the '50s that Barney added the extra rooms.

Changes also took place in the arts. The Big Bands of the original swing era were being shaved down to small bebop combos. Television had a symbolic relationship on both radio and films, and mainstream Hollywood was hit double by the realism that began to emerge from the foreign cinema. Black jazz musicians were no longer segregated by the musicians union, and Sunset Strip nightclubs such as the Renaissance, the Crescendo, the Purple Onion and Pandora's Box began to resemble the beat scene that had originally thrived in Venice and Manhattan Beach. With James Dean looming nearby at the coffeehouse known as Chez Paulette, the loose feel around Barney's Beanery weathered the transitional period without a hitch, almost.

Frequented by beatniks, rockin' teens and the likes of Charles Bukowski, the aging Barney showed his impatience with the homosexual element that came with bohemian culture. This was first pointed out by a 1958 Torch Reporter column titled "Barney's Unique Signs" that read "unique indeed - Bold, Black Letters on a Dusty Pink background read 'FAGOTS - STAY OUT' over the bar." It was an issue that was not soon forgotten, though one account in The Los Angeles Times seemed to deflate its importance. "Nobody ever paid much attention to it" claimed David Barry in 1977. "Barney's always had a regular gay clientele but it's not a pickup joint. In the old, crazier days the sign was a joke to a clientele in such advanced stages of social decay that gender seemed an unnecessarily picky distinction."

In fact, Barney's Beanery was becoming a true outlet for counterculture freedom. The Pop Artists associated with the Ferus Gallery on La Cienega from the early to mid-sixties, inclusive of John Altoon, Billy Al Bengston, Robert Irwin, Mel Ramos, Dennis Hopper and Ed Ruscha, could be found at Barney's Beanery regularly. This saw its most fully realized extension in the 1965 work by Ed Kienholz, The Beanery. It was justly described in Shana Alexander's take on Batman-era Pop Art in her The Feminine Eye column for Life magazine; "Next I read that the Hollywood diner in which I often have coffee, Barney's Beanery, has been reproduced by an avant-garde artist in plaster of Paris, complete with bacon smells, cooking sounds and papier-mâché customers, and proclaimed a 22-foot long, $25,000 work of art."

Life was more aware in their 5-page spread on the piece. "Kienholz began thinking about making his own Beanery around 1958, but he didn't do anything about it until August 28, 1964. On that day, on the newsstand outside Barney's door, he caught sight of a headline: 'Children Kill Children in Vietnam Riots.' "It was that headline…" said Kienholz - the harsh contrast between the 'real time' symbolized by the newspaper and the 'surrealist time' of the escapists inside the bar - that got him going. Their heads are clocks whose hands are stopped at 10 past 10 - to suggest eyebrows, says Kienholz, but also to indicate that the denizens of the bar are all killing time." In the work, Barney is the only person who has his own head on his shoulders.

A more recent assessment of the work by the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) by Marge Bulmer categorizes the statement made by The Beanery; "Like Mark Twain, Kienholz was an American satirist and a moralist who could perceive the absurdity of the human condition. He was never politically correct. His art is blunt. The beauty in Kienholz's art is in its very ugliness - the ugliness of the truth." The debut of The Beanery actually took place in the Barney's Beanery parking lot, and was then sent to the Dwan Gallery in New York. Since then, it has appeared in Amsterdam's Royal Dutch Museum, which is fitting, since the actual Barney's Beanery was given a portrait by Princess Margaret in 1960 for the opening of the restaurant's "Crown Room."

By 1965, the film industry had been temporarily eclipsed by the counterculture in Hollywood, and the nearby Sunset Strip was again the center of the action. The beat jazz scene of the '50s had evolved on the Strip, and had absorbed the folk and rock 'n' roll music popular with the coming generation. The Byrds changed the Strip at its ground zero, Ciro's, nearby at the corner of La Cienga and Sunset. Via the music of the Byrds, Bob Dylan's protest songs and political message began to spread throughout popular music. For two and a half years, Hollywood, not San Francisco, was the motivating force behind the social revolution, with bands like Love and the Seeds defining flower power, an L.A. invention. Frank Zappa & the Mothers debuted at a club called the Action on Santa Monica Boulevard itself. Several blocks east at Crescent Heights, P.J.s featured garage punk godz the Standells and the Bobby Fuller Four as house bands. To the west on Santa Monica, the Troubadour (along with the Ash Grove on Melrose) represented the hotbeds of the local folk movement. From this creative environment, the Doors emerged with a logical extension of beat poetry and rock 'n' roll dynamics.

Barney's Beanery was a natural magnet for people involved with the new scene. Thespians from Marlon Brando straight through to Jack Nicholson had gravitated to the respective art, jazz and rock 'n' roll scenes, and frequented Barney's as part of these movements. In Datebook, Tom Carvey of the Everpresent Fullness featured it in his Hip Teen Guide to L.A.: "At about 3 a.m., Barney's starts to get crowded. The people here are older; more the college and intellectual types, and many interesting discussions take place on a high level wave. They serve good apple pie and it's a very friendly place." In November of 1966, police harassment of kids with Beatlesque hair and mod clothing resulted in a riot at Pandora's Box (Sunset & Crescent Heights.) The militaristic sweep of teen hangouts, for the most part, had extinguished L.A.'s momentum as the center of the counterculture revolution. The Ferus Gallery closed at around the same time, and the magnifying glass of the media began to focus their attention to the underground scene in San Francisco. Barney's Beanery became one of several bomb shelters in the local area for what was now becoming nationally hyped as the hippie movement. Two of the main figureheads from Los Angeles and San Francisco, Jim Morrison of the Doors and Janis Joplin of Big Brother & the Holding Company, respectively, became the celebrities most associated with consistent patronage of Barney's Beanery. Janis had a favorite booth; #34. Morrison had a penchant for teasing Joplin, and one incident commonly recalled is a catfight between the two, with the bawdy Joplin successfully belting the playfully demonic Morrison.

It's no secret why the Doors frequented Barney's Beanery. Their offices and their label (Elektra Records) were both nearby. With the fires of protest all around it, the time had come for Barney's Beanery to experience it's own trial by populous. On Saturday, February 7th, 1970, the Gay Liberation Front and other concerned organizations began picketing in front of Barney's Beanery to have the "FAGOTS - STAY OUT" sign removed from the bar. In 1964, a Life magazine story on the emergence of the gay culture in public had featured a steadfast Barney posing in front of his sign. By the end of the decade, Erwin Held had acquired the restaurant from the estate of Barney C. Anthony, who had passed away on November 25th, 1968. Erwin contested that he wanted to keep the place close to original, as he had obtained it. The argument of oppression and discrimination was uncontestable, however, and the offending sign was removed in the mid-seventies and relocated to its current place in storage.

Former bartender Paul Brazier recalls another backlog legend in the transfer of ownership; "When Erwin took over, he was cleaning out a lot of the stuff upstairs, and they found a shoe box with a bunch of papers in it that had I.O.U.'s Barney had collected. Over the years, when people would come in, he'd write down on a little piece of paper as far as what they had, and what they owed him. He'd throw it in this little shoe box, and supposedly there was an I.O.U. from Clark Gable and several other people that went on to become big Hollywood stars."

Firmly ensconced in the comfort zone with a bearded, longhaired clientele, employees at Barney's Beanery were shocked and saddened to hear that after a typical night of partying at the bar, their friend, Janis Joplin, was found dead at the nearby Landmark Hotel, where she had overdosed on heroin. A year later, Jim Morrison also bid adieu to Los Angeles, and the planet, passing away in Paris. The roadhouse feel of Barney's Beanery began to take on the mantle of its counterculture heritage. With the values of a new decade, Hollywood enjoyed a renaissance in film. Easy Rider, and other realist films such as The Last Picture Show, Carnal Knowledge and Chinatown were driven by the kind of anti-hero that we associate with the young crowd that embraced the restaurant. Another memorable event took place in 1970 down the street at the Troubadour, when British Blues Boom rockers Led Zeppelin sat in with British Folk group Fairport Convention. When the jam session was over, the entire entourage made it over to Barney's Beanery for another wild night.

The buzz from these days of underground F.M. radio continued throughout the decade, with tacky fashion associated with the Brady Bunch and later, disco, barely noticeable. In a positive way, the woodsy quality of Barney's Beanery seemed frozen in 1969, as an extensive article in The Los Angeles Times - Calendar section, dated March 13, 1977 reveals. "It doesn't matter how you look in here," said one young woman, a paralegal by trade. "Nobody cares whether you're straight, hip or funky. You don't have to wear the uniform. It doesn't make any difference whether you're somebody famous or not. If you want to play pool, you put your quarter up and it'll wait its turn like anybody's."

Somehow, all of the positive attributes that we associate with the post-World War I Barney's Beanery still crop up, through each decade. The late '70s and '80s absorbed punk and new wave customers, as well as hair band people and the occasional movie star and screenwriter. Paul Brazier worked the bar from 1984 through 1998, hosting many of the drop-ins. "I can remember Elliot Gould sittin' at the bar and havin' a scotch on the rocks" he recalls. "Bette Midler and her husband came in once, Mel Gibson was around here a lot because he was filming in the neighborhood. We used to get a lot of the Brat Pack. Emilio Estevez had his birthday in the back room one night, and Demi Moore paid for the party. They were all there, Rob Lowe, Kiefer Sutherland, Charlie Sheen, John Cusack, Andy McCarthy, all those guys used to like to come in and play pinball and video games." Musicians continued to drop in as through all the changes in trends. Brazier recalls visits by the Blasters, Janes Addiction, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and many others. "I served Bob Dylan a bourbon and water once, he was very soft-spoken" Brazier counters "and then you'd get Liza Minelli coming in with a bunch of people after a show, very nice and flamboyant. You wouldn't expect to see her at Barney's, but that's the nature of the place."

The bawdy atmosphere of this juke joint owes a great debt to the wait staff, and one member happens to be a cult artist in her own right. Former lead singer of pop group Nikki & the Corvettes have now evolved into author Nikki while holding down a job at Barney's Beanery.

During the '90s, films such as The Doors and Out of Bounds featured Barney's Beanery as a location. As the altrock.com and independent film generation emerged, scriptwriters such as Quentin Tarintino would hole up in one of the multi-colored padded booths, ordering chow from the extensive, newspaper-like menu, to write such epics as Pulp Fiction. Controversy can still surround the place, as when Drew Carey formed a public protest in 1999 against California's smoking ban by inviting press and television cameras to the bar at Barney's Beanery, to watch him and his pals light up a few cigarettes.

As the new millennium dawned, the restaurant was purchased by David Houston and Avi Fattal, who will cultivate the natural atmosphere as it has always been from the earliest days of Barney C. Anthony. Good food, good fun, and the realization, even in Hollywood, that we are all, essentially, human beings worthy of respect.

Thank God for J, my own personal food guide to L.A.'s best eats. Barney's Beanery is the "too-good-to-be-true, real all-American deal." It reminded me of countless redneck moments in films that I've seen, I didn't even mind that they were playing Bon Jovi's earsplitting tracks. The hillbilly sounds added more charm to this historical Los Angeles landmark.And the fact that the likes of Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison hung out at this joint is enough reason for me to relish every morsel of their superb nachos.

Old and Shriveled (and Stark Raving Baaaad)

2007-04-26T22:33:00.000-07:00

DANG...if I'm ever gonna grow that old and shriveled and senile I'm just going to shoot myself in the head! WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH PINOY OLD PEOPLE? They are so f-----' dependent and technophobic.

(I'm really baaaad for saying these things, but I can't help it...and speaking of baaaad, I was totally evil today and not exactly proud of it. I'm turning into a deranged, angry, vile, amoral beyaaach. Come to think of it, maybe I should shoot myself in the head right now instead. This blog entry is totally digressing from this blog's objective --- Chronicles of a Life Well-Lived...hellooooow.)

The Brocka Legacy Lives

2007-04-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

(Second of two parts)

AS of this writing, Q. Allan Brocka's film, "Boy Culture" is still showing in Los Angeles and in several other locations in America.

Part-Filipino and part-white, filmmaker Q. Allan Brocka was born in Guam and raised in the United States.

In an interview with the Asian Journal, AJ asked what part of him has remained Filipino and how being Filipino has influenced his creativity as a filmmaker.

"Born in Guam, I was raised all over the place. My dad's from the Philippines and my mom is white-bred. My dad died when I was very young so I was never really familiar with the Filipino part of my heritage. The way it affects me, my mom's family is all blonde and white-skinned, and it really made me an outsider from the moment that I was a child, I just looked different. I was the kid from a broken home who was dark-skinned."

"That was the biggest perspective, my skin color…the other was feeling like I was missing something. I never knew my family in the Philippines and I knew that there was this whole heritage and culture with me that I was identified with through my last name, my father's side, whom I didn't have a relationship with…"

"It's interesting cause it made me feel like an outsider amongst white people. I also didn't have the opportunity to go back and live with my extended family in the Philippines. It made me feel like an outsider when everyone did look the same as me, I still felt like an outsider because I didn't have the experience of growing up learning Tagalog and having a Filipino household," he confessed.

It was only in his college years, after his uncle's death, that he learned the extent of Lino's legacy in Philippine cinema. By then, Allan was already making a lot of short films and found this discovery both inspiring and depressing. He admitted that not meeting his Uncle Lino was one of the greatest regrets of his life, knowing that they had more than a few things in common.

"It would've been nice just to meet someone who is also gay," Allan mused.

The first film that he saw – "Macho Dancer," was the only one available with English subtitles during that time.

Allan is still familiarizing himself with his late uncle's work. He is currently working on a documentary about Lino's life and films.

Asked if he had already met Filipino filmmakers from the Philippines, Allan said that he almost had the chance to meet up with Aureus Solito in South Africa during his trip a couple of weeks ago, but has not found another opportunity.

Allan's advice to fellow filmmakers – "to continue making films, cause we are lucky enough to have the technology to make films that don't cost money. All you need is a video camera and a computer and you've got a film."

His first Sundance film was done using legos that he shot in his bedroom.

"Look at what you do have access to and make a film about that. Don't worry about the big scripts that you have down the road that will takea hundred million dollars to make and the fact that you don't knowanyone. Don't ever let that stop you from making films because there'sa lot to learn even in just making a film in your bedroom and there'sa lot to gain by doing that," he recommended.

Allan is planning to make more animated short films. His animated lego film has turned into a big-budget TV show that MTV picked for the Logo Channel and will premiere in July.

"If it's got the energy and the voice, and you can make a good film,budget doesn't matter. There are a lot of examples of that and theyare coming up everyday and people are looking for no-budget films thatare amazing."

"Your creativity is like a muscle, you have to work it out. Make a hundred films at home, no money and hopefully you'll learn what's working and what's not and get better and better. Everything you make,every second you shoot isn't going to be a masterpiece," he added.

He invites everyone to go and support independent films if they like watching them.(Photo courtesy of Q. Allan Brocka)

The Grindhouse Effect

2007-04-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

Photo taken from www.pbs.org.
Four words -- I Heart Zoe Bell (go figure).

Stranger Than Fiction and the Theory of Endless Possibilities

2007-04-22T22:55:00.000-07:00

Photo taken from www.z.about.com

“Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death..."

LITTLE did I know that watching "Stranger Than Fiction" would turn the little gears in my head to come up with this bold statement: "Specialization is NOT as special as we think."

Why the claim? Stranger Than Fiction made me realize my wanton desire to have a life of tragedy. I have had endless thoughts of possibilities concerning my inevitable end and have always dreamt that it would be something that would happen in the middle of my most euphoric state (sans drugs and alcohol of course). The poetic conclusion to a perfect tragedy.

Which leads me to my argument. Why does specialization kill one's potential for the perfect tragedy? Simply put, specializing on one thing limits your capabilities to do more things, taste the endless buffet of life's possibilities.

I understand the significance of expertise, and most scholars of the academe may disagree with my theory. But erudite as they may seem, and stacking up on all that knowledge and wisdom is probably burning their neurons at a faster rate than I would ever do to my lungs, chain smoking. But the cold, hard truth is that this quest for mastery over one realm of expertise still leads to...routine.

The human mind is capable of so many things, even the average, least intelligent person is still capable of burning so many neurons. Life is too short to waste on doing and mastering just one thing and the human brain is so powerful and capable of doing a lot of tasks at one time. Why waste that gift?

Imagine being, say an expert accountant. You master the ropes and do the same thing day in and day out, and without even thinking, you become the ultimate authority in the science of numbers. You work 40 years of your life doing the same thing, becoming the boss of your craft. The downside is that you also turn into the worst critic of yourself, and you stress yourself even more to become better at what you do. All that stress builds up and you turn into a workaholic.

This makes the average human life span even shorter than it already is. One day you just drop dead and you wind up regretting that you've never done anything beyond what you've killed yourself over for.

This, I believe is the foremost lesson of Stranger Than Fiction. All the characters get involved in some radical change, some form of breaking out from their "comfort zones" whether they wanted to or not. Harold Crick has the most calculated, mundane existence in the lot, yet the story revolved around his life and his quiet realizations with "the voice" made him do things he never thought he was capable of doing. Karen Eiffel, writer and the omniscient, omnipresent voice is an acclaimed "killer" in her published stories. It has become her signature and her works are recognized as brilliant because of her capability to do tragedies.

However, the turn of events being as they are, leads her to change her "routine" as well, defying the rules of literary theory, even her one shot to doing the most brilliant tragedy ever written. She drastically changes her "specialization" and gives a man a chance to live an entirely different life. She thought that the perfect tragic end would come to her by living death vicariously. "Little did she know that there was really a man, of flesh and blood and dying a real death relying upon the stroke of her pen for hope." And that she changed the course of his life by this power she had over him.

Come to think of it, my thoughts on a perfect tragic death aren't as demented as I thought they were. But it doesn't matter how the end will come, it is the journey that I have traveled before that inevitable end that truly matters. A life that I can claim as well-lived, robust and devoid of regret.

Sanjaya and the American Idol Ballyhoo

2007-04-21T11:11:00.000-07:00

SANJAYA (or Sangina to most of his detractors) is perhaps the ultimate embodiment of the reason why I never dug American Idol, the last straw on the camel's back, as they would put it. It's sickening to see a guy soooo devoid of talent make it to the pages of Entertainment Weekly, US Magazine, even friggin' TIME! The media was practically feeding off and thriving on this guy's infamy.

The whole idea of 'American Idol' is not a new concept. It's as old and tired as Pilita Corrales and the late Bert Marcelo's "Ang Bagong Kampeon" stint during the early 80's. To think that the aspirants of ABK had more talent than Sanjaya and all of AI's previous contenders put together.

Ah well... I guess "masa appeal" is a universal language, one that is appreciated by the mindless and the gullible in all four corners of the world.

At least all of this Sangina shiite will finally be put to rest now that he has been booted out of the show.

Sangina's "all-too-endearing" characteristics though, will make people remember him long after this hoopla has died down...the irritatingly saccharine smile and his soft, manageable, b-b-bouncy crowning (gay) glory.( Come to think of it, he does strike a strong resemblance with Matsotso from Funny Comics' "Planet Op Di Eyps.") - Photo taken from http://msnbcmedia2.msn.com

The Brocka Legacy Lives

2007-04-18T22:07:00.000-07:00

(First of two parts)
FOR most Filipinos, the name Brocka is synonymous to legendary filmmaking.

Before his untimely demise in 1991, Catalino Ortiz Brocka, better known as Lino Brocka, had left a legacy of critically-acclaimed and multi-awarded films that depicted a tumultuous era of a country teeming in social injustice and political unrest.

In posthumous ceremonies, Brocka was named National Artist for Film in 1997.

A decade later, yet another Brocka emerges into the film scene. Lino's nephew, Filipino-American director Q. Allan Brocka was quick to establish his own niche as a reputed filmmaker in gay and lesbian cinema.

His early works, Rick and Steve -The Happiest Gay Couple In All the World (an animated short film), and Eating Out have received accolades from the press.

The Asian Journal had the opportunity to engage the young visionary in a phone interview days after his film, "Boy Culture" premiered on March 23 at Laemmle's Sunset 5 in Los Angeles.

The film, based on the novel by Matthew Rettenmund, was warmly received by the gay and lesbian community and has won several awards including Grand Jury Award for Best Screenplay at the Outfest Awards in Los Angeles.

Boy Culture's website describes the film as "the candid confession of a wildly successful male escort who, after ten years of sex-for-pay, gets romantically entangled with his two hot roommates and a reclusive elderly client. The novel takes on issues of sexual mores and emotional risk with a witty and incisive voice, revealing the leap of faith that love demands."

AJ asked Allan why he chose Boy Culture to be his next film.

"Actually, I didn't pick it as a film," he admitted. "The producer Philip Pierce had read the novel about 8 or 9 years ago and wanted to make it into a film. He was trying to find someone to adapt it into a screenplay. I met him about 3 or 4 years ago and he asked if I wanted to do the adaptation so I read the book. It was small pay, but I took it on right away and I was very excited to and someone else was actually going to direct the film."

"Philip wrote a version of the screenplay that he wasn't very excited about and I took elements from his screenplay and from the book and worked it together, then he gave me notes and we worked back and forth until we came to the final product," Allan narrated.

Allan did not only get a chance to write the screenplay with Philip Pierce but was also asked to direct the film as well.

Asked how he comes up with wit-laden screenplays, Allan revealed that his stories are inspired by either real events or plots that are completely made up.

"The characters are all inspired by real life and largely the way they react are just the ways I feel about people or myself, the way I react or the way I wished I'd reacted or once reacted to certain things. The characters are really based on realities and the stories are fun departures from reality," he said.

Eating Out, Allan's first film feature, was shot for ten days in the blazing Arizona desert. He recounted the struggles and challenges during the filmmaking process and how he overcame them.

"The biggest struggle was not having time for anything. A small budget just means nobody's getting paid and there's not much time to do anything. For me the way to overcome it was just to stay calm and to try to keep everyone else around me calm so that they could do their best in just a few minutes. I really didn't have any time to waste on arguing or someone having a fit or feeling upset."

Crazy things happened during the shoot -- their truck caught fire and they lost a full day. The crew winded up working ten days in a row. There was no airconditioning on location and they were shooting under the hot sun in the middle of summer.

"There were all kinds of problems but we faced them one at a time and did things quickly and calmly," he quipped. (Photo courtesy of Q. Allan Brocka)

Almost Famous

2007-04-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

(Second of two parts)

AS of this writing, Krishtine may already be embarking on her first legit assignment as contributing editor for Rolling Stone magazine.

Krishtine de Leon, a Fil-Am journalism graduate from San Francisco State University and a native of the Bay Area, was chosen among six fledgling journalists who joined MTV's "I'm From Rolling Stone" to become the next contributing editor for the legendary rock and roll magazine.

Two weeks ago, the Asian Journal had the opportunity to have a phone chat with Rolling Stone's newest "edition." At that time, Krishtine(who was then temporarily based in Los Angeles) had not formally spoken with RS regarding her responsibilities as contributing editor, but shared a general idea of how things are going to work.

With RS being more inclined towards rock, alternative and pop music, AJ asked Krishtine how she can integrate a fresh perspective, coming from a background that was more oriented towards hiphop.

"I think that RS is such an institution on rock and roll and there's no way that I can ever take away from that, but after thirty years now, hiphop has proved itself not to be a passing fad, it's really a lucrative business right now and it's huge... in terms of being recognized, it's old enough as a genre itself."

"I felt that it was finally time for rock n' roll as an institution and RS as an institution to recognize hiphop. I thought that there's a possibility that as contributing editor, hiphop would be my specialty and that they needed that. At the same time, I wanted people to recognize that RS came from San Francisco, and it came off as a sub-culture rock and roll and rock and roll wasn't taken seriously. I felt that was the same thing about hiphop, I wanted hiphop to be taken more seriously. RS didn't really have any credibility with the hiphop community either," she asserted.

She narrated how some journalists she met perceive RS as "a magazine for pop culture and a magazine for old, white folks." She's hoping to make RS more relevant to the community of color and to the urban community as well.

With the Fil-Am community finally finding representation in RS, AJ asked Krishtine if she thought that this could be a jumping off point for Filipino American bands to make it to the mainstream as well.

Krishtine gave a hearty laugh. " I think that with me just being there and being somebody who they trust as an important person, as a peacemaker per se, it's definitely a chance not only for Fil-Ams but for everybody. It's hard because I'm coming in there as a representative of my community so people think that now that I'm there I'm takin' down the bill, which is true."

"But people have to meet me halfway also because I worked very hard to get where I'm at, just because I'm there doesn't mean that some Fil-Am band that comes out of nowhere is going to make it to Rolling Stone. They have to work as equally hard as I did. If they get to my level, I will definitely be the first person to pitch. I will pitch it."

When it comes to writing about more complex issues or issues of social relevance, Krishtine writes with such vividity and eloquence. Her piece on "The Dark Side of Kentucky," Krishtine's IFRS national affairs assignment on the Tyson Chicken Houses, is an illuminative combo of factual reporting and palpable imagery that will move you to feel nothing but compassion for the families affected by this eco-disaster.

Asked what inspires her to write with so much poignancy, Krishtine revealed that she finds writing therapeutic. "Growing up, feeling like I was from two cultures, feeling that I was from the Philippines but that I was also from America…the Filipino-American identity is something that is still being shaken."

"Going to SFSU and learning about my history, that was a huge inspiration for me. Not only Fil-Ams, but people of color in general, the struggles they have made to be recognized in the community. I realized that my problems are so little compared to theirs. I realized that their work made my work possible. I can't complain about how hard it is because I don't really know what it's like."

"I can imagine how hard it was and I can imagine the perseverance of our people. I still get emotional to this day, thinking how hard it must have been for Filipinos to be recognized."

"Coming into the situation, my father and mother had to give up their whole life to bring me here and sacrifices are still being made so that I can stay in this very fortunate position. That is my muse, because I'm given this opportunity to have a place and what am I going to do with that voice, am I going to sit there and waste it and not recognize the work that was before me? Or am I going to recognize all the work that has been put in so I could be here in this position and do my best to, not only be myself but to be proud of my culture and also be somebody whose talent is undeniable universally…," she further added.

Krishtine's message to aspiring journalists -- Don't worry about anybody else, worry about developing yourself. Use your struggles by taking in the strength and learning about yourself. Always give back at the end of the day. Finally, look at yourself as a representation of your community and as a Filipino, a force to be reckoned with. (Photo by Statia Photography/Rollingstone.com)

An Uneventful Evening

2007-04-11T23:47:00.000-07:00

JUST wanted to share snapshots of this "supposed exciting" evening, but judging by the smiles on our faces, it wasn't all that bad ( it would've been interesting though if I got a shot of 'that guy from Metallica' or the actual Hendrix guitar...oh well, so much for press photography)

The Return of Julie Plug

2007-04-10T23:07:00.000-07:00

"We can take the longest road, never-ending scenery."
- 'In Every Corner', Starmaker

AFTER more than a decade, Julie Plug is still cruisin' and whistlin' beautiful music on the sweet road to success.

The San Francisco-based Fil-Am band was born in 1992, out of a love for 60's pop, 70's rock, 80's new wave and 90's Britpop. Their influences include the likes of The Sundays, The Beatles, The Stone Roses, Oasis and Ride to name a few.

Julie Plug is Des de Leon-Nicolas on vocals, Jay Averilla on bass, Terry Nicolas on guitars, Rob Uytingco on drums, Gil Castro on keyboards and Dickon Wong on violins.

The formidable group was on hiatus for almost three years, after the release of their second album Whatever You Wonder in 2003. Julie Plug recently resurfaced during the Rock for Aids Awareness Concert in December 2006 in San Jose.

Despite the band's sporadic inactivity from the gig scene, Julie Plug still gets the same amount of support and enthusiasm from fans as they did during the release of their first album, Starmaker in 1997.

Julie Plug was invited as a special guest for this Lolopop! 3, a Fil-Am bandfest in Los Angeles that aims to showcase both seasoned and aspiring alternative rock bands in California.

The lovely Des is the epitome of a rocker mom. Despite being four and a half months on the family way, the petite vocalist still rocked the house and made the audience clamor for an encore.

The Asian Journal had the rare opportunity to engage the band members in a casual chat before their post-performance pictorial.Here's what they had to say.

AJ: Do you have a new album coming?

JP: [Des] Not right now, but we do have new songs. We're still working on it and would probably start recording pretty soon, but we don't know how soon.

AJ: There was a long transition between the release of Starmaker and Whatever You Wonder. Your music kinda changed a bit from upbeat, youthful and candid to more mature, melodic and introspective. So what should your fans expect from your new songs?

JP: [Des]That we don't know...[Jay] What did you think of the new songs that we played?

AJ: I thought the two songs came from opposite ends of the spectrum, so I don't really know. It's definitely a little different from the songs in Starmaker and Whatever You Wonder.

JP: [Des] That's a good sign (laughs). It's probably a mix of the two. More of like a combination of the two. [Rob] It's like a going-back-to-our-roots sort of thing, more mature but still going back to the basics. We brought in violins, keyboards, odds and stuff and we wanna go back to where we were before... [Jay] We brought in Beethoven and Mozart, so now we're bringing in the guy from "Video Killed the Radio Star" (laughs).

AJ: So how do you combine your influences with Des liking The Sundays and the Beatles, Rob liking the Stone Roses and Jay being a fan of Bob Dylan and Bob Marley? Does it affect the way you write your music?

JP: [Rob] Oh yeah, definitely. [Des] Even if one us writes something, when we start playing it all together, our influences just blend into it so we can't really pinpoint how it's going to sound until everyone starts playing with it, it just comes out.[Rob] We all kinda like enjoy playing the stuff anyway so we gotta read each other really well. [Des] Everyone puts something into it.[Jay] The bands that we like, we all have different influences. We think it's good, cause otherwise, if we all like the same bands, we would end up sounding just like them.

AJ: So what's this thing with you guys, you disappear for sometime then come back with yet another phenomenal album, what do you think keeps your fans hooked on you?

JP: (Laughs) [Des] We don't know. [Rob] We're kinda like wondering why that happens... [Jay] Actually, it just feels like we disappear, but we're actually still going, we're just involved with different things.

AJ: You've been around for more than a decade, do you have any plans of making it in the Philippines?

JP: [Des] We would love to but it's really hard to gather everyone. We would love to go there. It's just a matter of time and how we're gonna get there. [Jay] It has to be the right offer and it has to work with what we have.

AJ: Do you have any messages for aspiring Fil-Am bands who draw inspiration from your achievements?

JP:[Des] Just keep enjoying the music and keep writing and don't think about making it big or getting into a music label. I think it's important to just enjoy what you write. Some people try to make it big and they get disappointed but we think if you enjoy it, then it comes out. [Rob] I agree. I think you should do it for the love first before anything and it will get you somewhere you know, and don't look at the boundaries cause there are no boundaries there. Especially like for Asians and the media...there are lots of stuff against us but just keep doing it, we're gonna rock it. [Jay] It just keeps changing. What's the most popular thing now? It's Korean soap operas...Just keep doing what you love doing and be true to yourself.

AJ: This is my last question for our readers, I'm sure they're really curious about it. Why Julie Plug?

JP: [Des ]Oh my goodness, that's a timeless question. When Terry and I first started the band, we were supposed to call it Plug. We actually didn't have a drummer or a bass player, we just had keyboards, a drum machine and a guitar, so we thought we would name it Plug. And then we were talking on the phone one time and I told him, I was just joking and I told him my name was Julie. And so I said, wait a minute, Julie, Plug. Julie Plug. Sounds like a cartoon character and it was kinda catchy so we kinda stuck to that and then a few years later I felt I wanted to change it because everybody thought I was Julie and I'm like no, I'm not Julie. But we just kept it, we're comfortable with it and we're stuck with it (laughs). I should name my baby Julie if it's a girl.

The interview pretty much ended with me sheephishly handing my copy of Whatever You Wonder for their autographs. Admittedly, I'm just as hooked as the rest of the other Julie Plugged peeps who attended Lolopop! 3.

Coming from a band with such remarkable and inexhaustible talent, these are truly humble words. Julie Plug's band members value their craft more than anything. They are not willing to compromise their artistic integrity for the price of fame.

Julie Plug will definitely keep their fans giddy with anticipation for their next caravan of gigs and for the launching of their third album.

For more details about the band, log on to www.julieplug.com.

Almost Famous

2007-04-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

Bay Area's golden girl earns spot in 'Rolling Stone'

(First of two parts)
LESSON #2: JOURNALISTS ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED. If you’re writing about Krishtine de Leon, this is perhaps the most compelling piece of advice among the five notoriety lessons that she wrote in her blog, Guerilla Busfare.

The 24-year old Krishtine, along with five other neophyte journalists, was chosen among thousands of applicants to join MTV’s reality show “I’m From Rolling Stone.”

The show was filmed during the summer but only aired recently. The six contenders, which included Krishtine, Tika Milan, Russell Morse, Krystal Simpson, Colin Stutz and Peter Maiden, were shown at their best and worst moments, venturing on their respective assignments that ranged from music-related topics to more serious national affairs.

On IFRS’s final episode, a team of senior editors made the crucial decision and handpicked Krishtine to become Rolling Stone’s newest contributing editor.

Rollingstone.com and Krishtine’s blog reveal a lot of interesting facts about the San Francisco-based Pinay.

A staunch advocate of the hyphy (pronounced hy-phee) movement, Krishtine is an editor for a hip-hop oriented magazine in San Francisco. She was born in the Philippines but was raised in the Bay Area. She sports a grill (gold teeth) and claims that “Filipino-style fried chicken with rice and a side of garlic, vinegar and pepper to dip in” was her favorite dish until Rolling Stone sent her to cover a national affairs story in Kentucky regarding the mass pollution Tyson Foods made on the environment.

In a phone interview with the Asian Journal, Krishtine’s bubbly, outspoken nature shines through. She shares her thoughts about getting picked from thousands who tried their luck to get in IFRS.

“The people from the Bay Area are very unique to the rest of the world because their community is very culturally-conscious,” she states.”San Francisco was ground zero for a lot of struggles in terms of being recognized as a Pinay. I kinda took it for granted because the community is so supportive out here that I felt like I was very lucky but at the same time I had no idea that there was nobody else really like me out there until they picked me.”

“I was sitting there, organizing in the community, being an activist and also at the same time working for a magazine, loving hip-hop music. Two things in my mind, that I’m most dedicated to, were the Filipino-American community and local hip-hop.”

Krishtine thinks that it is “the combination of those two things, being a Pinay who is very proud of her race instead of those Pinays who would say that they were Hawaiian or something else and hide their race because they weren’t in the mainstream,” was very unique and it was also a part of her. “When they picked me it kinda further validated that there was nobody else in the country doing what I was doing,” she asserts.

Apart from her endearing qualities, Krishtine also became known for her feisty and vivacious personality that soon became a magnet for negative feedback from some viewers of the show and readers of her blog.

Krishtine recounts her experiences with what she refers to in her blog as “haterism” and how she coped with all the negativism.

“It was very tough for me,” she confesses. “Before I sent in my application tape I knew that my privacy was gonna be gone forever. I knew that people were going to be saying things about me that they thought they knew. I knew that. That was all a part of growing up as a kid also. All that training and all that social training as a young person has really come in handy for me because I had to be sure that at the age of 24 I knew who I was and there was nobody in this world that could tell me who I was but myself,” she further quips.

Krishtine feels secure with the fact that people around her will love her regardless of what other people might say against her.

She also cites how story editors can “spin things” in favor of ratings. She’s just lucky enough to come home knowing that she has won and that she will soon be vindicated and that kept her going.

“If I hadn’t won, this would’ve been a harder experience for me because the story would’ve been left hanging and people would’ve thought forever that I was going to be that ghetto girl that never got anywhere because of my big mouth,” she says.

There were people who would come out having opinions of her as a person, but she knew that they had no grounds for the negative comments that they were saying about her.

“It took a lot of strength for me to understand that,” she admits. “There were times where I was really like, I can’t believe that people out there are that ignorant. I can’t believe that the show was making me seem this way, like a caricature of myself. But at the same time, when they finally started showing my strengths, I just realized how gullible people are in general. That they’re given a story and they totally believe it and now that I’ve won, a lot of people are eating their words and seeing that their misconceptions about me were wrong and people recognize my hardwork,” she muses.

“I try not to focus on all that negative energy and I try to provide as much information about myself as I could so that people can arrive at their own decision,” Krishtine adds.

Asked what her initial reaction was when she found out that she made it as contributing editor for Rolling Stone, Krishtine blurts that she had mixed emotions about it.

“It was such a hard time and challenging and fun and exhilarating time over the summer that I tried not to focus too much on the outcome because I knew that regardless of what would happen, it would still be something that I was gonna take away with me and remember but I worked really, really hard so I felt like my work was finally being appreciated,” she states.
(Photo by Statia Photography/Rollingstone.com)

Trigger Happy Night

2007-04-03T23:21:00.000-07:00

Booze and Boozu go together like peas and carrots.

Why 300 Is Sooo Gay

2007-04-02T00:27:00.000-07:00

(1) romanticized abs on scantily clad men
(2) freak show carnival with persian god(dess)
(3) men with spears
(4) Prepare for glory! (blech)

Just had to see it to prove my point. :)

My New Camera

2007-03-30T00:36:00.000-07:00

HERE's the debut shot of my new Nikon D40 camera. Candid happy! Can't wait. :)

Whistling Pigs on a Friday Night

2007-03-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

Photo taken from www.myhollywoodstar.com

IF you're a swinging tourist on Hollywood and Highland and come across this fancy-looking little joint called "Pig N' Whistle," don't even think about going in. Their food sucks, and the service sucks even more.

My friend and I have been combing through new (or old for that matter) eats in LA lately. Last weekend we were at Miceli's, the oldest Italian Restaurant in Hollywood (or so they say) and one of the landmark restaurants in the City of Stars and Angels. The food at Miceli's wasn't extraordinary, not exemplary enough for the almost half an hour's wait, but at least the service didn't suck big time.

Pig N' Whistle is another story. The maitre'd ( I don't even think she deserves to be called that, with her drab outfit and dazed disposition) told us that we could sit at the bar while waiting for our table, and so we did. She told us that the wait was going to take around 15 minutes, and so we decided to order some drinks and bar chow from the bar menu. Apparently, that was a grave mistake.

Ordering from the bar meant that you're supposed to stay there instead of getting a table, and you could only get a table after you've closed the tab. Classic chicken and egg situation. If they didn't ask us to sit at the bar in the first place, we wouldn't have ordered anything. I asked the guy at the bar to cancel the bar chow that we ordered, but this waitress didn't catch the drift and handed me the tab without cancelling the order. And she had the audacity to tell me that I didn't tell her to cancel the order. I said that I told the other guy and she started scolding him in front of everyone like he's some dumb ass! Previous to that appalling scene, a customer was complaining that that bitchy waitress pointedly ignored him while he was calling her. We thought he was just plain cuckoo. He wasn't. The waitress was just an A-class beyaaach.

As if that wasn't enough to tick me off, the guy waiting on our table gives me attitude after seeing that I brought my beer to the table from the bar. He said that he was offended by the sight of my beer bottle? I'm like WTF?

Overpriced crappy food plus appallingly terrible service equals recipe for disaster. Pigs N' Whistle does live up to its name. It's practically an animal farm of pigs.

My first and last happy swig at the bar before the mortifying encounter with the beyaaach waitress.

On Krishtine de Leon's Infamy 'Almost Famous' Feat

2007-03-20T23:33:00.000-07:00

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Based on my very latebreaking fact-find on Krishtine's sojourn to fame, I finally saw IFRS' conclusion and felt like a total retard after. Apparently she did emerge victorious over the five other applicants and found her place as FULL-TIME CONTRIBUTING EDITOR IN ROLLIN' F---IN' STONE! YEY! SHE'S LIVING MY DREAM! And sooo...I stand corrected and edited out some previous posts that I made on this blog entry )

FOR people who don't know Krishtine, she is a feisty Filipino-American from the Bay Area and one of the neophyte journalists who made it to MTV's reality show,"I'm From Rolling Stone." Normally I would've been on a show like that like white on rice but for some prosaic reason have not seen a single episode.

So how did I manage to zero in on a girl with such a killer name? (go figure!) Apparently, our EIC came across this show in MTV called "Speak Up"and saw the feisty femme while being interviewed about the Hyphy culture of what she calls the "Yay Urrea in Northern Killa Kali."

Besides the fact that I had a new assignment and therefore had to do my homework before engaging in an erudite conversation with the controversial Krishtine, I also felt a boost of inherent curiosity surge in my veins. After all, we had three things in common: (1) We (almost) have the same name;~~(2) We're both aspiring to become writers for Rolling Stone (and yes...she definitely has a major headstart at 24 compared to my pale aspirations at 29!)~~(2) She has it made! Dang! Contributing editor at 24...so what am I chopped liver? ;and (3) We're both passionate about music.

And so I searched the net for any piece of info that I could scavenge about this "girl with the golden grill." The first one I came across was her profane yet bold and fearless blog entry that diluted all the negative feedback (and hasty judgments at that) that she's been getting from less-than-impressed viewers of the show. Warmongers who ridicule her every move but still religiously read her online chat interviews and blog entries.

Though most of her entries in her blog seem too profane and too "hyphy" for an average reader who never came across the concept of "hyphy-ness," I couldn't help but be impressed by her angsty,irreverent writing style. This struggling but nonetheless scholarly journalist would readily engage herself in any argument, whether intelligible or just plain hateful,for as long as she can voice out her unadulterated thoughts and speak her mind.

Surprisingly, she has a soft side for kinder people. Read through her "Ghetto-ized" essay on PhilippineNews.com and you'll be astonished by her poignancy and compassionate nature.

I watched a few clips of the show on youtube.com as well. She didn't strike me as "too unreasonably angst-ridden." If anything, she was just trying to be professional and passionate about the work that she's doing and the ideas that she's generating. (And I'm pretty sure that the once saccharine people in RS have already developed the same "sense of tumor" over the years)

Anyway, the important thing is for me to spew sensible questions when I finally meet my "katukayo." After all, one of the five crucial lessons she elaborated on her blog states that one should never trust a journalist. How's that for pre-interview intimidation? From one journalist to another.Carpe diem to that!

(Postscript: Speaking of famous, what the hell is up with this 300 movie? Everyone's peeing on their pants talkin' about it. The line "Prepare For Glory," just kills me. Doubtful, very doubtful indeed.)

The Divine Comedy

2007-03-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

I JUST got back from "acting" auditions. I don't know what I was thinking,engaging myself in an acting workshop on a supposed lazy, hazy Sunday afternoon, but hell... I still did it anyway. And now I feel an overwhelming sense of smug accomplishment because of it.

I didn't really need to do the group sketches because I was applying for a spot writing scripts or doing set design. I've always been the behind-the-scenes kind of person when it comes to public performances. Instinct told me that I should've inquired about it, but I thought, what the hell...how am I going to sell a comedic concept if I don't know how to deliver the punch line? It's just like a typical whack session in an ad agency that I used to work with, you had to do the unimaginable in order to pitch a concept for an ad.

Doing group sketches is actually a very effective mental exercise in creativity. You learn to adapt to situations in a snap and come up with witty, impromptu stories. I think writing for comedy skits demands that kind of discipline. And besides, it was really fun! People you've never met suddenly open up, do wisecracks and become uninhibited,possessed creatures because the scene requires them to communicate their ideas, and in turn you need to be receptive to their ideas in order for you to generate more ideas to compliment the ones they tossed your way. It's pretty much like doing charades, only that you need to combo it with lots and lots of wit and humor.

I really hope that they would consider me to become part of the writers' pool. It's something I would definitely look forward to, a creative outlet to focus my energies on to kill the monotony of my mundane, day-to-day fare.

A Fruition of Creativity

2007-03-08T00:26:00.000-08:00

MUSIC + CREATIVITY + ART = SPEAKER FRUITS. This is the existing philosophy of Speaker Fruits.

Born out of a common love for unconventional artistic expression and music, Speaker Fruits was established in November 2004 by a group of San Francisco-based Filipino-American artists.

Speaker Fruits is an art/design collective that began as live painting performances while listening to predominantly hiphop music. This form of improv art inspired its members to put their talents to good use by raising money for fundraisers and events.

However, the artists felt the need to slow down, because live painting performances were burning them out and compromising their art. They have adopted a more thorough and individualistic approach to their art and have been painting independently (still with the music vibe) at their own pace.

Speaker Fruits is: Dino Ignacio (Marikina), James Garcia (gaNyan), Gem Mateo (GEM) and Stuter.

Dino Ignacio (Marikina) is the fab flash animator behind "Maritess Vs. The Superfriends," (a collaboration with Fil -Am stand-up comic Rex Navarrete) and the adroit creator of the now-defunct Webby Awardee site "Bert is Evil." He earned a degree in Computer Arts/3D modelling from the Academy of Art University in San Francisco and is currently the creative director of MYX, a music channel of ABS-CBN based in Northern California.

James Garcia (gaNyan) is an illustrator-painter who received his BA in Art from the San Francisco State University, majoring in painting and printmaking. He has showcased his works in gallery exhibits and events in Los Angeles, Palm Springs, San Francisco, New York and Las Vegas. His influences include children's books, cartoons, comic books, fantasy art, Filipino folktales and his peers. He is also the curator of the “Make Believe” exhibit.
 Gem Mateo (GEM) is a painter-graphic designer. He has traveled far and wide to showcase his collection of rare images of The Legendary Botchok and Friends.

Stuter is an LA-based painter-illustrator-graphic designer. His works are influenced by skateboarding, grafitti, cartoons,comic books and artists such as Twist One and Dalek.

In an interview with the Asian Journal, James tells us how “Make Believe” came into fruition.

“I’ve just been wanting to show our crew at work and make it a more enjoyable experience by bringing along some of my friends who also have friends who are artists and some whom I met through Myspace.com. I got them all together to do the show,” he relates.

Asked if the “Make Believe” theme came before the process of doing the artworks, or if the artworks were already made before coming up with the theme, James states that it’s a combination of both, that the exhibit is a collection of earlier works and works made especially for the show.

The concept of “Make Believe” was actually a last minute decision. James believes that it is the gathering of artists representing themselves that matters most.

“Make Believe is just representative of its meaning, you know the traditional, usual definition kind of being imaginary and we conjure all these images and what not through art and try to create this world of images,” he quips.

James thinks that it can also be about breaking up the meaning of these two words: making things and believing in your art.

Despite the fact that the four of them grew up in different cultures, with Dino and Stuter being born and raised in the Philippines, their core influences are rooted on one common ground — they are all Filipinos.

James thinks that as a group of Filipino artists “we are very whimsical with our art and try not to take it too seriously, but at the same time, we also take it seriously. I think we all had the same kind of upbringing, we can understand each other a lot better, where we’re coming from when it comes to communication like getting a joke or reminiscing on things. I think that’s why we’ve been able to maintain our collective. We look at this as just the beginning, there’s going to be a lot more.”

In terms of his personal style as an artist, James cites cartoons and children's books as his foremost influences. James wants to explore the elements of Filipino folktales and depict them in a new light. In "Kapre," he combines the traditional attributes of this inherently Filipino mythical figure with his own contemporary interpretation.

James reiterates that “Make Believe” is a collaboration of 24 artists, not just the members of Speaker Fruits.

Guest artists include Rheavelle, Solace, Peekaboo, Downtimer, Angrywoebots, Boohi, Deesto, Ceecee(TYS), Santos, Roots, Munkone, Beatrock, Phoneticontrol,Chris Granillo, Yukako Ezoe, Naoki Onodera, Dramaone, Simbulan, Artivista and Scott Smitherman.

The exhibit had its formal opening last Saturday, March 3, with a live musical performance by Native Guns.

"Make Believe," is currently on display at Lost Souls Café in 124 W. 4th Street in Los Angeles. The exhibit will run until the end of March. For more info, visit www.speakerfruits.com.

Hum-Drum Turns to Hey-Cool!

2007-02-27T22:11:00.000-08:00

AN action-packed Saturday ensued after my little field trip to Hollywood and Highland, where preps were being made for the Oscars. OK...so maybe that's overstretching it a bit.

Actually it was funny that I didn't expect to see the red carpet when my main reason for being there was to attend the Art Directors' Seminar of Oscar-nominated films.( I fell asleep in the middle of Pan's Labyrinth talk...tragic I know) Anyway, after two hours of hum-drum talk, I couldn't muster the energy to stay. Besides, I was starving to death.

After nibbling on buffalo wings at Hooters, I decided to grace the Virgin Mega Store with my presence. I hardly think that I made an impact with my lame purchases...two DVD's at ten bucks each. Hey, it's 200 Cigarettes and Robin Hood Men in Tights. That should be worth something.

Anyway, the highlight of my visit was chancing upon this rather remarkable piece of literature called "Britpop! Cool Britannia and the Spectacular Demise of English Rock" written by John Harris. I leafed through the pages, undecided whether to make the purchase. After all, it's only paperback.

I decided to check out Amazon's stock instead and got a new copy for a measly five bucks! Now that my friend, is a real bargain. I know, I know, I am probably loading up on too much literature that I wouldn't even finish reading anytime soon, but I thought this would be a great read on bus stop waits or leisurely coffee breaks. I couldn't well be lugging my hefty art books around in moments like that now could I? I'm actually attempting to overcome my worsening case of ADD (As if my already pending paperback acquisitions that are collecting dust on my makeshift bookshelf aren't enough therapy).

Here's what amazon.com had to say about this fanta-bulous piece of work:

Beginning in 1994 and closing in the first months of 1998, the UK passed through a cultural moment as distinct and as celebrated as any since the war. Founded on rock music, celebrity, boom-time economics, and fleeting political optimism, this was "Cool Britannia." Records sold in the millions, a new celebrity elite emerged, and Tony Blair's Labour Party found itself returned to government. Drawing on interviews from all the major bands including Oasis, Blur, Elastica, and Suede, and from music journalists, record executives, and those close to government, Britpop!charts the rise and fall of the Britpop moment. In this wonderfully engaging, page-turning narrative, John Harris, currently the hottest young music journalist in the UK, argues that the high point of British music's cultural impact also signaled its effective demise. After all, if rock stars were now friends of government, how could they continue to matter? "Cool Britannia was an empty promise that was bound to end in tears. John Harris captures the moment when New Labour, desperately wanting to seem hip, invited Britpop into Downing Street. Irresistible." -Billy Bragg

Pop! Go the Ratings

2007-02-19T20:53:00.000-08:00

THE music video at the beginning of the film would make you think that there would be an abundance of sly, sarcastic humor as the story progresses.

But why would you elevate your expectations for a movie like “Music and Lyrics?” Is it because of the actors? Or is it because the movie seemed to have a fresh perspective for a romantic comedy? A movie can be just that…cheesy, romantic and funny.

Listening to a pop song is like eating a cream-filled twinkie: sweet but horrifyingly sickening when eaten in large amounts. The generic flavor is so created to be mass-produced in order to satisfy the needs of a mindless, consumerist culture.

“Music and Lyrics” is actually the film incarnate of a pop song with its formula plot: two people meet under pressing circumstances (in this case, to write a song for a promising pop star), get attracted to each other, fall in love, reach a turning point, go through heartache, and finally come to a conclusion that would either make or break the relationship.

Alex Fletcher is a washed up 80’s songwriter who meets Sophie Fisher, the girl who waters his plants. Sophie conveniently has the talent that Alex lacks: her inherent lyrical flair. Faced with the opportunity to resurrect his ebbing musical career, Alex finds a goldmine in Sophie and does the “Cora” project with her in 48 hours.

He discovers that Sophie is not an accidental lyricist but a frustrated writer on the verge of a creative meltdown. He pacifies her need for recognition. Eventually, romance blooms and the two became a couple.

Meanwhile, their little project takes a 360-degree turn for the worst when Cora manipulates the song and turns it into a gyrating catastrophe. Sophie fights back to reclaim artistic integrity while Alex tries his best to procrastinate a disastrous confrontation by evading Sophie’s convictions.

In a battle of wits, Alex and Sophie find themselves on opposing poles.

But in the end (as expected), love conquers all. In the grand tradition of Drew Barrymore’s movies where love is proclaimed openly in public settings (examples of which are the likes of “Never Been Kissed,” “Fever Pitch” and “The Wedding Singer”), Alex creates a song for Sophie and sings it during Cora’s big night. To top it all off, he convinces Cora to stick to the original version of the song that he made with Sophie. And so the formula conclusion takes effect and everyone goes home happy, just like the way a pop song makes you feel after listening to it for the first time.

If that were Marc Lawrence’s objective in creating the film, then the movie is a roaring success. But unlike the sparks that flew in “Miss Congeniality” and “Two Weeks Notice,” “Music and Lyrics” just didn’t have the ooompffff chemistry that we were looking for between Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore.

For all the criticisms and letdowns, “Music and Lyrics” was flagellated mainly for its utter lack of romantic sizzle.

The Lives of Others

2007-02-14T22:48:00.000-08:00

IT is rather difficult to judge if this movie is truly deserving of an Oscar nomination. I had mixed sentiments after seeing it. There are just too many questionable "holes" in the film that deserve a thorough discussion.

The Lives Of Others
Director: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck
Cast: Ulrich Mühe, Sebastian Koch, Martina Gedeck
In German w/ subtitles
Rated: R
137 minutes
Reviewed by Noel Murray
February 8th, 2007

Directors with a recognizable style, like Steven Spielberg, Brian De Palma, and Oliver Stone, frequently get scolded for marking serious movie material with their gauche personal stamps. But at least those filmmakers have personalities, and the boldness to impose them. Writer-director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck gives his debut feature, The Lives Of Others, no particular style, and the absence of visual risk-taking renders an exciting premise ponderous and stolid.

Set in East Germany at the end of the communist era, The Lives Of Others deals with the Stasi's cruel and ultimately futile efforts to root out subversives through surveillance and interrogation. The film focuses on Ulrich Mühe, a secret-police officer who questions what constitutes subversion as he digs deeper into the life of seemingly devoted communist playwright Sebastian Koch. This is a terrific, suspenseful story about voyeurism and hypocrisy, but von Donnersmarck largely keeps the emotion at a distance, preferring to intellectualize the action rather than letting the audience fully feel what Mühe and Koch are going through.

In spite of that lapse, The Lives Of Others perseveres, thanks to the performances of the heartbreakingly stoic Mühe and the problematically heroic Koch, and thanks to a plot that keeps twisting in intriguing ways, chased down a winding path by the historical change we know is coming. As Mühe peers into Koch's life and learns all his contradictions—including his love for a woman who'll gladly sell him out to support her drug habit—the cop begins to stall the process of making an arrest, in part because he's no longer sure if Koch's association with known dissidents is really a criminal act, and in part because he can't bear to stop following the story.

It's almost painful to imagine what someone like De Palma or the Coen brothers could've done with this concept, using artful cross-cutting and rhyming compositions to keep the audience so wound up that they almost miss the political implications of what's going on. Instead, von Donnersmarck makes the meaning of every moment thuddingly clear, and doesn't move on until he's sure everyone's gotten it. It's ironic, really, that a movie about learning to appreciate the subtleties of human behavior is so disappointingly blunt.

A.V. Club Rating: B

Wiretapped
(Hagen Keller / Sony Pictures Classics)
By Kenneth Turan, Times Staff Writer

It may be arguably true that, in Jean-Paul Sartre's words, "hell is other people," but what "The Lives of Others" brilliantly proves is that drama fits exactly the same definition.

A potent narrative about the transformative effect of involvement in other people's stories, "Lives" turns its own story into a python-tight embrace of nuanced tension and emotional connection. It convincingly demonstrates that when done right, moral and political quandaries can be the most intensely dramatic dilemmas of all.

In Los Angeles for a one-week award-qualifying run before a February release, this German film, a likely foreign-language Oscar nominee, comes to town laden with deserved honors: six nominations in the European Film Awards and seven Lolas, the German version of the Oscars, including best picture, director and screenwriter for first-time filmmaker Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck.

Von Donnersmarck has set his film in the East Germany of 1984, five years before the Berlin Wall collapsed. It was a time when the terrifying Stasi, the secret police, made it their business to use an extensive network of spies and surveillance to know every secret thing about their citizens.

Unlike other German films, most notably 2004's landmark "Goodbye, Lenin," "Lives" is hardly an exercise in what's called "Ostalgia": nostalgia for the good old days of the East. Instead it is an inside look at how a surveillance society, set up to discover and prey upon human weakness, has the ability to make everyone a potential suspect and destroy everything it touches.

"The Lives of Others" does all this beautifully, but it is too well-acted a film, too meticulously plotted and carefully directed, to be satisfied with that alone. It's also finally too smart to be content with telling anything like a familiar story. Instead it places its key characters in high-stakes predicaments where what they are forced to wager is their talent, their very lives, even their souls.

Introduced first is Stasi Capt. Gerd Wiesler, someone we recognize, or think we do, as one of the worst of the worst, a soulless servant of the state shown both interrogating an overmatched prisoner and passing on his manipulative techniques to the next generation of secret police.

Immaculately played by Ulriche Muhe (winner of the best actor Lola), Wiesler is a humorless automaton, a Jesuitical ascetic with cold eyes and an unswerving true believer's faith in the system he has sworn to defend against "enemies of socialism" no matter where he finds them.

Wiesler's former classmate, Lt. Col. Anton Grubitz (Ulrich Tukur), has the opposite temperament. Very much of a schmoozer and political animal, hence his more senior position as head of the Culture Department, Grubitz takes Wiesler along with him for a night at the theater where they meet a powerful minister, Bruno Hempf (Thomas Thieme).

This is not any ordinary night. It is the premiere of a new play by Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch), one of the country's top playwrights, a play starring his beautiful mistress and the queen of the East German stage, Christa-Maria Sieland ("Mostly Martha's" Martina Gedeck).

It should be a night of triumph, but Minister Hempf is not happy. He tells Grubitz there might be reason to suspect playwright Dreyman's loyalty to the regime, and Grubitz puts his good friend Wiesler, the Zen master of surveillance techniques, a man who wouldn't hesitate to wiretap his own mother, on the job.

With Wiesler dispassionately listening in, we get to know the playwright and his actress better, get to see their worries about being able to do meaningful work in a restrictive society. Dreyman is especially concerned with the plight of his former director, Albert Jerska (Volkmar Kleinert), blacklisted by the government and prevented from working for going on seven years.

When you wiretap as conscientiously as Wiesler, you learn all sorts of things, perhaps even things you weren't supposed to know. Wiesler gathers information that hints at unsuspected motives behind the wiretapping. Also, in a kind of Stockholm Syndrome scenario, he comes to increasingly empathize with the couple he spends so much time eavesdropping on, leading to complex and shattering results.

As "The Lives of Others' " intricate plot unfolds and the acting takes hold in the most vivid way, as the line between survival and self-destruction becomes hard to see, the story's protagonists play increasingly dangerous double and triple games with each other.

Gradually, the film's interlinked character studies reveal a dizzying, high-tension society rife with jealousy, idealism and betrayal, all intensified by the fatal corruption of the system. To create such a subtle yet gripping world, a world where the difference between meaningful action and senseless heroics is anyone's guess, is an accomplishment worthy of all those awards, and more.

MPAA rating: R for some sexuality/nudity. Running time: 2 hours, 17 minutes. Exclusively at AMC Century City, 10250 Santa Monica Blvd., Century City.

Art History 101

2007-02-14T22:24:00.000-08:00

IT'S amazing (and rather absurd) that I have already been living in LA for three years but have only gotten the chance to visit the LACMA recently. It felt like a good time after my rather disappointing visit to the SF MOMA and my averagely met expectations from MOCA last year.

It's been years since I last came across a museum with an impressive collection. The last place that comes to mind is the one I saw in Philadelphia eons of years ago, where I saw an original Van Gogh. Being fresh out of college that time, I was blown away by the sight of masterpieces from Van Gogh, Picasso and Rodin. I may have just relived the same amount of awe when I entered the portals of LACMA's private collection. Combing through their vast collection of 16th to 19th century European Art that just about covered every significant era from the Ancient to the Post-Modernist periods reminded me of how powerful images can be in putting across an idea or philosophy.

Originally, my little field trip was all about the Magritte exhibit. The funny thing was, it became the least memorable part of my visit. Had I not wandered into the Picasso print exhibit, I wouldn't have stumbled upon the idea that I could view the permanent collection as well. Thank God for human curiosity.

I wish I could describe the various piece de resistance that I've seen in full detail, but there are some things better left unsaid. All I can say is that I can't wait to read through the art books that I bought yesterday.

The Mega Nega Factor

2007-02-06T22:01:00.000-08:00

LUCK doesn't seem to be on my side these days.

I have had countless encounters with misfortune these past months, and it seems neverending. You get through one hurdle each day only to face another one that's doubly arduous. I am tired of being negative about things, I am tired of myself, really. Don't you ever get the urge to whack yourself, everytime you hear yourself complain? I do.

It's not that I looooove complaining or being negative. In fact, I believe what most people say, that if you invite negative vibes, bad things will happen. Sure, I'm a self-proclaimed pessimist, but I know that in the deepest, darkest recesses of my cerebrum, a positive spirit is fighting to emerge.

I wanna grow up, I really do. But being an adult requires sooo much, sometimes I just wanna lie in bed in fetal position forever.

3-Day Coachella? Hell, yeah!

2007-02-02T23:38:00.000-08:00

SINCE when did the Coachella Festival start having three day gigs? And for pete's sake, why did they have to schedule Bjork, Interpol and Jesus and Mary Chain on a Friday? What the hell! I have been anticipating this moment for eons of years, only to face the possibility yet again that I wouldn't be able to catch it! Dang... I've already missed two years, and the first one even had a more ass-kicking line-up than this year's group.

This is turning out to be a sucky year....argh.

My Recent Acquisitions

2006-11-09T22:56:00.000-08:00

God Bless the Children

2006-10-28T18:01:00.000-07:00

ALL the little mundane things. The mundane things that make people do the despicable.

"Little Children" is a true story of human flaws. In fact, it was so real, I felt disoriented and disconcerted on the way home. It definitely made me contemplate on the life I've lived so far.

Kate Winslet plays Sarah, the involuntary suburban wife stuck in a rut that is motherhood. The story unfolds with a vehement claim -- that she is an "anthropologist studying the lives of suburban wives," and that she isn't one of them. She hangs out every afternoon at the playground with the "divine bitches," a group of garden-variety suburban housewives with a righteous streak. Being well-educated, Sarah feels that she is entitled to be distinguished and regarded as someone with more intelligence than these women. The contrast gets even more stark when she gets into a discussion about "Madame Bovary" with blonde Mary Ann, the leader of the divine bitches pack.

The idyllic scene is disrupted by Brad (Patrick Wilson), "the prom king," and his son Aaron. Brad is the suburban apollo with his deathly good looks that stirred sinful fantasies from the prim and proper housewives. But then, Brad also turns out to be the homebound father who embraces the life of quiet domesticity. His insecurities as a provider turns him into a complacent husband.His incessant failure to make it as a lawyer becomes his comfort zone. Brad's procrastinating, carefree disposition is as boyish as his looks.

Both Brad and Sarah have the potential to become more than what they are. But they choose to be the unobtrusive figure in their respective marriages.

Brad's presence in the playground was enough reason to pique the curiosity of the divine bitches. Meanwhile, Sarah's vehemence to remain the "unsuburban housewife" figure takes its toll. Out of mockery, she spills the bitches' secret bet to him and Brad does something dispecable...he kisses Sarah on the spot, much to the horror of the chagrined wives.

Brad and Sarah's bout with day-to-day loneliness leads them to believe that they're kindred spirits. From innocent meetings in the community playground and town pool hall, the two illicit a torrid affair to pacify their hunger for companionship.

As their affair intensifies, Brad and Sarah do the inconceivable. Brad pretends to take the bar exam but actually plays hooky and goes on a trip with Sarah. Sarah, who never leaves Lucy under the care of anyone, takes a day off and asks her friend to babysit. The two then reach a crucial decision--to leave their spouses behind and start a life together. But they inevitably come to their senses and decide to live their lives as real adults should. Brad realizes that recognition was all he ever wanted, and endangering his life just for a taste of merit soon became meaningless. Sarah is finally gripped by her instincts as a mother and protector of her child and decides that Lucy's welfare is all that matters.

Meanwhile, more "children" graze the scene and complicate it further. Larry, the retired police officer who is on the verge of a mental breakdown after he accidentally shoots a thirteen-year old boy, and Ronnie, an ex-con who was convicted for indecent exposure to a minor, moves in the neighborhood with his mother in the hopes of creating a new and quiet life in the suburbs.

Larry becomes obsessed with Ronnie's presence and makes his life miserable. In a heated argument over this obsession, Ronnie's mother suffers a heart attack and dies, leaving Ronnie overwhelmed with grief. Intending to keep his promise to his deceased mother, he castrates himself to rid himself of his perversions. Larry redeems himself and rids his conscience of guilt by saving Ronnie's life.

The truth is, everyone will always have that little child inside them. And as children, we will continue to make mistakes from our bulheadedness. But life is not about making bad choices and living in regret. It is about overcoming the consequences of the bad decisions we made and living life as adults.

The Prestige

2006-10-27T20:34:00.000-07:00

The legend of the pink table lives. At least, in this movie.

Joining the ranks of mind-boggling films as Mulholland Drive,"The Prestige" is disturbingly challenging to grasp in one viewing. From rottentomatoes.com:

Magicians at War
'The Prestige' begins with the question, 'Are you watching closely?' Every one of Christopher Nolan's movies demands nothing less.

Web Exclusive
By David Ansen
Newsweek
Updated: 4:04 p.m. PT Oct 19, 2006
Oct. 19, 2006 - "Are you watching closely?" asks the narrator of Christopher Nolan's "The Prestige" as the camera prowls amid a large collection of black top hats incongruously spead across a forest floor. The meaning of this image, like much else in this tricky, twisting tale of rival magicians at the end of the 19th century, won't become clear until the end of the tale. Nolan, a deft sleight-of-hand artist himself, practices what he preaches: like many magic tricks, his film is built on misdirection: getting you to watch one hand closely, so that you don't see how the other hand pulls the rabbit out of the proverbial hat.

Whether Nolan is working on independent brain-teasers like "Memento" or mainstream blockbusters like "Batman Begins," his movies share a dark brooding mood, a chilly emotional climate and protagonists (you can't really call them heroes) defined by their obsessions. Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman) and Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) fit snugly into his gallery of the grim, haunted and determined. Two Londoners ambitious to make their names as magicians, they start out in their trade as friends, if unlikely ones. Angier is sophisticated, upper class, extroverted—a natural showman. The working-class Borden is as clenched as a fist, bullishly determined to master his trade and advance in the world. A tragic event, the death of Angier's wife (Piper Perabo) in a magic act gone wrong, turns them into enemies. Borden tied the knot around her wrists from which she could not escape, leading to her drowning. Was it an accident, or by design? Borden himself doesn't know.

The movie charts their escalating war, but it's not constructed as a straightforward chronology. Nolan and his talented screenwriting brother Jonathan, working from Christopher Priest's novel, loop backward and forward in time, shuffling their deck to reveal their wild cards at unsuspected moments. One moment we are in a London jail, where Borden is being held for the murder of his rival. Another we are with Angier in Colorado Springs, where he is going to seek out the legendary inventor Nikola Tesla (played with regal slyness by David Bowie) to implore him to build a machine capable of "real magic" for the crowning achievement of his act. And then we leap back to the escalating competion between the two men.

Part of the fun of "The Prestige" is getting a glimpse of the secrets of the trade. Michael Caine plays Cutter, a veteran designer of illusions, who builds the contraptions that facilitate Angier's deceptions, such as making a bird disappear before our eyes. (Who knew how many doves had to die to amuse a Victorian audience?) Angier also takes on a new replacement for his wife (Scarlett Johansson), who shares the stage with him, and then his bed—until he sends her off to spy on Borden, desperate to discover how he pulls off his most astonishing trick, disappearing into a door at one side of the stage and then instantly reappearing at the other. Johansson, in danger of overexposure, doesn't make a deep impression here. Far more intriguing is Rebecca Hall as Borden's loving but troubled wife, who can't fathom her husband's mercurial moods: one day he loves her, the next he seems indifferent, buried in his obsessive pursuit of magical perfection.

Nolan shares his protagonists's cool intensity. He's the rare Hollywood director who isn't concerned with making his heroes likeable. For some audiences, who like to have a clear rooting interest in their stories, this might be a drawback: here you may find your sympathies (such as they are) shifting back and forth. We don't warm to Borden and Angier, nor should we: they are men deformed by their obsessions. This is a thriller aimed more at the cerebrum than the solar plexus.

Bale, who has no vanity as an actor, is scarily good as a man who "lives his act." Jackman gets to enjoy himself doubly, playing both Angier and a drunken doppelganger named Boot whom Angier hires to deceive the audience. Magic acts are built, we're told, into three acts—the Pledge, the Turn and the Prestige—which the movie tries to duplicate with its complex, triple-time-scheme narrative. At the end of this dark entertainment three twists await: one you will certainly see coming, another you may have figured out just before it happens, and the final may be so tricky you won't quite piece it all together until after you've left the theater (the "explanation" whizzes by so fast it can be hard to catch.) Take the movie's first words to heart: watch closely. You'll be well rewarded.

Watch it and find out why this movie is the proverbial mindfuck. :)

The Science of Sleep

2006-10-21T22:43:00.000-07:00

From TVGuide.com:

Michel Gondry's follow-up to ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (2004) isn't as cohesive as that much-loved hipster head trip, but it's a wildly imaginative picture in its own right. After spending much of his young adulthood in Mexico with his dad, aspiring graphic artist Stephane (Gael Garcia Bernal) is lured back to his childhood home in Paris by his concerned mother, who claims to have found him a "creative" job at a local calendar company. But when Stephane arrives for his first day of work, he's horrified to learn that he's actually accepted a position as a typesetter, which requires very little creativity. To make matters worse, he's stuck in a windowless basement room with some of the most irritating coworkers this side of TV's The Office. As an escape from his dead-end job, he frequently disappears into his overactive imagination, where he can wander through magical forests and cities made of cardboard. Meanwhile, back in the real world, Stephane falls for his new next-door neighbor, Stephanie (Charlotte Gainsbourg), also an artist type. Unfortunately, she doesn't exactly feel the same way about him. And that's understandable, given that Stephane's behavior is unpredictable at best: One moment he's helping Stephanie build a model boat, the next he's sneaking into her apartment when she's out and stealing one of her dolls (though, to be fair, he only wanted to repair it). It doesn't seem to register with Stephane that he may be freaking out the girl he loves; in his mind, he and Stephanie are meant to be together. As she pulls further away from him, his fantasy life starts crossing over into reality to the point where he (and the audience) has trouble telling the difference. Working for the first time from his own screenplay, Gondry lacks the narrative discipline to back up his wild flights of fancy, something at which his former collaborator Charlie Kaufman excels. But few other contemporary filmmakers possess Gondry's visual playfulness and love of whimsy, and the film's fantasy sequences are so lovingly crafted that it's no wonder Stephane would rather spend all his time in his private universe. Fans of Gondry's music-video work will recognize some of the film's flourishes, including camera tricks he employed in his groundbreaking videos for Bjork back in the 1990s. As Stephane, Bernal continues to demonstrate an impressive range; the character requires the normally laid-back actor to be a wild ball of energy, and he's more than up to the challenge. His performance is hilarious, heartfelt and more than a little creepy, which could also be said about the movie itself. --Ethan Alter

My initial reaction to this movie is a smug smile and a guilty grimace. I can so relate to Stephane's dream world, having profoundly weird dreams myself ever since I was kid. And some of them are either recurring or resurface with a new twist or progression. I know I might be exaggerating, but hey, he is also an artist with big dreams, an eccentric and whimsical imagination and a penchant for true love -- he practically embodies all my key points for being.

Mid-Life Crisis

2006-10-07T23:08:00.000-07:00

AND so the inevitable question resounds yet again "Is this all there is?"

Three years ago I was struggling with the same question in my head, as I tossed and turned on sleepless nights wondering if there was a bigger world out there for me to explore. Three years later I'm still tossing and turning in my head, contemplating all the decisions, whether good or bad, that I made.

Besides that, there is that nagging realization that life is indeed, short and fragile. So how does one measure if he has lived a robust and fulfilled life? Is it measured by his experiences? Is it measured by how one embraces the good things in life, by indulging one's self in every conceivable, hedonistic pleasure? Is it measured by the way he gives importance to life and to good health, by living clean and living long? Can fulfillment be realized by that general feeling of contentment, satisfaction and belongingness?

Most of my life I have tried to be selfless and giving. Admittedly most of the things that I've done were acts of altruism. I thought maybe that that was would give my life a feeling of sublimeness and elevate it to another level. Doing good things for others, having that euphoric sense of accomplishment. But even that lofty concept of selflessness has gone tired and weary. It all boils down to loving one's self and watching one's back.

How do we measure if the life we lived is the life we love? Is it by the approval of others? Is it by a pat on the back, a word of praise, a sense of recognition for a job well done? Or is it easier to feel fulfilled by doing anonymous acts of kindness without expecting anything in return? We are after all human and we seek the recognition of other beings. But isn't life about rising above this humaneness and going the extra mile? Isn't that what makes life noble?

My only small answer to these big questions is to live life without guilt, without remorse, without resentment. But even that seems too difficult to achieve.

September Gig Madness

2006-09-30T22:19:00.000-07:00

SO I went overboard with gigs this month. What can I say? I’m an incurable addict. The shows were definitely worth every buck. (Except maybe the nerve-wrecking front acts that I would care to mention later on this review.) Anyway, sit back, relax and read on.

Totally 80’s with Psychedelic Furs, Human League and ABC, September 23, Hollywood Bowl

Been scoping this gig for months, but never really planned on seeing it, and especially not after hearing news that Psychedelic Furs bailed out.

For fifteen bucks a tix at the day of the concert itself, I’m glad I went. I didn’t get to see ABC perform, but Psychedelic Furs graced us with their presence anyway. I only caught the middle part of “Heaven” though and missed out on “Love My Way.” Richard Butler was singing off-key the entire time, but I didn’t really mind. The performances reminded me so much of my warm, fuzzy childhood days of yore, of “Pretty in Pink,” of Amanda Jones and Keith Nelson sitting on that same stage in “Some Kind of Wonderful” while Watts cried her eyes out from the bleachers (although there wasn’t a single Furs song in the soundtrack).

Human League was perhaps the only one who came to the show fully prepared, donned in their ala Matrix threads, but even the back-up vocals were a bit frustrating. I have to agree that they did steal the show.

For an 80’s reunion of bands (almost) long forgotten, the gig was worth seeing. I would have to say though that I couldn’t help but be appalled by the sight of Jane Wiedlin of the Go-Go’s in an ugly pink tutu, making a fool of herself. What’s up with that?

Snow Patrol with Augustana and Martha Wainwright, September 27, The Wiltern

There’s a front act and there ARE front acts. I think having two is just way too much. Especially if both if them are just downright underwhelming. Watching two shows in succession at the Wiltern taught me a very important lesson: IT DOES NOT PAY TO COME IN EARLY. Another thing, if you are going to come in early to a gig after a hard day’s work, make sure that you’ve had a generous dose of caffeine. I almost fell asleep on my seat. Augustana played way too long for an opening act, but did have a lot of fans. Maybe it was just me who didn’t catch their drift.

Snow Patrol was definitely worth the wait,(and a long one at that after they postponed the L.A. show for months). Sure, they sold out by giving “Chasing Cars” to Grey’s Anatomy as one of the soundtracks for the season finalé of the second season. It’s like Coldplay’s “Fix You,” but hey, we all need to make a living sometime.

Even the lighting effects of the show were reminiscent of Coldplay’s Twisted Logic Tour in 2005, but Snow Patrol made up for it by giving us an overwhelmingly flawless live performance. Gary Lightbody (vocals) was charming and congenial. The setlist was just one great song after the other and by the end of the evening I was totally saturated with their music. It was an osmosis of impeccable instrumentation and vigorous vocals of feel-good, lyrical songs.

Sonic Youth with 16 Bitch Pile Up and The Skaters, September 28, The Wiltern

The front act(s) in this show just made it in my book as by far the worst opening performance(s) ever made in the history of man. There is such a thing as really bad music and just pure, unadulterated, annoying noise. 16 Bitch Pile Up fits the latter while The Skaters (I didn’t even realize that they were already playing the first act) falls on the former category. They were both, for the lack of a more appropriate adjective…just ear-splittingly horrible.

Seeing this gig was yet another whim. I came to this show totally unprepared. I’m not even a big fan of Sonic Youth. I know that probably seems pretentious, but I have heard people rave so much about them. It’s not surprising to find people in TV shows and movies wearing a Sonic Youth shirt. So I figured, hey maybe they’re worth seeing after all the hype.

I would have to say that as a band, their music and influences are pretty solid. They know what kind of music they want and are pretty consistent about it. Vocals, instrumentation, even the stage design itself are uniquely theirs. Even the shirt designs are as equally singular. The mostly male crowd was too rowdy for me though. Too much testosterone I suppose.

Nouvelle Vague, The Submarines and A Crazy, Wonderful Evening

2006-09-09T23:07:00.000-07:00

For a supposed whim, I would have to say that we were severely entertained last night. Seeing Nouvelle Vague with the Submarines at the Fonda was perhaps one of the most fun, spontaneous things I've done in a long time.

I admit, even after hearing Nouvelle Vague's tracks in Bande A Part, I did have my doubts. And even moreso, after reading their not-so-great rating in Spin Magazine. Of course, my anxiety was fueled by the fact that I was bringing friends with me. But hey, it's new wave combined with bossa nova arrangements, how could you possibly go wrong with that?

For an opening act, The Submarines were already a highlight of the evening themselves. After hearing them perform "Peace and Hate"in KEXP, I knew then that they were special. Of course, the pre-arranged synthesized tunes and the ubiquitous Mac lapee were quite the overkill, but the music is dreamy, light and trembling blue stars-ish. Kudos to that.

When Nouvelle Vague opened their act with Echo and the Bunnymen's "Killing Moon," everything felt fated. After all, it was only months ago when I saw the Bunnymen perform at the same venue.

Nouvelle Vague was artful and tongue-in-cheek with their novelty music, amusing acts and unique instruments. The music transports you to a limboic state, somewhere between nostalgic childhood memories and traditional French sensibilities.

I also found it amusing to discover that they had a pool of femme voices and could easily interchange vocals at every performance. For example, "Heart of Glass" in the album had male vocals, Phoebe Killdeer did her own rendition with a more bluesy sounding interpretation. Phoebe Killdeer's sexy, sultry voice and Melanie Pain's all-too-frenchie ala Frenté vocal chords were both a perfect combination and a wild, contrasting alternation.

Other songs included in the setlist were "Dancing With Myself," "Heart of Glass," "Love will Tear Us Apart,""Bela Lugosi's Dead," and Depeche Mode's " Just Can't Get Enough" as the perfect encore performance to cap the evening.

Nouvelle Vague maybe vague in terms of having their own original music, but their unique interpretation of covers makes them an A Bande in my list.

Clerks Part Deux...Finally

2006-08-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

And so my quest to watch the triumvirate begins.

After a less-than-satisfactory encounter with Jay and Silent Bob The Movie, I was having second thoughts to see Clerks 2 at the Arclight. I would've seen it in a bat of an eyelash during the first week because of the all the discussions with director Kevin Smith after the show, but considering my history of incessant bad luck, watching bad movies in this rather costly theater, I thought..hey it's a gamble. Thank God, it was worth it this time. Well maybe a bit.

So why do critics say that Kevin Smith has gone soft? Allow me to enumerate: a predictable love story, a spine-tingling dance number, a sappy and dramatic feel-good ending and all other niceties you wouldn't expect from a Kevin Smith movie.

But then again, just how would you conclude a sequel to an initially irreverent and profane part one? I don't think having another equally profane, open-ended sequel would work for Clerks 2. Of course, it did have its share of trash talk (with the ever prolonged discussion of the ass-to-mouth issue), and I wouldn't really expect Kevin to run out of Jesus discussions and all that.

The truth is...people change. No matter how long they've slackened off, or how much fucked up their lives got, people still wind up working for their desired end. Dante and Randall's "desired end" wasn't really much, but coming full circle was their inevitable path to ultimate jedi happiness.

I would have to say that the dance number was horribly unnecessary, and the overtly melodramatic conversation between Dante and Randall was an overkill. Plus, Silent Bob not knowing what to say was just heartbreaking. Silent Bob always knows what to say at the crucial moment! For all its attempt to be hilarious, the bestiality thing was just not worth it. I have to live with the fact that the screenplay lacked Kevin Smith's usual wit and wisdom.

Anyway...for review purposes, I give Clerks 2 ***. Not too shabby, guys!

So Many Movies, So Little Time

2006-07-31T23:03:00.000-07:00

Drat! I haven't found the time to watch these must-see's...

Must..make...time. Lest...I...die...from...regret syndrome!

A Scanner What?!?

2006-07-17T23:52:00.000-07:00

Waking Life was a cerebral trip. A Scanner Darkly....is a schizophrenic trip to nowhere.

Thom Yorke's 'The Eraser'

2006-07-17T23:19:00.000-07:00

From TIME Magazine:

From the ethereal melodies to the beats layered upon beats, "The Eraser" is full of Radiohead music-dark, dystopian, oddly beautiful-minus the other members of Radiohead (It was composed mostly on a laptop.) In spots, the band is missed. "The Clock" creates some grinding tension but never figures out how to release it, while "Black Swan" eddies around a chorus that hardly mines new emotional territory. You can sense Yorke's grasping for something, and with the help of producer Nigel Gordrich, who oversaw Beck's midcareer-crisis record, "Sea Change," he eventually finds it: clarity.

On much of "The Eraser," Yorke's choirboy voice, usually pickled in distortion, comes through cleanly, and he conjures up some clear ideas too...

...On "Atoms for Peace,"he sings, "No more going to the dark side with your flying saucer eyes...No more talk about the old days, it's time for something great." The Eraser isn't--but by distilling Radiohead into something intimate, it may point the way toward greatness to come. ---Josh Tyrangiel

I have to agree...Radiohead disappeared from the scene for too long after 2003's Hail to the Thief. But their comeback was definitely met with the same amount of enthusiasm by die-hard fans, with their current gigs getting sold out in minutes despite the absence of a "Radiohead" album to make the tour for.

"The Eraser" struck me as having similarities with Bjork's more current sound. Even the album cover itself was reminiscent of Bjork's "Vespertine." Yorke's trademark choirboy vocals still has its old charm, despite a synthesized environment. I especially liked "And It Rained All Night," with its ambient, melancholic keyboards.

As Josh Tyrangiel put it, "The Eraser--which turns out not to be a betrayal of his band, but a love letter to it." The album, despite its lack of Radioheadism, gave Thom Yorke (and the band itself) a fresher and more introspective perspective. More than anything, the album has definitely erased Radiohead's sins of omission.

Il Mare Vs. The Lake House

2006-06-20T21:58:00.000-07:00

On-screen chemistry is a HUGE THING. Call me shallow, but I believe that in order to make an effective love story, the foremost consideration should be whether the actors LOOK GOOD TOGETHER. Face it, it's a love story, people are supposed to feel romantic and mushy and all that after seeing it. It's what makes them compelling, no matter how stereo-typed the plot or the characterization are. I think that was the veritable strength of the Lake House over Il Mare. Years after their first movie "Speed,"Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock still have that "spark" between them. It's like Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore, that intangible "chemistry" that make people stop and pay attention.

Don't get me wrong. Despite it's lack of "spark", Il Mare was a visual feast of wonderful imagery. After all, it is an art film and the way the story progressed was actually more logical than the way they depicted it in The Lake House. The setting, the circumstances by which they lived, the series of events that occured were all well-thought of. Except one. The actors couldn't hold my attention. I know I'm not such a big fan of Korean telenovelas, but I did have my share of chinovela fanaticism. Dao Ming Zhu and Shan Cai had that "magic." The chemistry was so strong that it compelled me to buy the two seasons of Meteor Garden. Me, the ultimate bigot, bought two seasons of a badly subtitled Taiwanese telenovela. What the hell was I thinking? Nothing. I didn't need to think. The spark was there and I felt it.

All these years of bitter bitchin' and I'm still a sucker for formula love stories (and telenovelas). I'm not ashamed to say that I've seen Clueless and Bridget Jones' Diary (Part 1) a zillion times. All because of that "kilig factor" of which I am willing to suspend my (elitist) disbelief over.

Reverberating in Hollywood: Echo and the Bunnymen at the Music Box

2006-06-13T22:17:00.000-07:00

Photo by JESSICA FANZO

HENRY FONDA THEATER, HOLLYWOOD - After missing Echo and the Bunnymen's tour last year, I finally got to see them perform last Monday, June 12, in Music Box at the Fonda. Echo and the Bunnymen is currently on the first leg their U.S. tour with a new single album,"Scissors in the Sand."

For 80's music junkies, Echo and the Bunnymen is one of the well-respected bands of the post-punk era, comparable to legendary groups as The Cure and New Order. With phenomenal hits as "The Killing Moon," "Bring on the Dancing Horses,” (which was used by John Hughes in his quintessential 80’s film “Pretty in Pink”)," and covers like "People Are Strange," by the Doors and "Paint It Black," by the Rolling Stones, Echo and the Bunnymen's music was as ubiquitous as the dos that they donned at that time.

From Liverpool, UK, Echo & the Bunnymen is Ian McCulloch on vocals, Will Sergeant on guitars and Les Pattinson on bass,with percussions originally supplemented by a drum machine (which they referred to as "Echo"). The British threesome formed in 1978, after McCulloch left his band, The Crucial Three. The group debuted in 1979 with the single "The Pictures On My Wall", under Zoo as their record label. Pete de Freitas soon became the band’s drummer in 1980, when they released their debut album "Crocodiles." The critically-acclaimed "Heaven Up Here," made it to the Top Ten in 1981, as well as "Porcupine"(1983) and "Ocean Rain" (1984). The group then took a brief hiatus in the latter part of the decade. Their 1987 self-titled LP only made it to a small American audience.

In 1988, McCulloch quit the band. A year after, de Freitas died in a motorcycle accident. Sergeant and Pattinson took Noel Burke to replace McCulloch in Reverberation (1990), but did not incite as much enthusiasm among their fans and critics. The three eventually split after that but reformed in 1997 to release Evergreen. Pattinson had to quit in 1999 to attend to his mother’s health. In 2001, the remaining band members released “Flowers” and “Siberia” in 2005. The band’s old following caught the drift and supported the return to their original sound. The band also gained some following from a younger crowd.

Currently, Echo and the Bunnymen is McCulloch and Sergeant playing with young and talented musicians during their tour.

So what is Echo and the Bunnymen about? From their profile in www.myspace.com,the band members described their music as "an evocative, atmospheric sound combining solid pop sensibilities and intriguing progressive instincts."

Young as I was back then, Echo and the Bunnymen's music resounded in my impressionable mind. It was a most memorable resonance that I've come to associate with my childhood and that era.

The gig kicked off with front act band the Billy Nayer Show, mixing idyllic country vocals with the twangs and bangs of what my newfound friend described as "industrial music." It was a fresh approach, mixing two entirely opposing genres, but the bold instrumentation did not quite mesh well with the bucolic quality of Cory McAbee's melodic vocals.

After a full set of BNS's songs and another half hour's wait, Echo and the Bunnymen finally emerged onstage. McCulloch is still as handsome and sprightly as he was twenty-something years ago, with his signature tousled hair, raspy-sounding voice and constant cloud of smoke. The ambience of the theatre quickly changed from wholesome hillbilly to Donnie Darko gloom.

The crowd became agitated as McCulloch, Sergeant and the rest of the band unfolded their setlist for the evening. I was lucky enough to be stationed at the foremost front of the stage, with that list only less than a meter away from my probing eye. I mastered the art of inverted reading in a matter of minutes.

My first song of frenzy for the evening was "Seven Seas," off their first album "Songs to Learn and Sing"(1985). This was immediately followed by the more popular "Bring on the Dancing Horses," "Disease," "Scissors," and a couple of other songs before finally hitting "The Killing Moon."

Surprise, surprise, they had strings in the house but it was subjected to the discriminating ear of McCulloch. The temperamental frontman had to stop in mid-song after his dismay over the "instrumental imperfections" of his protégés, only to deal later with a major boo-boo himself. McCulloch stumbled on the lyrics at the second try and had to apologize to the unaffected audience.

Other songs that drew cheers from the crowd were "Never Stop," "Villier's Terrace, "All My Colours,"(Zimbo), "Rescue," and "The Cutter."

Of course, I might have spoiled the fun by knowing that there was going to be an encore performance, and the line-up that they already had prepared for it. So when McCulloch and his party re-emerged onstage, I knew what to expect. "Lips like Sugar" was in the bag, even for those who didn't know the setlist. And so it was the final song after "Nothing Lasts Forever."

I have always preferred the quaintness and intimacy of a small venue over the highly-commercialized coliseum. That and the privilege to get as close as possible to one of the bands that I thoroughly respect were enough to make the memory of this gig reverberate in my head for years.

24-Hour Fac'd Up

2006-06-09T21:05:00.000-07:00

24 Hour Party People
Year: 2002
Director: Michael Winterbottom
Stars: Steve Coogan, John Simm, Sean Harris, Danny Cunningham, Paddy Considine, Andy Serkis, Ralf Little, Lennie James, Shirley Henderson, Peter Kay, John Thomson, Rob Brydon, Simon Pegg, Paul Popplewell, Enzo Cilenti, Kieran O'Brien
Genre: Musical, Comedy, Drama, Sex
Rating: 7 (from 4 votes)
Review: If the words “I think you are a pig, you should be in a zoo” or the names Dennis and Lois mean anything at all to you, read on.

O.k., now we’ve ditched the unbelievers, let’s travel back to the Free Trade Hall, Manchester. Time – 1976. Tony Wilson is a jobbing reporter for Granada t.v.’s local news programme – and the world is about to change forever. 42 daring individuals brave a Sex Pistols gig promoted by Buzzcocks Howard Devoto and Pete Shelley; most of them leave the venue intent on forming bands and altering the musical landscape. Wilson creates Factory Records. Joy Division craft the desolate, incandescent ‘Unknown Pleasures’, an l.p. that opens with a crisp echoing drumbeat and closes with the sound of smashing glass. Somewhere in the middle lies ‘New Dawn Fades’, the author of which, naturally, commits suicide months later. His shell-shocked mates become New Order/world famous. And Wilson, now seeking ‘the new Rolling Stones’, employs a shuffling, shambling bunch of dealers and drug casualties who fit the bill to perfection. Bez and his freaky dancing herald a second Summer Of Love. Time – 1989.

I was lucky enough to see Joy Division play live in Derby, April 1980. There’s a gig recreation in 24 Hour Party People which is so very authentic that I began searching for myself among the adoring throng. Michael Winterbottom manages to trot out the facts and events of these thrilling times while retaining the graininess and fragmentation of his ode to London, Wonderland – to which this movie almost forms a northern companion piece. It’s surprisingly, slyly funny - Frank Cottrell Boyce’s script and Coogan’s nuanced performance capture the drive, enthusiasm, and yes, the pretentiousness of Wilson, constantly referencing, quoting, or misquoting poets and philosophers from Archimedes to Iggy; also evident are the unexpected humour and loutishness of the externally glacial Joy Division, the 24-hour party constituting the lives of the Happy Mondays, and (Factory obsessives rejoice!) the latin funk stylings of A Certain Ratio. ACR take a bit of an unfair battering in the movie, playing to a tiny crowd on the opening night of Wilson’s Hacienda club and being virtually ostracized when they take up jazz – at least we get to hear a healthy portion of their single ‘Flight’ (FAC 22), the best record the label ever released.

Factory was always about exclusivity – if you didn’t understand, you weren’t invited, but if you did, my word, what delights lay ahead of you. 24 Hour Party People maintains this forbidding aura, and is loaded with obscure cameo appearances (Devoto, Vini Reilly, Rowetta, Mark E. Smith), depictions of fringe nutters (John The Postman!), and archly ironic casting. New Order’s Viking-like bassist Peter Hook, for instance, is played by Ralf Little from t.v.’s ‘The Royle Family’, far less for his negligible resemblance to Hooky than for the fact that the show’s writer and star Caroline Aherne was acrimoniously divorced from the musician a few years ago. Likewise, when Keith Allen turns up as the grasping executive from London (ugh!) Records at the end, rather than commiserating that Factory is dead one tends to celebrate by association Allen’s part in the joyful 1990 World Cup number one single ‘World In Motion’.

This film, rightly and properly, raises the late Ian Curtis, the late Martin Hannett, and the ‘how-is-he-still-alive?’ Shaun William Ryder to the status of gods. In a wonderful dope haze of a scene towards the end, it also reduces God to the status of Tony Wilson - and, it turns out, God is a Durutti Column fan. If you’ve read this far, that simple statement will mean everything to you, and so will this amazing movie.
Reviewer: Darrell Buxton (www.thespinningimage.co.uk)

Obviously this guy knows what he's talkin' about. In my continuing quest to educate myself on the history and evolution of Brit Pop and New Wave music, I finally had time to see the "unofficial and satirical" biopic of the Madchester roaring days of yore. Didn't expect it to be that trite, but Tony Wilson is definitely lovable despite his excessive narcissism, perhaps messianic complex would be more appropriate. For the life of me, I have no idea how the real Tony Wilson is like, but Steve Coogan definitely gave this role some interesting character. The screenplay was amusingly sarcastic and witty, thanks to Frank Cottrell grasp of the written word.

The film also delved deeply into the psyche of the eccentric Ian Curtis, Joy Division's front man, although I wouldn't say that I completely absorbed it. Sean Harris wasn't as good-looking as the real deal, but he definitely gave me a clearer picture of how this legend came to be. Come to think of it, (some of) Joy Division's videos that I've seen (Transmission and Love Will Tear us Apart to be exact) do strike an uncanny resemblance as to how the scene was shot.

Aside from that, TFHPP had a lot of cameo appearances by prominent artists with obscure bit roles and even more archive footages by the likes of Paul Weller, Iggy Pop, Shaun Ryder and Siouxsie Sioux. And even these appearances were integrated in the script of the movie. Funny how that spin made the movie (and Tony WIlson for that matter ) seem even more self-absorbed. Tony Wilson as God in the ending, need I say more? :)

In terms of the music itself, it kinda lacked the details that I expected from Joy Division/New Order's music, I was looking for more than just attitude. Obviously the band's demeanor was the focal point of their appearance in the movie and not the music. The film featured gig performances mostly in archive footages, montages and vignettes. For the few scenes that they were afforded, band members were depicted so naturally as druggies and assholes.

The one scene that I especially loved was when the Ryder brothers ( If I remembered it correctly) fed poisoned bread crumbs to the pigeons. What a wonderful idea that is! "After all, they are rats with wings."

Kudos to Winterbottom for capturing the look and feel of the era. His depiction of Factory Records and the Hacienda has fanned the flames of my passion for Brit Pop and all its sub-genres even more intensely.

Art School Confidential

2006-06-05T19:41:00.000-07:00

From ifctv.com:

Art School Confidential
Directed by Terry Zwigoff

The only truly exciting movie I saw at Sundance was Terry Zwigoff's "Art School Confidential," which is probably why everyone at Sundance hated it. I suppose it's a personal preference: the festival's darling, "Little Miss Sunshine," which was purchased for over $10 million dollars, is about a cute dysfunctional family. "Art School" is about hideous dysfunctional people.

The phrase "dark comedy" gets thrown around a lot, but Terry Zwigoff actually deserves it. There aren't really heroes and villains in his films; just degrees of despicableness (even the innocent characters — like The Kid in "Bad Santa" — are dreadfully annoying). In the 1970s, Zwigoff's films might not have stood out; in the politically correct, idiosyncrasy-free 00's, he towers over his peers as the bravest, most curmudgeonly, and unquestionably the darkest comedic director working in American cinema.

Max Minghella (son of "English Patient" director Anthony) plays Jerome, an art school freshmen looking to make an impact on the local art scene and with his class' female population. Jerome's school, drawn from the memories of screenwriter/cartoonist Daniel Clowes' own artsy alma mater, pulses with hypocrisy and bullshit: the professors are talentless blowhards, the students have no taste, the alumni are either pompous assholes or crazy hermits like the one portrayed with grimy gusto by a very funny Jim Broadbent.

Though I didn't attend art school, I did get a degree in communications, and took more than my share of film classes, and the attitudes and behaviors of Jerome's classmates and teachers reverberate with my own, from the students' "constructive" criticism to the teachers' unimpressive resumes. Maybe you need to have a similar experience to fully appreciate Zwigoff and Clowes' worldview. Maybe so many people dislike the film because they identify with the students and teachers instead of with Jerome.

I have mixed feelings about this review as much as I had mixed feelings about the movie after seeing it, CONSIDERING THAT I WENT TO ART SCHOOL. It being about art school was the greatest consideration why I came to see it in the first place. I was amused at how they stereo-typed the art professors so perfectly, I could actually identify each one of them with my professors in college.

I think the great turnoff was that Zwigoff overstretched the idea of a "dark comedy." Hey, I loved Bad Santa. I thought it was really, really hilarious. I am definitely a big fan of sarcasm and the satire, but the ending of ACC was just waaaayyyy too much. You have to admit, acting is not one of the strengths of the film either, considering that John Malkovich, Anjelica Houston and Jim Broadbent were part of the cast. Even their performances were underwhelming. It's like watching a watered-down version of a Wes Anderson movie. Life Aquatic was a whole lot better than this film and I didn't even like it that much. At least Life Aquatic had art direction value. I guess it's also that he didn't dimensionalize the characters on a deeper level. He just made an unexpected twist about the identity of the serial killer and that's it. That was the most climactic part of the film and it wasn't even impressive.

I think the film could've been better if the plot had more highs and lows. It was just one soporific scene after the other. Max Minghella has the makings of a great actor though. He can be quite intense even in his silent ways. He has the aura of a brooding Johnny Depp, especially with those peculiarly bushy eyebrows of his. So on to his next "art film" then. There's hope yet for this young man.

'Pampalubag-loob'

2006-05-31T23:22:00.000-07:00

After my utter disappointment last week over Radiohead's sold out gig, guess what band I came across last night while I was randomly searching for new gigs in Ticketmaster? Echo and the Bunnymen.

Yep. The band that I failed to see last year is back, and at the same venue too. I found it rather odd that the Henry Fonda Theater in Hollywood didn't appear as one of the venues for ETB's gigs in SoCal though. I had to type Henry Fonda Theater to see that ETB was playing. I actually had to muse over buying tickets the entire night because of transportation considerations. After all, The concert starts at 9pm and in Hollywood, too. But I thought, hell I could just take a cab home. This is ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN. They're one of my most admired bands of the 80's, and it would be my loss not to see them perform live. And Henry Fonda is such a small venue, it's practically an intimate night spent with one of the demi-god bands of new wave music.

I know, I know. They're probably too old to sound as prodigious as they did back then, Ian McCullough's raspy voice during the KEXP radio interview was a bit hideous, but the old charm just came crawling back when he began playing his acoustic guitar.

I am definitely not going to regret paying almost twice my ticket's price because of all the "charges and taxes and whatevers" that Ticketmaster shamelessly adds to the ticket cost. I just hope I don't run into some equally greedy cab driver on my way home after the concert.

Boo-hoo!

2006-05-25T23:35:00.000-07:00

I STILL couldn't get over the fact that I didn't get tickets for the Radiohead show in L.A. this morning. Blame it on the venue for being so small to accommodate all of Radiohead's cult following in SoCal. Darn it! Why did they set the ticket limit to two? What is up with that? I mean the least they could give would be something like 3-4 tickets per person right? I hate the fact that Ticketmaster plays god over ticket sales every time. Why don't they just sell tickets at the box office on a first come, first served basis? All this craziness on internet and phone sales is infuriating. If the demand is so great and Ticketmaster is only in it to rake in profits, why couldn't they just add another show?

Being a self-confessed music elitist and bigot,I have to admit that my respect for Radiohead is rooted on their elusive artistry. Having two shows in L.A. is a major step for a band who never considered playing here. The closest encounter SoCal fans had with Radiohead prior to this gig is the Coachella Festival. Probably a show in San Diego, but NEVER in LOS ANGELES.

I guess I just wasn't fated to see these guys in action anytime soon. But I'm not giving up the fight. Even if I have to travel to San Francisco just to get a chance to see them perform. After all, Radiohead still remains as one of my top five must-see bands before I die.

The Grey Areas

2006-05-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

I was never a big fan of television shows. I've never posted for a TV show my entire life. It is only now that I realize the effect of season finales on people's lives. Especially the ones that come in succession, with the second one for two full hours! Heck, that was more than I could chew. I found myself reading through the latest blog in greywriters.com. This is some compelling shit.

I admit, it was one helluva rollercoaster ride. One unexpected scene unfolding after another, and the Burke-getting-shot ending for sunday night's episode was truly gripping. The final minutes of the second hour for tonight's episode proved disappointing though. I mean what the hell? It's ironic that my most loathed character is Meredith Grey when she's the "supposed heroine." I hate her guts. Well, I loathe whatever-George's-current-girlfriend's-name even more, but yeah, I hate Meredith. She is the epitome of pathetic. But then again, Derek's not exactly my most favorite person in the show either, so they're on and off relationship shouldn't really irk me as much. But it does. Cause it's fucking tiresome. Initially I found myself aversive over the patient-doctor thing going on between Izzie and Denny. But he died so that's that. And Alex (my dreamboat) comes to the rescue. Denny's death made him look good. That's all that matters. I think I shed more tears over the death of Meredith's dog than any other drama in the episode.

But, it all boils down to...compelling. I am definitely looking forward to the next season. I just hope that Addison and Derek finally come to their senses and break up their marriage for everyone's benefit. If the saga of marital infidelity drones on, I will personally strangle the writers of the show. Cut the ironies. We get it already!

And btw, I was profoundly saddened with the season finale of How I Met Your Mother as well. Poor Marshall. Makes me wanna be an Alex for him, but that wouldn't look good now would it? :)

Some Serious Writing (at last!)

2006-05-08T21:21:00.000-07:00

Of course, this can still be edited down to a shorter version.

Indie Talk
An Afternoon with Filipino and Filipino-American Filmmakers

LOS ANGELES - For film buffs, critics and aspiring filmmakers, spending a few hours with a team of Pinoy indie filmmakers from the United States and the Philippines may be an all-too-rare event.

A panel discussion on "The Pinoy Film State of Independents: A Conversation With Filipino and Filipino American Filmmakers" was held last Saturday, May 6 at the Directors Guild of America Atrium. It was here where Filipino and Filipino-American independent filmmakers gathered for an informal discussion on digital cinema and other matters relevant to indie filmmaking.

Winston Emano, Chair Emeritus of the Board of the Association for the Advancement of Filipino American Arts and Culture (FilAm Arts) and a co-founder of the Asian Pacific Filmmakers Reception at the Sundance Film Festival moderated the panel discussion.

The panel is one of the many activities of VC Filmfest 2006: The 22nd Annual Los Angeles Pacific Film Festival currently ongoing at various locations in Los Angeles: Directors Guild of America, Laemmle's Sunset Five Theatre, National Center for the Preservation of Democracy and the Aratani/Japanese American Theatre. The festival will run from May 4-11, 2006.

Panelists included Yam Laranas, writer/cinematographer/director of "Sigaw" (The Echo) which won Best Cinematography and Visual Design for the Young Critics Circle of Manila and Best Musical Score at the Screamfest LA International Horror Film Festival; Aureaus Solito, who received acclaim for his notable film "Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros" (The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros) with 11 international awards including the Golden Zenith Award at the Montreal World Film Festival, three awards at the Berlin International Film Festival and three awards at the Las Palmas de la Gran Canarias Film Festival in Spain; Neill De La Lllana and Ian Gamazon, co-directors of "Cavite" and recipients of the Someone To Watch Award at the 2006 Independent Spirit Awards; Multi-awarded husband and wife tandem Keith Sicat and Sari Lluch Dalena from New York; David Maquiling from New Jersey, also an Independent Spirit Nominee in 2002 and the first Filipino American director elected to the Directors Guild of America and Cindy Sison, Head of International Sales and Distribution for Unitel Pictures and General Manager of Unico Entertainment. Unitel recently acquired worldwide rights (outside North America) of "Cavite" and "The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros."

The panel discussion centered on the questions, Why Digital EDSA? Why are indie filmmakers plotting a cinematic people's power?

With the saturation of highly-commercialized and exorbitantly-produced films in mainstream cinema, indie filmmakers had to be, as Yam put it, "innovative and resourceful." The revolution of digital cinema was their resort in producing films that go against the mainstream grain.

Sari, a staunch supporter of the anti-commercialist alternative cinema believes that the genre needed to adapt itself through a less costly form. "Digital cinema broke the elitist mentality of studio-approved films," she said.

Asked what inspired them to come up with films that matter, Yam explained that it is the "lack of recognition back home" that fuels the passion of indie filmmakers like himself. He said that "the arrival of technology catapulted the industry of indie filmmaking."

Coming from a Fil-Am perspective, David thinks that finding an audience to support their films is a meaningful moment in itself. "The support of the Fil-Am community is what drives us to take on the responsibility of telling meaningful and relevant stories," he stated.

The panelists claimed that they are not "victims of assimilated power." From a distributor's point of view, Cindy said that "a good story is all you need." She articulated how digital revolution has afforded fresh new faces on film. She takes "Cavite" as an example, of breaking from the mold. She stressed that the film's success came from having an edge and an exotic location with only a two-man crew to get the feat done.

Neil and Ian admitted that choosing the Philippines as their location for "Cavite" gave the film its unique character. "We wanted to show something you don't see everyday to the American audience," the co-directors added.

Looking for investors though, can be a major hurdle. So how do our indie filmmakers adapt? Ian and Neil sold their camera after shooting to meet post-production expenses. Cindy illustrated that "Filipino filmmakers can produce a high-quality movie on a price that's considered low budget in America."

In producing his first film, David had to rely on funds raised by his community. His current film gained funding from investors both from the Philippines and the United States.

"Film is not as tangible as real estate and is a high-risk investment, but support from the Fil-Am community attracts investors. Exposure from media like the Asian Journal or Filipinas Magazine also helps a lot. We're not reinventing the wheel, we are just jumping in for the ride," he said.

Keith and Sari feel that more than the budget itself, the production value, equipment and crew make a film priceless . Recommendations and support from figures of authority in the industry are the only capital they need to make a good film.

On non-Filipino filmmakers doing Filipino stories, David thinks it's a bit of a stretch. In terms of authenticity, it just wouldn't be effective.

Keith felt otherwise, saying that ethnicity does not really matter. Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility is a perfect support for his claim. He believes that the filmmaker and the work should surpass all the differences.

How about a Filipino doing a Hollywood film? Yam set the record straight with Sigaw (The Echo) which is poised for a remake with Executive Producer Roy Lee (Ring, Grudge, Dark Water), transitioning from an ethnic film into a full-fledged Hollywood movie.

The filmmakers have their own dream projects in mind. Yam envisioned making biographical films on national hero Andres Bonifacio and Mama Rosa, one of the controversial comfort women of World War II. Meanwhile, Aureaus is hoping to create an epic about his Palawanese roots.

Keith, being more into "aesthetically-esoteric" films said that he just might experiment with a comedy this time while Sari wanted to explore narratives and short films.

Ian and Neil are aspiring to come up with a film that would show the more "beautiful side of the Philippines."

The talk, though short and casual, was very inspiring and educational. Could this become an annual affair for more Pinoy indie filmmakers at the VC Filmfest? Hopefully our Filipino and Fil-Am filmmakers will have more insights and more world-class films for show and tell next year.

Included in the line-up of film screenings for VC Filmfest 2006 are Aureaus Solito's 'Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros'(The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros) , Yam Laranas's 'Sigaw' (The Echo) and Keith Sicat and Sari Lluch Dalena's Rigodon. For tickets and screening schedules, please visit their website at www.vconline.org.

Plugged

2006-05-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

It's a little late I know....actually it's a lot darn late to be saying this but I am sooooo addicted to Julie Plug these days, it's practically obsessive! In fact, I had this weird compulsion to create another "friendster-like" account just to be able to get in touch with these guys. Besides the fact that they're music kicks ass, JP is an all-Filipino band that has been in the SF music scene since '98. Their latest album 'Whatever You Wonder' launched in 2003. Yeah well, you can forgive my ignorance, I've only been here for two years.

I started listening to Starmaker in '04 but I never seem to tire from the music. I know a lot of elitist JP fans are gonna hate me for this but I'm hooked on 'Devoted' (for obvious reasons) and the less ubiquitous 'Sometime In June'. I recently acquired a copy of JP's second album as well. It's not as evocative as the first one but it has its own share of the JP charm. I read this review from www.orlandoweekly.com by Charles Martin and it kinda gave me a sour taste in my mouth:

With the glut of fine female pop on the market these days, it is only desperation that keeps bands like Julie Plug forming, recording and ultimately getting nowhere. There is nothing -- not a damn thing -- wrong with this record; indeed, it’s catchier than many I could name. But ever since the Lilith Fair tour (and before it, for that matter), we’ve been drowning in soft and sexy female-vocal power-pop. I don’t know about you but I’m going down for the count.
While "Starmaker" does not hurt for polish or poppiness, this is a gold mine the Blake Babies, the Darling Buds, the Heartthrobs, the Katydids and many others have worked almost bone dry. Songs like "In Every Corner," "Devoted" and the delightful "Listening to Astrud" (among others) would have been real charmers a year ago. Good album, bad timing.

Probably bad timing for this guy, but for me JP's music is as timeless as it can get. Like The Sundays, one of JP's muse and highly-revered influences. You never tire of the Sundays even if they've been keeping their (static and) silence for years. . The music is brit pop in nature which explains the timelessness, I mean I can never tire of the Beatles, or Railway Children or The Care, and with the likes of The Stone Roses, Ride,and yes...the Sundays as their influences, there's no need to substantiate the reason behind the band's cult following. Or maybe it's just me.

Hell...who cares! JP rawks! :)

Mayo Uno Declared 'A Day Without Immigrants'

2006-05-01T21:21:00.000-07:00

No, this is not an allusion to a satirical movie. It is that movie coming to life in the streets of Los Angeles.

Yet another monumental event in American history ensued as thousands and thousands of immigrants, both legal and undocumented bravely marched a 4-mile rally on Wilshire Boulevard, convening at MacArthur Park and marching all the way to La Brea Avenue. Hispanics, Asians, and even some Caucasians skipped work to boycott federal legislation that would make criminals out of an estimated 11 million illegal immigrants. The foremost objective was to raise awareness about the economic strength of the undocumented workforce on the country's immigrant worker-dependent industries.

'Si Se Puede!' ( "Yes, it can be done!") was there answer to a just and systematic immigration reform. Demonstrators clad in white shirts waved American flags and their home country's colors as well. Differences in race, language and culture did not deter the participants from sending a clear and unified message: Humans are not illegal. Justice for all undocumented workers.

The demonstration was already in full swing earlier in the day, but the march in MacArthur park officially began at about 3:30 in the afternoon. Most establishments were closed while others were open only until 2pm. Our two-hour walk from the starting point until Western Avenue was quite peaceful. The crowd was actually exuberant and non-hostile, proceeding in a most orderly manner. Cops of course were deployed in strategic points in Wilshire, but the rally was organized enough to keep them at their posts.

Being fairly new in America, I was hesitant at first to join the cause. But I was working for the media and letting go of such a once-in-a-lifetime experience would probably do me more harm than good. And so I did. Towards the end of our two-hour walk I felt proud that I was part of such an exhilarating experience and had an overwhelming sense of empowerment.

Life's Stopovers

2006-04-20T23:18:00.000-07:00

It's always comforting to find a familiar face at a most unexpected place.

We go through life's journey at our own pace. But whatever speed we're running, there's always the possibility of bumping into people who once made a dent in our past. I was in LAX, headed to Honolulu with my mom and sister when I bumped into my former boss. She was like an apparition, a thing of the past long forgotten, yet it felt like only yesterday when I last saw her.

I was overwhelmed, I started to speak tactlessly. She must have been horrified and appalled cause I was always proper around her. But as expected, her natural grace shone through and she politely smiled and asked how I was. I felt awkward suddenly, like I rudely intruded her anonymity in a foreign place. I decided to retreat peacefully to undo the damage. She was gracious and asked me for my contact number, which I might have overeagerly handed to her before we parted.

Lately, acquaintances have been popping here and there. Initially I would have mixed feelings about reminiscing old stories with them, but most of the time, they're more pleasant than disturbing. These people are reminders of what I went through that made me what I am today.

Must-See

2006-03-31T21:56:00.000-08:00

Been pondering on seeing this movie for a long time. I think it's relevance to my current obsession should make it a must-see.

From www.imdb.com:

Manchester 1976: Cambridge educated Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan), Granada TV presenter, is at a Sex Pistols gig. Totally inspired by this pivotal moment in music history, he and his friends set up a record label, Factory Records, signing first Joy Division (who go on to become New Order) then James and the Happy Mondays, who all become seminal artists of their time. What ensues is a tale of music, sex, drugs, larger-than-life characters, and the birth of one of the most famous dance clubs in the world, The Hacienda - a mecca for clubbers as famous as the likes of Studio 54. Graphically depicting the music and dance heritage of Manchester from the late 70's to the early 90's, this comedy documents the vibrancy that made Mad-chester the place in the world that you would most like to be.

Must-Have

2006-03-31T21:42:00.000-08:00

Saw this shirt online. Must have it. Drool, drool.

Strange Days

2006-03-30T22:48:00.000-08:00

It's funny how a misfortune can actually turn into something positive.

I had to "restore" my iPod yesterday cause it turned out my software needed to be updated, but the entire system got fucked up because of my negligence, and ka-poot! My computer couldn't read my iPod anymore and the only solution was to reset and erase all the data I had in my little bundle of joy. Imagine, almost a year of collected music (some of which are rare and novelties) down the drain...just like that. I had 17G something of the most diverse collection one can ever have: from 80's Pop to Indie to Brit Pop to OPM...all gone, Pete Tong.

So there I was, staying up 'til three in the morning in the hopes of at least replenishing a portion of what was lost. I think I spent like five hours ripping songs, even playing and renaming some which I burned in CD's and forgot to label properly. Thank goodness for google, I was able to find names of artists and songs long forgotten.

Being brit pop-crazed lately, I found to my dismay that I couldn't muster the courage to rip some CD's that I once placed in my iPod playlist anymore. I couldn't put back the likes of Tori Amos and Bjork, two of my greatest favorites before I came to America. I felt like a phony doing that. Even with 16G of free space I couldn't do it. The genres would definitely decrease in number, if I would be dead serious about being thematic with my music I would probably wind up with only two: Brit Pop and New Wave. But of course, there are the likes of the Beatles, the Doors and some other classic rock guys that I'm planning to feed to achuchut (my dog in the PI's therefore my iPod's name) which wouldn't really fit into those two categories. I was even planning to be more specific, with Stone Roses probably under Post-Punk/Madchester or Ride under Shoegaze but that would just be too tedious.

I did lose a lot of valuable mp3's like Moxy Fruvous, some Of Montreal tracks, 12 inch versions of some 80's songs which I've trashed from my computer a few weeks before my iPod malfunction, cause they were taking so much space. I only had 30G of hard disk space in my laptop and my iPod was 1G short of being filled up already. Imagine how 17G of music files could fuck up my mac. I had been procrastinating about burning them in CD's cause I was too lazy to buy a batch of blanks and storage was getting tight in our matchbox apartment. So I suffered the consequence. Not updating your iPod software and not having back up can be the most lethal combo for your iPod music collection.

I think what makes this misfortune worthwhile is the fact that I can rethink and reorganize my playlist. There is no more clutter to feel lazy organizing about. I can start from the ground up, beginning of course with the basic and the stuff that I really, really love to listen to. I have a massive fresh batch of tracks from Trash Can Sinatras and Ride and some songs my friend Erq have been sending to further "educate" me on the subject of punk, post-punk and brit pop movements in music. Lately I've been trying to acquire CD's related to this genre and I doubt that they would fit into that once 1G space I had left before the fatal mishap.

It's funny that a day before my iPod crashed, Erq's iPod had problems as well. But he learned well from experience and had contingency measures, I didn't. I should start learning from the master. Thanks for the tip, bro. I'll keep it in mind from now on. ;-)

Remembering Ian Curtis

2006-03-27T14:15:00.000-08:00

And so the saga of my current obsession with the roots and history of Brit Pop continues...

From genesisp-orridge.com:

Rememberances of Ian Curtis of "Joy Division"
The Astory of the Psychic TV song “I.C. Water” on the recordings “TOWARDS THEE INFINITE BEAT."

It has become an overworked phrase in our commodified and superficial times, but this is an “heartfelt” song. It waited 10 years to come through me and even then, staring at a wall as gray as the cover of “Still” as the words poured out, it was painful and distressing. I heard it as if I was hearing someone else sing. Like all the best songs, it wrote itself directly onto tape. The following excerpt of writing is taken from a chapter of my autohagiography “GENESIS-THE LAST BOOK OF CREATION” scheduled to be published by Creation Books U.K. January 1st 2000.

"My feeling, looking back at my brief but precious friendship with Ian Curtis, is that he and I were intensely anomalous. We were born in the same post-industrial manufacturing slave vortex of Manchester, England. We both had an obsessive and sadly disturbed attachment to melancholic poetic lyricism and we both tended to view experience in a minute to minute way, as a metaphor and a fatalistic destiny. When the pseudo-political, and apolitical posturing of “punk” was the norm we both felt stylistically sickly and socially stunted. There was a cynical disregard for society that could often express itself in self-hatred, for failing to make people understand, failing to make them really SEE the hypocrisies and the betrayals, the ludicrousness of inherited ideas of relationships and reasons for living. Yet, coupled with that commitment to the point of death to try and make people share our feelings of ennui, was an equally deep distrust of empty, sycophantic acceptance. An isolation that knew no bounds. It is so hard at a certain point in one’s material existence to make other people realize how real one’s angst and frustration can be.

"The only way that I can describe how that connection between us really felt, beyond the obvious fact of mutual recognition of kindred, spectral, lost souls; of the 'little boy lost in a world of demons' syndrome is to concede what has since become a cliche. We had an almost genetic Mancunian grimness of vision. If you saw Salford in the fifties and early sixties, Myra Hindley and Ian Brady would vindicate all interpretations of the proposal of 'cultural inevitability.'

"The brutal mundanity of the post-Blitz environment itself spawned a neo-romantic detachment and kindled a fire of massive messianic motivation that became almost entirely about compounding and validating undistilled pointlessness for its own sake, taking as its medium a highly individualized perversion of excellence, covertly clothed in the trappings of popular culture. Of that most despised of contemporary art forms, rock music. Joy Division was Ian’s fantasy of the implications for himself of what The Velvet Underground catalyzed against the mainstream of fashion. Throbbing Gristle was, quite consciously, exactly the same fantasy for myself. Rather than be crippled by having none of the usual skills, or ingredients normally eschewed for such a mission, both of us chose to let the available resources mature and fester in equal amounts, believing as we did, that the form would inarguably appear and succeed by virtue of our determination. This was an act of faith, a leap of faith, into the unknown pleasures of a metaphysical and emotional highwire performance that required, for its illumination, the refusal of any manner of safety net.

"This is how it was. Can you feel that almost erotic sense of purpose and that exquisitely tormenting sensation of irrevocability that devoured us? It is an expression of an idealism for living, of a rarefied fanaticism that truly conceives of all creativity as an holy act, a sacred task that leads to immolation or salvation and the acceptance of that risk is what permeates this path with potency and a contemporary shamanism that sets its practitioners apart.

"To build something, in this case an aesthetic 'jihad,' that was not already publicly desired, that nobody in their right mind could possibly want, and then to relentlessly prove that they did want it after all, indeed, leave them feeling that it always existed, and was always so, that was the meaning, the necessary agenda to extricate ourselves from the horror. In the end, they would crave our tortured visions despite themselves, even despising themselves. That was, at the beginning, as far as we could see. It was enough. How we imagined the Velvet Underground’s nihilism to be, especially on that first album, was a crucial trigger to this beginning. Later we would discover that a knowing musicology and ambition flavored our personalized, and self-justifying interpretations. Later we would substitute Jim Morrison’s spiritual and emotional psychic implosion as closer to the process we had volunteered our 'selves' for.

"All the while we were converting the outside world to our inner aesthetic Ian and I were depressingly aware that really, in the end, the audience and critics understood nothing, respected nothing, and protected nothing of our vulnerability on parade, our genuine pain. They saw nothing of the bottomless dead souls that fueled it all, nor the charade of charisma that disguised the obvious detachment from actually feeling truly alive that underpinned the paradox of seeming to discuss a seclusion of perception whilst actually describing a state of absolute discomfort laid bare.

"Not even the other band members of our respective groups really understood this, or really saw it. What was so fatally affecting us, the exposed morbidity of our onstage, on record personas, was dismissed all to conveniently as affectation. They were so close to the open wounds, they couldn’t even address them. At times they chose not to believe they were real, or to sympathize. This compounded our cardinal angst, possessing us with a terrible foreboding of the emptiness dwelling symbiotically alongside the pivotal vacuity of humanity, friends and lovers alike.

"We explained so much we appeared silent. We moved so many we appeared still.

"This paradox of the 'cry-for-help' misdiagnosed as superficial pop anthem has claimed others greater and lesser than Ian Curtis. Spirits that scream for acknowledgement. Hindsight maketh fools of us all.

"I am forced to believe that Ian recognized a great part of himself in the role I was compelled to act out in Throbbing Gristle. An identical, careening, searingly adrift and isolated experience, desperately trapped in the guise of radical self-destructive performer. Often bitter, suicidal and callously nihilistic.

"We were never whole, nor never wholly connected, not even to the other members of the bands we were part of. We had secrets. Secrets kept from before those bands existed. Secrets that might have revealed why, for us, they were a necessity, not a contrivance. We had our own cathartic and therapeutic agendas. We suffered from an afflicted fanaticism of vision bordering at times upon an individuated form of megalomania. No matter how the world chose to validate Joy Division or Throbbing Gristle, at the most private level of conception there remained a repulsing apprehension that it was all, in the sweet end, an enterprise of pearls before swine. A thing without substance.

"The later lionization of both bands, by those self-same critics and arbiters of popular cultural taste who had ignorantly adored or hated us, became just more bitter-sweet evidence of the tawdriness of life in general and the music 'business' in particular as it dilutes, absorbs, mythologizes and consumes into cultural impotence and obsolescence that which is actually a sincere crusade. Regardless of the very real mortal risks involved, we were engaged in a tenacious and careening search of the ultimate, yet detached, possibilities of daring to dream of the immortal. Of course, in retrospect this seems a flawed, naive way of looking at simply making music to some. Opening up the heart and soul in public. Learning in public, and experiencing pain as entertainment and entertainment as pain can consume even the recklessly strong. Nobody who is mediumistic can survive it without scars, without wounds, without weeping.

"As far as I was concerned, in terms of the emotional turmoil eating away inside me, there was much I never bothered to tell the rest of Throbbing Gristle. Ian Curtis held back from Joy Division in this same way. Not onstage, but in his heart. Certain deeply uncomfortable considerations as to the hopelessness of life, certain connections between lyrics and secreted feelings and evenhidden references to the aesthetics and structures of personal ikons.

"But I would share these secrets, these strategies and unspoken manipulations that were required by my insecurity to render the slightest touch of extracted absolution to my existentialism, in order to cosmetically lessen the burden of worthlessness. I shared these convoluted fears, and this underlying shame of even seeming to believe that I was, in private, what others imagined I appeared to be in public with Monte Cazazza and with Ian Curtis. I had no choice. The searing pain of seeing is so relentless and unforgiving. The contradictions are so crushing that someone has to be told. Otherwise the blackness opens up, we are sucked in, and it is the sensual annihilation our efforts have been so convolutedly designed to deflect us from that claims us. We begin by knowing intimately, and neo-sexually this seductive nothingness. Our flight leads us to posture and defy our fates in a grandiose copulation that, to maintain and protect our hardwon sense of being for a shimmering moment physically present and in time and place, requires, absolutely, an audience.

"The audience is our anchor. They hold us here when the sirens and demons try to distract us. We hold on by our fingernails, unable to confess our terror, lest the mere movement of our jaw dislodge us and our sanity, slipping us effortlessly out into the abyss to the howling glee of the banshees. This sense of terror is very real. The puzzle is how it drives us towards that which we know wishes to consume us, committing us to purgatory. The edge of loss is within us, cutting its shape. The outline is blurred by the tumultuous mass. In solitude, it is clear. The white line around the lost body. Staying inside is so hard. Being outside is surrender. The audience is temporary camouflage.

"Monte Cazazza understood, still understands (Hello Monte!) Ian Curtis understood. I didn’t HAVE TO EXPLAIN! Do you have any idea what a blessed relief it is to not have to explain anything? Not pretend anything? Not hide anything? Not have to remember what must not be said? To become, briefly, the beach and its rocks, accepting the forces of crashing waves from a place of equilibrium. The destructive forces are not calmed, but there is a chaotic balance.

"This illness, this 'sickness of the heart' is a little like a cruely imposed and imprisoning secret society. One that claims its members without prior agreement, unlike Faust, but requires an alleigance and exchange no less formidable. Its participants can channel its crippling powers through their dramatic crimes of entertainment through pain; through serial bloodlust; through military sadism or through political autism. Nothing ends this creeping dis-ease. The best its victims can hope for is a controlled bleeding, a steady release of pressure that just might reduce it to a point that lies just inside the boundaries of a bearable, but depleting, agony. The infected are all ways in crisis. Death is an ending of unremitting struggle, a dreamless sleep, a vast and implacable emptiness. To choose immersion in this gives life its only consistency. In blindness, so easily invoked by the closing of eyes, closer, a warm darkness envelops. A slow moving, viscous tar where repose is foetal. Suspended animation with only demons for company. Bad drinking partners. Worse lovers they make! And the source, the source of all this numbing futility is laughingly celebrated as 'life.'

"I haven’t talked about this before. Except to the little boy, alone again, that dwells in terror, deep within my heart. I never had the inclination. Something paralysed me. Something sacred. Something to revealing about my Self, as well as about Ian Curtis. The unbidden similaritites embeded in our feelings of desparation at that particular intersection of our lives left it hard for me to assess anything separately from his action. I knew it would be years before I was strong enough to tell my truth to my Self, and honour that I felt I saw within his.

"But, now, I am compelled, and wish to, speak. I wish to make peace with the Ian Curtis whose secret and unknown pleasures were, I believe, of necessity never revealed to the world outside. Least of all those closer to him. What necessity can that be? Perhaps the necessity to try and find a trick to convince yourself of a plausible ideal for living, and a necessity to avoid acknowledging a final round of destructive paranoid insecurity from within, and emasculating ridicule from without. You see, critical acclaim just does not serve the purpose of a behavioural suture for the likes of us, as we were then. It doesn’t heal these kinds of personality wounds, or resolve the pressing and omnipresent dilemma... suicide.

"Perhaps it was Jon Savage, or perhaps someone else. But Ian Curtis got hold of my private telephone number and he began to call me. He would call me at odd hours (as the newspapers might say). To talk. To talk about Throbbing Gristle, to talk about my anarchic ideas on popular music; ideas not a little laced with disdain and sarcasm for what I felt were the obvious rock and roll celebrity aspirations of 'punk.' He was a great talker on the phone, and smart. He turned out to have been an aficianado of Throbbing Gristle from as early as 1977.

"Apart from a mutual drive to subvert and inflame 'popular' music, we would also talk about militaria; transgressive acts; Nazis; sociopathic tendencies, and, needless to say, about depression and isolation.

"In 1978 Throbbing Gristle released 'D.O.A. - The Third And Final Report Of Throbbing Gristle' on our own Industrial Records label. 'Industrial Music' being a term first coined by Monte Cazazza and myself during a conversation a couple of years earlier. Ian Curtis loved 'D.O.A.' In particular, he liked the track 'WEEPING.' As chance would have it, 'Weeping' was my own first official solo track within the confines of Throbbing Gristle. This song plays with several interlacing interpretations and resonances of the word 'weeping.' It addresses the idea of weeping as tears and crying and the other weeping of raw third degree burns and wounds. This conjunction of physical injuries from burning and emotional wounding from being burned is the morbid centre of the lyric. Morbidity itself is seen as metaphor and reality. The extreme result of betrayal, hopelessness, flesh scalded and blistered leaving no protection, only an absolute vulnerability to infection and unbearable agony.

"In fact this song was recorded as an actual suicide note by me. I had already chosen to commit suicide onstage at 'The Crypt' gig by Throbbing Gristle, in London. To this end I drank a bottle of whisky laced with sleeping pills and valium. In the crypt of a desanctified church no less. It didn’t quite work. So on my delerious return home after that disconcert I had swallowed more than 50 valium and mogadon and flushed them all down with mugs of whisky! To this day I consider that the last true Throbbing Gristle gig.

"I was disillusioned with everything. I felt no respect for the other members of Throbbing Gristle. I hated the sudden shift into critical acceptance. The dilution of integrity. Even the 'cult' acclaim. I was convinced that I had become merely the spectacle. Suiting the voyeuristic purposes of public and band alike by risking sanity, life, physical freedom and emotional disintegration in order to speak more clearly of vulnerability and alienation. I was trying, in my crippled way, to be as mediumistic as intoxication and celebratory indulgence; as pure sonics and streams of improvised consciousness could take me; in the hope for an epiphany. A final moment of vision captured in the headlights of this madness and mayhem. I felt I was the pet freak, a necessary evil to the others. A controlled implosion of notoriety that added a cudos they might never achieve otherwise. I believed they despised me and betrayed me behind my back. That they despised me, and were simultaneously intimidated by my intensity, and that they were phoney in their expression of exploring extremes and taboos, in public at least. Fair or not. True or not. Megalomaniac or not. Paranoid or not. This was how I was feeling. Exploited, unappreciated, and disgusted. Without any redeeming sensations. Which made me assume that this was all my fault. That I was a failure and completely and utterly worthless and devoid of genuine love.

"All these thoughts and screams of pain were poured into this tremendously personal song. I recorded it, and the layers of my violin sedated with more alcohol and downers. These days I stil find it hard to listen to. But because of the stupidity. How could I have accidentally found myself caring about anything to do with music or such people so much? How could I have let them hypnotise me into believing I was all of the problem? With hindsight it seems clear that a lot of this might well have been amplified 'adolescent' angst. But I had nobody around me to share this with. Except Monte Cazazza in letters, and Ian Curtis over the phone. Ian understood. There seemed to be no separation between us. We even wished we were in each others groups. Or rather, we wished we were somewhere else with a group of our own, a new group.

"'Weeping' remained Ian Curtis’ favourite song by me. Sometimes he scared even me with his devotion to it. He’s play it to me over the phone and sing the words along with my vocal. Joy Division released 'An Ideal For Living' in June of that same year and he gave me a signed copy. Years later I would sell it so that I could go to see Brion Gysin in Paris.

"During the night of 17th May 1980 an abject Ian phoned me for the last time. He was singing, intoning 'Weeping.' I was scared for him. I could feel what was in his mind. I had tried to kill myself to a backdrop of 'Weeping' too. Lou Lou Picasso who painted the cover of 'We Hate You (Little Girls)' for Sordide Sentimental’s Throbbing Gristle single had also tried to commit suicide listening to 'Weeping.' It was all too horrible and inevitable. He was distraught, anguished, angry, frustrated, confused and severely depressed. He felt that somehow he’d let matters slip out of his grasp and control; that nobody around him cared what he wanted, what he needed, and more importantly at that moment, how much he did not want to tour or be in 'Joy Division' right now.

"He had a sense of invisible, relentless, steamrollering behind the scenes and this was compounded by feeling he had ended up exactly where he didn’t want to be. Feeling obliged to take part in a truly dreaded American tour. He spoke of a sense of betrayal, of being used, of claustrophobic relationships, of being eaten alive by everyone and destroyed. He was trapped and weakened at the worst possible time.

"He believed that somehow his own failings and courage had combined to create this situation where he was seeming to voluntarily compromise his own self-esteem by allowing commercial blackmail and misplaced loyalties to discredit his principles and dishonour his original intentions within 'Joy Division.' Matters had somehow been shabbily manipulated in such a way that despite his 'cries for help' he was scheduled to fly to America on Monday the 19th. He was was alternately bewildered and angry. Sick of it all. Sick of not being heard when it was inconvenient for others. With his own personal contradictions and problems on top I knew that there was not much time.

"I phoned someone in Manchester and told them that I thought Ian was really going to try and kill himself and that they should get to him immediately at home or even call the local police or it might be too late. When I was challenged and asked how I knew, I said I just knew. It was a scary but overwhelming certainty that I was feeling. They basically ridiculed me telling me that Ian was always depressed and suicidal and miserable, that that’s just how he is. I felt helpless. They promised they’d do something anyway, even though they thought he’d just been winding me up. A sense of inevitability still overwhelmed me. I cried into the night until the valium kicked in. Weeping... the kind that wracks your body with sobs and screams so deep that they resemble terminal spiritual convulsions.

"I am not sure how long after we spoke he actually hung himself in such a very working class Manchester manner. I suspected that nobody would manage to do anything practical. Nobody would make it to go and see him and babysit him through that night. Suicide is often an intense form of temporary insanity. The specific moment passes, and fire cleanses. Somehow the person I spoke with succeeded in putting me into an almost hypnotic holding pattern, persuading me that everything was going to be fine; it was just a prima-donna tantrum and that I should not interfere directly and call anyone else or the police. That it was not any of my business and that I was just panicking and being dramatic. Just like Ian liked to be. I was assured that if anything really serious was going on the Joy Division inner circle would take care of it in their own way. They were used to this kind of thing.

"All this left me very unsure of my orginal intuition and of how much I could appropriately intrude when I really didn’t know everything about what was going on. I only knew Ian’s version in late night phone calls. I didn’t know all the domestic crises, or medical details that were amplifying his moods. So, reluctantly, in my delirium and derangement I didn’t do anymore. I didn’t call 999 myself. The last thing I wanted was for Ian to be suddenly invaded by emergency services and perhaps carted off for more medical and even psychiatric evaluations. Perhaps this was just an extreme version of his usual motive for ringing me up. He was just desparate for company and support, to be heard and given respect for his psychological cravings by a person he believed felt the same things just as intensely. I intended to travel up to see him that week if he managed to cancel the American tour."

© Genesis P-Orridge 1988.

Brit Pop ang Sa-iyoow...

2006-03-24T00:39:00.000-08:00

Ang nagagawa nga naman ng matinding poot at pagdadalamhati.

Mahirap mang amini't tanggapin, naging malaking impluwensya ang aking dakilang ekis sa aking kasalukuyang pagkahumaling sa Brit Pop. Ano nga ba ang Brit Pop? In a nutshell,ayun sa answers.com (na kanina ko lamang nasaliksik):

Britpop
Stylistic origins: British Invasion, Glam rock, Indie rock, Madchester, Mod movement, New Wave, Punk rock
Cultural origins: early 1990s, United Kingdom
Typical instruments: Guitar - Bass - Drums - Keyboards
Mainstream popularity: Mid 1990s, United Kingdom
Derivative forms: {{{derivatives}}}
Subgenres
New wave of new wave
Fusion genres
Unknown
Regional scenes
England - Scotland - Wales - Ireland
Other topics
Timeline of alternative rock
Britpop was a British alternative rock movement from the mid 1990s, characterised by the prominence of bands influenced by British guitar pop music of the 1960s and 1970s. Though these bands did not on the whole have a single unifying sound they were grouped together by the media first as a 'scene' and later as a national cultural movement.

The movement developed as a reaction against various musical trends in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Acid house and the rise of Hip hop had led to an renewed interest in groove and rhythm-led songs in British indie music (for instance Madchester bands such as the Happy Mondays). In the wake of this, more "classic" guitar music was sidelined. The shoegazing movement in the early 1990s responded by producing long, psychedelic, repetitive songs, strongly influenced by bands like the Jesus and Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine.

The key "anti-influence" on Britpop was grunge. In the wake of the American invasion led by bands like Nirvana, Mudhoney, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, some British acts sought to emulate the grunge sound. Others (including Blur) continued to emulate the Madchester sound of the late 80s as part of the baggy movement. Much of the British music press remained in thrall to more established and critically acclaimed US acts such as Dinosaur Jr and Sonic Youth.

Ewan ko ba. Lately pag nakakarinig ako ng likes ng Chameleons at Railway Children sobra akong kinikilabuta't nanonostalgia. Totoo nga ang konsepto ng tabula rasa: sadyang naging impressionable ang aking pag-iisip sa murang edad nung dekada otsenta. At ngayon, sa tuwing makakasagi ako ng info tungkol sa roots and history ng punk, post-punk, new wave at brit pop ay sobra akong nahahantig. Salamat na rin sa patuloy na pag-unlad ng web technology, napanood ko ang video ng 'Brighter' ng Railway Children sa youtube.com. Tangna lang sa kagwapuhan ang bokalistang Gary Newby. Wish ko lang talaga na may kamalayan na ako ng mga panahon na iyon. Alas, isa na lamang siyang has-been sa kasalukuyan. Ngunit di ako magdadalawang isip na hadahin kung sakaling magtagpo ang aming landas.

Salamat din sa teknolohiya ng ipod, patuloy na dumadami ang aking koleksyon. Kabilang sa aking naidagdag ang Ride, Inspiral Carpets, Boo Radleys, Charlatans, Cactus World News, Stone Roses at Trash Can Sinatras. Andyan din ang Housemartins, Jesus and Mary Chain, at mga bagitong kagaya ng Arctic Monkeys, Amusement Parks on Fire at Interpol. May mga bagong terms din akong natutunan (although di masasabing masusing naunawaan) gaya ng shoegazing at fuzzbox. Sa wakas, nabawasan na din ang aking pagka-poser sa pag-appreciate ng ganitong uri ng musika.

Ang downside nga lang eh nagiging specialized na ang taste ko sa music. Buti na lang at nababalanse pa rin kahit papaano ng mga kagaya ng Magic Numbers, Of Montreal at Cat Power. Gayunpaman, sa tingin ko'y mas titindi ang aking obsession sa Brit Pop sa mga susunod pang mga buwan. Pangarap ko talagang makarating sa UK balang araw, para lamang matuntong ang lupain ng mga pinakamahuhusay na musikero sa balat ng lupa. Kahit ata mag-DH na lang para lang makahalubilo ang mga mokong na ito eh papatulan ko na.

Siguro ok rin ang naging epekto ng paglaho ng magaling kong ekis. Mas lumalim ang kamalaya't appreciation ko for Brit Pop at natuto akong mag-establish ng sarili kong standards sa pag-unawa nito. Alam kong maraming mas panatiko pa sa akin ( maaaring pati ang elitista kong ekis) ang magrereact negatively about this, but I don't really care. Basta alam ko, nahuhumaling ako sa Brit Pop at New Wave and that's that.

The Parent Trap

2006-03-20T20:45:00.000-08:00

Happy 60th Birthday, Dad.

I was just on the phone with my old man. Funny how just a few days ago I was going through one of those "what-does-it-all-mean" phases, as Charlie (Katherine-Zeta Jones) in High Fidelity would put it. My 30's depression rant vis-a-vis my dad's "coming of age" zenfest. The ultimate comparison and contrast.

Problematic as I am right now, it's just not me to cause my folks incessant worry, so when my dad started asking me how I was, I automatically told him that I was fine. Not totally great, just worry-free fine. Lately, my level of calm lucidity frightens me. I mean I know for a fact that people perceive as this chronic negative person. Humorous yeah, but nonetheless oozing with sarcasm. My snide remarks could give the Brits a run for their money.But despite my usual aura of electrons, rarely do I find myself in a state of raving hysteria. I don't know if that's a good thing though. All that negative energy should manifest itself in some other form at some point.

Sometimes things get really bad, you wish you could be Michael Douglas in Relentless. You just don't wanna morph into that hideous monster infront of your parents. They don't deserve to see your life fall apart. They worked hard their entire lives to make sure that things will run smoothly at the time of your great launch. They deserve to see all that hard work put to good use.

Once you're out of the nest, you are out of a controlled environment. Your folks are not naive to the harsh realities of the outside world.They've been there. They definitely went through more ordeals compared to me in my state of singlehood. Times are different though. And levels of contentment vary as well. What they thought was a good enough life for me just didn't suffice. I had to fly longer distances with my scrawny wings. In fact I strayed so far out, I am clearly out of their midst. It's a tough decision I made on my own. The price of freedom is that you have to go through the consequences by yourself as well. And that's what I intend to do. Even if it kills me.

In two weeks, my mom will be in LA. And like my dad, she will put me under the microscope. It will be exceptionally difficult to feign my calm, cool and collected composure because she will see right through me. Knowing her, an advice or two will be inescapable, but I'm hoping that she will be less severe and stifling. Hopefully our tropical paradise getaway would help lessen the magnification.

Weightlifting

2006-03-20T17:32:00.000-08:00

i discover the wheel and watch the buildings go by
you talk a little soft, turn off the radio
i just want to hear all the past times
the rushed hours, the endless lives
don't become a burden
say the word and be free

you will find a great weight lifting
easing your mind, a great weight lifting
just leave it behind, a great weight lifting
and you will find a great weight lifting

it's been a lonely winter hibernating away
you need a little sunlight on that face
how long can you stay in the darkness?
dust round the empty nest?
you could make you way out
if you lay down the load

you will find a great weight lifting
easing your mind, a great weight lifting
leave it behind, a great weight lifting
you will find a great weight lifting
just leave it behind, a great weight lifting
and you will find a great weight lifting

-- Trash Can Sinatras

The 30's Depression

2006-03-18T02:23:00.000-08:00

Bago ang lahat, Happy St. Patrick's Day. Wala mang katuturan sa maraming tao...masaya ako dahil nashenglotsh ako sa kulay berdeng serbesa habang sinusulat ang blog na ito. Nashenglotsh sa piling ng mga buba ng Hooters sa West Covina. Nakakatawa dahil nakukuha ko pang managalog. Madalas kaysa sa hindi, sobra nang may effort ang pagtatagalog pag nalalasheng ako. Malamang malaki ang nagawa ng pagtulog ko sa kotse bago kami nakauwi.

Isang taon na lang at magiging opisyal na kasapi na ako ng mga may mid-life crisis. (Assuming of course, na matitigok na ako sa edad na 60-65 anyos na siya kong personal wish) Trenta. Parang nakakakilabot pakinggan na tatahakin ko na ang landas na kelan lang ay parang di ko pa abot-tanaw. Heto ako, sa gitna ng pakikibaka nang paghahanap ng katutura't patutunguhan. Ano na nga ba ang narating kong maaaring maipagmalaki sa mundo? Wala. Masakit mang isipin, ngunit ito ang katotohanan. Wala pa rin akong mukhang maihaharap sa mundo dahil mapasahanggang ngayo'y hindi ko pa alam kung aling mukha ba ang nararapat para sa akin.

Siguro totoo nga ang nabasa kong confucian philosophy sa isang mug noong ako'y musmos pa. "Life begins at 30 (Confucius died at 29)'.Ikanga ng inamag ng cliche: Habang me buhay, me pag-asa. Siguro kailangan kang ma-reborn parang phoenix para magkaroon ulit ng bagong igting ng pag-asa. Nasa gitna ako ng nakakaimbyernang estado ng buhay. Panahon ng matinding unos, panahon ng walang katiyakan. Itutulot ba ng tadhana na mamalagi pa ako rito? O isa lamang ba itong pagpapatunay na naharap ko na ang halimaw ng what could have beens at kailangan ko nang bumalik sa realidad at matutong makuntento sa nararapat na nakalaan para sa akin? Dapat bang makuntento na lamang upang matagpuan ko ang tunay na kaligayahan sa nalalabi kong panahon sa daigdig?

Ewan. Basta alam ko, masaya ako ngayon sa panandaliang euphoria na hatid ng paginom ng berdeng serbesa. Siguro dapat ganun na lang ang maging pananaw ko sa buhay. Live each day like drinking a mug of cold, refreshing beer. Inom lang ng inom hanggang malasing, hanggang masuka na sa lasing at hanggang malusaw na ang atay ko't mawala na sa mundo. At least, panandalian man ang kaligayaha'y madama ko man lang kung paano maging maligaya.

The Ride

2006-03-07T20:56:00.000-08:00

Many truths are revealed just by riding the bus.

Everyday I go through the same routine, wait for the bus in the corner of my street and Wilshire. I have learned that wearing dark sunglasses and listening to blaring music through your earphones is a very effective way to shut out the entire world in oblivion. It's my personal bubble in order to drown out the noise, the unnecessary arguments between bus drivers and passengers over the littlest things, like airconditioning, or back doors not opening or wrong stops. Even with loud music pounding on my ears, I could hear them and sometimes I find it amusing how people can be so cranky and high strung at such early hours. They just are. Especially in L.A. It's like watching "Crash", only from a documentary perspective. This is real life.

It's funny how one cramped space can be teeming with so much diversity. There will always be that one person talking loudly on the cellphone, and by the call's end you'll wind up involuntary overhearing a lot of things, like where he's goin', how old his/her son is, when she got her nails done, when he broke up with his girlfriend, etc. Then there's the group of middle-aged Asian women huddled so close together as if breaking them apart would cause the universe to implode, the black guys who would always sit at the back of the bus, engaging themselves in lively and loud conversations that it feels as if they're all over the place. The Latin American moms with their kids and more kids. The old white people, grumbling and grunting when they can't find a seat at the front where seats for senior citizens and handicapped people should be.

This morning, I came across a rather saddening sight at the Social Security office. A man sitting on a wheelchair, with an oxygen tank in tow, obviously by himself and laboriously breathing while you guessed it...smoking. Can there be a lonelier sight than this? Is living in America such a tragic,lonely thing that it reduces one's being into such depths of desperation and solitude? I often wonder if coming to America would destroy, rather than build character. One thing is crystal-clear though, you live here for yourself. You always watch your back. You learn to do things by yourself. You cope. You become this jaded, detached and independent person who wears dark glasses and earphones to a bus ride. You disembark at your own stop and live your own life. And the bus will move on without you, and people won't even remember that you were there.

In life, we are all mere passengers.

LUMPIA-PALOOZER!

2006-03-06T21:38:00.000-08:00

One Saturday I was at my usual place, rummaging through dvd's at my most favorite hangout store Amoeba, when I came across this lonely little title called "Lumpia-palooza in the music dvd's section. The rave reviews I gathered from Fil-am friends over this indie Flip film called "Lumpia" (which I have yet to see to judge for myself) compelled me to this piece of work. After all it's not everyday that you come across a grandiose-sounding Fil-am production, especially not in a place like Amoeba where white people swarm like ants compared to us brown-skinned Flips. Plus there was yet another motivating detail: my good friend's handiwork for The Skyflakes band, a music video that he showed me while it was still a work in progress back in '03. I already had four kickass movie titles and I was in a state of chaotic indecision. Yep....I traded the possibility of owning "Wings of Desire" and "Iris" over patriotism. It seemed inappropriate to waste an opportunity to witness a showcase of talents from my own kind. After all, how can I be a well-rounded music enthusiast and critic if I limit myself to Pinoy bands back home? And so I went and gambled ten bucks for a piece of work that was to be my source of utter disappointment later on.

The venue was definitely a strong come-on for the show. It was held in San Francisco, my most well-loved city in Cali. For me, SF is perhaps the ultimate melting pot in California for music lovers and enthusiasts. I could spend hours walking through Haight Street, a place I've come to love and religiously visit whenever I'm in town. To sacrilege such a deep admiration with pretentious crap would be reprehensible. But that was what that DVD did. I've never skipped so many parts as much as I did for that DVD my entire life! The whole time I was muttering profanities to myself. No offense to the Skyflakes video, it was the ONLY endearing consolation I got from watching Lumpia-paloozer. It had a frustrating setlist of stereo-type boy bands, male groups posing as rock bands and girlie bands devoid even of raw talent. It's just so indescribably... annoying.

My dismay began with the bad choice of hosts. They were downright irritating! Couple that with lots and lots of hiphop performances and you have the ultimate recipe for disaster. Hiphop performances for an indie gig....wtf! They just gave a whole new meaning to the word "Indie". And what's up with reuniting this already broken and bitter girl band? Gawwd...they had to haul their asses to different locations in NorCal for a meaningless exodus to search for former band members. I don't even think it was worth the effort.

More hiphop crap and some sappy boy band performances later, the show continued to suck even more. This gig is a classic example of "what not to do" to be cool. As my cousins would say... they're a bunch of coconuts. Brown on the outside but white on the inside. Talk about major identity crisis. With 300 years of Spanish influence, we're already confused enough as it is. There was nothing uniquely Filipino about this presentation except for their brown skin and overt mockery over the Pinoy fobby accent (which I thought was rather demeaning and unnecessary). The show and the characters in it were just too self-
involved.

Watching Lumpia-palooza made me realize the degree of cultural differences between Filipinos here and in the PI's. Not to disrespect the Fil-Am upbringing, but diversity can be a double-edged sword. As it broadens one's horizons, so can it dilute one's identity. Lumpia-palooza was made just like the popular Pinoy-style egg roll: a mishmash of eastern roots and westernized culture wrapped in brown skin.

A COMIC RELIEF: Masters of American Comics at the MOCA

2006-03-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

I HAVE always been a passive admirer of comic art.
Sure, I had my share of geeky addiction over some
popular comic book titles ranging from the likes of
Archie with its wholesome wit, to the irreverent
humor of Mad, to the satirical characters of Pugad
Baboy and more recently, to the sardonic exchanges
between brothers Riley and Huey in the Boondocks. I’m
also nerdy enough to get hyped up over comic
conventions and anime expos and comic book signings by
the likes of Neil Gaiman, even comic book-oriented
films like Chasing Amy.

OK… so scrap passive. Maybe at some Freudian level, I am
indeed, a big fan of comic books. But the fact that I
never got into the habit of collecting them totally
negates the principle. Mostly my fascination for comic
books is based on the humor and wit of the stories.
The artwork, though fanciful and detailed, to me, is
just the icing on the cake. A rather bold assertion
that could generate some violent reaction from
my true-blooded fanatic friends,
but that is just my honest opinion. :)

I am actually not naïve to the intricate processes involved
in making comic art, in fact I’ve worked alongside ultimate
jedi masters in the craft from my batch in college.
But spending a lazy Sunday afternoon with my friend Steffie
to see “Masters of American Comics” at
the MOCA somehow changed my perspective of comic art.
Seeing original pen and ink illustrations and
mechanicals of classic comic book greats like MAD
made me admire the artists for their
painstaking attention to detail.

I was especially drawn to Harvey Kurtzman's handiwork.
It was difficult for them back then, since their methods were
crude and lacked the technology that more contemporary
American comic labels like Image and Vertigo now
enjoy. These are works of blood and sweat and I
wouldn’t mind starting a collection of their original
illustrations should the opportunity present itself.
The exhibit was made to establish a canon of fifteen
of the most influential 20th century comic book
artists: Winsor McCay, Lyonel Feininger, George
Herriman, E.C. Segar, Frank King, Chester Gould,
Milton Caniff , Charles M. Schulz at the Hammer
Museum; and Will Eisner, Jack Kirby , Harvey Kurtzman,
R. Crumb, Art Spiegelman, Gary Panter, and Chris Ware
at MOCA. The exhibit aims to identify and showcase the
mastery and formal innovations that these artists
contributed to the industry. American comics have gone
a long way since their evolution during the latter
part of the 19th century. From humble beginnings in
Sunday newspapers as supplements, it has progressed
into a more complex and daring art form through the
comic book and finally to the graphic novel. Depicting
the life and times of that era, American comics
mirrored life boldly, sometimes even whimsically
through the wild imagination of their creators.
The exhibit was also founded to give bonafide merit
to comics as an art form with its own unique history,
protagonists and contribution to society as music and
film have.

Masters of American Comics is definitely a must-see
for all ages, especially for young aspiring artists
and comic book enthusiasts. It is a fascinating
display of one of the most prominent forms of pop
culture in America. I personally think that this
exhibit should be included in comic conventions as a
historical showcase.

This exhibit was a joint effort of Hammer Museum and
The Museum of Contemporary Art. It’s made possible in
part by the National Endowment for the Arts.

On Podcasting, Arctic Monkeys and The Magic Numbers

2006-03-06T21:27:00.000-08:00

Whoever came up with the concept of podcasting is pure genius.
Well, maybe second-rate brilliant compared to the guys behind satellite radio, but to iPod-toting suckers such as myself, podcasting is the persistent reminder that technology can finally afford people the capability to listen to anything and everything under the sun: from music, to politics, to cooking tips…the possibilities are ridiculously endless. Best of all, they can download and listen to podcasts at their own time and convenience…for FREE. Because of its capability to update the podcast that you subscribe to, you’ll never miss another KCRW “Morning Becomes Eclectic” episode ever again or a remote KEXP live performance coming all the way from Seattle. How’s that for sheer brilliance?
Podcasting was (literally) instrumental in exposing me to the likes of Arctic Monkeys and the Magic Numbers. It was here when I first heard the brit and brash monkeys and the west Londoner foursome, the monkeys from Nic Harcourt's "Morning Becomes Eclectic" radio show and the numbers from KEXP. An impressive live sampler thus motivated me to listen to these two bands more seriously. The monkeys' " Fake Tales of San Francisco" and "A Certain Romance" made it for me, while "Mornings Eleven" and "Love Me Like You" converted me to a true blue Magic Numbers fan.
Too bad the monkeys' show in LA sold out before I could bat an eyelash, but the numbers are performing at this year's Coachella gig so I just might see them in action. That's another thing. Hopefully I could do a bit of catching up on this year's lineup for the Coachella Festival thru podcasts. Big names like Massive Attack, Madonna(yes, Madonna in Coachella) and Bloc Party are awfully popular but half of the setlist for Sunday's show are still unknown...well, maybe less than half now. I've been listening to the likes of Mogwai,Sleater-Kinney, Mylo, Seu Jorge at a crash course rate through other means (like this wonderful new website that I discovered called ampcamp.com)
Anyway, I'm really psyched about going to Coachella this year. Hopefully it'll push through. Two days in the sweltering heat of the desert sun couldn't possibly kill me. Well, actually it could, but who cares! I'm going to Coachella. Woohooo! :)

Let it Snooow....

2006-03-06T17:03:00.000-08:00

Ang sarap palang mag-snowboarding.

Two weekends ago we were in Snow Valley to try snowboarding for the first time. It's like almost a two-hour drive from downtown Los Angeles. The day was quite pleasant and sunny, and the snow wasn't really that thick when we got there.
When we got to the snowboard rental place, I was really apprehesive to try the sport, I didn't want to wind up with broken bones, at the same time my sense of balance wasn't that great. I mean I can ride a bike, but when I tried skateboarding I almost fell on my ass. When I finally mustered the courage to rent the snow boots and the board, they pop the most crucial question of all: Are you a lefty or a righty? And I was like...wtf? I had no idea. I thought maybe since I play badminton and table tennis with my left arm, maybe the same principle applies with my "supposed" snowboarding leg. And so I picked a lefty board. Buti na lang!

Before I even get into the horrifying details of my first snowboard experience, let me tell how it was like before I even stepped on the ice. You're covered from head to foot with the essential warming garments: beanie, gloves, thermals, sweater, ski jacket,waterproof pants and ski socks. Then you go through the agonizing ordeal of putting the snow shoes on, those snug little bastards that won't let your feet or your legs bend flexibly, therefore you wind up walking like Frankenstein.

And then there's the issue of traction when your feet finally hit the ice. You had to walk a certain way, pasudsod with your toes shoveling the ice to ensure that there's friction between your feet and the snow so you don't slip and fall. Then, right before you get on the lift, you have to secure one of your feet on the snowboard, sort of strap it in place, so you don't have to carry it with you. And so you fall in line with one foot on the board, and you rely your entire balance on the other foot, unless you're already trained with having both feet on the board and sliding it down like a skateboard, but then you have to be brisk in movement as well cause the lifts are gonna come your way at their own time. And I do mean AT THEIR OWN TIME. Imagine, even before your butt hits the lift seat, you've probably gone through a lot of slipping and sliding just trying to get your sorry ass on that exact spot where the lift stops.

Finally you're on the lift, enjoying the c-cold mountain air and the altitude while your strapped foot dangles heavily with the board in tow, a slight nauseating feeling surfaces from the pit of your stomach while you try hard to forget that you have vertigo. To distract yourself from puking or jumping off the lift, you decide to look at the snowboarders and skiiers down below, falling on their asses, on their faces, falling and contorting their bodies at every angle you never thought possible. You get more nervous and your stomach starts to churn because at the end of the lift is another stop that you have to deal with. Yet another feat of skill to surpass, lest you slip again, this time on a slightly downhill slope that can easily make you fall flat on your face...and that's what exactly happens when you get to the stop. And you cower that you might get hit again by the next lift before you can even start to drag that heavy board that's strapped on your foot....so you crawl, on all fours just to get out of the way of the unrelenting automated lift.

After crawling like a limping dog, you finally hit the official starting point of the snowboarding/skiing slope. You start to strap both feet on the board and then it dawns on you...how the hell are you going to manage to stand up when you keep slipping and sliding now that both feet are strapped on the board. So you try, and you try, and yet again you try to push your sorry ass up so you can stand on both feet. Believe me, it took me almost half an hour just to stand up. Trenta minutos. My ass was numb from the cold snow by the time I finally got up.

Thirty minutes it took me to stand up, and only a few seconds to fall again on my butt. I get up, slip again to an almost constant frequency, the involuntary rhythm almost felt like a Technotronic song was playing in my head. Then I learn a little secret...it's easier to get up when you try it on all fours than from pushing your butt from your backside. So that's what I did...no matter which side I fall on, backside or frontside, I had to lodge myself, carry the weight of that horrid, horrid board just to start getting up on my all fours position. Then there's the perpendicular angle thing. While on your knees, you have to angle the board so that it's perpendicular to the slopes, so that when you try to get up the board doesn't slide. The simple principle of friction.

For what seemed like an eternity, I was sliding and slipping and falling and getting up 'til finally I hit the bottom of the slope. Hallelujah! I was at that slope for almost two hours. Really pathetic, but hey it's my first time. And so like a little kid, I go back in line, strap one foot on the board and got on that tricky lift again for another grueling adventure. Fine, holiday fun!

Living in LA-land

2006-03-06T16:26:00.000-08:00

Kakaiba rin pala ang rush ng celebrity sighting, kahit na hindi ako masyadong mahilig sa artista.

Last Sunday (yes, the day of the Academy Awards) we were at the food court of Beverly Center (take note, food court as in mala-mala SM food court) when we bumped into Russell Crowe. Andun lang siya, sa isang coffee place, hukot na hukot at oblivious sa kanyang kapaligiran. May I smile ang lolo mo sa mga taong nakakilala sa kanya, pero walang alinlangang nakihalubilo sa kaguluhan ng food court, umupo't chumika sa kanyang jowa't junakis. Although slightly afraid akong lumapit dahil nagkaroon na nga ng incident na nanjombag siya ng isang bell boy sa New York.

At syempre pa, hindi dun natapos ang celebrity sighting ng mga lola. Mayamaya'y dumating naman ang lolo George Lucas at pumila sa pulutong ng mga tao sa Haagen Daaz nang walang kaabog-abog. Syempre dahil hindi ako masugid na tagahanga ng Star Wars, dumedma lang ang lola mo sa mga kaganapan. Sapat na sa aking nakita ko ang isa sa mga icons ng film industry.

Dati, hate na hate ko yung fact na sa L.A. ako napadpad dahil hindi ko masakyan ang pop and Hollywood culture. Ito ang mga moments na kahit papaano eh nagkakaroon ng katuturan ang pamamalagi ko rito.Ngayon, alam ko na kung saan tatambay tuwing Academy Awards. Sana next time si Tim Burton o si Charlie Kaufman naman ang makabangga ko.

HIGH-SOUNDING IN HOLLYWOOD: Amusement Parks on Fire and The Silversun Pickups at the Knitting Factory

2006-03-06T10:53:00.000-08:00

From pitchforkmedia.com:

If you don't fall in love with Amusement Parks on Fire's self-titled debut after the first few notes of "Venus in Cancer", you never will. A throbbing dose of 4/4 overdriven pop, the song casually channels the melody from Dinosaur Jr.'s "Little Fury Things" via frontman Michael Feerick's smooth delivery, which conveys a sense of angst without over-emoting.
It's an impressive feat considering Feerick recorded the album entirely on his own, but after you've heard the first two tracks-- the slow-building, piano-and-strings instrumental "23 Jewels" that leads to "Venus"-- you've pretty much heard the entire record. As the album proceeds, APOF's waves of distorted guitar continue to rise and fall and the instrumental breathers come at just the right moments, but there are no more tricks up Feerick's sleeve. "Venosa" delivers jagged guitars and a jaunty melody, and it's followed with another plodding piano-driven instrumental, "Asphalt (Interlude)". Even the moments of derivation, like the tape-recorded dialogue over the breakdown in "Eighty Eight" or the gradual crescendos and declines of the eight-minute "Wiper", seem predictable.

At times, the transitions between tracks can be charming-- "The Ramones Book" is a modest, maudlin piano ballad that kicks unexpectedly into the soaring shoegaze of "Local Boy Makes God"-- but the album simply revisits the same couple of sounds. It's not just that the pacing is so methodical it nearly makes the record sterile, or that the best song just reminds me of someone else's better song, but for all of the overhwlelming guitars layered onto these songs, sentimental ballads like "The Ramones Book" are what's at the record's heart. My perception might be colored by hearing the "rustic" version of "Venus in Cancer" from that song's single release, a precious acoustic rendition that stands perfectly on it's own. It was a revelation: These tracks aren't built to bruise, they're bedroom pop in a blanket of distortion as a defense. Feerick's simple melodies sound much more apt with subtle coloration instead of overkill. Amusement Parks on Fire has undeniable focus, but it's moments like "The Ramones Book" that reveal the most.
-Jason Crock, October 7, 2005
(http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/record-reviews/a/amusement-parks-on-fire/amusement-parks-on-fire.shtml)

Nuff said. My ears are still ringing as I'm writing this blog.
Despite the inconvenience of having a chunk of Hollywood Boulevard closed last night in preparation for the Oscars, we were at the Knitting Factory to catch these guys in action and another band called The Silversun Pickups. APOF's music was consistently raucuous with its distorted guitars, but personally, I think the whole objective of this feat is to get used to the noise and rise above it in order appreciate the essence of their music. Feerick's vocals are charming, almost emo-poppish sounding if heard on its own. The instrumentation’s not really anything extraordinary but I have to say that the earsplitting cacophony did give it a unique character. I especially liked “Venus in Cancer, it was the track that moved me to see this gig in the first place.

Compared to APOF’s dissonant sound, The Silversun Pickups were a bit more mature (though possibly not in terms of Brian’s vocal quality) and upbeat. Nikki Monninger was a kick-ass bassist and Joe Lester definitely had a great time splicing his keyboards together with synthesized styles. Here’s what Filter Magazine had to say about them:

The Tumbleweed Effect. Brian Aubert attributes the formation of his band, Silversun Pickups, and the tight-knit musical community surrounding it to this phenomenon. “It just blows along and people stick,” he says. Aubert, bassist-singer Nikki Monninger, keyboardist Joe Lester and drummer Christopher Guanlao will unveil a new EP, entitled Pikul (Dangerbird Records), July 26.

The tumbleweed began blowing along even before Silversun Pickups started playing together. “I met Nikki on a flight to England about 10 years ago,” Aubert explains. “That’s also where I met Ariana, from Earlimart [another of the east side Los Angeles bands in this scene], and that relationship spawned the meeting of Joe later on. Everybody just knew everybody in a roundabout way. Christopher was also a friend of a friend. Again, the tumbleweed rolls.”
A similar mechanism was at play as the band built their following. “We were thrust into playing live before we really knew what the hell we were doing,” Aubert says. “We started getting gigs at Spaceland and the Silverlake Lounge right away – to a painful degree. Before Christopher, we had a drummer we were teaching how to play drums five minutes before the show. I wouldn’t even go to the mic – I was singing way far away from it – because I was so shy onstage. But even though we were a mess, people would be there somehow. They understood it, and more and more of them came.”
What these people understood was a mercurial creature born of distorted guitars, delicate melodies, hypnotic, left-of-center rhythms and Aubert’s unvarnished vocals. “We like loud, growly guitar, but we use it in a way I think is pretty,” says the singer-guitarist. “The guitars hum. They’re big but warm, not something that’s gonna make your ears freak out. We like melodies a lot, and when the guitars are going nuts, those can get lost. We love bands like Can and NEU! and My Bloody Valentine and white noise and these really long, bizarre things, but we also love listening to oldies and singing in the car. As much as we love that cool, avant-garde stuff, we can’t help but have a song somewhere in there that you can hum along to.”
The six-song EP Pikul – its title is a tribute to a dear friend who died – covers a range of emotional territory, though that terrain is not always clearly mapped. Asked about “Kissing Families,” the record’s lead track, Aubert says, “It communicates a certain emotional tone more than anything else.” He points out a “positive melancholy,” then reiterates, “Even though the lyrics are abstract, people tend to get the tone right.”

Silversun Pickups are endlessly inspired by the bands they play with, hang out with, live with. This is evidenced by the lovely, haunting cover of The Movies’ “Creation Lake” and the prominent appearance of Pine Marten’s Mark Wooten on “The Fuzz.” Many of these groups are part of a loose collective known as The Ship. They go to each other’s shows, play shows together, play on each other’s records, support each other through the vagaries of being independent musicians in Los Angeles.
Asked why this group is called The Ship, Aubert notes: “It’s from a house the Earlimart kids lived in. It was actually called The Filthy Whore. The people who lived there collected ship stuff, and then when they all started recording bands, they built a studio in [the northeast L.A. enclave of] Glassell Park, and they called that The Ship, too.” He’s never understood why bands become competitive. “When we did our residency at The Echo, we set up a table for local bands to sell their stuff,” he says. “We figure, if you like us, you’re gonna love them. We’re into the idea of holding hands with a bunch of people. How else are you gonna get by?”

For all its dynamism and depth, however, the EP is just another manifestation of the Tumbleweed Effect. “Kissing Families” was one of the first things to blow along. Other songs duly stuck to Silversun’s repertoire, with “Comeback Kid” drifting in most recently. Affirms Aubert – the “accidental” singer whose band generally released music only after poorly recorded bootlegs forced them to address a demand – “We’ve always been pulled along by events.” Expect to hear the tumbleweed’s subsequent accretions on Silversun Pickups’ full-length debut, due in 2006.(www.filter-mag.com)

Overall, the gig wasn’t exactly a total disappointment. Hey, our ten bucks went a long way… two newbie bands with a lot of potential, coupled with reasonably-priced cocktails and a nice shirt. It wasn’t bad at all.