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THE KILLS "KEEP ON YOUR MEAN SIDE"
For those who like "Rid of Me" more than "Stories from
the City, Stories from the Sea," these guys salute you. I prefer
the latter myself -- I love the way Polly Jean Harvey turned her caustic
screeds into full-bodied, emotionally rippling songs that lost none of
their intensity by honing their sound. As for this kinetic duo, well,
who knows how bright their future will be? Their raw, violent, sensual
tunes evoke the Doors or Howlin' Wolf at his most raging. Hard rock used
to be blues-based sex music, nasty and grimy. The Kills understand this
better than just about anyone else around. Room for improvement, to be
sure -- "Rid of Me" was just as forceful and monochromatic in
its assault. But once they vary the attack, watch out. A-
RICHARD THOMPSON "THE OLD KIT BAG"
He's got old-fogey written all over him. He's made dozens of albums before
this one, and, God willing, he'll make dozens more after this one. So
what it lacks in urgency it makes up for in weathered feeling and heartfelt
sympathy. He's known for his guitar, and his playing remains restrained
and precise -- emotional without ever calling attention to itself. Buy
this album or not, he'll keep touring, writing, grousing, falling in love
and having it not work out. On the opposite side of "hot" and
"exciting," there deserves to be extra consideration for thoroughly
dependable artists like this. B+
CURSIVE "THE UGLY ORGAN"
Perhaps the album's best song contains its best line. "My ego's like
my stomach," underdog Tim Kasher moans, "it keeps shitting what
I feed it." The fact that the song is called "The Recluse"
makes it all the more fitting and perfect. Cult bands who enjoy being
on the fringes -- who like hurling Molotov cocktails at the popular and
well-liked -- get off on doing what they want, saying whatever they think,
damning the consequences. But that doesn't always mean they connect. Like
Modest Mouse, they add palpable tension and the threat of violence to
their emo. Nevertheless, the nice guy in me would like to politely point
out that melodies aren't always the enemy. And that nobody cares about
your struggles in the record business. Clearly I'm not in their cult,
and so this is one more group whom I respect more than I love. B
THE BLACK KEYS "THICKFREAKNESS"
I dunno. I mean, I get it. Blues rock. Passionate reverence. Overamped
guitars. Two dudes. Yeah yeah yeah. Right tone, right feel, right style,
right snarl -- it's all there. But it rarely moves me. When people complain
that the White Stripes are a hype, well, at least they have a sound of
their own. B
AFI's 100 YEARS...100 HEROES & VILLAINS
Oh yeah, of course I had better things to do with my Tuesday night. Exercise,
meditation, my latest attempt at figuring out why they're called "graphic
novels." But, damn it, I got sucked in. The allure of these CBS specials
is the pure pleasure of lists, obviously, but there is also the unstoppable
rush of deathless clips. I mean, c'mon, anything from 2001 always
gives me a rush. Same with Raiders of the Lost Ark, Casablanca,
Lawrence of Arabia, you name it. The glossy mixture of music, interviews,
and classic scenes -- it's brainless, absolutely. But, hey, these shows
always remind me why I fell in love with movies in the first place. There's
no point in being snooty about it now. B+
SPELLBOUND, DIRECTED BY JEFFREY BLITZ
Hoop Dreams for pencilnecks. The filmmakers gather enough
of the necessary ingredients -- social commentary, cultural observation,
character curiosity -- to make a minor classic about an arcane subject
that is uniquely American. But don't call it a masterpiece. Rather than
go deep, we go broad, combing the different races and cultures and economic
classes to present our country as one big melting pot of silly competition.
Informative and diverting, but not insightful and gripping. This one's
a great crowd-pleaser, but its slickness and buzzy good feeling at times
can beg for a little more journalistic grit. B+
THE SEARCH FOR SIGNS OF INTELLIGENT LIFE IN THE
UNIVERSE
Lily Tomlin is an actor's actor and why shouldn't she be? Dedicated
and devoted to craft, she lends charisma, strength, and good humor to
the ordinary people she excels in portraying. (Even the soggiest of movies
and TV shows perks up a little when she strolls by.) And this piece of
theater, fresh from its acclaim on Broadway, probably plays to her strengths
as well as anything -- it adores her charm, her dexterity, her compassion.
All I could ask is that I liked it more. Jane Wagner's play is a well-regarded
institution, and anyone can see why. Flawless sound and lighting design,
a timeless why-are-we-here theme, nice touches throughout -- it never
demands too much of its audience and resolves its troubling questions
in the most comforting of ways. But this institution still has resonant
things to say, and a great person to embody them in Tomlin. Anchoring
a show that enjoys being cute and precious, she's best when she gets away
from the play's softer side. Like when the macho loser muses about the
prodigy he donated the sperm for but will never know. Like when the middle-aged
debutante longs for the passionate life of a suicide. B
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