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kevinskorner · 4 years

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2020 VMA’s Recap!

Every year, I always look forward to a few things and one of those things is definitely the MTV Video Music Awards. The VMA’s have been iconic every year since it’s inauguration in 1984 with Madonna’s Like A Virgin performance. As the insanely obsessed pop culture person that I am, the VMA’s are like a national holiday and I prepare myself heavily before they happen. For this year, obviously things are different because of a little thing called the Covid-19 Pandemic but anyhow, I was still excited. When the nominees got announced I was a very mixed bag of emotions. I was very excited because Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande got the most nominations of the year (9) but, I was disappointed because Harry Styles and Dua Lipa only got technical nominations and didn’t get any in the main category. One of my friends shared the same disappointment with me and they said how every nominee in Video of the Year was from North America and I didn’t even think of that. I wish they didn’t nominate some things... but that’s alright. As the weeks went on, I voted for my faves and MTV announced Keke Palmer was hosting whichreally got me excited again because she is a queen. Also, when they announced the performers, my favorites being Miley, Gaga, Ariana, and Doja, I became thrilled.

Now, here I am with my Rain on Me shirt on, a few hours after the ceremony ended and I got to say, I am IMPRESSED!!! That was an AMAZING ceremony. For an award show during a pandemic, I got to say MTV pulled, it, off. Let’s get into it!:

OH. MY. GAGA.

Lady Gaga was the star of the night and I am NOT disappointed one bit. Going into the night as the most nominated artist (tied with Ariana) I had high hopes. When I heard she was performing, I screamed because I couldn’t believe we were FINALLY getting a performance in the Chromatica era. Knowing that she had so much planned for the era, it’s been sad to see none of it come to fruition. Now let’s live in the present. THIS PERFORMANCE?!? FREAKING INCREDIBLE. I don’t even know where to start. The beginning of the performance with the old television, her laying down on the couch (mask on!), and seeing the TV have the 1999 VMA’s (with BRITNEY mentioned!) was when I knew it was going to be one of the best performances of her career. THEN, she WENT DOWN THE POLL and Chromatica II started playing and I almost threw up. I was so excited that she chose to do that interlude and sing some of 911 (maybe the third single?)! I was shook. Next, she had a quick change and started singing Rain on Me, and I immediately was hyperventilating. When Ariana came out, I really thought I was gonna pass out. In that moment, I was just seeing a dream come true in front of my eyes. I saw two of my ultimate QUEENS come together and give me all the life I need. I mean, the outfits, the masks, the chemistry, ARIANA’S HIGH NOTE?! GAGA’S VOCALS?! I can’t even. After that, when she started walking to the Brain piano, I thought she was about to do 1000 Doves (Piano Version) but I was mistaken! It was the first single, STUPID LOVE! Honestly, I was so happy she performed Stupid Love and got it’s moment because that wasn’t even performed live yet before tonight. Her speech in between the Stupid Love performance was beautiful and I loved when she brought the beat in and danced her ass off. Ugh, I just love her so much.

Onto the actual awards, I cannot believe that she won FIVE! I expected Best Collaboration and was hoping for Artist of the Year but I was NOT expecting Song of the Year! The one that I didn’t even know was happening thought was the FIRST EVER, TRICON AWARD?! The fact that MTV gave Gaga her OWN award for being an icon, a legend and a triple threat was filling my Little Monster heart with such PRIDE and JOY! Seeing her go up on that stage in a new look with a new mask each time, gave me a little boost of serotonin each time. She is just a goddess. There is no one like her and there NEVER will be.

GOOD GOLLY, MISS MILEY

It feels amazing to be a Miley stan tonight. Miley has been one of my absolute role models since I was a child. I have followed her and supported her my whole life even when people didn’t and I got to say, tonight felt really good. Her performance was PHENOMENAL. Starting off with her GORGEOUS silhouette in that STUNNING black dress and cross necklace with the red chrome light shook me because I was not expecting that. And, that break before the first chorus?!? LOVED. After, it went to a blue chrome and she started walking while it went full color. When I saw her walk towards some stairs, I had to catch my breath. Suddenly, I see a disco ball. Then she took the bottom half of the dress off and hopped on the disco ball and I SCREAMED. LOUDLY. The fact that she has such an ICONIC moment like Wrecking Ball where she can do something eerily similar and EVERYBODY knows it, is fucking SENSATIONAL! HER VOCALS WERE ON POINT, FACE BEAT, BODY SNATCHED. She just gave the most perfect glam rock pop star performance that I’ve ever seen. Miley having this mainstream moment again just made me so happy. ALSO?! SHE WON TWO AWARDS TONIGHT. I cannot believe Miley won two VMA’s tonight. She doesn’t win a lot of awards (which is extremely disappointing) and to see her win TWO for MOTHER’S DAUGHTER a single from last year that peaked at #54 on the Billboard Hot 100 felt incredible. I just love when she gets the recognition she deserves.

Other Thoughts:

The Weeknd’s opening performance was so great!! Recently, I have gotten sick of Blinding Lights but this performance totally revitalized for me how great of a song that is. I don’t know how he was up so high but he did an awesome job and the fireworks were great! Also, I’m happy he finally won his first two VMA’s for Best R&B (even though it’s a pop song) and Video of the Year.

Keke’s hosting was entertaining as hell. She was the perfect host for a time like this for many reasons. She’s funny, relatable, beautiful, entertaining and so many more positive things. I found her really funny and I just love her presence as a whole. Even her little performance was cute too!

Doja Cat actually blew me away. I was not expecting her to serve that hard. The performance was so futuristic and felt like I was in a new universe. I loved her outfit and LOVED the Say So mix! Also, so happy she included Like That because it’s such a jam. I love Doja and ever since I discovered Juicy last year I've been stanning and this definitely solidified the stan for me. I am so happy that she won (RIGHTFULLY SO!) for Best New Artist. She has had a great rise and her performance definitely gives me high hopes for her future.

My rankings of the performances are:

Pre Show:

1. Chloe x Halle - Ungodly Hour (THESE QUEENS ARE THE FUTURE!)

2. Machine Gun Kelly w/ blackbear & Travis Barker - My Ex’s Best Friend/Bloody Valentine (I have become really obsessed with his new music recently and love him)

3. Tate McRae - You Broke Me First (surprised by this cause I didn’t know anything about her before but she did a good job!)

4. Jack Harlow - What’s Poppin (cute ig)

5. Lewis Capaldi - Before You Go (🙂)

Main Show: 1. Lady Gaga w/ Ariana Grande - Chromatica II, 911, Rain on Me, Stupid Love (FUCKING AMAZING. SENSATIONAL, &, UNREAL)

2. Miley Cyrus - Midnight Sky (MY QUEEN SO ICONIC I LOVE HER SO MUCH)

3. Doja Cat - Say So/Like That (SO FUTURISTIC AND SOLIDIFIED HER WIN AND SHOWED THAT SHE CAN SERVE)

4. The Weeknd - Blinding Lights (really made me love the song so much more)

5. BTS - Dynamite (I like these boys but the fanbase is so much it stresses me out).

6. JP Saxe & Julia Michaels - If The World Was Ending (so cute, love Julia)

7. Dababy - Peep Hole, Blind, & Rockstar

8. Maluma - Hawái (loved the drive in aspect)

9. Keke Palmer - Snack (wish she had more time)

10. Black Eyed Peas w/ Nicky Jam & Tyga - Vida Loca/I Gotta Feeling (no one can take Fergie’s place)

11. CNCO - Beso

To end this, I’m just gonna leave this picture here. :)

#vmas #entertainment #gaga #exciting #mtv #2020 #Video Music Awards #music #tv #award #awards show #Ariana #Ariana grande #miley #miley cyrus #doja #best new artist #2000s

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h4rmonyland · 6 years

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The fact that Maverick do manage great artists is not an argument to excuse them from poorly managing the girls, they also manage Miley Cyrus whose latest album tanked so badly even though she was well promoted. You see Epic also signed great artists, the likes of: Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Jennifer Hudson and Lopez. You gotta understand that label executives are the MOST MONEY HUNGRY people on planet earth. If you bring in $ then you shall prosper and they will hold your back like no other (1)

Let me further my theory: if you remember the 7/27 era then you know how SUCCESSFUL Work From Home was, that song was one of the highlights of 2016. Usually if you have a well received lead single then your album will sell, this is a FACT, it’s the reality of the music industry right now. It’s not about album sales anymore it’s more like digital single sales (except in the case of Adele and Swift who are the only ones still able to sell albums, and yes, even Beyoncé is not on their level) (2)

Despite the great reception if WFH, 7/27 still didn’t do well which reflects very horribly on the artists’ potential. If you can have a lead single as successful as WFH and STILL can’t get people to buy your album then that’s called a ROYAL FUCK UP in the music industry. Fast forward to the ST era, “Down” didn’t do remotely as well as WFH, now if you were a manager or label exec, would you still push hard for the 2nd single knowing full well the artists’ history ? (4)

I know it sounds like I’m being harsh on the girls but I’m just trying to state my thoughts on this matter and share my knowledge and insights on the industry with you guys since I’m currently in the business. Let me bring back the Miley Cyrus thing, her lead single “Malibu” was well received cracked the top 10 on the Hot 100 so her team/label pushed for the next one “Younger Now” that didn’t do nearly as well as the 1st (great songs and album btw, I’m a Cyrus stan lol) (5)

So what did they do when the 2nd single flopped ? They dropped the whole project and currently she’s working on Bangerz 2.0 it’s the sad reality of the music industry, if you want to make it (get the recognition you deserve, sell out arenas and actually make $ from your contract) then you’re gonna have to be mainstream. Some artists are lucky to have made it before this new generation of mainstream. Others are putting out good underrated music but they’re barely getting by (5)

I have my theories about the “rebranding” of C but I think I talked a little too much lol and I noticed that talks about her are not really welcomed on the blog so I’m gonna refrain from doing so and possibly annoying you. So if you guys wanna know my thought about that or if you have any questions concerning Radios/360 deals etc.. I’m more than happy to answer! (final)

Thank you for sharing that. I wouldn’t say you’re being harsh on the girls. You’re right. They weren’t powerhouse artists but they did okay in their own right and made a name for themselves. But I’ve said it before, now that they’re solo artist, while I want them to be successful, I’m more interested in good music. Since you mentioned Cyrus, was she being true to herself with Malibu and only going back to Bangerz for the charts? That’s not what I really want from the girls.

But feel free to share your theory on C if it relates to 5H

-shan

#fifth harmony #epic records #maverick #ask #admin s

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ratherhavetheblues · 4 years

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INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘A LESSON IN LOVE’ “What do you do?”

The film we’re about to come to grips with, namely, Ingmar Bergman’s, A Lesson in Love (1954), has by all and sundry, maintained that its action amounts to be a “comedy”—a whimsical romance confirming a matrimonial imperative. That would be a validation of mainstream life. Where, pray, comes the idea that Bergman strives for such an outcome? I think I know.

A Hollywood film, from 1940, namely, His Girl Friday, under the auspices of Howard Hawks, a figure nearly as talented as Bergman (though nowhere near as profound), became a “screwball classic” for an era needing some laughs. It had to do with an ex-wife still tangled up with her newspaper editor, being so adept and delighted with the work as to be indispensable. Notwithstanding, she’s about to remarry and leave the job, a prospect the boss can’t contemplate. The ensuing skirmishing, between the incomparable, Cary Grant, and likewise, Rosalind Russell, are an epiphany of old-time, rapid-wit and cynicism. With their barrels of charm, they end up staying together, and the customers applaud with gusto.

Had the customers, of Bergman’s film here, taken a look at the three preceding Bergman films, they might have curbed their zeal about A Lesson in Love being an effort to live up to Hawks’ His Girl Friday. The newshounds are already in their heaven of advantage. Hawks was as flush an adjusted giant as Bergman was as flush a maladjusted giant. (A bit closer, though, to our helmsman, was Howard Hughes!) Though Hawks was, in addition, a daring sportsman, for sure, he would not have wanted any part of the rigors which Bergman faced all his life. As such, Bergman assembles an action with many formal aspects of the 1940 film, but only to display how very different such domestic conflict can careen into long-term emptiness. Gunner Bjornstrand and Eva Dahlbeck, though handsome enough, are not built for swooning, but instead for bloodless self-mutilation. Once in a while a bit of mirth escapes, but only to emphasize the loss of real sustenance. (This seems to be the moment to take to heart how badly served the commentary of Bergman films through the years have been left. A few ridiculously overrated pundits have managed to disfigure the work beyond recognition, to be followed by the quick and the dead. One of the more egregious and destructive faux pas along this slope is the daft reflex to the assumption that early works [like the one here] are minor and dispensable. Bergman was ready to shoot out all the lights from the outset. A Lesson in Love is as brilliant and indispensable as Wild Strawberries, The Seventh Seal and Persona.)

This is a vehicle with many flashbacks during a train ride to Copenhagen, where Marianne, telling David, for the umpteenth time, “I’m not for you, my man,” induces in both of them a reverie of 15 years before and the irony of their wedding there. (We begin here—about the mid-point of the narrative—to absorb the harsh measures being promulgated, measures that strikingly distance the Hawks’ comedy.) Pushing off, one of them brags, “We were like The Three Musketeers… [rich killers with an excuse]. From that fanfare, the missing of Marianne on her wedding day (to sculptor, Carl-Adam) leads out to a stream of casual contempt. At the wedding ceremony underway, Carl-Adam tasks David with finding the bride. Finding, as he knew where she would be, namely still in bed, David becomes a lightning rod to the young girl’s faulty decisiveness. The groom had prefaced the confusion with, “She needs to reflect, analyze the past, say good bye to virginity” [all laughing about that, even the pastor]. Adam chugged down something strong—“You’re supposed to be calming me down”—and turned to David with, “My only friend, can you pick up the car and console her if she needs? I know you exert a tranquillizing influence.” (Behind the two searchers, one of the revelers wore a black and white dress with chevron patterns which no one knew what to do with.) On waking Marianne at Adam’s pad, David discovers that she’d rather marry him. The seriality of the handrails up to the door had not created the sensation it could have. Nor did the Hollywood wind motif, up to the door. But entering, he saw a noose hanging from a light fixture, which gave him a start. When the patrician youngsters are eye-to-eye, Marianne’s eyes are crying. Between there and the feeble bid to use the noose, she deflects David’s scorn—“ What are you saying? The wedding has already begun!”—with , “I wanna die… If you’re going to scold me, you better go.” Followed by, “Can’t I be tired of him, the buffalo?” She cites how handsome David looked on blushing when he saw Adam using her as a nude model. And she adds, “Carl-Adam, the buffalo, laughed and said, ‘He’s [David’s] going to be a gynecologist!’” And finally, she crafts an intimate history of his tracking down an ant in her pants, eliciting from the budding gynecologist, “I’m still ashamed to think of that… ant.” And when she can’t seem to swing David along with her, she pulls down the plaster, saying, “I’d rather hang myself.”

But eventually they do see themselves becoming married (an early Millennial marriage), and rush off to announce the eleventh-hour nuptials. (Not before, however, her declaring, “I’ve loved you for over two years!” And not before David’s deadpan, “We need to talk with Carl-Adam…” [in one of their patented seepage of manufacturing “important information”]. Now, for a bit of spice, she adds, “He’s gonna kill you!” And he adds, “Rightly so. We’re best friends.” And this becomes the origin of a 15-year marriage, with two children. (A few years later, Bergman will return to discern more rotten rich pussies, in his Scenes from a Marriage [1974], replete with another Marianne.) David resists her wanting to make love at this moment, and she praises, “What a strong personality!”—the ways of subterfuge spinning crazily.

Entering the reception to cheers, here screwball shows us something far darker than the resources of Howard Hawks. It involves an effete fraternity. David pipes up, “Dear Carl-Adam, I can’t tell you how annoying it is coming here to spoil your wedding. It’s doubly painful that we are best friends…” Marianne, cutting to the chase, looks for bloody tidings, with, “But we love each other… David and me.” Adam, burly, but far from proletarian, having embarked on an invisible cash-flow and an endless supply of alcohol, laughs a zany laugh, as if someone else has been stiffed (or, as if the contretemps has shot up an instable disinterestedness). The moment provides the once-groom handing over a fine beverage to the traitors. “Let’s toast the new bride and groom! My sincere congratulations!” (This angers Marianne, who had been born to be a princess, never to be fast food, nor to be less than a centre of the universe, carrying a world-wide anxiety about those not endlessly in awe of her supposed prestige and power.) A laugh comes from the artiste. Then, to David, “You’re afraid, you dog!”/ “I can’t deny it,” is the new family man’s response. The sometimes-ugly drunk chooses, “A healthy little man, very surprised…” His smile—now a stage smile—clicks into a murderous register, and he smashes David into unconsciousness. The aggrieved tells her, “Witch!” But Marianne, who in another era would be a leader of a counter-revolution, easily avoids his haymaker. She tells him, being a paragon of convenient correctness, “Are you going to hit a woman?” Adam, perhaps having some class-time at a law-school (the other Marianne follows in her daddy’s footsteps as a lawyer), tells her, “I’ll get you what you deserve, you bastard!” (One of his savage sculptures is in view for the festivity.) She smacks him in the face. The pastor says, “Peace, my friends, peace.” The born lawyer emotes, “Who was wronged? [Who has the advantage?]. On what side is justice? In my innocence! No?” Marianne objects, “What innocence?” she addresses the divine. “And the sluts he uses as models, vertically and horizontally… like a dirty goat!” “I was going to marry this bitch, pastor! I am a man of peace…” She jumps up on a chair and pulls up her dress to expose a thigh. “Kisses me where the sun does not shine. Can anyone see the bite mark? I told people I got it when I climbed up a tree!” The pastor cries out, “Peace, in the name of God!” Adam rushes to the dock. “I protest! Deceptive propaganda!” She retorts, “You protest? I’ll kick you in the ass! That’s right, your pigs dumpling! … Sorry, pastor…I’ve been a maid to this pretentious genius for three years! ‘Marianne do this, Marianne do that… Sew my socks… This food is bad, make some coffee, kiss me… It is an honor for you to serve me, the greatest sculptor in the world! I talk to Michelangelo…’” When he protests, “I never said that,” she comes back with, “You were drunk! You’ve always been drunk. And on our wedding, too!” He protests, “I was sober when the wedding started—was I not, my friends?” Marianne sneers, “You and your friends have never been sober…” (The friends denounce her.) “I’ve passed your threshold for the last time… And I let you draw my breasts, also for the last time…” (She brandishes her fist in Adam’s face.) “And I shit on your art, your immortality, your ostentatiousness and your unbearable and idiotic virility!” She underlines her oration by smashing a cup. Adam tells, “I am very angry with your imprecation… who took you out of the gutter, who will become famous from his unique art… Lick my… Pardon, pastor… the soles of my boots… I gave you a home, food and drink! I was like a father, all these years! [Clichés to the max.] Marianne, you repay me badly. The world is an ungrateful place…”

She, momentarily, and dysfunctionally ashamed, says, “I created a snake in my chest.” David has recovered, given another chance to find equilibrium. “Actually two damn snakes,” Adam perseveres. He loses his balance and falls. Marianne’s self-criticism now out the door, she sheiks in vicious laughter. David does not laugh, nor anyone else. A glimpse of viral derangement. On regaining his footing, he finds a gesture to regain some dignity: “Get out of here or I’ll kill you and that good-for-nothing friend of yours!” And he pushes over the piano for high effect, which belies his commitment to dignity. Then Marianne, seemingly taking a course in self-destruction by way of virulent advantage, declares, “I’ll take everything that’s mine.” She races around the centre, grabbing bits of décor, while the other guests regard her as terminally shabby. Adam does nothing helpful in the way of poise, by smashing all her dishes. “I won’t forget that,” she didn’t have to tell us, “you fucking camel!” She equips herself with a club-like utensil and smashes down one of his larger works. Adam begins to overturn a table; but he manages a second thought. He grabs David, but then pushes him away, before any more assault. He approaches Marianne, with hate in his eyes, while her club is on the ready. He spits in her face, and charges… But then he calls out, “A woman, my friends! What a woman!… The party goes on… Hell! The bottles are empty!” David lifts Marianne! She’s beaming, and so is he! She commands, “Don’t just stand there! Come on, pastor…” Marianne lights a candle, and the guests feel they’ve seen the heart of creative depth. (This being, among other rejoinders, Bergman’s challenge to Hawks’ famous expressive vigor.)

Going into this fascinating, early and far from minor film, we are on the hook to discern how Marianne and David (as we rejoin them on the rails for that supposed date with destiny, in the form of Marianne—once again—about to tie the knot with bemusing Adam) fool themselves that theirs has been and will continue to be a rich relationship. Along with this scrutiny of the protagonists, however, there is hovering over it all the question if anyone surpasses their chaos; and, if so, what it looks like. The narrative transpires in one day, as mentioned, with a flurry of flashbacks exposing both of them as self-indulgent mediocrities.

However, laced within their nausea, there is, as always with Bergman, a motherlode of apparitions piercing, somewhat, the thick-skinned perversity. With the first image, being a music box with a mechanized scenario of a rococo, Era of Reason coquette flitting between two rich men, we are ensnared by essentially obsolete players remaining dominant. This minuet is suddenly shattered by a brief lightning flash, followed by David, having become the gynecologist of his dreams, and being told in his office by an attractive woman patient, “You’re a bastard! You’re spoiled, coarse and technical. And you’ve never understood a woman… You’re extremely naïve…” After feeding her with, “The conjugal bed means the death of love” (wit from the 18th century), he races off to catch that train, having a chauffeur allowing him to doze off and dream about that flirtation he was trying to put in the past. (One very odd vision in that medical facility is his lab-coat—more a trench-coat than an indoor apparel. Then there is the chauffeur, Sam, speaking along lines of Hollywood detective, Sam Spade. Does the “technical” worthy need a supplement of something else? Another of David’s epigrams is, “Perhaps repentance and painful conscience are only Siamese twins” [another nod to something missing]. The impatient woman patient is seen in a chair involving a pattern of delicate parallel lines, hoping for sensation. Try to keep in mind this surprising bid of ragged poetry, from the supposed “technical,” because one of the highlights of this film shows him, very briefly and near the end, to be truly distinguished.)

The dance of Sam’s windshield wipers lulls him to sleep; but it could also, given the right outlook, be a shot in the arm. “You have nice hands and a very beautiful neck,” David praises. He continues, “I have certain principles with regard to marriage and faithfulness… I have an extremely attractive wife that I sincerely love. I’ve never been unfaithful…” (This after his reminiscence of his kissing another woman in the moonlight, after his wife went to bed.) The mistress, Susanne, tells him, “You have an uncontrollable will to kiss me and that’s not all…” His retort is, “I prefer my life with you to be one of small joys and hassles. I prefer my slippers and the indifferent fire from the fireplace, to a perfumed body, and a completely different fire that is dangerous and suffocates everything we call home, children and decency. And gains absolutely nothing.” (Little does he recognize that the fireplace is not indifferent!) A dream being more candid, he veers into, “I don’t love you, but I have come to touch you and erase my apathy by fire. Let me overcome the garbage in my brain… This was banal, stupid, silly and ridiculous.” She, seeing him making her point, calmly says, “Don’t talk any more, just kiss me.” He begins to kiss her, and then backs off… rattling on, “My cogency is indispensable, however boring.” She smiles, “Think of it as a diversion…” He tells her, “I’m crazy with desire, who wouldn’t agree to it?”/ “I’m still waiting,” the more coherent of the two tells him. “Your wife doesn’t trust you. Fidelity exists if you are faithful… Infidelity is the invention of moralists and gossips.” He seems to need more talk: “If I’m going to hell, you’re the best company.”/ “Men need reasons for everything,” she triumphs. “I dreamed about you at night,” he blurts out. Going farther, he says, “You were like our own child!” Her response? “He’s turning into a poet…” And—of course—they kiss passionately.

In a coda to that romp, David doses off again during Sam’s trusty navigation—this time elicited by a ripple of light from the highway. (These occurrences, however, could be part of an agency of incisiveness.) This time bodies, not talk, take over, due to a lovely archipelago just beyond Stockholm, also seen in Bergman’s sensual films, Summer Interlude (1951) and Summer with Monika (1953). David and Susanne (the “patient”) drift in his sailboat. “The delicate memories remain. Yes, that summer…” A shimmer from the seas passes over her face (like the “glitches,” in the 1951 film, eliciting mystery and joy). His refusing to go swimming stings her, in her journey toward disinterestedness. “I see, one, two, three, four… stars,” he avers, prosaically, not on the same page. They both admit to be tired. She takes his pipe out of his mouth, and puts it in her mouth. He feels “satiated.” She’s “insatiable.” He declares, “Men cannot vegetate.”/ “You can’t just be,” she complains. “I want to do some research,” he posits. (But research is a wide-ranging notion. A test for both of them.) Her slur, “That’s so minor,” finds her at her worse. He trots out a slur, himself: “Eat, eat, satisfy.” And then she waits for the product, “Hate.” Once again, a shimmer of light from the sea passes over her face and body. Instead of a progression, there is an impasse. “You’re tired of me,” she declares. His, “I didn’t mean that,” is met by, “Yes, that was exactly what you did mean. Don’t try to dodge that.”/ “I could spit! But you’re under my skin… at the tips of my fingers…” She counters with, “I’m a kind of poison…”/ “Call it what you want. Stop smoking my pipe… You leave it filthy.” (She could have turned the tables by saying, “You leave it pedantic.”) She grabs his throat. “I could cut your throat!”/ In a flash, he chirps up, “I’ll show you the quickest way! Put my head on your desk, and use a lamp [emitting no light] to smash me between the eyes.”

Catching the train was easy. Using the train was not. Such a vehicle happens to be one of Bergman’s means of offering the gifts of dynamics to a sluggish constituency. No longer wearing his eccentric lab coat, David, like a gumshoe, plies the first-class relaxation until he finds Marianne. And here comes one of the film’s “whacky,” “screwball,” and let’s face it, “cynical,” initiatives, face-to-face with His Girl Friday. Seeming to be encountering someone he’d never met before, the droll Carry Grant wannabe obsequiously addresses his wife, “Is that place occupied?”/ “No, it’s unoccupied,” she reports, not really surprised befalling complicating from an agency who had driven her to the portal of divorce. The supposed classic, harmless pedant, begs her to spare his frail constitution, by moving over to the window seat. “I don’t like the wind in my face.” In the maneuvering there, he pretends to accidentally sit on her purse. (The ambiguity of David’s powers is a major hot spot to consider.) After the arrangements are finished, the other occupant of the deluxe room, a gregarious gentleman, making a point of never taking a train due to being an avid car driver—whose car is needing repairs—sizes up David as a rather meek intellectual. (The little home away from home, however, is provided with headrests in the form of patterns of two wings spread out, and a central figure therewith of oblique nature. There is something engaging about the pattern, to be sure; but there is also a fascist, military thrust.) The genuine stranger also sizes up Marianne, as one of his type, sophisticated and promiscuous. He fibs being delighted here, without his expensive chariot, telling his audience, “We can meet nice people… and beautiful ladies…” Cut to Marianne, who smiles warmly and then opens a book she was reading before David messed things up. The latter opens his valise and begins to read a formidable-looking book. That brings from the mixer, “A black-cover book, huh. Probably modern literature. Can I ask its title?” It reads, “Introductory Study of the Arterial Circulation and Sexual Glands.” Marianne rolls her eyes in boredom, seeing in the stranger a soulmate. She asks for a light (David’s incursion being more annoying than she realizes). And, Hollywood Lite, the people guy immediately lights her cigarette while David’s lighter refuses to perform. (Like a TV ad. This motif takes off in earnest, in Bergman’s punchy rendition of The Magic Flute [1975].)

The couple whose wedding was unusual might have been understood, by those not present at the reception, as merely eccentric. But we have Howard Hawks’ Hildy and Walter, from the era of real screwball, never departing from the aegis of savvy skepticism. They enjoy the cuddle of a virtually universal escapism. With Marianne and David, however, there is an intensity far abrogating even the quirky normal. Their sham of being strangers is actually a truth. She’ll go out of the chic little cabin (regarding David with disdain), to visit the washroom, whereupon the critic of modern literature proposes to the supposed easy mark a bet that she’ll happily kiss him before the trip is over. “What a woman!” he exclaims (the very words that Adam used during that up-and-down wedding). “What posture, what way of walking, what breasts…” David is almost serene, having, in the course of rushing to save their marriage, a strange disinterestedness. Here the dynamics of the ride, seen out the window, show up. “Won’t you be sad left alone?” the rambling gambler asks./ “On the contrary!” David enthuses. Then they both laugh uproariously, for different reasons. The conductor comes in, and by this time David covers his eyes. That visit done, he opens his book, but he doesn’t read. He stares into space. The book falls on the floor. A lesson in love. (The carpet shows a pattern of binary forms, with a gap.) Two photos fall out of the pages, and he’s in a mood to relive, by reverie, an episode pertaining to his daughter, Nix, played by Harriet Andersson, who—talk about “nix”—had only a few months before portrayed the savvy skeptic, Monika, in Bergman’s film, Summer with Monika (1953).

Of course, the gambler gets his face slapped—a slap coinciding with David’s resumption of trying to make pearl out of swine. (He bets the kissing loser that he, the supposed nerd and nothing else, can kiss the chick. And he wins, though winning with Marianne is hardly winning.) Thus, begins a pell-mell race of our bemusing protagonists performing yet another blind alley. (Nix takes over the memory, with her crusade to never marry, to stay masculine and to resent her parents’ going separate ways. “It’s not healthy for a woman living without a man… [more incoherence]… It’s so disgusting! I pity all women.” They visit an uncle/ potter (everywhere they turn there are estates and the idle rich); but Axel, the artisan, does carry some gentle, if quietist, traction. Moreover, Nix’s noisy rebellion does sustain some sense. “It means that Mom also plays the ‘love game.’” (In a show of ambiguity, she also declares to David, “If you have a new lover, let Mommy have hers.”) Seemingly a level-headed, classical rationalist, the dad advises (with something up his sleeve), “The best of life seems to be a collaboration.” Nix sums up the day, “And you’re a baboon!” After a pause, he replies, “Yes, maybe I am.” She adds, “You despise yourself, Daddy!”/ “Yes, Nix. I despise myself. I see everything being infinitely incoherent…” How lacking in acuity, comes in the follow-up: Nix, unsparing, “So you see Mom, and Pelle [Nix’s brother] and me to be incoherent?”/ “No!” [of course], he rushes to assert. “They’re the only thing I care about!”

Now that the voyager finds herself needing more substance and far less fantasy—Marianne, beginning with feigning a bit of grit in her eye (grit being in short supply) which David attends to with some body contact—attempts to fabricate some validity for her folly of linking to an alcoholic idiot. How far had David slipped from the momentary reflection of his past moment with Nix? He tells Marianne, “I’m known for my delicate touch…” She thinks to be on solid grounds by musing, “I’ve always thought of the huge powers that a gynecologist has over our hearts and our confidences.” He brags, “You can lose your head. Sometimes it’s relaxing.”/ “Does his wife also find it relaxing?” she asks. And he snipes back, “She seizes the opportunity to lose her head.” After much more mutual steeling, David shifts to self-criticism. “Aside from reproduction, man is an insignificant player in the world of women… I admit my inferiority without grudge. I just cannot babble…” [a means of surrender including being tops, anyway].

Babbling and embarrassing seem endless, coming from blast-furnace experts of advantage. Let’s see the rare moments of vision, as the action subsides to spineless retreat. Adam, that easy target, drives Marianne to the epigram, “A grown man is rare, Dear David.” But she spoils it with the loopy arrogance, “A woman chooses the man-child whom she fits best.” He musters, “In the beginning, it was just you and me… A company with a future. [But seeing yourself as cash-flow, therewith, is in fact a form of bankruptcy; however, a ‘company’ may be quite a different action from that.] Our painful experiences can be our start-up capital.”[Painful experiences may veer for good; they may also veer for collapse.] David, bidding for a prolongation of what was already too long, enlists the wrong powers, powers of bathos: “Give me again your heart, and I will treat you like a sacred reliquary.” (His winning kiss is far less than it might seem.)

As Marianne drifts for the second time to leave Adam in the lurch on account of an extended family too big to fail, they, nearing Copenhagen, bring us along in shaky celebration to the birthday of David’s father, only a year before real time. By this time, Marianne routinely puts down booby-traps to spoil, for instance, David’s morning at the palatial homestead. (And, before that, he rudely slaps her ass as a wake-up call.) The grandma, barging into their temporary bedroom and ignoring Marianne, wants it known that the birthday boy—forever the pedant—got up at 3 a.m. to change for the party. But the day does put out some magic. Sam, turning out to be the oldsters’ chauffeur, can’t persuade the ancient limousine to start, and they take their two horses and a cart to attempt to make the day shine. A flute passage jumps up, and the woods are everything the household isn’t. They arrive at a cliff on the seashore, and they scatter at will. The protagonists invade a pristine swatch of saplings touched by a bright sun. Their cigarette smoke-clouds predate vapers. “Do you still love me,” she asks. “That’s a stupid question,” is all she gets. “Imagine that it ends one day…” she continues. “No one’s beautiful like you,” he asserts. And in response, she says, “I’m serious…” The subject of his mistress hovers like bugs. And she, hardly a paragon of stability, emotes, “When you are far from me, only for a day or so, I feel I have become small and sad. And as if everything died around me. Is that weird?” Her jist comes down to, “Let nothing change,” and let’s have another baby… (“Imagine its smell,” she brandishes… “Imagine holding that life… I get creepy talking about it…” All of this futility occurs in close-up, with them reclining in the grass.)

Still in reverie, but productive on the basis of hard-wired outlooks, earlier on that day, while waiting for the car to behave, grandma demands that grandpa return to the house and put on one of his best vests. Nix is ordered to accompany him, and a conversation takes place, a conversation, opened by Nix, which David and Marianne would regard to be “small and sad.” The candid granddaughter asks, “Grampa, are you afraid to die?” His response is, first of all, “No, not at all, I believe in God Almighty. I believe in the next life and all kinds of life… Death is just a little part of life…” He mentions that life forever would be a bore. [Coherence be damned!] “It’s understandable that a child be afraid and worry. Only an old man like me can begin to solve the meaning of life… Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end… Maybe this life is just the beginning…” Nearly everyone subscribes to that pattern; but the dramas sustaining the work of Ingmar Bergman don’t.

The train conductor snaps them out of that. They meet Adam at the station (the host seemingly and unbelievably forgetting who David was) and the less than fully welcome third proposes going to a hot club. (Before that, at a café for a bite, Adam salivates, “What a wonderful idea! The woman, the lover and the husband!” From there they take a ferry to the heart of Copenhagen [a craft resembling the boat in Bergman’s Summer Interlude]. On this interlude, Adam—perhaps stung by David’s congratulation, “Marianne said you were sober for several days”—maintains, “Women are realists. They choose the strongest. I have big muscles…” David mocks him that his works will be known 2000 years from now; and the artist reports, “You’re being ironic, but you’re right… Women love the great artists…” A flurry, in close-up, of a tray delivering their drinks, comes and goes without attention.)

Back to David’s last-ditch hope at a hot club, Marianne moots, “Maybe another drink won’t hurt.” He, looking for a miracle, jazzes up the fanfare, “Promise me that we’re going to hell! [hold that thought]. I want to see something exciting. Slightly immoral. Something shocking!” There’s a jazz trio, far from shocking; a woman swirling, sort of like Rita Hayworth in, Gilda, and, to Adam’s annoyance, David and Marianne enjoying a dance together, cheek-to-cheek. In that moment of solitude for Adam, the budding family man, he notices a close friend, a hooker, in fact, and he prevails upon her to get David into single-guy mode. For good measure, he arranges by way of his close-buddy-bartender, to induce David to drink a notoriously unhealthy stimulant. (On entry, Adam calls out, “Marianne is an independent woman. She isn’t bourgeois [like you]. There is no such thing as purity. Only impotent men are faithful. Wives betray you without delay.”) Lise, the supposed distraction, complaining, “Business is bad,” tells Adam, “He’s very attractive” [and though he steps on Marianne’s toes, his renegade gambit shows him at his best]. Marianne knowing something’s that wasn’t there before, asks, “Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” (David’s explanation is not quite right—“This dance made me excited!”) She glares and marches away toward Adam, where she grabs the bottle out of his mouth, his equities plummeting, while the blur of the takeover could have been gold. Lise catches up the seldom-dancer, and declares, “David, you didn’t see me?” He smiles within his rare roll. “Give a kiss to Lise!” (Marianne sees this affection, and becomes even more angry. Adam remarks, “It’s nice that David found a girl.”) The new lovers come to the designated bartender. While waiting for the complex mixture, he asks her, “What do you do?” In a flash, she comes up with, “I’m a teacher,” adding, mysteriously, “You want a deal?”/ “What do you teach?” he continues. “My love, of course… What did you think?” And she exposes a shoulder and chest. David has a moment of nonplussed (“Where’s Marianne?”) ; and recovers with laughing out loud, “I’m an idiot, Lise… Hello!” (The ebb and flow of this tonal frontier being never surpassed in Bergman’s many delights.) Then he drinks some of the preparation (the bartender alarmed). He drains the glass (the bartender sticking out his tongue in empathy). “A love potion,” he says. Lise the critic says, “Yeah, good!” The bartender—right out of Depression Era Hollywood—fears the worst. “Can you give me the ingredients?” David asks. “It goes down to the knees… Now I’ve lost my muscles. Why did I do this?” he asks. And he’s glad he’s become (perhaps not for long) someone he’s never been. He orders a second wave of seemingly out of this world, and Bergman’s perfect pitch shows no more reaction from the front line. “There’s a kink in my neck,” the crasher observes; and his glasses fall off. “You look better without glasses,” Lise enthuses. He then treads another step toward dangerous and necessary territory. “Lise, my girl, you’re so beautiful one could die for. But you shouldn’t tie up your hair. You must be loose and free! Like rapids!…” (Cut to the farther range of the bar, with Adam smug and Marianne morose.) “Let’s dance!” the hidden talent calls out./ “Yes!” Lise winks to him. (All smiles.) On the crowded dance floor, Lise says, with more than professional delivery, “Kiss me, David!” He remembers he hasn’t had his second drink. On completing that, he says, “Now, I’m going to kiss the most beautiful girl in Denmark! Not even the King could disapprove!” He, tiger-like, tells the crowd, “Get out of the way, I need space!” He backs into Marianne, produces a rude gesture toward her, and pivots away. Adam laughs uproariously. David kisses Lise passionately. The room applauds. Marianne grabs Adam’s drink and drinks it down. David kisses Lise once more, as if he’d made a discovery needing more details. Unfortunately, impetuous and violent Marianne rushes into the caress; and chaos ensues. Recalling 15 years before and the seriously questionable embrace there, Marianne reverts to advantage at any cost. “Let me go! I’ll make mixed meat out of her!” Lise rushes to find David, but he has left the building, and left forever not only his moment in the sun, but hers’. She does find Adam, once again failing to find some kind of marriage. “I want to scream!” she tells him, far more a lady than what David had pulled out the stops for.

The denouement, winding up in a 5-star Copenhagen hotel and its bridal suite, with a card strung on the door handle ordering, “Do Not Disturb,” is one of the saddest celebrations you could ever imagine. Cutting from the bar, we have David and Marianne at twilight, along a canal as seen from the other side. She is shrieking like a complete fool, and marching toward him with a panzer attack, while he silently back-peddles. “How could you kiss that filthy and vulgar slut? And right in front of me! Your promises are worthless… I want to fuck you!” David, still slightly in a moment of vision that Marianne will never for a moment savor, has what he wanted, and he might as well be dead. The advantage-pro dips into the world of entitlement and rococo: “I’m sad, cold and depressed. If there’s water here, I’m going to drown myself… I’m going to pummel you first!” David, shrinking by the minute, manages to say, “My beloved Marianne. What a day, what a night!” Sam, the fixer with the fixed limousine, had handled all the arrangements for a night of, if not love, victory. On being driven to the appropriate address, the princess exclaims, “David, you slut! You were so sure!” Masters of ceremonies. Midgets, forever! Once again, that 18th century music box confirming endless nothings.

#ingmar bergman

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postpoptheblog-blog · 7 years

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Hits & Misses: Some albums that I really wanted to review but I'm a slacker so . . .

Linkin Park - One More Light

Everyone freaked out when Linkin Park decided to go mainstream pop with their first single, 'Heavy,' from their new album, One More Light. I'll be honest, the change in sound made them unrecognizable and I rolled my eyes at the desperate attempt for relevancy.

I liked Hybrid Theory; loved Meteora; and still believe that Minutes to Midnight is one of the most underrated rock album of the 2000's. I didn't understand what the big deal of them going 'pop' was - to me, they had always been a pop band or at least embraced their pop sensibilities. Sure, hiring Justin Bieber's writers isn't the most 'rock' thing to do - but there's no need for all of the homophobic slurs being shouted at them by their 'fans.'

I anticipated One More Light because I trust Linkin Park - I've enjoyed all of their albums (except for The Hunting Party - which I totally forgot existed). One More Light is lighter pop version of Minutes to Midnight minus the immediate memorable performances. I don't think this album will be considered underrated nor do I think that anything on it will be considered a classic in 5 years for their army. But I have to say that I am on board for whatever this little 'experiment' is for them - as long as it doesn't last more than one album cycle. Because, while the album is littered with Top 10 studio gimmicks, Linkin Park is at the heart of each song.

My biggest critique is that there should have been no need to collaborate with Pusha T or Stormzy on 'Good Goodbye' when they have Mike Shinoda.

Also, they were smart clocking the album at 35 minutes.

Check out: 'Nobody Can Save Me,' 'Heavy,' 'One More Light'

Grade: B+

Father John Misty "Pure Comedy"

I joined the Father John Misty bandwagon really late - at least 9 months after I Love You, Honeybear was released. It made my top albums list of 2015 and I stand by that. However, I really haven't been able to connect with Pure Comedy much at all.

I like the 'we're too connected to entertainment and that's how Donald Trump got elected President and we're all going to hell' idea, I dig his take on being Elton John - but Misty also happens to be an asshole who makes good music. Too much of his own narcissism fills the last half of the album and I haven't returned to Pure Comedy since.

I respect the challenge of knowing that everything we know is wrong - but I just don't feel like being lectured for an hour and fourteen minutes nor do I find diving into Tillman's psyche for thirteen minutes that interesting.

Check out: "Pure Comedy," "Total Entertainment Forever," and "Ballad of a Dying Man."

GRADE: D-

Blondie - Pollinator

Blondie's new album, Pollinator, should have instantly made my top albums list. First single, "Fun," was pretty pleasing and buzz singles, "Long Time" and "My Monster" were just as good. I liked the idea that Debbie and company had a lot of help from newer acts because honestly - they needed it. The days of Blondie releasing albums like Parallel Lines and Eat to the Beat are long gone and while there are awkward moments ('Already Naked') the album is harmless fun.

First track, "Doom or Destiny," perfectly blends Debbie Harry and Joan Jett's vocals and starts the album off with a bang that continues for roughly five songs ('Long Time', 'Already Naked,' 'Fun,' 'My Monster').

So what could possibly kill an entire album, you may ask? Mmmmmmm . . . how about vocals that completely out of tune with the music. I don't know exactly who didn't let Blondie know that her vocals were off key throughout the whole song, but they should be fired and blacklisted from the music industry. Part of me also wonders if they accidentally released the wrong version of the song. And for the life of me, I have no idea why this wasn't pointed out by critics across the board. 'Best Day Ever' is un-listenable and kind of ruins the rest of the album which is full of mixed results.

Check out: The first 4 songs.

GRADE: D

Harry Styles - Harry Styles

I was never a fan of One Direction but I was a little intrigued to hear Harry Styles' self-titled debut album. I mean, honestly out of all of the members putting out solo efforts, he was the only one who seemed remotely able to pull of an entire solo album.

I think releasing 'Sign of the Times' as the first solo single was pretty risky. Not only is it a ballad but it also shares the same title of a beloved Prince album/single - and I just thought that was a ballsy move. I didn't love 'Sign of the Times' - it had the same two melody lines during its five minute length - but I was a little bit more intrigued to hear the whole album.

Harry Styles is kind of a miss for me although I think it is an enjoyable album. It sounds like absolutely nothing that is being played on the radio today and also sheds any Top 40 sounds. What it does sound like is Pink Floyd, Elton John, John Lennon, U2 and Oasis. I'm kind of surprised that Pink Floyd hasn't filed a suit for 'Meet Me in the Hallway' ripping off 'Breathe (In The Air)'.

It's not just that if I want to listen to Pink Floyd, I'll listen to Pink Floyd or if I wanted to listen to John Lennon, I'll listen to John Lennon - it's that the lyrical depth of those artist and Harry Styles is just so drastic - and at the end of Harry Styles I've not learned anything about him beyond his musical influences - and that's a missed opportunity to really disclose who he really is.

Check out: 'Sign of the Times'

GRADE: C

Paramore - After Laughter

Paramore's new album, After Laughter, came out of nowhere. Four years after their self-titled fourth album, first single 'Hard Times' showed up and After Laughter was released a little over a month later - it all seemed a bit rushed and I was convinced that After Laughter was nothing more than an obligation to their record label in order to fulfill their contract . . . well . . . for Hailey anyway.

It's sad - but Paramore has a rocky history regarding the comings and goings of their lineup and while it's easy to point the finger at Williams for basically the entire original lineup to walk away from a band at its peak - it kind of feels like Williams is truly the one who has sacrificed. I mean, she technically could have gone solo after Paramore's debut, All We Know is Falling and kept the fame and fortune to herself - but she didn't.

I initially passed on After Laughter. If another band claims evolution by ripping off the '80s, I'm gonna scream. But what is fascinating about After Laughter is its stark contrast of sunny beats and sullen lyrics. Williams truly seems to be over being the jolly frontman and isn't trying to hide behind orange hair and a smile. Instead, she gets pretty fucking honest that she's exhausted by the drama and seemed downright sad during the band's Beats1 interview with Zane Lowe.

In order to really appreciate After Laughter, you have to really know the history of Paramore . . . pretty much the same as hearing the self-titled third album. On its surface, it's about ten tracks of 'Ain't It Fun' and a few 'The Only Exception.' But if you peel back production, there's a lot going on with Williams that she's trying to work out through the only therapy she knows - songwriting.

There are a few missteps. 'Rose-Colored Boy' is kind of annoying and 'No Friend' really isn't a great idea at all.

Check out: 'Fake Happy,' 'Told You So,' '26,' 'Pool'

GRADE: A-

Dreamcar - Dreamcar

For those who don't know - the guys from No Doubt and AFI's Davey Havok got together and formed a supergroup for all the emo kids in their 30s. Dreamcar is a fun ride and probably an album you could blast all summer long and not get bored with it.

The album's first single, 'Kill For Candy,' is a sugar-induced bop that could very well be a sleeper hit and the rest of the album follows suit. There isn't a bad song on Dreamcar, although there are references to 'candy,' 'candy girls,' 'girls on the charts,' 'dead girls,' and . . . 'gum boys'. I'm not sure what any of that means.

But the reason that Dreamcar works so well is that it's a low stakes album. Davey and the boys have made their names and their money. Dreamcar is pure adoration and tribute to '80s influences - most notably Duran Duran. And it's an album that my kids can stomach and ask to listen to constantly.

Check out: all of it.

GRADE: B

LP - Lost on You

Thank the Lord! LP has finally blown up in everywhere but the US. Lost on You has been released overseas since fall of 2016 and finally making its way stateside albeit with absolutely no promotion from Vagrant Records.

I love LP's music. Her last album, Forever for Now, was a top contender for the #1 spot of my top albums list in 2014. I've followed her since and know that the song, 'Lost On You' is a few years old. But, a Greek radio station started playing the song and all of a sudden LP was a bonafide star!

The U.S. version of Lost On You has added some tracks and is a cohesive set that proves how much of an underrated talent LP truly is. We (the States) really need to get on the ball and give this artist the recognition LP deserves because it is high time 'Lost on You' saturated our radio stations.

And Vagrant needs to release this gem on vinyl, pronto!

Check out: 'Lost On You', 'Muddy Waters', 'Other People'

GRADE: A

Incubus - 8

I feel like 2017 is the year for all of my favorite early 2000's bands to make comeback albums.

S.C.I.E.N.C.E., Make Yourself and Morning View all have their places in my Favorite Albums of All-Time list, but their last three releases have really left a lot to be desired. There seemed to have been a hunger that just kind of died down in them and their last album, If Not Now, When pretty much put me to sleep.

I wasn't impressed by first single, 'Nimble Bastard', at all. It reminded me of anything Alanis Morissette released after Jagged Little Pill - trying way too hard and never ever reaching the same kind of genius. Thankfully (and I can't believe I'm saying this) Skrillex got his hands on the album and beefed it up a bit. The first few bars of first track, 'No Fun' actually sound like Incubus from their S.C.I.E.N.C.E. days. Whether the album had a drastic change from Skrillex's collaborative effort, I don't know but 8 is a welcome return from a band I've been waiting to light a fire under their ass.

There's nothing too surprising here - no political statements - Incubus plays it pretty safe. But, I think that's okay because 8 sounds like a band that has finally rediscovered that passion, confidence and drive (HA!) that once made them a great band.

Check out: 'State of the Art,' 'Loneliest,' 'Throw Out The Map'

GRADE: B+

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mikeyg1985-blog · 7 years

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Hits & Misses: Some albums that I really wanted to review but I'm a slacker so . . .

Linkin Park - One More Light

My biggest critique is that there should have been no need to collaborate with Pusha T or Stormzy on 'Good Goodbye' when they have Mike Shinoda.

Also, they were smart clocking the album at 35 minutes.

Check out: 'Nobody Can Save Me,' 'Heavy,' 'One More Light'

Grade: B+

Father John Misty "Pure Comedy"

Check out: "Pure Comedy," "Total Entertainment Forever," and "Ballad of a Dying Man."

GRADE: D-

Blondie - Pollinator

Check out: The first 4 songs.

GRADE: D

Harry Styles - Harry Styles

Check out: 'Sign of the Times'

GRADE: C

Paramore - After Laughter

There are a few missteps. 'Rose-Colored Boy' is kind of annoying and 'No Friend' really isn't a great idea at all.

Check out: 'Fake Happy,' 'Told You So,' '26,' 'Pool'

GRADE: A-

Dreamcar - Dreamcar

Check out: all of it.

GRADE: B

LP - Lost on You

And Vagrant needs to release this gem on vinyl, pronto!

Check out: 'Lost On You', 'Muddy Waters', 'Other People'

GRADE: A

Incubus - 8

I feel like 2017 is the year for all of my favorite early 2000's bands to make comeback albums.

Check out: 'State of the Art,' 'Loneliest,' 'Throw Out The Map'

GRADE: B+

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