Then, like most of the heroes from that decade, they got old, fat, lazy, and went away.

Fifteen years later, the band decides to reunite for a cross-continental tour despite the lack of a new album. Hmmm …

THE FILM

The concert itself spans two discs, and is captured wonderfully by director DAVID MALLET. He wisely stations his panning, wide-ranging cameras away from the stage, allowing the gaudy spectacle to speak for itself. The band - remember, it only consists of three members - is dwarfed by this bizarre, organic LED display behind them that impressively fills the void created by the music with a stunning series of video images. It actually takes a few minutes to adjust your eyes to the sight of this gargantuan monstrosity.

Of course, every video trick in the book is needed to enliven this band, which hasn’t broken a sweat since LIVE AID. Keyboardist TONY BANKS motionlessly hunches over his electronics like a corpse, while guitarist MIKE RUTHERFORD stumbles around with the bewildered look of an old English gentleman lost in the countryside. Collins and his once-natural presence is reduced to standing at his microphone, desperately attempting to reach notes that his vacationing voice will never hit again.

I will say this, though: the band attempted a set list that challenged fans of the band. Not content to simply play a string of hits, the aging pop stars threw in a few lesser-known songs like MAMA and DOMINO that likely caused a lot of head-scratching in the audience.

However, the fact that GENESIS reunited simply to make more money is evident throughout the show. From the bombastic lighting to the lazy, almost mechanical performances, this is a band that had little interest in doing anything but filling arenas and counting the money afterwards. They did this because they COULD, not because they wanted to.

EXTRAS

A clever feature of the two concert discs is the ability to look behind the scenes at the performances of each track. You get to watch the band prepare for each song.

Included as a third disc is a very long and exhausting documentary of the tour entitled COME RAIN OR SHINE. Virtually every moment of this tour, from inception to final curtain, is included here; mercifully we are spared the sight of Collins taking a shit, but beyond that, we see everything.

The one thing painfully obvious from this documentary is the lack of interest among the band. I wish I had a drop of gasoline for every shot of the various members staring into space or yawning - I would own OPEC. While I realize that these guys are quite old, it seems like they should be able to get the ol’ adrenals to kick in for a show in front of 500,000 people, ya know? And if not, then why do it at all, and then film it for us to watch???

A telling moment comes fairly early on when guitarist Rutherford mentions that he rarely plays guitar at all anymore, and how difficult it is to start rehearsing after all of the time off. Hey Mike, guess what? Don’t do a tour if you’re not interested in making music and playing live!!!! People like Chuck Berry play all the time because they love making music and entertaining people. On the other hand, “musicians” like GENESIS roll it out whenever they have a mortgage to pay off. Pretty pathetic.

OVERALL

For fans only. And even then, I wouldn’t give these lazy bastards any more of my money just based on principle.

True originality and greatness are fading quickly in the music world.  As each year goes by, we lose more of musics great pioneers.  This year we have already lost Bo Diddley, Eddy Arnold, and Buddy Miles and most of the ones left are to old to continue to record new music or even play live shows.  Just over a week ago, however, I had an opportunity to see one of music last remaining music legends.  The night before Father’s Day, I went to the Fabulous Fox Theatre in St. Louis to see the legendary Willie Nelson. 

The show was an experience that’s hard to explain.  It’s wasn’t a concert that you stand and scream all night or jump around, he did get a number of standing ovations and ruckus applause though.  It wasn’t a concert that made you want to act crazy or dive off of the balcony.  Instead, it was almost like a religious experience.  As, you sat there you knew you were witnessing something special, something that you may never see again.  

When Willie first stepped onto the stage, the place went crazy.  He received a long and loud standing ovation from the sold out crowd and Willie acknowledged it even though he acted as if he didn’t know what the fuss was about.  The applause lasted until the first note of Whiskey River, and the crowd quieted and sat almost in amazement.  Willie never missed a beat, he played as many hits as he could cram into his 75 minute set.  He played songs he wrote that were made famous by other people.

He played songs that he wrote for himself himself.

He played songs that he didn’t write, but made famous.

And he played a few new songs, before closing the night with the gospel classic I’ll Fly Away. 

Willie’s guitar work was dead on and his slow, lazy vocal delivery was as beautiful as ever.  The best part about this concert was the fact that I finally got a chance to see another music legend (Chuck Berry being the other).  The worst part, is knowing that these opportunities are becoming fewer and fewer.  There just aren’t many left like Willie.  

I recommend to anybody who is a fan of music, don’t pass up a chance to see Willie.  If you can, take your kids.  Let them see a real artist at work, maybe they will learn to respect music more and listen to less shit like Fergie, Jay-Z, Rascal Flatts, or what ever shitty actress has a new album out next week.

Willie Nelson is simply one of the greatest songwriters, singers and performers to ever grace a stage.  He’s one of the few artist that has been able to transcend his genre of music and just be considered cool, by everyone.  He has dueted with everybody from Johnny Cash to Ray Charles and now even Snoop Dogg.  Willie Nelson is sadly the last of a breed.

Yeah, I didn’t think so. These guys and many others have become Insta-Hits on YouTube mostly due to their glaring LACK of talent. They make the mistake in thinking that having the whole world laugh AT you is a good thing.

But a recent rising star on YouTube has earned his place due to his suprisingly subtle comedic timing and clever improvisation. He is only 14 years old, and he is simply known by adoring millions as Fred.

Fred is the creation of a talented young actor named Lucas Cruikshank who has, over the last two years, been making comedy videos on the site with his twin cousins. Most of these videos were childish and goofy, much like the rest of the content littering every channel on YouTube. However, inspiration struck earlier this year when Lucas began to form the Fred character in a series of shorts. Quickly, the rapid cutting and manic expressionism evolved into a comedic goldmine that has transfixed legions of fans.

In its current incarnation, Fred is a six year old boy plagued with a short attention span and an even shorter fuse. He’s in love with the girl next door named Judy, and tormented by the neighborhood bully Kevin. His mother is an alcoholic, and his father left town years ago to, as Fred imagines, become a rock star. His wild imagination and constant loneliness fuels many of the episodes, as Fred’s energy threatens to spin wildly out of control.

This is an episode from a month ago. It has been viewed over 3.6 million times.

One of my favorite episodes is called “Fred Loses His Meds.” Some of the timing here is absolutely perfect:

That has been seen almost 5 million times.

This remarkable kid has some real talent here. He’s cartoon-cute, smart, and quite a nuanced performer. He might be the best thing YouTube has ever produced. I hope he manages to parlay this instant burst of fame with something enduring, because he is the real deal. This might be the best child character in any form of media since Pee Wee Herman back in the eighties, or the South Park kids in the nineties.

Yes, he’s that good.

The big question: Is there a future for this character as successful as the preceding examples?

I hope so. GO FRED!!!!!

The music world has once again lost a legend. Rock n Roll pioneer Bo Diddley has died, after months of bad health. Last August, Diddley health problems began after suffering a heart attack. Three months later, he had a bad stoke that affected his ability to speak. After returning to his home in Florida Diddley health problems continued has he tried to rehabilitate from the stroke and heart attack. Diddley died in his home today at the age of 79.

Diddley was known the world over for his homemade square guitar, dark glasses and black hat, as he was his music. His trademark sound has influence many. You don’t have to look far to hear his signature rhythm of, bomp ba-bomp bomp, bomp bomp, in many of rocks great guitarists. The Who, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis Costello and Buddy Holly are just a few who were influence by Diddley.

Bo Diddley was an American original, but luckily his music will live on in every rock and blues guitarist that has followed. This impact on music began with a simple beat and continued through a passion and integrity that many of today’s artist couldn’t touch. Do Diddley’s originality and love for music will be missed, but fortunately he inspired generations and left us will hours and hours of great music and memories. Rest In Peace Mr. Diddley.

Here is a look at some of Bo Diddley’s best work.

Here’s a medley of his hits, Road Runner/Bring It To Jerome/Mona

In 1994, The Eagles reunited.   They did this despite the fact that they still hated each other.  The group decided that enough money could make a reunion tour worth having to be around each other.  They openly reunited just for the money and made a ton of it on the Hell Freezes Over Tour.   

Since The Eagles reunion, many of bands have reunited.  Some have actually managed to revive there career (Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, The Police), but most disappeared back to their jobs at Wal-Mart.  Some bands have even decided that they should reform with new sings (The Doors, Alice In Chains, Queen, Blind Melon, Boston)  and tarnish the bands original legacy.  The one thing that keeps this trend going is money.

It’s seems that people always want that one last chance to see their favorite band or even a band that reminds them of their youth.  This allows these groups one chance to make themselves important again and it gives the aging baby boomers a chance to feel young again.  The sad thing is that the reunion tour is bigger (not better) than ever, just look at last years Police, Van Halen and Genesis tours. 

This year is no exception and may have even more shitty reunions than ever.  The biggest may be Stone Temple Pilots and Motley Crue.  Motley Crue are back, even though Tommy Lee said he would never play with the band again and Mick Mars is still alive so prop him up and let the fun begin.  Stone Temple Pilots, on the other hand, will be a crap shoot.  It could put on a great show every night, but with Scott Weiland’s history the chance of that is small.  The smart thing that both of these bands are doing is making each show like a festival, that way you may get your money’s worth.

The worst reunion news has to be New Kids On The Block.  It blows my mind that anybody would care to see this.  I watched them perform on the Today show  last week and it was terrible.  Their horrible dancing made then looked like fools and they sounded off key and flat.  Yet, somehow they are selling out shows in minutes (Chicago sold out in 10 minutes) and have added a full summer of shows. 

If that wasn’t bad enough.  Their is also talk of an Extreme reunion, a Jackson 5 reunion (that rumors comes up every year) a Led Zeppelin tour.  Who gives a shit about Extreme?  The Jackson 5 have tried it before and nobody cared and please, please, please somebody stop the Led Zeppelin tour.  This would do nothing but suck.  These are old men, well Jimmy Page looks like an old woman now, and it just won’t be good.  Does anybody really think that 60 year old men singing Black Dog and Rock and Roll will do anything but embarrass the band?

Also, reuniting this year are The Black Crowes, The Breeders, Yes and The B-52’s. The Black Crowes are a good band and are always worth checking out, but I’m not sure I see any reason for the other ones, especially B-52’s.

  When will this stop?  When will people stop paying to seeing band that only sound have as good as they should?  When is enough, enough?

It’s an understatement to say that Shyamalan has a lot riding on his newest pseudo-intellectual horror film THE HAPPENING. After the twin disasters THE VILLIAGE and LADY IN THE WATER, this new film needs to really click, or Shymalan will find himself trying to sell his patented twist-ending stories on streetcorners for nickels.

Unfortunately he decided to title this make-or-break endeavor THE HAPPENING, one of the worst titles I have ever heard or imagined. Depending on my mood, the title sounds either pretentious, boring, or pointless. What the fuck is a “happening” anyway???? This title means so very little that it threatens to evaporate right off of the one-sheet.

Then uber-genius Shyamalan releases a trailer that features the characters using the word “happening” over and over again. “Something is happening,” says a news reporter. “What is happening?” asks star MARK WAHLBERG. “Something has begun to happen,” is the reply he receives. It feels like a lame attempt to embed this blobular, meaningless word into our heads, but the net effect of this repetition is to reinforce how fucking insipid the title sounds. Nice job, dipshit.

Thanks to the absolutely poisonous advance word on the film from previews, we now have a red band trailer for the film. This is Shyamalan attempting to appeal to the hardcore geeks out there by showing gruesome images. This trailer just screams: “See guys? I’m fucking radical and hardcore like Eli Roth! Dude!”

Unfortunately, Shyamalan managed to slip into this trailer one disastrous scene featuring Mark Wahlberg. In it, Wahlberg says, “There are forces at work beyond our understanding.” He intones this terrible line like an unholy cross between Forrest Gump and a two pound package of ground beef. It’s easily the worst line reading since Anakin and Padme stood on that balcony in REVENGE OF THE SITH and talked about being in love. Instantly, all of the tremendous work Walhberg did over the years to make us forget that he used to have “Marky” in front of his name suddenly disappeared. Nice job, Wahlberg; go back to modelling underwear for a living.

Here is the trailer. It’s not for the faint of heart, but not in the way you might expect:

If not for SPEED RACER, this thing would be my obvious pick for worst film of the summer. I still have hope that Shyamalan can beat SPEED to the bottom of the barrel; if there’s one thing we know, it’s that geniuses who think they are geniuses are usually the ones who end up looking the dumbest.

It was June 4th, 1977. That Saturday, like most summer days in St. Louis, steamed under a blanket of oppressive humidity. Polyester leisure suits gave way to polyester tank tops, while feathered Farrah Fawcett hairstyles wilted in the unrelenting airlessness. Trans Ams shimmied on the blacktop like mirages.

Not even the cruel climate could have ruined my day that Saturday. Freshly released from fourth grade, I bounced happily in the backseat of our white ‘73 Caprice (which I called the Mach Five) and unconcerned about the lack of luxuries like air conditioning and decent stereo sound. Even my little sister Debbie’s presence, which would normally produce an effect similar to waving a red flag in front of a bull, could not diminish my enthusiasm in the slightest.

We pulled into the Carol House furniture store parking lot around 1pm. I knew we only had two hours until the show started, and every other pursuit in life seemed to be a pointless distraction from the truly important quest in life - seeing this movie. I tugged and twisted on my mother’s arm, begging her to hurry my father through the mattresses as quickly as possible. He stared vacantly at the wide assortment, as if his gaze might somehow alter the price. Then came the inevitable haggling session with the clueless sales clerk, which ended as it always did - with a stern and determined walkout. PERFECT!

We finally arrived at Creve Coeur Cinema with little time to spare. We whisked past the long lines at the ticket window like celebrities, having already secured our seats in advance; news reports were showing round-the-block lines waiting for this new cinematic experience. After going through the concession stand, I plopped down into my seat with my large Coke and waited breathlessly.

And then it happened. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away” appeared in blue letters. A crash of trumpets. The title STAR WARS receding into a field of stars. Three paragraphs about a rebel alliance crawled into infinity. A planet with a lonely moon. And then, a little spaceship races away, while being pursued and fired upon by the most incredibly monstrous spaceship ever seen.

My mom describes my reaction this way:

“His mouth dropped open. He crawled to the edge of the seat, put the soda down, and sat there motionless the rest of the movie.”

And so it was that STAR WARS entered my life and altered it forever.

I was not alone that summer. By the end of 1977, everyone had STAR WARS fever. We collected and traded the bubblegum cards (the blue series will always be the best), played Meco’s ridiculous disco version constantly, and acted out our own STAR WARS mini-dramas in the backyard. The following year was even better, as STAR WARS toys flooded a dehydrated market. My basement floor became a STAR WARS museum, cluttered with little plastic figures and replicas of landspeeders and the Millenium Falcon.

My imagination ignited, I ravenously followed the development of the next movie in Starlog and Fantastic Films magazines. We saw THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK on opening weekend in the best theater in town, which was adorned with a gigantic poster of Darth Vader’s imposing mask. We were enthralled by the second chapter, and positively stunned at Vader’s revelation near the end. His FATHER? Could that be possible??

Recesses on the playground became fiery sessions of debate. Notebooks meant for notetaking instead became sketchbooks of spaceship design. We even conducted contests in which each participant had to write their version of the third chapter in the STAR WARS saga.

By the time RETURN OF THE JEDI arrived, I had developed pubic hair and a slight distraction with masturbation, but my love of STAR WARS remained strong. That opening weekend saw us together in the theater to witness the final chapter, and the answers to questions that had plagued us for three long years.

But something peculiar happened during that screening. Whiz-bang energy and inventiveness had seemingly disappeared, replaced by yet another Death Star and yet another rebel attack on it. Rubber puppets, used to great effect in the previous films, now looked palpably Muppet-like. Harrison Ford looked like he wanted to crawl under a bush and go to sleep. The Ewoks had zippers.

Still, Darth Vader’s last-minute rescue of Luke from the grip of the Emperor, accompanied by John Williams’ choral power, sent chills through my spine. I left the theater that afternoon satisfied, X-wings rocketing fireworks in the sky and the sounds of “Yub Yub” chanting in my head. With that movie, my childhood ended and I went on with the process of becoming a man.

Over the following years, I kept track of the little STAR WARS information that leaked out from Lucasfilm. My STAR WARS card collection gathered dust as it moved farther and farther into the recesses of my closet. My plastic figurine carrying case became a resting stop for my baseball cleats, and then later, my work shoes. Over the years, my growing circle of friends and girlfriends led me in new cinematic directions, often in movies with a much harder edge than the beloved saga of my youth.

Then came the mid-nineties announcement of a prequel trilogy to the original STAR WARS films. My heart, hungry for the exuberance of the original films, leaped with joy. By this point, I was actively involved with the young kids in my church, all of whom were new-generation STAR WARS fans. I took them to the 1997 theatrical re-releases of the films, which allowed them to truly appreciate the widescreen mastery missing from their worn-out VHS copies and television viewings.

The first trailer blew me away. There was the familiar Force Theme, giving way to the classic trumpet blast from so long ago. But instead of Luke, Han, and Leia, the trailer exploded with a kaleidoscope of unbridled imagination. My friends and I watched it repeatedly, asking each other in amazement: “Did George Lucas really pull this off??”

As I sat in the theater at midnight on May 23rd of 1999, I felt an anticipation similar to the adrenaline-fueled rush back in 1977. I couldn’t believe I was about to rejoin the galaxy far, far away that had entranced me so many years ago. And then it began. The same blue letters. The same blast of trumpets. The same title receding into a field of stars.

And then, numbness. The crawl talked of trade disputes and blockades. Everything seemed glossy and not-quite real. The Niemoidians looked like puppets and talked like lobotomized idiots. Jar Jar stepped in shit. Creatures farted. My inner child went sadly back to sleep.

I left the theater quietly. I reassured myself that George Lucas was trying to make movie for today’s children, much like the original trilogy had been for me. I tried to distract myself by marveling at the special effects and the effectiveness of Darth Maul. Still, I couldn’t shake the undeniable feeling that Lucas went back to make these films simply to milk the trilogy for more money. I threw my Taco Bell collector’s cup in the trash on the way to my car.

The following years brought two more films in the prequel trilogy. Each one teased us with galvanizing images in well-cut trailers, only to deliver torpid, uninspired dialogue and recycled situations. The films became a collection of oppressive CGI, ridiculous soap-opera melodrama, and coincidental character cameos from a constantly-shrinking galaxy far, far away. While Lucas insisted that these films were for children - and not the generation that initially supported STAR WARS - I knew in my heart that the original films were not stupefyingly dull and immature affairs. The original films had life and vision and drama at their core, powered by respectable performances and fueled by thematic cohesion. By contrast, the new films felt lifeless and silly, lacking the charm and imagination that inspired a generation so long ago.

When the rushed, tie-up-loose-ends finale of REVENGE OF THE SITH arrived, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The entire story was finished. In the months leading up to the premiere of SITH, Lucas told every newspaper on earth that he was gratefully leaving STAR WARS behind to pursue art films. I gladly welcomed this news, as I had, in my adult years, learned to appreciate Lucas’ pre-STAR WARS films like THX-1138. I couldn’t wait to see him move on, and use his vast wealth and resources to create something new, visionary, and unique.

And then came STAR WARS: The Television Show.

With the release of the trailer for STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS this month, fans have gathered anew in anticipation for this upcoming film and television show. The all-CGI production, which finally frees Lucas from the dreaded director’s chair, revisits the prequel trilogy in the time period between ATTACK OF THE CLONES and REVENGE OF THE SITH. In other words, the time period of least interest to fans of the series.

But not me. I’ve had enough. I refuse to give Lucas another dime of my money. Like a crack addict begging in the street, Lucas continues to panhandle his STAR WARS wares in a curiously obvious attempt to pad his already obscene bank account balance. Instead of flexing his creative powers, Lucas has returned to the nest of commercial viability, afraid to fly into the open skies of the unknown.

I will not support this anymore.

George, you can repackage the trilogy any way you want; you can release Blu-Ray versions of the movies containing lockets of Natalie Portman’s pubic hair, and I still won’t buy it. You can create ten television seasons of Yoda’s lost years on Dagobah, and I won’t watch it. You can offer an all-expenses paid shuttle trip to Coruscant and I wouldn’t even give it a second glance. I don’t want your movie tie-ins, George. I don’t want your merchandise, your movies, or your madness anymore.

Like a lover who has long overstayed their welcome, the STAR WARS universe has devolved into an object of scorn and ridicule. Gone is the magic. Gone is the inspiration. Gone is the love.

Goodbye, STAR WARS. It was fun while it lasted.

Clinton had several monumental hurdles in front of her. First, she’s an unfuckable woman. Secondly, she is the physical embodiment of evil. In other words, she is the Democratic John McCain, sans tortured, low-hanging balls.

This video gives us a glimpse of the torment behind the tormented cackle in her final campaign hours:

Extra credit: name either the movie or the actor playing Hillary/Hitler.

Rob O’Connor of Yahoo recently took the time to put together the 25 Worst Hair Metal bands of all time, for his List Of The Day blog.   The great thing about list is the fact that they almost always seem to spark some sort of debate or discussion.  This list though, comes across as being written by somebody who doesn’t really know much about the subject and that makes the list come across as stupid.

The biggest problem of the list is putting Poison #1. 

That seems to be the safe pick, for everybody.  You mean to tell me that Poison were worse than Trixter or Slaughter or Winger?  Winger isn’t even on the list, but I’ll get to that later.  By putting Poison #1, it proves that he really knows nothing about the type of music.  Yet the average music fan listens to this opinion, because he must know what he’s talking about.  After all it’s his job to know, right? 

The next huge mistake was putting Skid Row #2. 

Yes, Sebastian Bach is an arrogant egotistical jack-off, but Skid Row aren’t a hair metal band.  I know they get lumped into the category, but they shouldn’t.  It’s kind of like in the mid 90’s when every band that came out of Seattle was grunge.  Seriously, who in the hell really thought that Candlebox or the Screaming Trees were grunge.  So again to say that Skid Row is “hair metal” is wrong and to say that they were worse than Bad English, Bullet Boys or Slaughter is ridiculous.

The other problem I have with the list is the bands that were left off.  How does Winger miss making the list. 

How about Nelson, Faster Pussycat, or Kix?  These bands not only should have made the list, but they should have been way above Poison, Skid Row and Whitesnake.  I wish when people make a list they would actually put a little thought into it and not just take the easy route and throw the safe picks at the top. 

I’m sure Rob O’Connor is a knowledgeable guy, but this list would suggest otherwise.

The new music video and debut single for the song Falling Down by actress Scarlett Johansson has been released. 

 That’s right she’s now a singer and is releasing an album, Anywhere I lay my head.  The video’s stupid, to me it seems as if she’s complaining about being a famous actress.  If she doesn’t want to be a big movie star, then stay out of movies. 

As far as the song goes, I’m not really getting it.  Her voice sounds odd and not in a good way for me.  She kind of resembles a week version of Sinead O’Connor.  Hearing this, makes me think that like most actresses turned singer, her vocals needed a lot of help.  It’s like they thought the best way to help her was by making the music overpower her and and giving her voice an odd sound.  This may have worked in the 80’s (remember Martika), but it’s just not very good for this era of music.  People are tired of shitty music

I’m not a big fan of Johansson to begin with and find her to be funy looking, so maybe I’m biased.  I feel that I gave the song a fair try though and I still think it sucks.  This is just another blow to the music industry.  There are plenty of good aspiring artists that are never given a break and yet this funny looking Hollywood bitch, gets to put out an album.  So now, Scarlett Johansson, Hillary Duff, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Miley Cyrus, Brooke Hogan and countless of other Hollywood “Hotties” have released albums.  This is why the people don’t pay for Cd’s anymore. 

I just wish at the end of the video Michael Doughlas would have come and beat her with a baseball bat.