Broken Flowers Review

Bill Murray is one of hippest and most talented actors in contemporary cinema because he has mastered a complicated skill — he is really good at sitting around and looking like a washed-up has-been.

Director Jim Jarmusch (Ghost Dog, Dead Man, Down by Law) has honed Murray’s skill in Broken Flowers, Jarmusch’s new film about an aging Don Juan who falls into a search for the mother of his unknown 20-year-old son.

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Myspace Music Review

When the only new releases are a 3 Doors Down album and chopped ’n’ screwed remixes of dirty South rap albums, it’s not hard to see that August is not the best month for music.

Myspace.com, the online community where many students spend hours looking at friends’ profiles and updating their own, offers what the radio and television might not be able to during this dry spell of good music on the airwaves — access to loads of new songs from thousands of bands.

There are numerous ways to search for new music — through friends’ profiles, by genre, by keyword, by location — and there are even ways to find out about some of these bands outside of Myspace.

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Dukes of Hazzard Review

This movie has many of the elements that make up a bad movie: It is a remake of a bad TV show, it features Jessica Simpson and the gimmick of the move is a car with a big Confederate flag on the roof. And white-trash chic is getting really old.

The Dukes of Hazzard, however, was not a bad movie. It parodies the bad TV show and Jessica Simpson is only featured in the movie enough to feature her features, and then she gets out of the way. The flag on top of the General Lee is dealt with comically when the boys (Johnny Knoxville and Seann William Scott) leave podunk Hazzard County to visit the progressive city (ha!) of Atlanta. As far as the white-trash chic, well, deal with it.

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Six Significant Landscapes

--by Wallace Stevens

I
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.

II
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.

III
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.

IV
When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.

V
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.

VI
Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.

(1923)

The Lost Pilot

-- by James Tate

for my father, 1922-1944

Your face did not rot
like the others--the co-pilot,
for example, I saw him

yesterday. His face is corn-
mush: his wife and daughter,
the poor ignorant people, stare

as if he will compose soon.
He was more wronged than Job.
But your face did not rot

like the others--it grew dark,
and hard like ebony;
the features progressed in their

distinction. If I could cajole
you to come back for an evening,
down from your compulsive

orbiting, I would touch you,
read your face as Dallas,
your hoodlum gunner, now,

with the blistered eyes, reads
his braille editions. I would
touch your face as a disinterested

scholar touches an original page.
However frightening, I would
discover you, and I would not

turn you in; I would not make
you face your wife, or Dallas,
or the co-pilot, Jim. You

could return to your crazy
orbiting, and I would not try
to fully understand what

it means to you. All I know
is this: when I see you,
as I have seen you at least

once every year of my life,
spin across the wilds of the sky
like a tiny, African god,

I feel dead. I feel as if I were
the residue of a stranger's life,
that I should pursue you.

My head cocked toward the sky,
I cannot get off the ground,
and, you, passing over again,

fast, perfect, and unwilling
to tell me that you are doing
well, or that it was mistake

that placed you in that world,
and me in this; or that misfortune
placed these worlds in us.

Kinski and Fruit Bats Review

Sub Pop has a long history of great releases — including Nirvana’s Bleach and the The Shins’ Oh, Inverted World — and they’re still putting out great albums by newer bands.

Alpine Static and Spelled in Bones are both new releases on Sub Pop and they prove that the label is making good decisions with the artists they pick up.

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crunk, n.

[f. prec.: cf. Icel. krúnk the raven's cry.]
A hoarse harsh cry; a croak.

1868 ATKINSON Cleveland Gloss., Crunk, the hoarse cry or croak of the raven or carrion crow.

-- The Oxford English Dictionary

crunk, v.

Also 6-7 crunck(e. [Cf. Icel. krúnka to croak (as a raven).]
intr. Of some birds: To utter a hoarse harsh cry.

1565-73 COOPER Thesaurus, Gruo..to crunke like a crane. 1583 STANYHURST Æneis IV. (Arb.) 111 The skrich howle..Her burial roundel dooth ruck, and cruncketh in howling. 1617 MINSHEU Ductor, To Cruncke or Crunckle like a Crane.

--The Oxford English Dictionary

EXPIRATION DATE

Face broken out
of time by loss

arms like fabric softener on the pink
and black striped tight shirt

hugging-
w/o squeeze
too tight
from front for free feel

Fitting pants reveal everything
I ever wanted

mine lack revelation.

Ambien through his south

ground indipendendence completely
indipendence however how
stay knew side work

... and never climb out.

One Should Always be Drunk

— by Charles Baudelaire



One should always be drunk.

That’s all that matters;
that’s our one imperative need.
So as not to feel Time’s horrible burden
one which breaks your shoulders and bows you down,
you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
“It is time to get drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!”

Heavy metal thunder and gas and ass. Every fucking night. QC passed me by over and over and over. Over?
Someone wondered how they get the blood off of those things and I said they don't, it just falls off or something. Whatcha gonna do?

David Pajo Review

This lo-fi folk album from post-rock poster boy David Pajo outdoes itself with each listen. Pajo makes it clear that the four-track recorder has been replaced with cheap computer recording software — Pajo was completely recorded with software that was included with his laptop.

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American Beer Movie Review

5 guys, 38 breweries, 40 days and 200 possible hangovers — American Beer chronicles Paul Kerminzian’s road-trip with his friends as they visit numerous microbreweries across the U.S. Surprisingly, no DUIs were documented in this crunk bro fantasy.

“This lifestyle we’re living — we can’t sustain this,” said crew member Jon Miller on the second day of the journey. “But I’m sure having fun.”

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Pelican Review

Pelican is still metal and still instrumental, but it has added to its sound. This record is one of the best to come out this year — not to say that its previous releases were not amazing — this one just encompasses more sounds.

Pelican’s driving, building, metal guitar is never hard to find on Fire, but the listener might have to sift through some other sounds, like an acoustic vamp or some Mogwai-esque spacey effects. On that note, some of the songs, like “Autumn into Summer” posses somewhat of an early Mogwai feel to them, but listeners will be able to tell that this is not Mogwai if they listen for more than a minute — it is something much more metal.

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Bangkok 5 Review

Imagine the Strokes, if they were from Hollywood. This idea has pros and cons. Pro: the Strokes follow in a long tradition of rock ’n’ roll influences, and adding some L.A. gritty glam to a sound like theirs can only intensify the rock. Con: even though these guys really rock, everything they are doing has been done before: if I want to listen to the Strokes, I’ll pick up a Guided by Voices record.

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Audioslave Review

Okay. Enough is enough. Wasn’t the first album a joke that kind of happened to rock in a crappy Clearchannel way? Whatever the deal was, it definitely didn’t warrant another wuss-washed piece of so-called hard rock. “I like driving backwards in the fog because it doesn’t remind me of anything.” Come on. Get some hair down there.

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