The greatest decade in world history. Remember when I ranked the 1990s? Same rules apply.
10. 1988
Video Games: Sure, every Metal Gear released since is better than the NES version, but for comedic value? Sure, "Doki Doki Plumber" wasn't the Mario sequel we were meant to get, but it was still fun. Two "Nintendo Hard" classics came out in '88: Zelda II: The Adventures Of Link and Ninja Gaiden. (Only the latter was worth my blistered thumbs, though.) Sega finally caught my attention with Altered Beast. And finally, on my eleventh birthday, Japan blessed gamers with Super Mario Brothers 3.
Books: Stephen Hawking and William Gibson kept the eggheads happy. Roald Dahl kept the children happy. Anne Rice kept making herself happy.
TV: What's more infuriating: the St. Elsewhere ending or the WGA strike denying Gilda Radner a chance to host SNL? A couple pretty good shows were unveiled this year: The Wonder Years, with its novel use of voice over, and Murphy Brown, which in a few years would become a political cause célebre. So were a couple of amazing ones: Roseanne, one of the truest scripted to ever make air, and Mystery Science Theater 3000, although if you weren't in Minnesota, you were SOL.
Film: So many future pop culture staples (Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Die Hard, Big, Rain Man) and a few that shoulda been (Heathers, Hairspray, Space Mutiny). Check out The Accused for Jodie Foster's finest performance, and Coming To America for the funniest film ever shot.
Music: So begins the descent. Cheap Trick went from "Surrender" to "The Flame." Aerosmith went from "Back In the Saddle Again" to "Angel." The Beach Boys went from "I Get Around" to "Kokomo." For all the best music, you had to get your hands dirty.
9. 1983
Video Games: Ah yes, The Year Of the Crash. 1983 saw the beginning of a industrywide recession. By the end of 1985, revenue had fallen off by close to 97%. The culprits were multitudinous: oversaturation, inflation, inferior product and competition from home computers.
Books: Salute the ladies: Gloria Steinem for Outstanding Acts and Everyday Rebellions (a feminist must-read) and Joanna Russ for How To Suppress Women's Writing, a "guidebook" for dissuading female scribes.
TV: You know the old saying: whenever God closes a M*A*S*H, He opens an AfterMASH.
If kids weren't watching He-Man, Reading Rainbow and The Charlie Brown & Snoopy Show, they are now what's wrong with America.
Hill Street Blues was so killer in '83 I can't pick my favorite episode: "Gung Ho," where an undercover is shot and killed in an arcade by domestic terrorists while numerous Hill Street cops are felled by a stomach virus courtesy of sketchy Chinese takeaway; or "The Belles Of St. Mary's" where viewers are introduced to Vic Hitler, Jr., the narcoleptic stand-up comic.
Film: Lost opportunity it may ultimately been seen as, however, Return Of the Jedi is still a hell of a movie. Competing Bond flicks vied for dollars, with Sir Roger Moore coming out on top. Scarface and A Christmas Story were two unspectacular office workers who nevertheless rose in the ranks over the coming years.
Hot take: D.C .Cab is funnier than National Lampoon's Vacation.
Hotter take: John Landis probably would have rather gone to prison over The Twilight Zone Movie than have Stephen Spielberg stop returning his calls.
Music: Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus over the Serengeti, 1983 was a wonderful time for music. "Billie Jean" and "Beat It" played everywhere. "Blue Monday," "Photograph" (the peak of hair-metal), "Let the Music Play," "Hungry Like the Wolf" (greatest single of the decade), "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," "Burning Up," "Total Eclipse of the Heart," "Major Tom." Fuck me!
(What about "Mr. Roboto"? Yeah no, that song eats.)
No shortage of amazing albums, either. In fact, R.E.M., Metallica, Slayer and Shonen Knife all put out their first full-lengths in '83.
8. 1984
Video Games: Um…uh...
Books: Funny for how so many the very words "nineteen eighty-four" bring instantly to mind a book. Dread certainly abounded: the landslide re-election of Reagan, the terrifying possibility of nuclear warfare, the spread of HIV/AIDS. If only any work of fiction released that year could even sniff Orwell's masterwork. The sole memorable read was a rare nonfiction venture by Joseph Wambaugh, the extraordinary Lines and Shadows.
TV: Before "Must-See TV," NBC made Thursday night "The Best Night Of Television On Television." From 8 to 11, viewers could sit back and enjoy the following: The Cosby Show, Family Ties, Cheers, Night Court and Hill Street Blues. Oh, and Cheers? Both actresses in the cast were pregnant. And this was the debut of the Frasier Crane character. Pile it on, why don't I? Miami Vice! Jim Henson's Muppet Babies! St. Elsewhere turning one of its characters into a serial rapist! Whew.
Film: Note about '84: I gave the music, film and TV categories perfect 10s. If not for the other two being so underwhelming, this year would have topped the list.
These are not hit films, these are haymaker blows: The Terminator, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom, Beverly Hills Cop, The Karate Kid. Gremlins is still the hardest I've laughed in a movie theater (for others, that honor might go to This Is Spinal Tap, also released in 1984. Or possibly even Police Academy, or Revenge Of the Nerds. Hey, they were funny at the time!)
I'll never forgive Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter or The Neverending Story for such shameless deceit.
Music: Hell, the most "80s" moment of my life happened this year: sitting on the couch, waiting for the premiere of the "Purple Rain" video, munching on my first-ever McDonald's "Value Meal."
Duran Duran released their most overlooked single and their most overrated single. Madonna tried to seduce a lion. Culture Club and the Eurythmics made people scratch their heads while shaking their party pieces. Van Halen and Bruce Springsteen showed that synthesizers weren't just for "new wave homos." Prince and Hüsker Dü were both on their viking ish, though their respective ships differed madly in size, shape and substance.
7. 1987
Video Games: Contra and Street Fighter swallowed up the quarters, while kids like me were content to wear butt imprints into the carpet playing The Legend Of Zelda, Punchout! and Mega Man. (Castlevania II as well, least until that day-night cycle shit made me throw the cartridge under the bed.)
Books: Oh wow. Besides Beloved and Misery, this was a flaccid 52 weeks for the art of words.
TV: I watched so many crappy sitcoms in the decade. Guys, I was so young and so easily amused. I laughed at Dave Coulier in not one but two shows. If My Two Dads did any good in the world, it warned me how painfully unfunny Paul Reiser was, so that by the time Mad About You came around, I knew better. I was a bit too young to appreciate Star Trek: The Next Generation, although given the quality of the first couple seasons, I don't bemoan my age too much.
Bye, Fraggle Rock and Hill Street Blues.
Film: An abundance of sluggish comedies and humdrum action flicks. (If yer gonna be bad, at least be entertainingly so.) 1987 at the movie house was just basically flickering cash. Death Wish 4, Superman 4, and Police Academy 4 were the perfect punishments for a country that would have voted Reagan in for another term had he not already reached the limit.
Music: Rock is back, thanks to a tattooed scarecrow and his band of less-than merry men. Appetite For Destruction should have sent all the limp-dicked pretenders scurrying back into their rented holes, yet somehow, Aerosmith became even more popular. (Guessing it was due to veteran status.) SST Records continued churning out marvelous mole rock.
Pop continued on sprained ankles, while R&B just lay on the dirt with two broken legs. Michael Jackson followed up Thriller with Bad , but did he really? Prince made a salad with homegrown veggies--and threw the dirt in for good measure. Nice guy Bruce Hornsby's piano-heavy tunes were the radio's way of saying, "Hey there, Jenn's sister, I know exactly what it is you wanna hear!"
6. 1986
Video Games: Metroid and Kid Icarus both belong in the pantheon, but can we not forget Arkanoid taking the Breakout series of games and ratcheting up the everything?
Books: Stephen King ruined clowns forever with It, a story that resonates to this very day. The Sportswriter kicks off Richard Ford's "Bascombe Trilogy" and the ruggedly gorgeous Silent Terror marked my entry into the stunning mind of James Ellroy.
TV: Don't miss the second half of Golden Girls' first season, which features Rose's homicidal vagina. After being let go from Hill Street Blues, Steven Bochco re-created it...with lawyers. America got to know Oprah…and Garry Shandling.
Film: So if I say that The Karate Kid 2 and Howard the Duck are cinematic cellophane, you wouldn't even flinch, but what if I throw Top Gun in the trash can alongside? What if I tell you Aliens is dope, but The Fly is doper?
MVP goes to John Hughes, whose name appeared on two more of the best high school films. And goddamn I cannot wait for the Big Trouble In Little China remake to come out and fail in every conceivable way by which success can be measured.
Music: Still so many classic singles ("West End Girls"! "Danger Zone"! "Kiss"! "Don't Wanna Know If You Are Lonely"!), but the fatigue is setting in. Three years after her big brother ruled the pop/dance/R&B charts, Janet Jackson took Control. Run DMC helped catapult Aerosmith back into commercial relevancy, meaning they share some of the blame for "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing." On the other hand, they are responsible for bringing the Beastie Boys to a wider audience, meaning they share some of the credit for "Sabotage." Speaking of white rappers, the greatest to ever touch a mic had his Stateside breakthrough in '86 with a tune about a dead composer.
Was this thrash metal's best year? Master Of Puppets, Reign In Blood and Peace Sells...But Who's Buying?, although a lotta people seem to overlook that last one. Don't.
Van Halen put out 5150, their first album with new singer Sammy Hagar. Sonic Youth put out EVOL, their first album with new drummer Steve Shelley. Only one features my favorite song.
5. 1989
Video Games: I never made it past the dam level in TMNT. (And you thought Cannibal Holocaust did turtles bad.) Thank Jebus for Game Boy….
Books: The year's best novel, Katherine Dunn's Geek Love, concerns carnival freaks. Meanwhile, Martin Amis still can't write a convincing female character.
TV: Seinfeld, Baywatch, Family Matters, American Gladiators, The Simpons--you're welcome, Nineties.
Film: Warner Bros.' Batman series got off to a stellar start. Back To the Future 2 has actually improved with age, thanks in no small part to the sad predictability of the species. Films like When Harry Met Sally... and Field Of Dreams were made mostly so I can tell what kind of people I never want to waste conversations on.
Driving Miss Daisy earned a Best Picture nomination. Glory did not. Do the Right Thing did not. Burn Hollywood burn.
Music: Old men lectured listeners about world history ("We Didn't Start the Fire") and homelessness ("Another Day In Paradise"). Young ladies declared new nations and brought B-girl lingo to the masses. Hip hop was in a fascinating place, with "Fight the Power" and "Ladies First" fighting for attention alongside the likes of "Funky Cold Medina" and "It Takes Two."
4. 1982
Video Games: TV gave some shine to gamers with the debut of Starcade, while at the actual arcades, cups ranneth e'erywhere: Dig Dug, Q*Bert, and the one the only the Ms. Pac-Man. Meanwhile, Atari released Mr. Pac-Man for consoles: twelve million cartridges, in fact, pretty interesting strategy considering there were only ten million Atari 2600 consoles on the market. Sales went no higher than seven million, and the seeds of disaster were well and truly sown.
Books: Good year for books that would become movies: Shoeless Joe, The Color Purple, Schindler's List. Dinner At the Homesick Restaurant remains the finest novel set in Baltimore.
TV: Sha-la-la-la. Republicans would kill for an Alex P. Keaton on prime time now. I think millions of us would at least maim to have Letterman back in late night. NBC rolled out two beloved shows in '82: Cheers and St. Elsewhere. SNL added Brad Hall and Julia Louis-Dreyfus to the cast, which only in hindsight is notable.
Film: The head honchos put the kibosh on all the promise of the "auteur age," no longer willing to trust directors with pet projects and grand visions. The big studio flicks of the 80s were more focused on having a blast--of the literal and figurative varieties. So while Hollywood might not have produced the next Godfather or Easy Rider or Nashville this decade, it did give us the following--all in a single year.
--The best kids movie (E.T.)
--The best sci-fi movie (Blade Runner)
--The best high school movie (Fast Times At Ridgemont High)
--The best STAR TREK movie (Wrath Of Khan)
--The best film set in Charm City (Diner)
Take that, cinema snobs.
Music: Fools worrying about how to craft a hit single, please. This was the year Michael Jackson, Prince and Duran Duran each released albums full of nothing but hit singles.
3. 1985
Video Games: Pull back the curtain, flip on the houselights, sound the fanfare. The Nintendo Entertainment System is here to save the video game industry. Eatin' shrooms and shootin' ducks (and smart-aleck canines). No one even noticed ColecoVision leave the room.
Books: Outstanding works by Cormac McCarthy and Joseph Wambaugh. The second (and best) Stephen King short story collection. A little something titled The Handmaid's Tale.
TV: Bad ideas abounded: bringing back The Twilight Zone, putting Robert Downey, Jr. and Anthony Michael Hall on the SNL cast, canceling The Charlie Brown & Snoopy Show.
The good, thankfully, outweighed all that. I'm talking the debut of The Golden Girls. Four old broads in Miami: the smart-ass, the dummy, the slut, the other smart-ass. They attended Madonna concerts and dated midgets. They made my mother and I laugh like hyenas on helium. Correction: they make my mother and I laugh like hyenas on helium.
Film: Top-heavy. Back To the Future, The Goonies, Pee Wee's Big Adventure, The Breakfast Club and, ahem, Kurosawa's Ran, ya plebes. After all that? Uh…Roger Moore getting upstaged by two other actors in his Bond farewell, I guess that's pretty cool.
Music: Tears For Fears went 3-3, with three home runs. Phil Collins went 0-4 with a fielder's choice. Pfft, British people don't even play baseball. Woulda been better for everyone if USA For Africa had just donated beaucoup buckeroos and spared us the maudlin singalong.
Solid year for metal (Bonded By Blood, Hell Awaits) and indie rock (Psychocandy, This Nation's Saving Grace). How is it Run DMC are still the only hip hop act to sound at home rapping over power chords?
2. 1981
Video Games: Arcades and consoles are billion dollar business. Recalcitrant gorillas, space battles, frogs vs. everybody.
Books: Philip K. Dick, Raymond Carver and bell hooks in the same year. I don't think it's possible to romanticize this decade, I truly don't.
TV: Dry your eyes over the Muppets, guys. The most important dramatic series to ever appear on American television made its debut in 1981--Hill Street Blues. And no one watched it. Ranking 87th of 96 network shows that year, NBC nevertheless gave the critically-lauded cop show a second chance after it won a then-record eight awards at the Emmys, including Best Drama. Smart! Letting Dick Ebersol take the reins at Saturday Night Live, not so much.
Film: Harrison Ford made the seamless transition from slick space smuggler to daredevil archeologist, under the auspices of Steven Spielberg. AFI Silver has no issue recognizing that. My suggestion of a Cannonball Run/Evil Dead double feature, though?
Music: The biggest hit of the decade, per Billboard, was "Physical." Here's where I eviscerate not only the track, but also the American public for its infuriating vacuity. Except I'm not doing any of that, since "Physical" is the statue which stands outside the Smithsonian Museum of Guilty Pleasures.
The Cars went pop like snot bubbles. Prince's fourth LP, Controversy, smashed together music and politics until they sucked off their taste buds. Lovers of music which could safely be called "MTV-resistant" had Mission Of Burma, Black Flag, Glenn Branca and Whitehouse to blast. Haters of life spun Mike Love's first solo effort, which reeked of just that, effort. I'd rather take Campari intravenously.
1. 1980
Video Games: Atari struck with Space Invaders, but the arcade scene is still the place to be. Pac-Man, perhaps you've heard of him?
Books: Nice gumbo. Enrapturing YA (The Indian In the Cupboard), excellent true crime (The Stranger Beside Me), revolutionary academic text (A People's History Of the United States), a meandering novel from a purportedly important writer (Earthly Powers) and one of the funniest novels I've ever read (A Confederacy Of Dunces).
TV: Worst season of SNL yet (despite the presence of future superstar Eddie Murphy), Ron Howard leaves Happy Days, and what the turkey-stuffing hell did we the people do to deserve Flo and The Stockard Channing Show on the same night?! Oh, 1980 was also the year everyone was asking "Who Shot J.R.?," found out, then promptly forgot.
Film: Between The Shining, Friday the 13th, Caddyshack and Airplane!, movie theaters must've reached unprecedented stinkage and seat-stainage. An erratic year to be sure, with a number of good films that had the potential for greatness. Especially that boxing movie and that space movie. Oh well, they tried.
Music: Tusk!
The first #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 was a ballad from friggin' KC and the Sunshine Band, clue A as to how legendary this decade was about to be. Clue B? Devo going platinum.
Showing posts with label Video Games. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Video Games. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Monday, September 18, 2017
Re-Examining "The Good Decade"
I promise, I deliver. Each year of the 1990s, from worst to best.
10. 1997
BOOKS: The first Harry Potter restored the balance as threatened by the presence of three Danielle Steel novels. Those seeking more adult fiction found Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon.
VIDEO GAMES: Playstation, goddamn. Final Fantasy VII is a record-breaking RPG considered then as now one of the truly magnificent video games. The first Grand Theft Auto also came out, and I've yet to play a single one.
Nintendo countered with the Game Of the Year, Goldeneye (yes, based on the movie that revived the moribund Bond franchise). Despite atrocious enemy AI, still one of the most engrossing games I've ever pressed "start" on.
TV: Just in time for HBO's prison drama Oz, it's TV ratings! The very first episode of anything to earn the coveted "TV-MA" was the pilot of Brooklyn South, Steven Bochco and David Milch's attempt to make a Hill Street Blues for the '90s. (Too bad they don't make 'em all like Brandon Tartikoff.) The real and actual best cop show of the decade, Homicide: Life On the Street, began its sixth season, lamentably sacrificing the heart and humor that made it so special in order to appease the suits.
Believe it or don't, the two best shows of the year were cartoons: MTV's immaculate Daria and of course, The Simpsons. Insanity peppers, dead co-workers, NYC, aliens, pretzels, John Waters, imposters…wait, scratch that last one.
FILM: Titanic was less movie, more event. Zero suspense, pretty faces, bigger is better. Suppose an attractive cast would also explain the success of As Good As It Gets, but then there's the Nicholson factor. '97 had a slew of impressive blockbusters (Men In Black, Con Air, Air Force One, The Lost World) and uncalled-for sequels (Speed 2, Scream 2, Mortal Kombat 2, Home Alone 3). Lest the likes of George Of the Jungle or Batman and Robin get you down, remember that '97 also gave the world Boogie Nights and L.A. Confidential.
MUSIC: Rock music in one word: Reload.
Tim Gane, Steve Malkmus, Doug Martsch, bless y'all fellas. Antidotes to the Tylers and Jaggers of the world. Veruca Salt released an album, which I point out only to compare it unfavorably to Dig Me Out.
Lillith Fair remains the musical festival equivalent of the UConn women's basketball: awesome to see my sisters achieve such success, but honestly, you bitches are beginning to annoy me.
That surreptitious sucking sound? Smash Mouth. That exploding landfill? Limp Bizkit.
Countering such gelatinous American-ness, Oasis and Radiohead. Eh. Of course Blur finally broke on through with the most Yankee-sounding song they ever did.
Wu-Tang Forever might have been bloated, but shit, least it enjoyed putting on all that excess weight. What's U2's excuse?
9. 1998
BOOKS: Big ups to the UK--specifically J. K. Rowling and Nick Hornby--for avoiding stumpage. Over here, Clancy and Grisham sold millions with thrillers that shot from A to Z as loudly as possible. I'd much rather talk with someone who had their life changed by Inga Muscio's Cunt. A promotion of sisterhood, an exhortation to reclaim sexuality and relinquish learned shame…get some fuckin' sand in your toes to that.
VIDEO GAMES: '98 can be boiled down to a pair of games: Ocarina Of Time and Rogue Squadron, both for the N64. Don't argue with me. Unless you're my boyfriend, in which case, make my drink first.
TV: Introduced the funny and unspectacular That '70s Show as well as the audiovisual rice cake better known as Sex and the City. Tim Allen needed competition for "Most Repulsive Man On Television," and Kevin James answered the call. (With a wet belch, probably.)
SNL added Jimmy Fallon and Horatio Sanz to appease those who'd bristled at Norm Macdonald. Time put Calista Flockhart on their cover alongside images of Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan, and women didn't riot. (Guess we were too busy arguing about our favorite Powerpuff Girl. Blossom, for the record.)
Homicide screwed up their last season with the introduction of eye candy and long-lost Lieutenant's son. Still not as bad as NYPD Blue replacing Jimmy Smits with Danny from Silver Spoons. Are you dicking my fuck or what, Bochco?!
What other show in history has had a no-doubt great tenth season other than MST3K? Hell, how about a ninth season? Sure as sow shit wasn't Roseanne. Watching one of my all-time faves tumble so far so fast actually hurt my heart. (All that excess fat encasing it back then sure didn't help matters.)
FILM: Just once I'd like to watch a film about the impending end of the world that doesn't leave me feeling disappointed when the world does not, in fact, end.
Animation was a mixed bag, and the only hilarious comedy was The Big Lebowski. (File The Waterboy and There's Something About Mary under "questionable risibility.") Worst of all, the most pointless film of all-time came out in '98. Take a bow, Gus.
MUSIC: May 17, 1998. The best band puts out the best album.
I've grown to appreciate Sonic Youth and Cat Power's contributions even more, considering all the acts that lost their vitality in 1998: Liz Phair, R.E.M., Pearl Jam, the Beastie Boys, Anthrax. (Slayer almost made that list.) At least headbangers had System Of a Down, if they wanted them.
Did no one care that Duran Duran put their "Night Versions" out on disc finally?
Jay-Z used the white girl to get rich…again. Outkast continued being fucking amazing. Big Pun becoming the first Latino solo rapper to go platinum was cool; his being one of the most masterful lyricists the genre's ever heard, much cooler.
The end of Lollapalooza, the start of Total Request Live. Just in time for Britney! Madonna at her worst still beats Britney at her best, and Ray Of Light was definitely not Maddy's nadir. Last clutch of the crown, more like. There was no doubt where pop music was headed.
8. 1999
BOOKS: The last Harry Potter of the decade was also the last one you could drop on your foot without breaking a toe. Geeks genuflected before the offerings of Neil Stephenson and David Foster Wallace. Hannibal is on some Berenstain Bears ish compared to Cunt. Oh yeah, there was a novel titled Cunt. It's even got a delicious twist. Seriously, it's butterscotch on vanilla ice cream on peach pie on a brownie.
VIDEO GAMES: The psychological horrors of Silent Hill or the ambitious reinvention of Final Fantasy VIII, Playstation just owned. Nintendo dropped the ball with DK64, a tedious game that lost its freshness faster than you can recite "DK Rap."
The entire gamer community dropped the ball when it came to Sega's Dreamcast. The first sixth-gen console proved too innovative too soon.
TV: Damn, TV's in good shape for the new century: The Sopranos, SUV, The West Wing, Futurama. Huh? Family what? Which Guy?
Homicide concluded a generally distressing final season with one of its stronger episodes. Funny how the two best cop shows in history followed the same pattern: amazing first four seasons, great fifth season, decent season six, then a painfully half-hearted last season.
Freaks and Geeks and Home Movies were almost literally of too high a quality for network television. The host of The Daily Show went from a smirking fuckboy to someone who could actually hold a conversation. The Simpsons started shedding nuance at a frightening rate.
Meanwhile, over at 30 Rock, the women were getting ready to take over….
FILM: Entertainment Weekly crowned 1999 "The Year That Changed Hollywood." If the creative sea change was for well or ill is debatable, especially if you're an asshole. Lessee: The Matrix, Fight Club, The Sixth Sense, Toy Story 2, The Blair Witch Project, The Phantom Menace. What's most interesting to me, four of those six films were directed and/or written by people who'd follow them up with works perceived as not just inferior, but tremendously so, leading the revisionist ravens to roost.
Who could've guessed Stanley Kubrick's swan song would be outdone by Spike Jonze's cinematic coming out party? That the creator of Beavis & Butt-Head would be responsible for '99's most quotable comedy, less surprising.
Proving that not all change is welcome, and that anything with this title tends to be rubbish, American Pie. That pork meatball made Jason Biggs a star and for that, it must pay in perpetuity.
MUSIC: Raw sewage…I can smell it. When I think of the music of 1999, I think of the documentary Grizzly Man. A somewhat amusing, largely exasperating look at environmentalist Timothy Treadwell, who lived among the grizzlies in Alaskan national parks for thirteen summers. Or, to put it another way, until one of the bears decided that he'd had enough of this nosy human and ate Treadwell (and his girlfriend) alive. Before leaving his tent to confront his eventual killer, Treadwell apparently turned on his video camera (leaving the lens cap in place). A six-minute audio recording of the ensuing horror was found by law enforcement and given to one of Treadwell's closest friends. In the doc's most indelible scene, director Werner Herzog listens to the tape through headphones. He remains silent, allowing welling tears to tell the story. Herzog removes the headphones and implores Treadwell's friend to never, never listen to the tape.
1999 is one of music's most wretched years. Have you ever heard a good Collective Soul song? Have you, fuck. Christ, Lou Bega and Jennifer Lopez doing their damnedest to forever taint the numbers 5 and 6 is somehow among the least of the sins committed.
No, the true demons here are wearing red ball caps and lame tattoos. The bizarre mass ritual of Limp Bizkit's popularity really deserves the Ken Burns treatment. Fred Durst--who I like to call "Mr. Honeybunny," 'cause I just wanna rip his head clean off--became a generational spokesperson and millions of stupid people decided that nu-metal" was not just a thing, but a thing that they liked and would willingly want in their lives. What is "nu-metal"? White guys rapping or scatting over loud, dumb guitar riffs, making it the musical equivalent of candy cigarettes. Do white guys have legit grievances? Absolutely. And I wish to this day they'd actually address them, rather than misdirecting their anger. I wish they'd learn what "causality" means.
I wish I could have spent 1999 in a coma.
So relentless, the horrors. Smash Mouth invited us all to a party with Natty Light on tap, stale homemade Cheetos in cracked bowls and weed seedier than a Russian hotel. 311 had the stones to write a song called "Come Original," namedrop NOFX and Black Eyed Peas as examples of musical innovation, and somehow weren't blocked from re-entering America at the first available opportunity.
Boy bands ruled. I lived through New Kids. That was bad enough. The late Nineties gave me the New Kids again, then the New Kids again. I thought Meat Loaf's inexplicable return to glory was abhorrent? Ladies and gentlemen, Carlos Santana!
TLC, Sleater-Kinney and Lauryn Hill at least repped, and well, for the women. Sadly, the likes of "No Scrubs," "Start Together," and "Everything Is Everything" were sapphires in the cow dung. Sammy Hagar, the Scorpions and Dokken all put out albums. Ringo Starr and Amy Grant each released Christmas albums.
Thanks to Jim O'Rourke and Stereolab for letting me chug out of the water jug. No thanks to Pavement for tucking tail and running. Boredoms spun the sun for an hour and I still suspect I underpaid. DMX kept releasing music, and barking in every song, and damnit, I miss that crazy crackhead. Raekwon and GZA followed up classics with…not classics. Sigh.
7. 1992
BOOKS: Drifting away to All the Pretty Horses and She's Come Undone was fine. I and lots of other people did so. Still, I swear, if you didn't like Bastard Out Of Carolina, the hell with ya. Oh, and take The Bridges Of Madison County with ya. One for each hand.
VIDEO GAMES: My three most-played of the year: Super Mario Kart, Kirby's Dream Land, and Wolfenstein 3D. That's SNES, Gameboy and PC.
TV: I used to loathe the very idea of pineapple on pizza. Then, the guy I was fucking--who loved pineapple on pizza, almost as much as he loved fucking me--turned me into a believer. I returned the favor by telling him about this hilarious show with Garry Shandling on HBO.
Seinfeld and The Simpsons each got their sea legs this year. American TV is the best!
MTV debuted The Real World. American TV is the worst!
British TV is rarely the best or worst, so it was a big deal indeed when the first series of Absolutely Fabulous aired on BBC. I'll stab a bitch over that show, incidentally.
Pissing off the religious is a noble pursuit. There is no such thing as a "wrong time" or "wrong place" to tell sanctimonious sphincter sores how weeping they are. Hope everyone who spoke out against Sinead O'Connor feels duly ashamed--even if they'd never admit it to even themselves.
FILM: Disney in the 1990s, my gawd. I'm forever iffy on Robin Williams as an actor; as a voice actor, though, guy was untouchable.
Blow up a small country in a film, some eyebrows might lift. Chick with no panties crosses her legs, it's the end of Western civilization. Moviegoers spotted a few rare birds--the watchable film based on an SNL character, and a pair of winsome sports flicks.
Time can be dickish. A Few Good Men is more a catchphrase than a full film. The Crying Game is more a salacious twist than a full film. Glengarry Glen Ross is more a rant than a full film. At least Malcolm X emerged unscathed.
Really, though, '92 is all about which dog you preferred: the sinner or the St. Bernard.
MUSIC: Jesus, '90s pop could make me strap two poodles to my ears and start a fight with a Rottweiler.
Yeah, Slanted and Enchanted sent the indie world into a frenzy. Guess what? Midas missed it like a Wallace family Christmas. Sonic Youth's actual "sellout" album, Dirty, set the charts on fire, all right…sufficient for a single s'more, perhaps.
Athens, GA went 1-for-2. (Good Stuff so so fucking ain't, y'all.) Add heroin to mud, you get Dirt. Metalheads took solace in Pantera, whose Vulgar Display Of Power dared to be unabashedly metal in the eye of Hurricane Kurt. The cowboys from hell refused to smooth their edges to survive, nor did they scurry back underground as a form of protest.
White America giggled to "Baby Got Back," while Redman and Gang Starr low-key created exceptional music.
6. 1996
BOOKS: For Fight Club and A Game Of Thrones alone, I gotta give the 9-6 proper due. Add in some politics, some dystopic satire heavy enough to kill an rhino, you know sometimes I forget books are under no obligation to be entertaining.
VIDEO GAMES: Nah, Tomb Raider was cool. Just, I grew up on Metroid. What's a tank top to an arm cannon?
My heart belonged to a single title this year. Super Mario 64, I will never place another ahead of you.
TV: Oh, boob tube, you tried. Lithgow, wow! Fox-y! Italian David Schwimmer! Seinfeld picked a fine time to peak with Season 7, AKA "Dancing and Dying."
Homicide, sweet Homicide. Lily Tomlin in her creepiest role since Moment By Moment, Bruce Campbell as a grief-stricken cop, a wedding, an off-screen birth, and a near-death. Meanwhile that other cop show, NYPD BLUE, had their "lovable bigot" Sipowicz drop the "n-bomb" as if daring audiences to turn their backs, not grasping that a lot of the character's biggest fans would forgive him anything up to and including the execution of an unarmed drug lord in front of his children.
Nickelodeon rolled out the nostalgia network TV Land. Plenty of mid-century fluff for the old folks, but what was fucking with the drama block?
The Simpsons, actually. Their brilliant seventh season stuck a flawless landing, and the eighth season featured "A Milhouse Divided," a vital episode since it contains the most gut-busting visual gag in the show's history.
FILM: What a dudely year. Disaster porn, spy porn, military porn. People still really liked Tom Cruise and Adam Sandler.
I've watched Twister once. I've watched Fargo three times, once while showering.
Trainspotting scandalized American conservatives and gave the UK film industry a temporary chubby that they ended up using to piss over a knee wall.
MUSIC: Rock in a word: Load. Metallica got haircuts and ended Lollapalooza. I'd say it was worth it just to read Lars Ulrich in interviews blabbing about how "the alternative is now mainstream, what's the big deal?" and claiming that his band's been alternative since putting a ballad on their second album, but you know as well as I know that that would just be a droopy-faced lie.
Incentivized mimicry and implacable dilution took the 9-3 for the 9-6. Candlebox and Matchbox Twenty were Nickelback before Nickelback. The Wallflowers, boy howdy, the apple catapulted from that fuckin' tree.
Heroin maintained a strong presence. Besides nearly taking out the vocalists of Depeche Mode and Pantera, it did the job on Sublime's Brad Nowell months before his band's self-titled album KROQ-eted up the charts on its way to a baffling five million copies sold. (They are arguably the most creatively-bereft band of the Nineties, and yes bro I will hella say it to your face.)
The West Coast dependably supplied the crap in '96. Everclear--an utterly unremarkable group fronted by a Cali careerist who relocated to Portland with visions of small ponds dancing in his head--made me vow to never visit the city of Santa Monica, a full six years before I wound up having to stay there for four nights.
The Spice Girls were basically babies. Cute at first, it made me smile to see them smile, and then they spit and shit all over themselves.
At least R&B was more DTF than ever before.
Outkast from the Dirty South, Redman from Dirty Jerz, so the West Coast came in and cleaned up. Jay-Z released his first full-length, and there's a difference between being ill and being Illmatic. Which, ahem, Nas followed up this year with It Was Written. Deliberately went mainstream and produced a near-classic, now you calculate those odds and get back to me.
5. 1990
BOOKS: John Updike polished off the "Rabbit" saga (fat SOB receives redemption, dies), James Ellroy kept the "L.A. Quartet" rolling, and the Bourne legacy continued. No book appeared on more beaches and in more planes, though, than Michael Crichton's dinosaur tale.
VIDEO GAMES: Super Mario Brothers and Mega Man? Charmed!
TV: Law & Order and Seinfeld? Pull over NBC, that ass too fat. Twin Peaks inspired snobs to purchase TV sets. The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air gave the airwaves some much-needed color.
Season five of The Golden Girls got serious, almost gravely so: Blanche had heart surgery, and Rose had an HIV scare. Season six continued the sudsy trend; thanks to sharp writing and bravura performances, it remained irresistible viewing.
Muppet Babies, You Can't Do That On Television! and Ducktales all ceased producing new eppys. Haha, fuck kids!
The Simpsons went to the bowling alley, the baseball field and the putt-putt course, walking away a record-setting champion from each.
FILM: A tale of two mobster flicks. One, a classic that could not have been improved upon. The other, a good movie that thanks to a father's blind love, is forever a "what could have been."
A tale of two domestic comedies. One featuring a white kid who doesn't know enough to call the police. The other, featuring black kids who know enough not to.
A tale of two Arnies. One a late 21st-century construction worker with a disturbing dream life. One, an undercover cop who finds his true passion when he goes back to school.
Sequels had it rough. Robocop 2 and Look Who's Talking Too deserved all the rotten squash, but it took time (and video rentals) for audiences to appreciate the follow-up to Gremlins.
Ghost for the parents, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for their kids. At least the kids whose parents loved them. If not, it was off to Problem Child they went!
MUSIC: The Nineties left the starting blocks roadrunner-style.
1990 was the year I discovered Sonic Youth. 1990 was one of heavy metal's finest showings: killer albums from Megadeth, Anthrax, Pantera, and the surprising, scintillating return of Judas Priest.
Fugazi, Pixies and Jane's Addiction. Wood, wool, double platinum. Rollovers from '89 that pleasantly dominated radio included the B-52s, Depeche Mode, and Janet Jackson. Mariah Carey was new, thus fresh, and New Kids On the Block had a top 10 hit with "Tonight," a song that would make Jeff Lynne giddy.
Prince and Madonna began losing the plot. The less I say about Devo, the better. Duran Duran released an album that had one notable single--for a band that once released an entire album of singles, that's just unacceptable.
While Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer tried to make the hip hop genre a laughingstock to mainstream America, Salt N Pepa and Digital Underground made music that was fun, funny, but no joke. And related to that, Eric B. & Rakim released an album this year. Also, it's impossible to smile while listening to Amerikkka's Most Wanted. Try.
4. 1994
BOOKS: 1994 belonged to non-fake stuff. I mean…three Danielle Steel novels in one year, fuck me.
The Bell Curve was the year's most infuriatingly controversial read--possibly racist, certainly pointless. Prozac Nation proved (?) not all depression is created equal and Get In the Van convinced me Henry Rollins has never tongue-kissed another human being in his life.
VIDEO GAME: Dubbed "The Year Of the Cartridge" by no less an authority than Nintendo. Donkey Kong Country was the crop's cream, an endlessly enjoyable experience (at least until "Mine Kart Madness") without a plumber in sight.
TV: Hi, Friends! In no time, you will be the most talked-about show on television, featuring the most fawned-over cast! Women will emulate your haircuts, men will parrot your catchphrases! Other than adorable oddball Phoebe/Lisa Kudrow, I will grow to actively despise each of you on and off the screen!
The medical drama came back in a huge way. ER made stars of a nerd, heir to a hair product fortune, and the future husband of Amal Alamuddin.
Bittersweet farewells to: Star Trek: The Next Generation left the air after seven seasons, while Phil Hartman departed from Saturday Night Live after eight outstanding years.
Ebullient greetings to: Duckman, an animated series about a cynical, crude private detective duck. Unappreciated at the time (airing on USA Network will do that to a show) and unappreciated at this time. Guys…sex-crazed duck voiced by Jason Alexander! There's nothing else you'd rather be watching! Slightly more people watched The Critic, a show from two producers/writers of The Simpsons. Because hey if we're gonna have to put up with Jon Lovitz, may as well be "cartoon Jon Lovitz."
FILM: Don't let the majesty of James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair's second-greatest film collaboration fool you; don't be taken in by chrono rejigger; temper your excitement over a well-done Stephen King adaptation. 1994 is still the year where millions flocked to see Tom Hanks play a character whose cabinet is missing more than just a few cups.
Not to mention a Richie Rich flick. Piss in a cup and call it a lunch, ya artless pricks.
MUSIC: R.E.M. in the Eighties--Rolling Stone darlings, true heartland rock. R.E.M. in the Nineties--one of the world's biggest bands Henry Rollins in the Eighties--human chainsaw, better than Keith/not better than Dez. Henry Rollins in the Nineties--multi-media iconoclast.
1994 is rightly considered the pinnacle for "mainstream alternative." Each of the so-called "Big 4 Of Grunge" had an album reach the top spot of the Billboard Top 200, Beck had a top 10 hit, extensive interviews with Thurston Moore appeared in major music magazines, Meat Puppets went from signaling scorpions to selling half a million albums. Green Day and Offspring went from broke punks to breaking punk, or at least the sort of punk that values words over actions. And still neither SY nor Pavement could go gold. (If it's any consolation, no figure in indie rock history has been selected as the "F" in games of "FMK" more times than Steve Malkmus.)
Big picture, people: the number one song of the the year was "The Sign." Toad the Wet Sprocket was a thing that happened. Mind, they sounded like the Byrds compared to those ham-fisted turkey heads in Live. With song titles like "Tired Of 'Me'" and "Operation Spirit (The Tyranny Of Tradition)" and lyrics such as "It's the way we sing/That makes 'em dream," of course these assclowns went platinum. David Byrne got to work with the B-52s, so naturally Jerry Harrison would one day produce a band led by bootleg Michael Stipe.
Oh hey, remember when Rage Against the Machine infiltrated the machine from the inside and transferred the power back to the artists?
Hip hop golden age in full effect with the debuts of Biggie Smalls and Nas.
3. 1995
BOOKS: Michael Crichton knew exactly what he'd done. From the moment he started writing The Lost World to the moment he stopped writing.
Philip Roth's demented Sabbath's Theater reminds me that the '90s are only matched by the '70s for fiction that makes me think men are complete trash. (And that women are incomplete trash.)
VIDEO GAMES: Hiya, Playstation.
Mortal Kombat 3 and Tekken 2 kept me vowing I'd one day learn how to throw a real-life punch. Yoshi's Island and Donkey Kong Country 2, I gotta wonder if anyone would choose to be human. Oh, and Chrono Trigger is the best RPG to date.
TV: Full House off the air at last!
"King Size Homer." That is all.
The fourth Star Trek series, and first to feature a female captain, began its troubled run. I swear, I'll watch Voyager one of these days. I'm kinda more interested in the show starring fat Kate Mulgrew these days.
"The Soup Nazi." I will never stop marveling at society's proclivity to see or hear a good thing and decide to ruin that thing.
Over on SNL, the Janeane Garofolo Experiment came to an end. Lorne Michael's decided "rebuilding" was in order, and brought on two unfunny people (Jim Breuer and Colin Quinn), with two kinda funny people (Chris Kattan and Cheri Oteri) and a gifted impressionist (Darrell Hammond). I was just happy to not see Sandler's dumb face anymore.
FILM: Bad stuff first. I actually saw Mortal Kombat and Species in a movie theater. At least with the latter, I had some enjoyment as I sat and called out plot turns and character fates well in advance. Remember, this was 1995. Pre-Google. And no, I hadn't read a single review or spoken to anyone who'd already seen the film. I was just that good. No…I mean, Hollywood is just that bad.
More than just the first feature-length film to be entirely computer-generated, Toy Story felt more authentic than pretty much any other film featuring real people.
Clueless and Kids were teen films that both represented and revolutionized the milieus they showed. Seven was the rare thriller with a diverse palate. The Brady Bunch Movie proved that a tough love relationship with your source material can actually work sometimes.
Crazy that Gregg Araki is still around, 'cause that motherfucker cannot make a movie to save his life.
MUSIC: The last gasp of salable alt-rock, a world where Royal Trux gets a Rolling Stone write-up. Sonic Youth, Pavement, Fugazi and Yo La Tengo release great albums that don't sell shit compared to the larceny squad, headed this year by England's Bush. The name "Steve Albini" started to mean nothing around this time. Usually the U.S. is good about rejecting the snot-smears our mom dates, but we as a nation slipped, fell and busted upon our motherfuckin' heads in '95. Fuck Oasis. If I want reheated Beatles (and sometimes I do), ELO made thirteen albums. (You know what I don't want? Actual reheated Beatles produced by the guy in ELO.)
A year after Cobain's death, his widow and bandmate are on the charts with unoriginal music that nevertheless sells, 'cause it still sounds better than most anything else on the radio. (I missed Nirvana so badly, it took me four listens to realize that Dandelion song sucked.) In the spirit of artistic fearlessness, both Smashing Pumpkins and Guided By Voices released a 28-track album. Only one piled on the overdubs like a guy strapping on rubber after rubber in hopes it will make his dick look bigger.
Courtney had to share space on the angry couch with Alanis and Gwen while Hootie and the Blowfish arm-wrestled Counting Crows for light beer and diet soda. Hip hop, thankfully, sounded as safe as a trip to Action Park. 2Pac, Mobb Deep and Raekwon were just a few of the young gentlemen who wrote songs about fucking you up rather than actually fucking you up.
2. 1991
BOOKS: Why bother with A Thousand Acres or The Firm when there's American Psycho. Hell, even Generation X has a certain, "I'm glad I lowered my standards for this" charm.
Every woman in the country should have been forced to read Backlash. Actually, please allow me to amend that: every woman in the country should be forced to read Backlash.
Baltimore Sun reporter David Simon introduced readers to the busiest murder police in America with Homicide: A Year On the Killing Streets. Required reading for all true crime buffs.
VIDEO GAMES: No game, no matter how awesome, shone as bright as a single console, the Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The SNES, the ess-en-ee-ess, the Snez. Do you conceive of how willing to sustain and inflict serious injury people are over a 16-bit sugar shack?
TV: For foisting Tim Allen upon the world, I will forever live a "Fuck Home Improvement" life. (That motherfucker in the hat can sit and spin, too.)
Dinosaurs made me laugh for like two episodes, probably not even consecutive ones.
Nickelodeon animation OD'ed on spinach: Doug, Rugrats and this little show Ren & Stimpy. I cried when I had to miss the third-ever episode during its original run. (I've forgiven my mother; never will I forget.)
"Fasten your seat belt, slut puppy"--The Golden Girls began their seventh and final season. I leave you with these six words: "The Case Of the Libertine Belle."
FILM: T2 for the thrills, Silence Of the Lambs for the chills, Beauty and the Beast proving Disney "and stiiiilll." Boyz N Da Hood and Thelma and Louise were two peas in a pod, when I think on it. Once is all you may be able to watch 'em, and once is all you'll need.
It still tickles me that The Addams Family nearly outgrossed Hook domestically.
MUSIC: Y'all ready for this? A cast of musical misfits took the stage(s) or the first-ever Lollapalooza, a traveling festival of assorted artistic endeavor conceived by Jane's Addiction singer Perry Farrell. I could probably do a list ranking Lollapalooza lineups, and might still, if I absolutely run out of ideas.
My Bloody Valentine spearheaded elliptical water-logged rock in the late '80s, and '91 heard them take it a league lower. Seattle, which had not yet become unbearable, provided the last months of the year with some incredible records by the likes of Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam and Nirvana.
It would've been quite easy to ignore the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yet, so many of us did not.
My idea of Hell is falling asleep to "Wind Of Change" and waking up to "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You." Or is that the other way 'round? Those aren't songs; they're tumors that I'll never be able to extirpate.
1. 1993
BOOKS: The Pulitzer for made-up stuff went to E. Annie Proulx's The Shipping News, one of the sneakiest roller coasters I've ever paid to ride. Jeffrey Eugenides's Virgin Suicides was tenderly wrought and surprisingly funny. (Trainspotting was also released this year, but wouldn't find its way into my hands for another two years.)
VIDEO GAMES: A fun year for the console crowd. Mortal Kombat and NBA Jam in our homes! Add in Super Mario All-Stars and Kirby's Adventure, it's no surprise I gained like forty pounds in '93.
TV: Biggest show of the decade that I never gave a damn about? The X-Files. Meanwhile everyone's running around telling me "The truth is out there," while I knew the actual truth was much closer--75 miles away in Baltimore. Based on David Simon's non-fiction book, the pilot for Homicide: Life On the Street debuted on NBC immediately after Super Bowl XXVII (the second-highest scoring ever) to disappointing ratings. With producer Tom Fontana (St. Elsewhere) and Barry Levinson (Rain Man) attached, the network gave Homicide a nine-episode first season.
NBC didn't have much time to mourn the death of Cheers. Producers and writers from that long-running sitcom moved right on to a proper spin-off, Frasier, quite possibly the most sophisticated American sitcom, and a prime example of how crucial scribes are to the small screen.
I have to admit, I gave up too early on Deep Space Nine. I am only now atoning.
It's aged worse than Ed Asner, but for its time, Beavis & Butt-Head was like nothing else on the tube. MST3K wrapped its fourth (finest) season with an acned beast and a pass through old El Paso. The cool kids tuned in to Nick for our fix, courtesy a wallaby named Rocko and two brothers named Pete.
THE SIMPSONS. THE motherfucking SIMPSONS. 1993 contained the second half of season four and the first half of season five. I mean, just in case I hadn't yet convinced you 1993 was the greatest year for TV of the entire decade.
FILM: Dinosaurs! Holocaust! The most prominent Tom Hanks film I've not yet watched!
Mrs. Doubtfire has aged better than the logical part of my brain keeps insisting. Not so lucky--Sleepless In Seattle.
Lots of overlooked comedies in '93: Groundhog Day, Men In Tights, The Sandlot. Having just seen it recently, I need a tight essay on why Last Action Hero is so maligned.
Nothing worse than Dennis the Menace, unless it was Super Mario Brothers, unless it was Coneheads. Fuck you, Akyroyd.
MUSIC: So yeah…the continued existence of Aerosmith, the sudden reappearance of Meat Loaf, Prince changing his name, that goddamn 4 Non Blondes song… not looking good, 9-tray. Luckily, two stubborn scruffy saviors approach from the land of rain and trees.
So much great rock music under the radar: Melvins, Fugazi, Gumball, Polvo. Liz Phair's sophomore record underwhelmed, although the first single was pure honey biscuits. And my God, the overdue return of Duran Duran to pop prominence! Still thyself, heart!
'93 was also the last year Billy Corgan could be considered even remotely tolerable as a human being. That fuckin' guy. Tom Scholz reincarnated as a self-loathing twatcake, Corgan desired the approval and acceptance of not just the masses, but also those same "snobs" who snubbed his glamorous confessional alt-rock and whined when he couldn't win them over.
The golden age of rap began officially on 11/9/93. On that day, two masterpieces blessed record store racks: Midnight Marauders and Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers. So whenever our current political climate threatens to drag you entirely underneath, just relax yourself, reset plan…tiger style.
10. 1997
BOOKS: The first Harry Potter restored the balance as threatened by the presence of three Danielle Steel novels. Those seeking more adult fiction found Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon.
VIDEO GAMES: Playstation, goddamn. Final Fantasy VII is a record-breaking RPG considered then as now one of the truly magnificent video games. The first Grand Theft Auto also came out, and I've yet to play a single one.
Nintendo countered with the Game Of the Year, Goldeneye (yes, based on the movie that revived the moribund Bond franchise). Despite atrocious enemy AI, still one of the most engrossing games I've ever pressed "start" on.
TV: Just in time for HBO's prison drama Oz, it's TV ratings! The very first episode of anything to earn the coveted "TV-MA" was the pilot of Brooklyn South, Steven Bochco and David Milch's attempt to make a Hill Street Blues for the '90s. (Too bad they don't make 'em all like Brandon Tartikoff.) The real and actual best cop show of the decade, Homicide: Life On the Street, began its sixth season, lamentably sacrificing the heart and humor that made it so special in order to appease the suits.
Believe it or don't, the two best shows of the year were cartoons: MTV's immaculate Daria and of course, The Simpsons. Insanity peppers, dead co-workers, NYC, aliens, pretzels, John Waters, imposters…wait, scratch that last one.
FILM: Titanic was less movie, more event. Zero suspense, pretty faces, bigger is better. Suppose an attractive cast would also explain the success of As Good As It Gets, but then there's the Nicholson factor. '97 had a slew of impressive blockbusters (Men In Black, Con Air, Air Force One, The Lost World) and uncalled-for sequels (Speed 2, Scream 2, Mortal Kombat 2, Home Alone 3). Lest the likes of George Of the Jungle or Batman and Robin get you down, remember that '97 also gave the world Boogie Nights and L.A. Confidential.
MUSIC: Rock music in one word: Reload.
Tim Gane, Steve Malkmus, Doug Martsch, bless y'all fellas. Antidotes to the Tylers and Jaggers of the world. Veruca Salt released an album, which I point out only to compare it unfavorably to Dig Me Out.
Lillith Fair remains the musical festival equivalent of the UConn women's basketball: awesome to see my sisters achieve such success, but honestly, you bitches are beginning to annoy me.
That surreptitious sucking sound? Smash Mouth. That exploding landfill? Limp Bizkit.
Countering such gelatinous American-ness, Oasis and Radiohead. Eh. Of course Blur finally broke on through with the most Yankee-sounding song they ever did.
Wu-Tang Forever might have been bloated, but shit, least it enjoyed putting on all that excess weight. What's U2's excuse?
9. 1998
BOOKS: Big ups to the UK--specifically J. K. Rowling and Nick Hornby--for avoiding stumpage. Over here, Clancy and Grisham sold millions with thrillers that shot from A to Z as loudly as possible. I'd much rather talk with someone who had their life changed by Inga Muscio's Cunt. A promotion of sisterhood, an exhortation to reclaim sexuality and relinquish learned shame…get some fuckin' sand in your toes to that.
VIDEO GAMES: '98 can be boiled down to a pair of games: Ocarina Of Time and Rogue Squadron, both for the N64. Don't argue with me. Unless you're my boyfriend, in which case, make my drink first.
TV: Introduced the funny and unspectacular That '70s Show as well as the audiovisual rice cake better known as Sex and the City. Tim Allen needed competition for "Most Repulsive Man On Television," and Kevin James answered the call. (With a wet belch, probably.)
SNL added Jimmy Fallon and Horatio Sanz to appease those who'd bristled at Norm Macdonald. Time put Calista Flockhart on their cover alongside images of Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan, and women didn't riot. (Guess we were too busy arguing about our favorite Powerpuff Girl. Blossom, for the record.)
Homicide screwed up their last season with the introduction of eye candy and long-lost Lieutenant's son. Still not as bad as NYPD Blue replacing Jimmy Smits with Danny from Silver Spoons. Are you dicking my fuck or what, Bochco?!
What other show in history has had a no-doubt great tenth season other than MST3K? Hell, how about a ninth season? Sure as sow shit wasn't Roseanne. Watching one of my all-time faves tumble so far so fast actually hurt my heart. (All that excess fat encasing it back then sure didn't help matters.)
FILM: Just once I'd like to watch a film about the impending end of the world that doesn't leave me feeling disappointed when the world does not, in fact, end.
Animation was a mixed bag, and the only hilarious comedy was The Big Lebowski. (File The Waterboy and There's Something About Mary under "questionable risibility.") Worst of all, the most pointless film of all-time came out in '98. Take a bow, Gus.
MUSIC: May 17, 1998. The best band puts out the best album.
I've grown to appreciate Sonic Youth and Cat Power's contributions even more, considering all the acts that lost their vitality in 1998: Liz Phair, R.E.M., Pearl Jam, the Beastie Boys, Anthrax. (Slayer almost made that list.) At least headbangers had System Of a Down, if they wanted them.
Did no one care that Duran Duran put their "Night Versions" out on disc finally?
Jay-Z used the white girl to get rich…again. Outkast continued being fucking amazing. Big Pun becoming the first Latino solo rapper to go platinum was cool; his being one of the most masterful lyricists the genre's ever heard, much cooler.
The end of Lollapalooza, the start of Total Request Live. Just in time for Britney! Madonna at her worst still beats Britney at her best, and Ray Of Light was definitely not Maddy's nadir. Last clutch of the crown, more like. There was no doubt where pop music was headed.
8. 1999
BOOKS: The last Harry Potter of the decade was also the last one you could drop on your foot without breaking a toe. Geeks genuflected before the offerings of Neil Stephenson and David Foster Wallace. Hannibal is on some Berenstain Bears ish compared to Cunt. Oh yeah, there was a novel titled Cunt. It's even got a delicious twist. Seriously, it's butterscotch on vanilla ice cream on peach pie on a brownie.
VIDEO GAMES: The psychological horrors of Silent Hill or the ambitious reinvention of Final Fantasy VIII, Playstation just owned. Nintendo dropped the ball with DK64, a tedious game that lost its freshness faster than you can recite "DK Rap."
The entire gamer community dropped the ball when it came to Sega's Dreamcast. The first sixth-gen console proved too innovative too soon.
TV: Damn, TV's in good shape for the new century: The Sopranos, SUV, The West Wing, Futurama. Huh? Family what? Which Guy?
Homicide concluded a generally distressing final season with one of its stronger episodes. Funny how the two best cop shows in history followed the same pattern: amazing first four seasons, great fifth season, decent season six, then a painfully half-hearted last season.
Freaks and Geeks and Home Movies were almost literally of too high a quality for network television. The host of The Daily Show went from a smirking fuckboy to someone who could actually hold a conversation. The Simpsons started shedding nuance at a frightening rate.
Meanwhile, over at 30 Rock, the women were getting ready to take over….
FILM: Entertainment Weekly crowned 1999 "The Year That Changed Hollywood." If the creative sea change was for well or ill is debatable, especially if you're an asshole. Lessee: The Matrix, Fight Club, The Sixth Sense, Toy Story 2, The Blair Witch Project, The Phantom Menace. What's most interesting to me, four of those six films were directed and/or written by people who'd follow them up with works perceived as not just inferior, but tremendously so, leading the revisionist ravens to roost.
Who could've guessed Stanley Kubrick's swan song would be outdone by Spike Jonze's cinematic coming out party? That the creator of Beavis & Butt-Head would be responsible for '99's most quotable comedy, less surprising.
Proving that not all change is welcome, and that anything with this title tends to be rubbish, American Pie. That pork meatball made Jason Biggs a star and for that, it must pay in perpetuity.
MUSIC: Raw sewage…I can smell it. When I think of the music of 1999, I think of the documentary Grizzly Man. A somewhat amusing, largely exasperating look at environmentalist Timothy Treadwell, who lived among the grizzlies in Alaskan national parks for thirteen summers. Or, to put it another way, until one of the bears decided that he'd had enough of this nosy human and ate Treadwell (and his girlfriend) alive. Before leaving his tent to confront his eventual killer, Treadwell apparently turned on his video camera (leaving the lens cap in place). A six-minute audio recording of the ensuing horror was found by law enforcement and given to one of Treadwell's closest friends. In the doc's most indelible scene, director Werner Herzog listens to the tape through headphones. He remains silent, allowing welling tears to tell the story. Herzog removes the headphones and implores Treadwell's friend to never, never listen to the tape.
1999 is one of music's most wretched years. Have you ever heard a good Collective Soul song? Have you, fuck. Christ, Lou Bega and Jennifer Lopez doing their damnedest to forever taint the numbers 5 and 6 is somehow among the least of the sins committed.
No, the true demons here are wearing red ball caps and lame tattoos. The bizarre mass ritual of Limp Bizkit's popularity really deserves the Ken Burns treatment. Fred Durst--who I like to call "Mr. Honeybunny," 'cause I just wanna rip his head clean off--became a generational spokesperson and millions of stupid people decided that nu-metal" was not just a thing, but a thing that they liked and would willingly want in their lives. What is "nu-metal"? White guys rapping or scatting over loud, dumb guitar riffs, making it the musical equivalent of candy cigarettes. Do white guys have legit grievances? Absolutely. And I wish to this day they'd actually address them, rather than misdirecting their anger. I wish they'd learn what "causality" means.
I wish I could have spent 1999 in a coma.
So relentless, the horrors. Smash Mouth invited us all to a party with Natty Light on tap, stale homemade Cheetos in cracked bowls and weed seedier than a Russian hotel. 311 had the stones to write a song called "Come Original," namedrop NOFX and Black Eyed Peas as examples of musical innovation, and somehow weren't blocked from re-entering America at the first available opportunity.
Boy bands ruled. I lived through New Kids. That was bad enough. The late Nineties gave me the New Kids again, then the New Kids again. I thought Meat Loaf's inexplicable return to glory was abhorrent? Ladies and gentlemen, Carlos Santana!
TLC, Sleater-Kinney and Lauryn Hill at least repped, and well, for the women. Sadly, the likes of "No Scrubs," "Start Together," and "Everything Is Everything" were sapphires in the cow dung. Sammy Hagar, the Scorpions and Dokken all put out albums. Ringo Starr and Amy Grant each released Christmas albums.
Thanks to Jim O'Rourke and Stereolab for letting me chug out of the water jug. No thanks to Pavement for tucking tail and running. Boredoms spun the sun for an hour and I still suspect I underpaid. DMX kept releasing music, and barking in every song, and damnit, I miss that crazy crackhead. Raekwon and GZA followed up classics with…not classics. Sigh.
7. 1992
BOOKS: Drifting away to All the Pretty Horses and She's Come Undone was fine. I and lots of other people did so. Still, I swear, if you didn't like Bastard Out Of Carolina, the hell with ya. Oh, and take The Bridges Of Madison County with ya. One for each hand.
VIDEO GAMES: My three most-played of the year: Super Mario Kart, Kirby's Dream Land, and Wolfenstein 3D. That's SNES, Gameboy and PC.
TV: I used to loathe the very idea of pineapple on pizza. Then, the guy I was fucking--who loved pineapple on pizza, almost as much as he loved fucking me--turned me into a believer. I returned the favor by telling him about this hilarious show with Garry Shandling on HBO.
Seinfeld and The Simpsons each got their sea legs this year. American TV is the best!
MTV debuted The Real World. American TV is the worst!
British TV is rarely the best or worst, so it was a big deal indeed when the first series of Absolutely Fabulous aired on BBC. I'll stab a bitch over that show, incidentally.
Pissing off the religious is a noble pursuit. There is no such thing as a "wrong time" or "wrong place" to tell sanctimonious sphincter sores how weeping they are. Hope everyone who spoke out against Sinead O'Connor feels duly ashamed--even if they'd never admit it to even themselves.
FILM: Disney in the 1990s, my gawd. I'm forever iffy on Robin Williams as an actor; as a voice actor, though, guy was untouchable.
Blow up a small country in a film, some eyebrows might lift. Chick with no panties crosses her legs, it's the end of Western civilization. Moviegoers spotted a few rare birds--the watchable film based on an SNL character, and a pair of winsome sports flicks.
Time can be dickish. A Few Good Men is more a catchphrase than a full film. The Crying Game is more a salacious twist than a full film. Glengarry Glen Ross is more a rant than a full film. At least Malcolm X emerged unscathed.
Really, though, '92 is all about which dog you preferred: the sinner or the St. Bernard.
MUSIC: Jesus, '90s pop could make me strap two poodles to my ears and start a fight with a Rottweiler.
Yeah, Slanted and Enchanted sent the indie world into a frenzy. Guess what? Midas missed it like a Wallace family Christmas. Sonic Youth's actual "sellout" album, Dirty, set the charts on fire, all right…sufficient for a single s'more, perhaps.
Athens, GA went 1-for-2. (Good Stuff so so fucking ain't, y'all.) Add heroin to mud, you get Dirt. Metalheads took solace in Pantera, whose Vulgar Display Of Power dared to be unabashedly metal in the eye of Hurricane Kurt. The cowboys from hell refused to smooth their edges to survive, nor did they scurry back underground as a form of protest.
White America giggled to "Baby Got Back," while Redman and Gang Starr low-key created exceptional music.
6. 1996
BOOKS: For Fight Club and A Game Of Thrones alone, I gotta give the 9-6 proper due. Add in some politics, some dystopic satire heavy enough to kill an rhino, you know sometimes I forget books are under no obligation to be entertaining.
VIDEO GAMES: Nah, Tomb Raider was cool. Just, I grew up on Metroid. What's a tank top to an arm cannon?
My heart belonged to a single title this year. Super Mario 64, I will never place another ahead of you.
TV: Oh, boob tube, you tried. Lithgow, wow! Fox-y! Italian David Schwimmer! Seinfeld picked a fine time to peak with Season 7, AKA "Dancing and Dying."
Homicide, sweet Homicide. Lily Tomlin in her creepiest role since Moment By Moment, Bruce Campbell as a grief-stricken cop, a wedding, an off-screen birth, and a near-death. Meanwhile that other cop show, NYPD BLUE, had their "lovable bigot" Sipowicz drop the "n-bomb" as if daring audiences to turn their backs, not grasping that a lot of the character's biggest fans would forgive him anything up to and including the execution of an unarmed drug lord in front of his children.
Nickelodeon rolled out the nostalgia network TV Land. Plenty of mid-century fluff for the old folks, but what was fucking with the drama block?
The Simpsons, actually. Their brilliant seventh season stuck a flawless landing, and the eighth season featured "A Milhouse Divided," a vital episode since it contains the most gut-busting visual gag in the show's history.
FILM: What a dudely year. Disaster porn, spy porn, military porn. People still really liked Tom Cruise and Adam Sandler.
I've watched Twister once. I've watched Fargo three times, once while showering.
Trainspotting scandalized American conservatives and gave the UK film industry a temporary chubby that they ended up using to piss over a knee wall.
MUSIC: Rock in a word: Load. Metallica got haircuts and ended Lollapalooza. I'd say it was worth it just to read Lars Ulrich in interviews blabbing about how "the alternative is now mainstream, what's the big deal?" and claiming that his band's been alternative since putting a ballad on their second album, but you know as well as I know that that would just be a droopy-faced lie.
Incentivized mimicry and implacable dilution took the 9-3 for the 9-6. Candlebox and Matchbox Twenty were Nickelback before Nickelback. The Wallflowers, boy howdy, the apple catapulted from that fuckin' tree.
Heroin maintained a strong presence. Besides nearly taking out the vocalists of Depeche Mode and Pantera, it did the job on Sublime's Brad Nowell months before his band's self-titled album KROQ-eted up the charts on its way to a baffling five million copies sold. (They are arguably the most creatively-bereft band of the Nineties, and yes bro I will hella say it to your face.)
The West Coast dependably supplied the crap in '96. Everclear--an utterly unremarkable group fronted by a Cali careerist who relocated to Portland with visions of small ponds dancing in his head--made me vow to never visit the city of Santa Monica, a full six years before I wound up having to stay there for four nights.
The Spice Girls were basically babies. Cute at first, it made me smile to see them smile, and then they spit and shit all over themselves.
At least R&B was more DTF than ever before.
Outkast from the Dirty South, Redman from Dirty Jerz, so the West Coast came in and cleaned up. Jay-Z released his first full-length, and there's a difference between being ill and being Illmatic. Which, ahem, Nas followed up this year with It Was Written. Deliberately went mainstream and produced a near-classic, now you calculate those odds and get back to me.
5. 1990
BOOKS: John Updike polished off the "Rabbit" saga (fat SOB receives redemption, dies), James Ellroy kept the "L.A. Quartet" rolling, and the Bourne legacy continued. No book appeared on more beaches and in more planes, though, than Michael Crichton's dinosaur tale.
VIDEO GAMES: Super Mario Brothers and Mega Man? Charmed!
TV: Law & Order and Seinfeld? Pull over NBC, that ass too fat. Twin Peaks inspired snobs to purchase TV sets. The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air gave the airwaves some much-needed color.
Season five of The Golden Girls got serious, almost gravely so: Blanche had heart surgery, and Rose had an HIV scare. Season six continued the sudsy trend; thanks to sharp writing and bravura performances, it remained irresistible viewing.
Muppet Babies, You Can't Do That On Television! and Ducktales all ceased producing new eppys. Haha, fuck kids!
The Simpsons went to the bowling alley, the baseball field and the putt-putt course, walking away a record-setting champion from each.
FILM: A tale of two mobster flicks. One, a classic that could not have been improved upon. The other, a good movie that thanks to a father's blind love, is forever a "what could have been."
A tale of two domestic comedies. One featuring a white kid who doesn't know enough to call the police. The other, featuring black kids who know enough not to.
A tale of two Arnies. One a late 21st-century construction worker with a disturbing dream life. One, an undercover cop who finds his true passion when he goes back to school.
Sequels had it rough. Robocop 2 and Look Who's Talking Too deserved all the rotten squash, but it took time (and video rentals) for audiences to appreciate the follow-up to Gremlins.
Ghost for the parents, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for their kids. At least the kids whose parents loved them. If not, it was off to Problem Child they went!
MUSIC: The Nineties left the starting blocks roadrunner-style.
1990 was the year I discovered Sonic Youth. 1990 was one of heavy metal's finest showings: killer albums from Megadeth, Anthrax, Pantera, and the surprising, scintillating return of Judas Priest.
Fugazi, Pixies and Jane's Addiction. Wood, wool, double platinum. Rollovers from '89 that pleasantly dominated radio included the B-52s, Depeche Mode, and Janet Jackson. Mariah Carey was new, thus fresh, and New Kids On the Block had a top 10 hit with "Tonight," a song that would make Jeff Lynne giddy.
Prince and Madonna began losing the plot. The less I say about Devo, the better. Duran Duran released an album that had one notable single--for a band that once released an entire album of singles, that's just unacceptable.
While Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer tried to make the hip hop genre a laughingstock to mainstream America, Salt N Pepa and Digital Underground made music that was fun, funny, but no joke. And related to that, Eric B. & Rakim released an album this year. Also, it's impossible to smile while listening to Amerikkka's Most Wanted. Try.
4. 1994
BOOKS: 1994 belonged to non-fake stuff. I mean…three Danielle Steel novels in one year, fuck me.
The Bell Curve was the year's most infuriatingly controversial read--possibly racist, certainly pointless. Prozac Nation proved (?) not all depression is created equal and Get In the Van convinced me Henry Rollins has never tongue-kissed another human being in his life.
VIDEO GAME: Dubbed "The Year Of the Cartridge" by no less an authority than Nintendo. Donkey Kong Country was the crop's cream, an endlessly enjoyable experience (at least until "Mine Kart Madness") without a plumber in sight.
TV: Hi, Friends! In no time, you will be the most talked-about show on television, featuring the most fawned-over cast! Women will emulate your haircuts, men will parrot your catchphrases! Other than adorable oddball Phoebe/Lisa Kudrow, I will grow to actively despise each of you on and off the screen!
The medical drama came back in a huge way. ER made stars of a nerd, heir to a hair product fortune, and the future husband of Amal Alamuddin.
Bittersweet farewells to: Star Trek: The Next Generation left the air after seven seasons, while Phil Hartman departed from Saturday Night Live after eight outstanding years.
Ebullient greetings to: Duckman, an animated series about a cynical, crude private detective duck. Unappreciated at the time (airing on USA Network will do that to a show) and unappreciated at this time. Guys…sex-crazed duck voiced by Jason Alexander! There's nothing else you'd rather be watching! Slightly more people watched The Critic, a show from two producers/writers of The Simpsons. Because hey if we're gonna have to put up with Jon Lovitz, may as well be "cartoon Jon Lovitz."
FILM: Don't let the majesty of James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair's second-greatest film collaboration fool you; don't be taken in by chrono rejigger; temper your excitement over a well-done Stephen King adaptation. 1994 is still the year where millions flocked to see Tom Hanks play a character whose cabinet is missing more than just a few cups.
Not to mention a Richie Rich flick. Piss in a cup and call it a lunch, ya artless pricks.
MUSIC: R.E.M. in the Eighties--Rolling Stone darlings, true heartland rock. R.E.M. in the Nineties--one of the world's biggest bands Henry Rollins in the Eighties--human chainsaw, better than Keith/not better than Dez. Henry Rollins in the Nineties--multi-media iconoclast.
1994 is rightly considered the pinnacle for "mainstream alternative." Each of the so-called "Big 4 Of Grunge" had an album reach the top spot of the Billboard Top 200, Beck had a top 10 hit, extensive interviews with Thurston Moore appeared in major music magazines, Meat Puppets went from signaling scorpions to selling half a million albums. Green Day and Offspring went from broke punks to breaking punk, or at least the sort of punk that values words over actions. And still neither SY nor Pavement could go gold. (If it's any consolation, no figure in indie rock history has been selected as the "F" in games of "FMK" more times than Steve Malkmus.)
Big picture, people: the number one song of the the year was "The Sign." Toad the Wet Sprocket was a thing that happened. Mind, they sounded like the Byrds compared to those ham-fisted turkey heads in Live. With song titles like "Tired Of 'Me'" and "Operation Spirit (The Tyranny Of Tradition)" and lyrics such as "It's the way we sing/That makes 'em dream," of course these assclowns went platinum. David Byrne got to work with the B-52s, so naturally Jerry Harrison would one day produce a band led by bootleg Michael Stipe.
Oh hey, remember when Rage Against the Machine infiltrated the machine from the inside and transferred the power back to the artists?
Hip hop golden age in full effect with the debuts of Biggie Smalls and Nas.
3. 1995
BOOKS: Michael Crichton knew exactly what he'd done. From the moment he started writing The Lost World to the moment he stopped writing.
Philip Roth's demented Sabbath's Theater reminds me that the '90s are only matched by the '70s for fiction that makes me think men are complete trash. (And that women are incomplete trash.)
VIDEO GAMES: Hiya, Playstation.
Mortal Kombat 3 and Tekken 2 kept me vowing I'd one day learn how to throw a real-life punch. Yoshi's Island and Donkey Kong Country 2, I gotta wonder if anyone would choose to be human. Oh, and Chrono Trigger is the best RPG to date.
TV: Full House off the air at last!
"King Size Homer." That is all.
The fourth Star Trek series, and first to feature a female captain, began its troubled run. I swear, I'll watch Voyager one of these days. I'm kinda more interested in the show starring fat Kate Mulgrew these days.
"The Soup Nazi." I will never stop marveling at society's proclivity to see or hear a good thing and decide to ruin that thing.
Over on SNL, the Janeane Garofolo Experiment came to an end. Lorne Michael's decided "rebuilding" was in order, and brought on two unfunny people (Jim Breuer and Colin Quinn), with two kinda funny people (Chris Kattan and Cheri Oteri) and a gifted impressionist (Darrell Hammond). I was just happy to not see Sandler's dumb face anymore.
FILM: Bad stuff first. I actually saw Mortal Kombat and Species in a movie theater. At least with the latter, I had some enjoyment as I sat and called out plot turns and character fates well in advance. Remember, this was 1995. Pre-Google. And no, I hadn't read a single review or spoken to anyone who'd already seen the film. I was just that good. No…I mean, Hollywood is just that bad.
More than just the first feature-length film to be entirely computer-generated, Toy Story felt more authentic than pretty much any other film featuring real people.
Clueless and Kids were teen films that both represented and revolutionized the milieus they showed. Seven was the rare thriller with a diverse palate. The Brady Bunch Movie proved that a tough love relationship with your source material can actually work sometimes.
Crazy that Gregg Araki is still around, 'cause that motherfucker cannot make a movie to save his life.
MUSIC: The last gasp of salable alt-rock, a world where Royal Trux gets a Rolling Stone write-up. Sonic Youth, Pavement, Fugazi and Yo La Tengo release great albums that don't sell shit compared to the larceny squad, headed this year by England's Bush. The name "Steve Albini" started to mean nothing around this time. Usually the U.S. is good about rejecting the snot-smears our mom dates, but we as a nation slipped, fell and busted upon our motherfuckin' heads in '95. Fuck Oasis. If I want reheated Beatles (and sometimes I do), ELO made thirteen albums. (You know what I don't want? Actual reheated Beatles produced by the guy in ELO.)
A year after Cobain's death, his widow and bandmate are on the charts with unoriginal music that nevertheless sells, 'cause it still sounds better than most anything else on the radio. (I missed Nirvana so badly, it took me four listens to realize that Dandelion song sucked.) In the spirit of artistic fearlessness, both Smashing Pumpkins and Guided By Voices released a 28-track album. Only one piled on the overdubs like a guy strapping on rubber after rubber in hopes it will make his dick look bigger.
Courtney had to share space on the angry couch with Alanis and Gwen while Hootie and the Blowfish arm-wrestled Counting Crows for light beer and diet soda. Hip hop, thankfully, sounded as safe as a trip to Action Park. 2Pac, Mobb Deep and Raekwon were just a few of the young gentlemen who wrote songs about fucking you up rather than actually fucking you up.
2. 1991
BOOKS: Why bother with A Thousand Acres or The Firm when there's American Psycho. Hell, even Generation X has a certain, "I'm glad I lowered my standards for this" charm.
Every woman in the country should have been forced to read Backlash. Actually, please allow me to amend that: every woman in the country should be forced to read Backlash.
Baltimore Sun reporter David Simon introduced readers to the busiest murder police in America with Homicide: A Year On the Killing Streets. Required reading for all true crime buffs.
VIDEO GAMES: No game, no matter how awesome, shone as bright as a single console, the Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The SNES, the ess-en-ee-ess, the Snez. Do you conceive of how willing to sustain and inflict serious injury people are over a 16-bit sugar shack?
TV: For foisting Tim Allen upon the world, I will forever live a "Fuck Home Improvement" life. (That motherfucker in the hat can sit and spin, too.)
Dinosaurs made me laugh for like two episodes, probably not even consecutive ones.
Nickelodeon animation OD'ed on spinach: Doug, Rugrats and this little show Ren & Stimpy. I cried when I had to miss the third-ever episode during its original run. (I've forgiven my mother; never will I forget.)
"Fasten your seat belt, slut puppy"--The Golden Girls began their seventh and final season. I leave you with these six words: "The Case Of the Libertine Belle."
FILM: T2 for the thrills, Silence Of the Lambs for the chills, Beauty and the Beast proving Disney "and stiiiilll." Boyz N Da Hood and Thelma and Louise were two peas in a pod, when I think on it. Once is all you may be able to watch 'em, and once is all you'll need.
It still tickles me that The Addams Family nearly outgrossed Hook domestically.
MUSIC: Y'all ready for this? A cast of musical misfits took the stage(s) or the first-ever Lollapalooza, a traveling festival of assorted artistic endeavor conceived by Jane's Addiction singer Perry Farrell. I could probably do a list ranking Lollapalooza lineups, and might still, if I absolutely run out of ideas.
My Bloody Valentine spearheaded elliptical water-logged rock in the late '80s, and '91 heard them take it a league lower. Seattle, which had not yet become unbearable, provided the last months of the year with some incredible records by the likes of Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam and Nirvana.
It would've been quite easy to ignore the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yet, so many of us did not.
My idea of Hell is falling asleep to "Wind Of Change" and waking up to "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You." Or is that the other way 'round? Those aren't songs; they're tumors that I'll never be able to extirpate.
1. 1993
BOOKS: The Pulitzer for made-up stuff went to E. Annie Proulx's The Shipping News, one of the sneakiest roller coasters I've ever paid to ride. Jeffrey Eugenides's Virgin Suicides was tenderly wrought and surprisingly funny. (Trainspotting was also released this year, but wouldn't find its way into my hands for another two years.)
VIDEO GAMES: A fun year for the console crowd. Mortal Kombat and NBA Jam in our homes! Add in Super Mario All-Stars and Kirby's Adventure, it's no surprise I gained like forty pounds in '93.
TV: Biggest show of the decade that I never gave a damn about? The X-Files. Meanwhile everyone's running around telling me "The truth is out there," while I knew the actual truth was much closer--75 miles away in Baltimore. Based on David Simon's non-fiction book, the pilot for Homicide: Life On the Street debuted on NBC immediately after Super Bowl XXVII (the second-highest scoring ever) to disappointing ratings. With producer Tom Fontana (St. Elsewhere) and Barry Levinson (Rain Man) attached, the network gave Homicide a nine-episode first season.
NBC didn't have much time to mourn the death of Cheers. Producers and writers from that long-running sitcom moved right on to a proper spin-off, Frasier, quite possibly the most sophisticated American sitcom, and a prime example of how crucial scribes are to the small screen.
I have to admit, I gave up too early on Deep Space Nine. I am only now atoning.
It's aged worse than Ed Asner, but for its time, Beavis & Butt-Head was like nothing else on the tube. MST3K wrapped its fourth (finest) season with an acned beast and a pass through old El Paso. The cool kids tuned in to Nick for our fix, courtesy a wallaby named Rocko and two brothers named Pete.
THE SIMPSONS. THE motherfucking SIMPSONS. 1993 contained the second half of season four and the first half of season five. I mean, just in case I hadn't yet convinced you 1993 was the greatest year for TV of the entire decade.
FILM: Dinosaurs! Holocaust! The most prominent Tom Hanks film I've not yet watched!
Mrs. Doubtfire has aged better than the logical part of my brain keeps insisting. Not so lucky--Sleepless In Seattle.
Lots of overlooked comedies in '93: Groundhog Day, Men In Tights, The Sandlot. Having just seen it recently, I need a tight essay on why Last Action Hero is so maligned.
Nothing worse than Dennis the Menace, unless it was Super Mario Brothers, unless it was Coneheads. Fuck you, Akyroyd.
MUSIC: So yeah…the continued existence of Aerosmith, the sudden reappearance of Meat Loaf, Prince changing his name, that goddamn 4 Non Blondes song… not looking good, 9-tray. Luckily, two stubborn scruffy saviors approach from the land of rain and trees.
So much great rock music under the radar: Melvins, Fugazi, Gumball, Polvo. Liz Phair's sophomore record underwhelmed, although the first single was pure honey biscuits. And my God, the overdue return of Duran Duran to pop prominence! Still thyself, heart!
'93 was also the last year Billy Corgan could be considered even remotely tolerable as a human being. That fuckin' guy. Tom Scholz reincarnated as a self-loathing twatcake, Corgan desired the approval and acceptance of not just the masses, but also those same "snobs" who snubbed his glamorous confessional alt-rock and whined when he couldn't win them over.
The golden age of rap began officially on 11/9/93. On that day, two masterpieces blessed record store racks: Midnight Marauders and Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers. So whenever our current political climate threatens to drag you entirely underneath, just relax yourself, reset plan…tiger style.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Action in the Morning
Yeah..this is what happens when I need a soundtrack for the morning and decide to browse video game songs that have been ripped to YouTube.
Because honestly, part of appreciating how horrible a gaming experience Action 52 is includes realizing the anti-artistry displayed by the composers as well as the designers. But when I got to the theme for the second level of Lollipops, I was in for a jolt that my coffee couldn't hope to equal.
Are you serious?
In an interview with Ink 19 to promote the release of her debut album The Golden Dove, Mary Timony was asked what inspired the "beautiful and amazing" melody of "Dr. Cat."
"I think I was just playing around with a drum machine beat; it was just a fun, spur-of-the-moment melody."
Or, you jacked it from a virtually unplayable game on a virtually unplayable multi-cart released on Nintendo in the early 1990s. Either way, well done.
Because honestly, part of appreciating how horrible a gaming experience Action 52 is includes realizing the anti-artistry displayed by the composers as well as the designers. But when I got to the theme for the second level of Lollipops, I was in for a jolt that my coffee couldn't hope to equal.
In an interview with Ink 19 to promote the release of her debut album The Golden Dove, Mary Timony was asked what inspired the "beautiful and amazing" melody of "Dr. Cat."
"I think I was just playing around with a drum machine beat; it was just a fun, spur-of-the-moment melody."
Or, you jacked it from a virtually unplayable game on a virtually unplayable multi-cart released on Nintendo in the early 1990s. Either way, well done.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Take Your Iron Boots and Stick Them Somewhere Uncomfortable
I never finished Ocarina of Time. I may never finish it. I mean shit, it's been eleven years.
It's an anomaly for me to not finish an epic game, which is why I don't feel so bad about admitting that I flat-out gave up during the Water Temple. Hundreds of carrots and rupees sacrificed in the name of horsey acquisition didn't do me in, but constant screen-switching did. I couldn't help it--the equipment screen was beginning to appear in my dreams.
Can you consider a game you never saw all the way to the end with your own gamer hands to be the greatest game of all time? Can you be in such awe of intricate puzzles that required a patience you simply didn't possess? (And by "patience" I also mean, "game guide.")
Thanks to YouTube, I get to see players far better than I do Ocarina walkthroughs. These videos swell up something inside of me, right in the gut, or the craw, just left of my druthers. I am suddenly overwhelmed with the need to revisit the game and finish that fuck. I want to fight Shadow Link. I can beat him. I can beat Ganondorf's phantom pianist ass, and I can take down Ganon. (Mild digression: that last boss battle has got to be one of the most intense of its kind in the medium. When he transforms from 'dorf to beast GANON with the swords bigger than Link himself, my sweet Jesuscakes. The only thing that would make it more undeniably epic is if the instrumental to Danger Mouse's "Change Clothes" remix off the Grey Album started playing. Think the sample, now.)
But then I remember that I just don't have the time anymore. Immersing myself in a fictional world of my own creation rather than that of someone elses is far more important these days.
If only I could have my next book come out in gold.
(Another Ocarina treat, featured on only the first two releases of the game: the original Fire Temple music, complete with Muslim prayer chanting. You can guess why it was removed from future versions.)
It's an anomaly for me to not finish an epic game, which is why I don't feel so bad about admitting that I flat-out gave up during the Water Temple. Hundreds of carrots and rupees sacrificed in the name of horsey acquisition didn't do me in, but constant screen-switching did. I couldn't help it--the equipment screen was beginning to appear in my dreams.
Can you consider a game you never saw all the way to the end with your own gamer hands to be the greatest game of all time? Can you be in such awe of intricate puzzles that required a patience you simply didn't possess? (And by "patience" I also mean, "game guide.")
Thanks to YouTube, I get to see players far better than I do Ocarina walkthroughs. These videos swell up something inside of me, right in the gut, or the craw, just left of my druthers. I am suddenly overwhelmed with the need to revisit the game and finish that fuck. I want to fight Shadow Link. I can beat him. I can beat Ganondorf's phantom pianist ass, and I can take down Ganon. (Mild digression: that last boss battle has got to be one of the most intense of its kind in the medium. When he transforms from 'dorf to beast GANON with the swords bigger than Link himself, my sweet Jesuscakes. The only thing that would make it more undeniably epic is if the instrumental to Danger Mouse's "Change Clothes" remix off the Grey Album started playing. Think the sample, now.)
But then I remember that I just don't have the time anymore. Immersing myself in a fictional world of my own creation rather than that of someone elses is far more important these days.
If only I could have my next book come out in gold.
(Another Ocarina treat, featured on only the first two releases of the game: the original Fire Temple music, complete with Muslim prayer chanting. You can guess why it was removed from future versions.)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Beatles "Rock Band" Tracklist Unveiled--Almost
Per this here....44 of the 45 songs that will appear on the game that singlehandedly justifies the entire franchise.
I Saw Her Standing There
Boys
Do You Want To Know A Secret
Twist And Shout
I Wanna Be Your Man
I Want To Hold Your Hand
A Hard Day's Night
Can't Buy Me Love
I Feel Fine
Eight Days A Week
Ticket To Ride
Day Tripper
Drive My Car
I'm Looking Through You
If I Needed Someone
Paperback Writer
Taxman
Yellow Submarine
And Your Bird Can Sing
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
With A Little Help From My Friends
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds
Getting Better
Good Morning Good Morning
I Am The Walrus
Hello Goodbye
Revolution
Back In The U.S.S.R.
Dear Prudence
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Birthday
Helter Skelter
Hey Bulldog
Don't Let Me Down
Come Together
Something
Octopus's Garden
I Want You (She's So Heavy)
Here Comes The Sun
Dig A Pony
I Me Mine
I've Got A Feeling
Get Back
Within You Without You / Tomorrow Never Knows
"Octopus's Garden"? Jesus.
I Saw Her Standing There
Boys
Do You Want To Know A Secret
Twist And Shout
I Wanna Be Your Man
I Want To Hold Your Hand
A Hard Day's Night
Can't Buy Me Love
I Feel Fine
Eight Days A Week
Ticket To Ride
Day Tripper
Drive My Car
I'm Looking Through You
If I Needed Someone
Paperback Writer
Taxman
Yellow Submarine
And Your Bird Can Sing
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
With A Little Help From My Friends
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds
Getting Better
Good Morning Good Morning
I Am The Walrus
Hello Goodbye
Revolution
Back In The U.S.S.R.
Dear Prudence
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Birthday
Helter Skelter
Hey Bulldog
Don't Let Me Down
Come Together
Something
Octopus's Garden
I Want You (She's So Heavy)
Here Comes The Sun
Dig A Pony
I Me Mine
I've Got A Feeling
Get Back
Within You Without You / Tomorrow Never Knows
"Octopus's Garden"? Jesus.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Baby Penguins To Mama No No NO
Last night Patrick called me from his tech-free sanctuary in Fenwick Island, DE. Casual yak ensued, leading him to ask if I was anticipating the new Madden game for the Wii. Why yes of course, I responded, I would like that game very much.
Then, my dear friend was suddenly struck.
"Hey. You have wireless now, right?"
"Yeees."
"So you can download games off the Wii virtual console."
You magnificent bus stop.
My Wii now has stored within: Ice Climbers, Ninja Gaiden, Super Mario 3, Donkey Kong Country and Super Mario 64 (the latter two playable thanks to my Gamecube controller).
This is not good. Oh, don't misunderstand, it's actually great to that part of my brain that is perpetually in the mid-to-late-90s and craves nothing more or less than virtual challenges and accomplishments of varying bits scrolling up down and across my flat screen. Smashing ice, sticking to walls, warping via whistle, collecting bananas, saving that baby penguin and delivering him hence to Mama...part of me (a considerable part) is in heaven.
But then I have to pay heed to that other part, the more mature side of myself that Jenn circa 1995 would not even recognize as a personal goal capable of achieving. Holding up a stopwatch, reminding me that fun and games are well and good, but I have greater things on the horizon. I have words to write down on empty sheets of paper, thoughts to distill, situations to bring into the light, people to recussitate.
It's a challenge.
Then, my dear friend was suddenly struck.
"Hey. You have wireless now, right?"
"Yeees."
"So you can download games off the Wii virtual console."
You magnificent bus stop.
My Wii now has stored within: Ice Climbers, Ninja Gaiden, Super Mario 3, Donkey Kong Country and Super Mario 64 (the latter two playable thanks to my Gamecube controller).
This is not good. Oh, don't misunderstand, it's actually great to that part of my brain that is perpetually in the mid-to-late-90s and craves nothing more or less than virtual challenges and accomplishments of varying bits scrolling up down and across my flat screen. Smashing ice, sticking to walls, warping via whistle, collecting bananas, saving that baby penguin and delivering him hence to Mama...part of me (a considerable part) is in heaven.
But then I have to pay heed to that other part, the more mature side of myself that Jenn circa 1995 would not even recognize as a personal goal capable of achieving. Holding up a stopwatch, reminding me that fun and games are well and good, but I have greater things on the horizon. I have words to write down on empty sheets of paper, thoughts to distill, situations to bring into the light, people to recussitate.
It's a challenge.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Beatles Rock Band
In case you had any lingering doubts, the trailer is out, and yeah, this game is going to boot some ass.
Patrick dared imagine a similar career-spanning Sonic Youth game. Can you imagine the custom drumstick for the custom Drifter?
Patrick dared imagine a similar career-spanning Sonic Youth game. Can you imagine the custom drumstick for the custom Drifter?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I Never Even Liked Luigi That Much
Since Christmas, Super Mario Galaxy (premier game for the Wii console, formerly highest-rated video game in Metacritics history until Xbox fanboys and Zelda nerds conspired to catapult Ocarina of Time back to the top position) has been a fixture of my "off" time. It hasn't cut into my other hobbies, but it helps fill a void I had been unaware of; the void that existed ever since I sold my Nintendo 64 and with it, Super Mario 64, AKA "the greatest video game in history".
I spent so many glorious hours playing that game. Wasted time? Oh no. I hardly see how defeating that fiery bastard Bowser whilst collecting 120 stars on the way to some grand Princess Peach cake party in the sky is anything but time brilliantly savored. Even that goddamn lava level had some redeeming qualities. Like, the fact it ended. Eventually you got every star you could and that's that. That always brought a smile to my face.
The Mario series is the pinnacle of video game platforming. To run, to jump, to bounce, to swim, to shoot flame, to walk on water, to defy physics...the littlest plumber who could has provided ready and willing gamers all the excitement they could handle since the original captivated Japan and North America in 1985. Endless sequels have been spawned on various Nintendo consoles, the appeal of rescuing the Princess seemingly never dying.
Then, in 2002, Super Mario Sunshine came out for the Gamecube.
In and of itself, removed from the context of a legendary title, Sunshine is nowhere near bad. Nor is it outstanding. For the sake of comparison, let's go to the world of music. My favorite band, the one the only the Sonic Youth, have not released a truly horrible album. 2000's NYC Ghosts and Flowers is the least impressive of them all; the band's knack for innovation seems to have deserted them and little of the material is genuinely memorable. Nor is much of it genuinely horrible. It is an album that just is. For a band of such stature, such a resume bursting with classic music that literally changed lives and created movements within the culture, to release some record that is "okay" is to wonder if further trips to the well will prove inutile.
The makers of the Mario franchise created such a beautiful universe that anything less than revolution was a letdown. After Sunshine and its "Small Flowers Crack Concrete" camera work, the gaming world was hungry still for a truly worthy successor to the beloved Mario 64. A game that boasted more stunning graphics, even more epic music, and gameplay seemingly beyond human imagination.
Super Mario Galaxy was thus released to much fanfare and slobbering. The gameplay utilized the Wii's unique dual controllers to maneuver Mario on a star search through the colorful cosmos, sometimes revisiting classic environments familiar to fans (desert, ice, lava), other times plopping him down onto spheres with inconsistent gravitational pull that forced the gamer to acclimate themselves to prolonged periods of moving an upside-down character. The music is nothing short of fantastic, a mix of orchestral numbers and remixed versions of beloved tunes throughout the history of the series (who didn't levitate off their ass the first time they landed on Sweet Sweet Galaxy?) Overall, a CPR-trained platformer that I personally vouch for as worthy of all accolades bestowed.
What the hell does my opinion matter? Well, I've nabbed 95 of 120 available stars at this point, and I feel that meets "give a shit what I say" qualifications. I've had some moments of triumph so grandly exhilirating that my heartbeat became palpable and shrieks of delight were squelched only by an innate sense of decorum: Bouldergeist's Daredevil Run, The Fate of the Universe, any level with that rolling ball so God forsaken I've nicknamed it "Jersey Ball". On the other mitt, of course, I have had some spectacular failures. Of these, only one can be likened to the Hindenburg bouncing off the Challenger shuttle then crashing into the Titanic just as all the passengers were settling in for a nice relaxing episode of "Cop Rock".
I speak of the only blight on the otherwise charming "Toy Time Galaxy". I speak of...Luigi's Purple Coins.
Here, you must collect 100 of 150 available coins and make your way back to the start to collect the Power Star. It takes strategy. There are several methods, but all agree that just running through grabbing coins is not the way. (You'll get the needed coins, but leave yourself without a path back.) Best to long jump to an outer edge and deftly leap from coin to coin as the platforms either disappear or begin to move beneath you, never forgetting to adjust the camera accordingly so you actually know where the hell you're going and never ever ever stopping in your tracks to take stock of your surroundings.
I'm not a fool; I have a strategy. Several, in fact. I've seen people on Youtube get all 150 by dint of awesome platforming abilities built over years and years of practice and I pay attention. How to get these coins is common sense. Before the timer starts, I know what I am to do.
But things happen. The long jump goes awry, if it in fact goes at all. The heat of the moment can snap several neural pathways to the brain, leaving me a gooey heap of "what the fuck happened there?" in front of television. The leap and spin can be similarly fatal if mistimed even a nanosecond. Then there is what happened tonight.
I managed to collect 102 coins. And died on the way back to the star. I have not been the recipient of such a user interface unfriendly "fuck you" since the Water Temple in Ocarina of Time. In that situation, I actually gave up on the game. With Galaxy, however, I feel I'm too close to throw up the white flag. So onward I trudge.
Here is a video of someone providing a basic clinic on how to complete Luigi's Purple Coins. If you're interested, search further for videos of gamers who collect every single coin in the level. These are people who no doubt play the game blindfolded with the Wii-mote stuck up their ass just to make it challenging.
Super Mario Galaxy Nintendo
I spent so many glorious hours playing that game. Wasted time? Oh no. I hardly see how defeating that fiery bastard Bowser whilst collecting 120 stars on the way to some grand Princess Peach cake party in the sky is anything but time brilliantly savored. Even that goddamn lava level had some redeeming qualities. Like, the fact it ended. Eventually you got every star you could and that's that. That always brought a smile to my face.
The Mario series is the pinnacle of video game platforming. To run, to jump, to bounce, to swim, to shoot flame, to walk on water, to defy physics...the littlest plumber who could has provided ready and willing gamers all the excitement they could handle since the original captivated Japan and North America in 1985. Endless sequels have been spawned on various Nintendo consoles, the appeal of rescuing the Princess seemingly never dying.
Then, in 2002, Super Mario Sunshine came out for the Gamecube.
In and of itself, removed from the context of a legendary title, Sunshine is nowhere near bad. Nor is it outstanding. For the sake of comparison, let's go to the world of music. My favorite band, the one the only the Sonic Youth, have not released a truly horrible album. 2000's NYC Ghosts and Flowers is the least impressive of them all; the band's knack for innovation seems to have deserted them and little of the material is genuinely memorable. Nor is much of it genuinely horrible. It is an album that just is. For a band of such stature, such a resume bursting with classic music that literally changed lives and created movements within the culture, to release some record that is "okay" is to wonder if further trips to the well will prove inutile.
The makers of the Mario franchise created such a beautiful universe that anything less than revolution was a letdown. After Sunshine and its "Small Flowers Crack Concrete" camera work, the gaming world was hungry still for a truly worthy successor to the beloved Mario 64. A game that boasted more stunning graphics, even more epic music, and gameplay seemingly beyond human imagination.
Super Mario Galaxy was thus released to much fanfare and slobbering. The gameplay utilized the Wii's unique dual controllers to maneuver Mario on a star search through the colorful cosmos, sometimes revisiting classic environments familiar to fans (desert, ice, lava), other times plopping him down onto spheres with inconsistent gravitational pull that forced the gamer to acclimate themselves to prolonged periods of moving an upside-down character. The music is nothing short of fantastic, a mix of orchestral numbers and remixed versions of beloved tunes throughout the history of the series (who didn't levitate off their ass the first time they landed on Sweet Sweet Galaxy?) Overall, a CPR-trained platformer that I personally vouch for as worthy of all accolades bestowed.
What the hell does my opinion matter? Well, I've nabbed 95 of 120 available stars at this point, and I feel that meets "give a shit what I say" qualifications. I've had some moments of triumph so grandly exhilirating that my heartbeat became palpable and shrieks of delight were squelched only by an innate sense of decorum: Bouldergeist's Daredevil Run, The Fate of the Universe, any level with that rolling ball so God forsaken I've nicknamed it "Jersey Ball". On the other mitt, of course, I have had some spectacular failures. Of these, only one can be likened to the Hindenburg bouncing off the Challenger shuttle then crashing into the Titanic just as all the passengers were settling in for a nice relaxing episode of "Cop Rock".
I speak of the only blight on the otherwise charming "Toy Time Galaxy". I speak of...Luigi's Purple Coins.
Here, you must collect 100 of 150 available coins and make your way back to the start to collect the Power Star. It takes strategy. There are several methods, but all agree that just running through grabbing coins is not the way. (You'll get the needed coins, but leave yourself without a path back.) Best to long jump to an outer edge and deftly leap from coin to coin as the platforms either disappear or begin to move beneath you, never forgetting to adjust the camera accordingly so you actually know where the hell you're going and never ever ever stopping in your tracks to take stock of your surroundings.
I'm not a fool; I have a strategy. Several, in fact. I've seen people on Youtube get all 150 by dint of awesome platforming abilities built over years and years of practice and I pay attention. How to get these coins is common sense. Before the timer starts, I know what I am to do.
But things happen. The long jump goes awry, if it in fact goes at all. The heat of the moment can snap several neural pathways to the brain, leaving me a gooey heap of "what the fuck happened there?" in front of television. The leap and spin can be similarly fatal if mistimed even a nanosecond. Then there is what happened tonight.
I managed to collect 102 coins. And died on the way back to the star. I have not been the recipient of such a user interface unfriendly "fuck you" since the Water Temple in Ocarina of Time. In that situation, I actually gave up on the game. With Galaxy, however, I feel I'm too close to throw up the white flag. So onward I trudge.
Here is a video of someone providing a basic clinic on how to complete Luigi's Purple Coins. If you're interested, search further for videos of gamers who collect every single coin in the level. These are people who no doubt play the game blindfolded with the Wii-mote stuck up their ass just to make it challenging.
Super Mario Galaxy Nintendo
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
The 25 Greatest Video Games of All-Time
(This is a highly personal list. Influence and popularity were not absolute criteria for making the grade. Replay value and memorable gameplay experience were the most crucial factors.)
1. Super Mario 64 (N64)
2. Super Metroid (SNES)
3. Goldeneye (N64)
4. Metroid (NES)
5. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (N64)
6. Ninja Gaiden (NES)
7. Super Mario Brothers 3 (NES)
8. Tekken Tag Tournament (PS2)
9. The Legend of Zelda (NES)
10. Super Mario Kart (SNES)
11. Snoopy vs. the Red Baron (PS2)
12. Dig Dug (arcade)
13. Kid Icarus (NES)
14. Metroid Prime (Gamecube)
15. Excitebike (NES)
16. Mega Man (NES)
17. Breakout (Atari 2600)
18. Wii Sports (Wii)
19. Super Mario Brothers (NES)
20. Vanguard (Atari 2600)
21. Defender (Atari 2600)
22. Duck Hunt (NES)
23. Soul Calibur (Dreamcast)
24. Space Jockey (Atari 2600)
25. NHL '94 (SNES)
By system:
Nintendo Entertainment System: 9
Atari 2600: 4 (the Atari 2600 was the center of my relationship with my older brother. This is why you have no idea what the hell Space Jockey was/is, but it made it onto my list.)
Nintendo 64: 3
Super Nintendo Entertainment System: 3
Playstation 2: 2
Nintendo Gamecube: 1
Sega Dreamcast: 1
Nintendo Wii: 1
arcade: 1
Yeah, basically it's Shigeru Miyamoto's world; we just press reset on it.
By franchise--
Mario: 4 (will be 5, once I have Super Mario Galaxy)
Metroid: 3
Zelda: 2
1. Super Mario 64 (N64)
2. Super Metroid (SNES)
3. Goldeneye (N64)
4. Metroid (NES)
5. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (N64)
6. Ninja Gaiden (NES)
7. Super Mario Brothers 3 (NES)
8. Tekken Tag Tournament (PS2)
9. The Legend of Zelda (NES)
10. Super Mario Kart (SNES)
11. Snoopy vs. the Red Baron (PS2)
12. Dig Dug (arcade)
13. Kid Icarus (NES)
14. Metroid Prime (Gamecube)
15. Excitebike (NES)
16. Mega Man (NES)
17. Breakout (Atari 2600)
18. Wii Sports (Wii)
19. Super Mario Brothers (NES)
20. Vanguard (Atari 2600)
21. Defender (Atari 2600)
22. Duck Hunt (NES)
23. Soul Calibur (Dreamcast)
24. Space Jockey (Atari 2600)
25. NHL '94 (SNES)
By system:
Nintendo Entertainment System: 9
Atari 2600: 4 (the Atari 2600 was the center of my relationship with my older brother. This is why you have no idea what the hell Space Jockey was/is, but it made it onto my list.)
Nintendo 64: 3
Super Nintendo Entertainment System: 3
Playstation 2: 2
Nintendo Gamecube: 1
Sega Dreamcast: 1
Nintendo Wii: 1
arcade: 1
Yeah, basically it's Shigeru Miyamoto's world; we just press reset on it.
By franchise--
Mario: 4 (will be 5, once I have Super Mario Galaxy)
Metroid: 3
Zelda: 2
Smash Brothers could have been the fifth Mario; that was a tough one to omit. But I have no qualms over leaving off Majoras Mask or Link to the Past, Zelda fans. The latter is a great game, but I'm not sitting in front of my Nintendo Wii, wishing there was just some way I could get my grubby hands on that cartridge all over again and play it until the cows go back to the Lon Lon Ranch. (Ocarina of Time, on the other hand, has reaffirmed its grip on my "quality time", a grasp I relinquished some years ago after deciding I'd sooner successfully mate chickens with salamanders than conquer that goddamned water dungeon.) Majoras Mask is a fantastic concept, very intense and maddening in the time and effort it requires of the gamer. "Maddening" being a frequently delightful word in the world of video games, actually. If the graphics and gameplay combine to create an undeniably addicting experience, no quest is too difficult, no enemy too persistent, no dungeon too reliant on boots. This is why Ocarina wins in the Zelda universe. I would rather spend countless hours exploring the vast expanse of Hyrule than spend determinate hours wandering around North By Northwest Stopwatch Town, or whatever the hell, gathering up enough rubees so's to buy some aspirin at Ye Olde Rite Aid to cure this pounding headache.
Wait, aspirin? Uh oh...that's not a mask! That's an allergic reaction!
Nintendo Legend of Zelda Super Mario Brothers Atari 2600 Playstation
Wait, aspirin? Uh oh...that's not a mask! That's an allergic reaction!
Nintendo Legend of Zelda Super Mario Brothers Atari 2600 Playstation
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Enter the Wii-Tang: 36 Chambers--Black Belt in Determination
The Toys R Us by the Valley Mall is, by and large, weaksauce. This is less the fault of the store as it is of the toy industry in general. Too many plastic guns, WWE belts and Bratz. Don't even get me started on the "updated" board games: Monopoly with plastic cards instead of paper bills; Trouble replacing the "Pop-o-matic" dice bubble with number cards. Unthinkable, this world.
It felt every bit of the 36 degrees that various bank clocks insisted when Patrick eased his Honda into a parking space mid-lot. Only an extraordinary siren call could pull us from first a warm bed, then a warm car.
We took our spots in line along the front of the building, fifteenth and sixteenth bodies respectively. Directly in front of us were two older men with firefighter moustaches, one with a Boston accent and the other wearing shorts. Meanwhile everyone else is bundled up in thick coats. The people in the very front came off as white trash with white collars, and they all seemed to have familiarity beyond the expected bonding of people who've shared extensive time in a waiting line. Thankfully, they never attempted to engage us, save for the guy who proclaimed to any and all, "Does anyone want any peanuts? 'Cause we're all nuts!" Hilarity, thy name is...whatever that guy's name is.
Also tickling: the people who arrived right after us. Just a mother and two young sons. It was unspectacular until the mom--who looked rather like an anorexic Billie Jean King--asked me some pointed questions: how long has the people up in front been here? How many units is the store stocking?
I gave honest answers. The woman who represented the head of our snake had been there since 7 PM last night. (She was in a cloth folding chair wearing a large hooded coat that practically swallowed her upper body, giving the impression from a distance of a pair of legs propped up on a seat.) Further, I had heard rumors of anywhere from 10 to 40 Wii's being available. I believed not one of those figures I'd heard, and even took care to tell the woman this in a disclaiming "purple monkey dishwasher" tone.
After brief conference with her boys, she led them back to the car, off into that decent morning.
The temperature and tedium teamed to birth typical "J and P Show" shenanigans as we stood there waiting to find out the extent of our luck. Peering through the store windows became a much more enjoyable distraction than, say, gazing at the line or surveying the Valley Mall to the left.
"Look up at the top shelf. It's a Vader head. I want a Darth Vader head. A Wii and a Vader head."
"I think it's a pinata!"
"Hold your wee for a Wii. Remember that? Genius. Like a kid's worth that. 'I believe the children are the future/Teach them well and let them hold their own damn urine'."
I did in fact semi-croon that last part, but kept it soft enough so I didn't entertain/annoy beyond my intended audience. Some people though, they just can't help it.
It started at a quarter to eight. That classically peeving blare of a car alarm. Most of us in line--by that swollen to fifty bodies--were little more than bemused. After three minutes of constant scree, however, the poor car owner's problem took on "$100,000 grand prize on America's Funniest Videos" status. (I was totally ready for the small dog a couple in line brought with them to break off in a mad dash and knock over one of the kids waiting with mommy and/or daddy.) Silently, save for a few throaty chuckles, we watched as the driver fumbled first underneath the wheel, then finally under the hood. His ministrations resulted in aggravation rather than abeyance, however, as the alarm now bleated forth in a polka-esque rhythm. The end finally came when a Good Samaritan shed from the line and went over to assist. From beginning to end, the saga of Car Alarm Guy took ten minutes. Six hundred seconds closer to a Wii.
After 8, two red-shirted employees came out to exalted fanfare. They passed out tickets that would be handed in at the register for a Wii console. Once Patrick had it in his hands, my shoulders and back lost all tension, a palpable release that allowed me to breathe in the refreshing properties of the chilled air rather than guard against it.
Everyone in that line got a Wii. The store had 99 for sale, more than enough for every single person outside. Big fat Darwin Award to Billie Jean King and her sons.
They took customers in groups of five at a time. What a joy it was to step in a warm store and get what we came for. Well, almost. No Super Mario Galaxy or Twilight Princess or Wario Warez, but we did pick up the Wii Play (a bargain with the extra Wii-mote).
I'm pleased to say that based off of nothing more than two rudimentary sporting games, the Wii is a fantastic investment. I have a basic-ass Sony 23-inch TV to put the sensor bar atop, and the controls respond wonderfully.
Wii Sports comes with the console, and offers baseball, golf, tennis, bowling and boxing. Tennis is my runaway favorite, where you operate both players in a doubles match. The Wii-mote is sensitive enough to demand you treat it like a real racket, not just flail wildly. Boxing provides maybe the best overall workout, as it is the only game to require both the nunchuk and remote. Golf is, well, as infuriatingly addictive as its real-life counterpart.
Wii Play is nine short games designed to familiarize the player with the controls. The standouts are the shooting stage (Duck Hunt meets Hogan's Alley) and the billiards stage. For brain games, try Patrick's favorite, wherein you match a contorted "Mii" figure inside descending bubbles. Challenging!
To make the day even greater, later on that afternoon the family got together at my oldest sister's house to throw a surprise party for my mother on her 69th birthday. All the kids pitched in to buy her a round trip air ticket to her hometown of Louisville, where the majority of her sisters and brothers still live. This was her first birthday without her husband, so it meant the world to make her smile.
Nintendo Wii Hagerstown
It felt every bit of the 36 degrees that various bank clocks insisted when Patrick eased his Honda into a parking space mid-lot. Only an extraordinary siren call could pull us from first a warm bed, then a warm car.
We took our spots in line along the front of the building, fifteenth and sixteenth bodies respectively. Directly in front of us were two older men with firefighter moustaches, one with a Boston accent and the other wearing shorts. Meanwhile everyone else is bundled up in thick coats. The people in the very front came off as white trash with white collars, and they all seemed to have familiarity beyond the expected bonding of people who've shared extensive time in a waiting line. Thankfully, they never attempted to engage us, save for the guy who proclaimed to any and all, "Does anyone want any peanuts? 'Cause we're all nuts!" Hilarity, thy name is...whatever that guy's name is.
Also tickling: the people who arrived right after us. Just a mother and two young sons. It was unspectacular until the mom--who looked rather like an anorexic Billie Jean King--asked me some pointed questions: how long has the people up in front been here? How many units is the store stocking?
I gave honest answers. The woman who represented the head of our snake had been there since 7 PM last night. (She was in a cloth folding chair wearing a large hooded coat that practically swallowed her upper body, giving the impression from a distance of a pair of legs propped up on a seat.) Further, I had heard rumors of anywhere from 10 to 40 Wii's being available. I believed not one of those figures I'd heard, and even took care to tell the woman this in a disclaiming "purple monkey dishwasher" tone.
After brief conference with her boys, she led them back to the car, off into that decent morning.
The temperature and tedium teamed to birth typical "J and P Show" shenanigans as we stood there waiting to find out the extent of our luck. Peering through the store windows became a much more enjoyable distraction than, say, gazing at the line or surveying the Valley Mall to the left.
"Look up at the top shelf. It's a Vader head. I want a Darth Vader head. A Wii and a Vader head."
"I think it's a pinata!"
"Hold your wee for a Wii. Remember that? Genius. Like a kid's worth that. 'I believe the children are the future/Teach them well and let them hold their own damn urine'."
I did in fact semi-croon that last part, but kept it soft enough so I didn't entertain/annoy beyond my intended audience. Some people though, they just can't help it.
It started at a quarter to eight. That classically peeving blare of a car alarm. Most of us in line--by that swollen to fifty bodies--were little more than bemused. After three minutes of constant scree, however, the poor car owner's problem took on "$100,000 grand prize on America's Funniest Videos" status. (I was totally ready for the small dog a couple in line brought with them to break off in a mad dash and knock over one of the kids waiting with mommy and/or daddy.) Silently, save for a few throaty chuckles, we watched as the driver fumbled first underneath the wheel, then finally under the hood. His ministrations resulted in aggravation rather than abeyance, however, as the alarm now bleated forth in a polka-esque rhythm. The end finally came when a Good Samaritan shed from the line and went over to assist. From beginning to end, the saga of Car Alarm Guy took ten minutes. Six hundred seconds closer to a Wii.
After 8, two red-shirted employees came out to exalted fanfare. They passed out tickets that would be handed in at the register for a Wii console. Once Patrick had it in his hands, my shoulders and back lost all tension, a palpable release that allowed me to breathe in the refreshing properties of the chilled air rather than guard against it.
Everyone in that line got a Wii. The store had 99 for sale, more than enough for every single person outside. Big fat Darwin Award to Billie Jean King and her sons.
They took customers in groups of five at a time. What a joy it was to step in a warm store and get what we came for. Well, almost. No Super Mario Galaxy or Twilight Princess or Wario Warez, but we did pick up the Wii Play (a bargain with the extra Wii-mote).
I'm pleased to say that based off of nothing more than two rudimentary sporting games, the Wii is a fantastic investment. I have a basic-ass Sony 23-inch TV to put the sensor bar atop, and the controls respond wonderfully.
Wii Sports comes with the console, and offers baseball, golf, tennis, bowling and boxing. Tennis is my runaway favorite, where you operate both players in a doubles match. The Wii-mote is sensitive enough to demand you treat it like a real racket, not just flail wildly. Boxing provides maybe the best overall workout, as it is the only game to require both the nunchuk and remote. Golf is, well, as infuriatingly addictive as its real-life counterpart.
Wii Play is nine short games designed to familiarize the player with the controls. The standouts are the shooting stage (Duck Hunt meets Hogan's Alley) and the billiards stage. For brain games, try Patrick's favorite, wherein you match a contorted "Mii" figure inside descending bubbles. Challenging!
To make the day even greater, later on that afternoon the family got together at my oldest sister's house to throw a surprise party for my mother on her 69th birthday. All the kids pitched in to buy her a round trip air ticket to her hometown of Louisville, where the majority of her sisters and brothers still live. This was her first birthday without her husband, so it meant the world to make her smile.
Nintendo Wii Hagerstown
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Enter the Wii-Tang: 36 Chambers--Approaching the Dojo
Oh mighty Wii...fifth console in Nintendo's world-altering history. So innovative, with the Wii-mote and "nunchuk" controllers demanding actual physical involvement, creating an nearly un-American situation for the average red-white-and-blue gamer, what with standing whilst playing being a frequent requirement for optimum play.
Oh mighty Wii...how dare you be $250 bucks in a world where Sony is hemorrhaging money with a Playstation 3 asking price of $600?
A dearth of the system--in Hagerstown and virtually everywhere else--was to be expected, as consoles of any considerable appeal will be popular for the holidays. Add in the recent release of Super Mario Galaxy, the latest stunner in a legendary series, and the demand for these light white barbarians in Kali's realm was comparable to that which met its initial launch. It was, in fact, the enduring Plumber of Salvation that spurred Patrick and I to participate in something I had previously never taken part in: waiting in the early morning frigid cold for a goddamn video game console. (Patrick had experience in this area several years ago re: Star Wars prequel toys, even getting a quote in the Washington Post. I'd post a scan of the article, but Patrick is experiencing reconciliation difficulties with his young nerdy days of sour cream and onion and roses.)
It started in a kiosk at the EB Games in the Valley Mall. As we walked by the store, I chanced to glance a young man in front of a station holding the telltale nunchuk. Neither 'Trick or myself had ever laid hands on a Wii before, salivating from afar. After a few minutes more shopping, the barrier was breached--only to find that an even more youthful male had taken the place of the previous figure I'd witnessed in thrall to the game onscreen. Said game being the game--Super Mario Galaxy.
It was jointly exciting and exasperating to stand behind this boy--no more than 6 years old--and gaze on as he stumbled his way through a title that held little more for his young mind than bright colors, constant motion, jaunty audio and lots of jumping. I'm not saying he was just bashing buttons and wasting time, but the learning curve is certainly a tad steeper for the small steppers, and the big children (ahem) were chomping at the bit with teeth fine-honed from years of gameplay. After a few more minutes, the lad put down the controllers and picked up his heavy orange jacket from the carpeted EB floor. Almost instantly, then, Patrick swooped in and took over, not even allowing the slightest possibility for intrusion on our rightful space.
Each of us took turns approximately 5 minutes in length. This was more than sufficient to cement SMG as a must-have gaming experience, and thus, the Wii as a necessity. The combined factors of price, improved titles, and quick comfort with the unique controls left little choice. As I did Patrick one better and mastered the trampoline jump, he went up front to inquire on the Wii.
"He said they'll have them in Black Friday, and they open at 6."
This seemed dandy, if a ways off. I mean, six whole friggin' days. Mere moments after Patrick had returned to the kiosk (right after I had blasted Mario off into outer space for more gravity-defying adventures), a woman's voice piped gently behind us.
"Are you looking for the Wii?"
It was an older woman, in her early sixties perhaps, free of gray and stoop, but possessed nonetheless of that intangible quality of certain elderly citizens which suggests that they keep Polaroid pictures of their unsuspecting neighbors in Wal-Mart bags hidden in a locked treasure chest draped with a homemade Washington Redskins quilt. Not crazy, exactly, but rather intensely unorthodox in the face of death.
"Toys R Us will be selling them tomorrow at seven o'clock", she continued, keeping her voice low enough for just the three of us. She then continued on her way, checking out the games for sale on the nearby wall. There was no moment of epiphany between Patrick and I just then, however, as I was preoccupied with the wonder of Mario walking down and around the sides of celestial bodies.
Finally, I was killed off by incidental contact with caterpillar ass. How humiliating!
In the car ride home, Sonic Youth's Goo blasting, it was mutually decided that we should partake in this upcoming madness. We should damn well go to Toys R Us and stand out for at least a couple hours in the testes-freezing western Maryland weather with freaks we don't know from a paint can for the (possible) privilege of getting face-mushed and lung-punched by some mother of three who really should have shown the same vim, vigor and determination to using birth control.
"We have to try."
So we would.
Nintendo Wii Hagerstown Super Mario Galaxy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)