It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown

AIRDATE:  Straight-to-video, 9/12/00.  Wondering why this show has never aired on TV is akin to wondering why a VW Bug has never won the Indy 500.

STORY:  A great reward of fiction is the escape into a new world, or a familiar world viewed through a different lens.  A great risk of fiction is the possibility that said new world is a stultifying environment populated by vapid characters.  Your brain will be either electrified or enervated. 

Since the early 80s, the world of Peanuts has been an enriching one for me.  Every bit as much as the masters that lined his bookshelves, Charles Schulz created a work of art for the ages.  No matter the era, I can find a strip that is hilarious, a strip that is heart-wrenching, a strip that puzzles, or a strip that validates.  Beyond even the preternatural musings of pre-teens with odd bodies I can flip open a book and marvel at the unique penmanship of Schulz, who used strokes and curves the way Caravelli used chords and scales.

Schulz didn't shy away from taking his young characters out of their comfort zone, and this bravery made for not only some great strip runs, but also some memorable TV specials and movies--Race For Your Life, Charlie Brown, Bon Voyage Charlie Brown, the This Is America mini-series spring immediately to mind. 

It also made this special possible.

The Pied Piper is a German legend (but aren't they all?) re: a pipe-playing figured decked out in flamboyant attire, hired by the long-suffering citizenry of Hamelin to banish the rodents that have overrun their town.  When the townsfolk refuse to recompense their savior, he retaliates by enchanting their children and leading them out of town. 

It's a story that's been told for centuries, one that I first read in fairytale collections as a young lass, and so when given a choice between it or War and Peace, of course Sally Brown is going to prefer that her brother read the shorter book aloud. 

The rats driving the town crazy are "sports mice," apparently, although they do much more than just kick soccer balls about.  They skate, they skateboard, they Flatley, they even line dance.  (Turns out line-dancing is tolerable only when done by mice.  Then again I'm a sucker for animals wearing hats.)   They annoy the shrill card-playing adults on their way to Charlie Brown's pitchers mound and Schroeder's toy piano. 

Something, clearly, must be done.  Charlie Brown visits City Hall and offers a solution to the suitably stuffy Mayor:  a pied piper whose gift of song will hypnotize those pesky vermin, causing them to follow him in perfect step, out of the town and out of their lives.  The desperate Mayor agrees, the Piper materializes, and of course it's Snoopy, wearing the de rigueur cap and gown of all Robin Hood U. grads.  His "pipe" is actually an accordion, which is an instrument comprised of a bellows, reeds and keys.  No pipes.  The only accordion pipes you will ever find belong inside of cars or inside of homes.  I don't get the switcheroo here.  (Snoopy would look super-cute playing the flute.)

After signing a contract promising the payment of one years worth of dog food for a job well done--keep your glory, gold and glitter, Snoopy requires only silver cans stuffed fulla canine chow--the beagle precedes to work magic and make them vermin disappear.  However, upon his return to City Hall, Snoopy's hopes are thwarted when the Mayor pulls the ol' "this document wasn't notarized" trick to avoid paying the so-called "piper."  Peeved, Snoopy begins to work the bellows and soon the Mayor and his flunkeys are following the beagle to the outskirts of town, where they start up a stupid campfire and sing some stupid song for three stupid minutes. 

Cut back to the Brown house.  Sally doubts the credulity of such a tale, but wait!  What's that outside?  Why, it's Snoopy and his accordion!  And that's Linus, Lucy, Peppermint Patty and Franklin zombie-shuffling 'round his doghouse! 

In that ending is contained the major problem with this special:  it is not fun.  The animals seem to be the only ones enjoying themselves.  The humans are, by turns, resigned/afraid/devious/drab.  The Peanuts characters placed inside a fairytale world should be bright and brilliant, ebullient and enjoyable.  (The Monkees pulled it off!  Won an Emmy even!  Mike Nesmith cross-dressed!  And didn't shave!)  Instead, It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown is a wretched disappointment.  If A Charlie Brown Christmas is a heaping lobster Reuben, Pied Piper is a cold grilled cheese.    To quote Joan from Mad Men:  "This was completely unnecessary."  1

MUSIC:  David Benoit at the helm.  I know a score of 3 sounds bad, and it is, but the soundtrack is really the least disgraceful element of the whole show.

ANIMATION:  Pied Piper was the final Peanuts special to feature the traditional cel animation (it's all digital paint and ink these days). As send-off's go, only Col. Henry Blake's was grimmer.  The character designs are clumsy throughout, and once you realize that Snoopy hasn't even been done justice by the animators, all you can do is pray for the best and brace for the worst.  His eyes, normally so playful and vibrant, are beadier than usual and thus dull dull dull.  His ears are mostly white, with some black--a terribly amateurish design decision that almost convinced me I was watching a knock-off.  His smile, usually so contagious, is crooked as a three-card molly game on Lombard Street.  His nose is drawn and colored to resemble an Oreo cookie.

The backgrounds seem ashamed to be seen.  The hyperactive rats, in contrast, are animated wonderfully.  Watching them do their obstructive thing is riveting.  It's like the animators put time and effort into bringing these little pests to life!  3

VOICES:  As Charlie and Sally Brown, Quinn Beswick and Ashley Edner are duly blah, so either they're the most perfect performances possible, or just unspectacular.  5's for each.  Corey Padnos and Rachel Davey do slightly better (6) for their portrayals of the Van Pelt siblings.  I dunno.  The animation and story are so overwhelmingly crap that things such as mediocre voice-acting just come off as so much toilet water.

Frank Welker and Joan Van Ark do fine as the Mayor and his secretary, respectively, but extraordinary performances would have been wasted on such a putrid script.  I hope Lee Mendelsohn apologized to them afterwards. 

PUPPY'S GOT A SQUEEZEBOX

--Producer Julia Phillips, the first woman to win an Oscar for Best Picture, was also a quick-witted, razor-tongued drug addict who took a Snoopy doll with her to rehab.  Lisa Marie Presley considered her Snoopy doll to be her only friend growing up, going so far as to dress him up and take him to school with her. At a Carnegie Hall benefit, composer Leonard Bernstein approached Snoopy--actually, Judy Sladky in costume--put his hands on either side of the beagle's soft, bulbous nose and proclaimed, "You are a genius."

You know why Snoopy inspires such affection?  Why Snoopy and not Muttley?  Because Snoopy represents the whole of life.  When Snoopy desires to dance, he dances.  He puts his entire body into the act, so that even his ears seem to be moving in their own unique rhythm.   He realizes that to eat is to live.  He would do anything for his best friend, even rassle with a 50/100/200 pound cat.

But not all is biscuits and gravy.  Snoopy knows pain.  Remember when his doghouse burned to the ground, destroying all of his possessions?  Remember when Snoopy found out that one can of dog food per month is not adequate payment for fire insurance?  Who can forget the time Snoopy jumped onto his supper dishes and broke his foot?  I wept! 

Point!  Snoopy is beloved worldwide and he has earned every iota of this adoration.  I love Snoopy more than 98% of my own family (hey, guys!) because frankly he's more loyal.  However, I am not so besotted as to be incapable of objectivity.  Pied Piper didn't make me love Peanuts any less; it made me love myself less.

GOT MORE RATS THAN BUSTA RHYMES GOT "WOO-HA"'S

--I'm gonna retrieve my DVD of this and write SUCKS on it.  'Cause it sure does suck on it.

--

Yes.  That is Snoopy yakking on a cell phone.  Repeated assurances from the creative team that there will be no similar nods to modern technology in the upcoming Peanuts full-length film warmed the cookies of my heart.

--Seriously, the beginning sequence of Snoopy on his doghouse could have taken place in one of the rooms at Overlook Hotel.

--

No, Snoopy!  Hang in there!  I Want a Dog For Christmas, Charlie Brown is just three years away!

So there's my review of the final Peanuts show produced while Charles Schulz was alive--a fact that's so depressing I think I'm gonna go curl up on my Snoopy sheets and sob convulsively whilst clutching a Snoopy doll. 

Watching the DVD with my best friend was a desultory experience.  It was like staring into a sinkhole and hearing the screams of the children trapped inside.  I yearned for relief.  I wanted so badly to reach down, punch a hole in my stomach, rip out two feet of intestine, hurl them onto the floor, and stomp on 'em with a ferocity that would make the Brothers Johnson proud. 

While Pied Piper is not the only bad special to bear the Peanuts brand, it is easily the worst.  You can't even depend on Snoopy to save the day somewhat because they fuck Snoopy up.  He plays an accordion!  He looks like a fourth-grader drew him!  Roddy Piper painting half of his body black for his Wrestlemania VI match with Bad News Brown made more sense than anything that occurs within these 25 minutes of hell.  Avoid this DVD.  Watch any other Peanuts show.  Do a binge-watch of Peanuts shows.  Don't endure what I had to.  I don't want you to feel my pain.  I would much rather you share my joy.

Happiness Is A Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown

AIRDATE:  10/1/2011 (initially released straight-to-DVD 3/29/2011)

STORY:  The 45th Peanuts special is 45 minutes long.  It's also the first without the direct involvement of the legendary Schulz/Mendelson/Melendez trio.  Andrew Beall (Wall-E, Up) and Frank Molieri (The Simpsons Movie) share the directors chair, while Craig Schulz and Stephen Pastis (Pearls Before Swine) are credited as writers, along with Craig's father.  For inspiration they looked to the strips of the early sixties.

Meaning that linearity is blessedly shunned.

Grandma Van Pelt's imminent visit is the bass line around which the neighborhood plays.  The relative solace of a grand ol' ballgame; Lucy and the Sisyphean folly of loving a musician; and most persistently, Snoopy's desire to separate Linus from his soothing blue cloth before the old woman can.  Ultimately it is sister Lucy who spells doom with contest-winning aplomb, first turning Linus' security blanket into a kite, then freeing it.  His subsequent anguish and withdrawal is heavy duty stuff, less the typical temper tantrum of a tot and more a full-grown, full-blown panic attack. 

Eventually, boy and best friend are reunited, but not before he has received substantial guff for his alleged "addiction."  Fed up, Linus take to the majestic soapbox that is Snoopy's doghouse, and dares to ask:  "Are any of you secure?"  He does not hesitate to highlight the foibles of his friends:  Schroeder's obsession with Beethoven, Snoopy's preoccupation with suppertime, Lucy's unrequited longing for the kid obsessed with Beethoven, Sally's unrequited longing for the kid yelling at everybody from atop a friggin' doghouse.  Not since Ned Flanders snapped on the shoddy handiwork of charitable Springfieldians has there been such a glorious mass dressing-down.

In the end, Grandma arrives and a detente is reached between she and Linus.  Between Snoopy and Linus, though?  Nah.

Lesson:  security is valuable.  Value your security.  9

MUSIC:  When seeking a composer to bring a sound that was familiar without being beholden to the past specials, the producers could not have done much finer than Mark Mothersbaugh.

Saying goodbye to a once-lucrative gig with new wave pioneers Devo at the beginning of the 1990s, Mothersbaugh took his quirked-out musical sensibility into commercials, television programs, and eventually movies.  In particular, his work with director Wes Anderson on The Royal Tenenbaums was not only highly-acclaimed but majorly influenced by the music of the late Vince Guaraldi, with Mothersbaugh stating in interviews that he saw Anderson's film as a "live-action Peanuts."  It made sense, then, for the Warm Blanket team to reach out.  But what seemed to be a collaboration made in heaven almost didn't happen when Mothersbaugh's agent informed the producers that their client explicitly refused to work on any straight-to-DVD release.  This tune changed once Mark found out that the suitors in question were calling for a Peanuts straight-to-DVD release and not some dopey flick about a sentient popsicle.

The soundtrack is an indisputable 10 to my ears, a perfect example of how to pay tribute without stooping to toadyism.  Guaraldian tinkles and flourishes are plentiful and tasteful, and the Jaws-esque mini-theme for vulture Snoopy is mangoes.

ANIMATION:  Not only does Warm Blanket boast the most brilliant animation to grace a Peanuts special in years, it boasts some of the most brilliant in a Peanuts special ever.  The classic look is a firm hug that combines the traditional 2D (hand-drawn, hand-painted) with some visual staging that, while not innovative, are nonetheless pretty novel in the grand history of the Peanuts shows.  The hue selections are engrossing, especially the reds and yellows.  The figures and faces are rendered in the Schulzian style that will never grow old.  10

VOICES:  First off...Grandma is a trombone.  Happy?

Yet again the real star of the show is not the titular worrywart.  Linus is frequently sage, sporadically sarcastic, and always in search of security.  He's also quite cute, which not all the children who've voiced him manage to convey.  Austin Lux gets it right (9).

Chuck Brown is handled well (8) by Trenton Rogers, who also speaks for Schroeder.  Amanda Pace's Sally is naive and speaks in slippery syllables--in other words, she too nails her part (8).  Grace Rolek also earns an 8 for her alternately coy and cloying Lucy (as standard, it's what she does in the presence of her would-be darling rather than says that stands out).

Violet, Patty and Shermy are voiced by, respectively, Blesst Bowden, Ciara Bravo, and Andy Pessoa.  Great to see the original characters represented, if underrepresented.  7 for each.

Shane Baumel does okay (6) as Pig Pen.  Bit wispy, perhaps.  As with the devil in a blue dress, it's what the walking mud puddle does that distinguishes him in this story.  I shan't spoil the surprise.

CUDDLE DOWN IN CUDDLETOWN

--

"Take the cereal.  Leave the milk."

--This special contains the second-best use of the term "future husband." Oh hai, Sally Brown's broken heart.

--The "air rescue service" are the ones who finally locate Linus' blanket, floating all lonely in "the ocean," and they send him a telegram.  A telegram.  Stop.  No, seriously, stop.  My stomach is cramping.

--Linus lashes out in the vicinity of Sally, bemoaning yet again how he will be but a shell of his former self sans blankie, when a kite impales itself on his upraised fist.  Just a second later, Charlie Brown crashes into a nearby tree.  I mean like the Justice Star into Coruscant.  This sequence is hilarious, especially because in real life a child would end up in traction.

--But my favorite moment in the entire show just might be the two-toned montage that occurs after Linus asks Charlie Brown if he is ever beset by doubt or anxiety (which in the main is a dumb question).  Among other iconic scenes, the very first Peanuts strip ever published is animated.  I was totally blindsided by this scene the first time I saw Warm Blanket and felt compelled to rewind it several times.  I almost can't believe they did it, and I'm so glad they did. 

A POX ON ALL THE BLANKETS IN THIS HOUSE

--

We like explosions that involve painted wood.

--Flying kites, kicking balls, wooing gingers, building cardhouses...forget it, kid.  Detonating fail-bombs, though?  Chuck's a five-star general at that shit.

--Linus goes voracious, veracious and vicious on a friend:  "Do you want to see me unhappy?  Do you want to see me insecure?  Do you want me to end up like Charlie Brown?"

--A telegram, y'all.  In case anyone is concerned that next year's Peanuts feature film will be a crass car-crash of a cash-in, I behoove you...breathe.  Find greater things to focus your outrage upon.  The one TV set shown in Warm Blanket has rabbit ears.  There will be no concessions to the iWorld from the Peanuts camp.  You will not see Lucy advertising her Twitter page on her psychiatrist's booth.

--Speaking of which...you know, Lucy would have been a good girl if someone had been there to shoot her every minute of her life.

Snoopy's Reunion

AIRDATE:  5/1/1991

STORY:  One year after Why, Charlie Brown, Why?--the most intentionally depressing special in Peanuts history--the holy triumvirate of Schulz/Mendelson/Melendez graced viewers with another bittersweet story.

It's springtime at the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, where a beagle named Missy has recently birthed eight pups:  wispy and whiskery Spike; shaggy Andy; rotund Olaf; spotty Marbles; future superstar Snoopy; doe-eyed Belle; and the relatively non-descript Molly and Rover.  We're treated to a montage of the doggies at play in the barn, slowly but enthusiastically developing both their bodies and personalities.  A luxurious buffet certainly helps their progress, and soon enough the octuplets are strong enough to break out some instruments and rustle up a down-home jam-bo-ree that reeks of cornbread and collard greens.  Just as each of them instinctively knew to belly up to mama's milk bar for nourishment, so too do they show no struggles with their respective instruments.

Eventually, the dogs are put up for sale.  Snoopy is sold first, to a sweet blonde girl named Lila.  In short order the rest of the pups are snatched up, headed for presumably happy homes, to be cared for by people who seems nonplussed at the sight and sound of animals playing bluegrass music.

Through another sweet and effective montage, we see Lila and Snoopy bond.  Seeing the beloved beagle as a baby, sans collar and urge to get down to the Mitty gritty, is not only novel but adorable.  It's unclear how long Snoopy has been with the family when the bad news comes crashing down--effective immediately, dogs are no longer permitted in the lavish apartment building.

My heart...how it shatters.

Lila is forced to return Snoopy to the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, where his only company is Olaf's abandoned jug.

As one young girl's world is being torn into tenths, a round-headed young boy decides he needs some canine company.  Upon spotting a newspaper ad, Charlie Brown hails Linus, and the two hop a bus for the Puppy Farm (I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Brown would've been thrilled to drive their son there, had they not been too busy not existing.)  After dumping five bucks out of his piggy bank onto the cluttered desk of the grandfatherly farmer, Chuck goes to retrieve his new four-legged best friend.  Meanwhile, his old two-legged best friend snoops around and finds a ledger showing that the baby beagle had been previously owned.  Or, as he indelicately tells his pal when they arrive back home, "You got a used dog, Charlie Brown."

Does it look like he cares, Linus?!  A used Snoopy is so obviously better than a brand new anything else!

Fast-forward four years, and Snoopy is so homesick that Sally suggests a family reunion to reinvigorate his spirit.  Together, dog and boy pen and send invitations to Snoopy's siblings.  They arrive, simultaneously, and with instruments in paws.  Things are fantastic wonderful terrific until they arrive back at the site of what used to be the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm.  Expecting to see the old barn, the old house, the fences, the dirt paths, they instead gaze upon a parking garage.  Acres of farmland, paved over in the name of progress.  Despite this disheartening development, the band tunes up and jams out a new(ish) song, with sections for the individual players to shine without soaking up all the sun. 

The ache in his heart now a distant memory, Snoopy flies his fam to their respective homesteads in record time--in mint condition, at that.  (That screen capture is pure, unadulterated Snoopy, wouldn't you agree?) 

Snoopy's Reunion is an enormously touching watch.  I laughed, I cried, I wondered how Lila didn't grow up to be a one-armed stripper with a fierce coke addiction after the trauma of losing the world's greatest pet.  And I have to thank the idiotas at CBS for thumbing down Charles Schulz's idea of a series based around Snoopy and his siblings, which led to the creation of this special.  Meanwhile they couldn't greenlight Garfield Gets a Life fast enough. 

This gets a 10.  Without reservation.  If it was the last Peanuts special I ever saw, I would die happy.

MUSIC:  More Judy Munsen musical coleslaw.  What would have been a score of 6 goes up two whole points, however, thanks to the presence of the Puppy Band and their upbeat country stylings.

ANIMATION:  The techniques have changed with the new decade, to be sure, but elements of the past decade remain.  The colors don't pop out at the eye, and the lines aren't delineated with an expert crispness, but both the characters and the world they inhabit refuse to blend together.  8.5

VOICES:  I give Josh Keaton and Kaitlyn Walker each a score of 7.5 for their performances as Linus and Sally, respectively; Phil Shafran does a good job (8) as Charlie Brown, coming off well-worn without being quite ready for dishrag status just yet.  The real vocal star is Megan Parlen as Lila, who earns a 9.   As a relative "intruder" in the Peanuts universe, it's no mean feat to make her lovable.  Listen as she says goodbye to Snoopy, both at her apartment and for the final time at the Puppy Farm.  I just want to hug the TV, or the computer, or whatever it is.  Snoopy most likely would not have turned out to be such a fantastical beagle under Lila's care, but he most certainly would have been very content.

(While I don't start twitching at the presence of adults in the Peanuts specials--some people do, you know--I rarely find the actors voicing them special enough to grade.)

THOSE WERE THE DAYS, CHARLIE BROWN

--It was a dark and stormy night, y'all.

--The only Peanuts TV special to date that does not feature the name "Charlie Brown" in the title.

--Spike does have more than one type of hat; there's a red ball cap hanging up on a wall at his hollowed-out cacti.  I wonder if it's lucky.

--Fire The Canon, Pt. 1:  In Snoopy's Reunion, a newspaper ad inspires Charlie Brown to get a dog.  In the Peanuts strips, specifically the one dated 1/30/1972, Charlie Brown tells Linus that his parents took him to get a dog after some ornery bastard of a kid poured a bucket of granular goodness over Charlie's globular gourd while they were playing together in a sandbox.  Those who have seen the 1972 feature film Snoopy Come Home might recall that conversation.

--

 

Once a jug-dog, always a jug-dog.

--

Snoopy has always appreciated sweet kisses from even sweeter ladies.

--Charlie Brown goes rummaging in the dirt around the parking garage--one of my favorite girlhood activities--and locates the time-beaten PUPPIES FOR SALE sign.  "They're parking on your memories!" he bleats.  Nice adaption. 

NO ONE NEEDS THAT MANY KIDS

--Oh no, there are adults in this show, you can see their faces, you can hear their voices, it's artistic abomination, it's a brazen theft of integrity, PFFFFTTT.

--

So...the reunion will be taking place somewhere in Alaska?  It's a trap! 

--The Daisy Hill Puppy Farm provided a buffet so Olaf wouldn't eat his siblings.

--Note that Olaf and Spike both live on their own.  Victims of relocation...or something more unfortunate?

--While Snoopy was more than happy fitting into the traditional role of a pet for Lila--playing fetch and what not--the very second he walks into the Brown residence he shows signs of independence.  (Why do they have a chair that small?)  I've always thought Snoopy's refusal to be the faithful, serene companion that his owner wanted was less a rebellion against Charlie Brown himself, and more a defense mechanism against any future abandonment.  This is Snoopy's second home in a very short period of time, remember, and he probably is scared of growing close to another owner.  His overly-civilized mannerisms, therefore, keep a nice tidy distance between him and the round-headed kid.  The adaptation of various personas, over time, assure that while Charlie Brown will always love his pet, he will never quite understand him...and that's fine with Snoopy. 
 
--Fire the Canon, Pt. 2:  While the Peanuts strips mentioned seven siblings for Snoopy, only five were named.  It could therefore be argued that Molly and Rover were mere placeholder names, but given that Charles Schulz wanted to write a TV series about these characters, it's more likely that this was a case of canon that never made it into the official universe.  Who knows, if the aforementioned series had indeed been produced, it may have spurred Schulz to feature all the siblings in forthcoming strips, where we may have seen Molly and Rover so named in print.

--Several years ago, the city demolished the hospital where I was born and where my father died.  The hotel where I was conceived (hey, my dad had relocated for his job, and he hadn't seen my mom in a couple weeks, okay?) was torn down some time ago as well.  The house I grew up in is slowly falling apart thanks to owner delinquency.  My siblings and I will never go jam in front of any of these places, I promise you.



Snoopy's Reunion gives me a warm feeling all over.  Despite many years apart, and the destruction of their old home, the dogs come together and make beautiful music.  With no words, Snoopy is jolted out of his melancholy.  All he needed was the knowledge that his family was still there for him.  This emotional currency is exchanged, of course, as no doubt Belle, Andy, and the rest have also yearned throughout the years. (Although honestly I'm not sure Olaf gets that down in the dumps about anything.  And even if he did how could you tell?)

The lesson of Snoopy's Reunion?  Just remember...it's a big world.  It can be frightening.  But love is always there.

The Rest of the Year Found Here

I work best under pressure.  Deadlines are my pals.  All are Peanuts reviews unless otherwise indicated.

Snoopy's Reunion  April 28
Happiness Is a Warm Blanket, Charlie Brown  May 3
It's the Pied Piper, Charlie Brown  May 25
What Have We Learned, Charlie Brown?  June 6
3D Like Me  June 11-16**
He's a Bully, Charlie Brown  June 22
The Birth of the Constitution  July 4
A Boy Named Charlie Brown  July 12
The NASA Space Station  July 20
Snoopy Come Home  July 28
Race For Your Life, Charlie Brown August 6
Play It Again, Charlie Brown  August 11
It's Not Nostalgia (It's the 80s Express)  August 18-September 11*
Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown  October 18
It Was My Best Birthday Ever, Charlie Brown  October 23
Jason X  October 31***
The Mayflower Voyagers  November 21
The Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk  December 17

As much as I would love for 2014 to be the year in which I initiate my new series reviewing the screen adaptations of some of my favorite novels, it's doubtful I'll find the time.   So, hello 2015!

*A look at VH-1's Greatest Songs of the 1980s, and how wrong (or right) they were.
**Oh shit, it's a Sonic Youth-related review!  A deeply personal look at Nice Ass, Psychic Hearts, East Jesus, Chelsea Light Moving, Last Night on Earth and Coming Apart.
***Live blog of the horror non-classic, as per request.

Try Smashing Together A Good Album Next Time, Eh?

SUPER COLLIDER
6/4/2013

The same line up on consecutive albums for the first time in sixteen years?  Portentous.

"Kingmaker"--Moans and croaks from the struggle with addiction, but instead of tackling an intimate experience from the past head-on, Mustaine posits himself as the outsider, commenting on the abuse of Oxycontin, so-called "hillbilly heroin."  It's less about the target demographic of highly-addictive prescription opioids and more to do with controlling one's life via drugs that have been given the A-OK to purchase OTC.

"Super Collider"--How could you make a song with this title and have it be just decent?  Defy the odds, fellas!  Spit up the nostrils of conventional wisdom!   Write a song that sounds quite reminiscent of firework rockets exploding out the ass of a double-headed dragon's ass.

The "Super Collider" is another name for the Large Hadron Collider, which desperately wants me to call it the Hardon Collider.  It is the world's most powerful particle collider, and in July 2012 investigators excitedly announced that LHC experimentation had led to the discovery of the so-called "God Particle."  All of this is far more interesting than a mere Megadeth album, but, I have chosen to write about the music, and so I must advise you to seek the proper search utilities to quench your intellectual thirst.

Mustaine was tempted to call this album God Particle, but foresaw an unholy shit-storm and demurred.  Dude, you are such a…I won't say it.  Only that I have one, you are one.

"Burn!"--Blues-y metal fit to assemble a table to.  A metal table?  Is James Hetfield the table?

"Burn baby burn."  Soulless ginger prick actually recites those words, which just reminds me how much more enjoyable, substantial and honest of a song "Disco Inferno" is compared to the likes of this gut-swiped hornswoggle.

"Built For War"--With all the galloping menace of a Killing Is My Business-era demo, Megadeth grab hold and squeeze.  The macho men make a big deal of, and put massive stock into, one's mental and physical capacity for belligerent action/reaction.  Whereas I am among those more impressed by how a person handles themselves during days of placidity.

"BFW" wants to be the Dupont Circle Metro Station escalator, but ends up closer to the one at Wheaton Station.  Capital humor!  Vague, panted threats of violence ain't barely up to a butter knife's job.

"Off the Edge"--"Lately it seems the world is going crazy."  Oh fuck off, you walking  Semmelweis reflex.

An excess of doomsaying makes for dull art from a dull artist.

"Dance In the Rain"--Big Brother cloaked and lurkin', slippin' the chips into the newborn babes, as per codes found on paper currency.  When I read that Mustaine took lyrics from a fortune cookie, I was not surprised whatsoever.  Amused, a lot.  Disgusted, a bit.  But utilizing what passes for dessert at the end of what is essentially Chinese-American fast food in your serious art is a move I'd expect from an old guy so far removed from his days of glory that the distance can be measured in light years. Because light years measure distance, not time.  Lots of people don't realize that.  I bet Dave Mustaine is one of those people.  This guy fell for the widely-circulated photoshop of the "Welcome" sign in Kenya "proving" that Barack Obama was born there, so I wouldn't trust him to toast bread.

I admire Dave's resilience, if nothing else--drug addiction, radial neuropathy, stenosis, hemispherectomy.

"The Beginning of Sorrow"--A mid-tempo drudgery that rhymes "sorrow" with "tomorrow."  Also, about tomorrow?  There will be no.  Just so you know.

The poppy parasite that latched onto the MegaBeast with Cryptic Writings should have been cleansed long ago--say, after Risk nearly destroyed the band's legacy.  Clearly, manager Bud Prager was not the villain of the piece.  Obviously, he was but an enthusiastic champion of Dave's desire to dumb down for domination.

"The Blackest Crow"--As far as "Cali-metal-band-tries-Southern-balladry" goes, which thankfully isn't far, "Blackest Crow" is better than Metallica's "Ronnie."  But so is being catapulted headfirst into a tree.

"Forget To Remember"--A metallic Journey, but at least it's Escape-era Journey.

Dave drew upon his mother-in-law's struggles with Alzheimer's Disease, which is a heart-wrenching topic for sure, but this song never gets off the ground.  This is a common malady of modern Megadeth.

"Don't Turn Your Back"--Betrayal and the disharmony of the soul, outlined in a multitude of cliched words and phrases, but ooh we got some Rust-ed chromatics to top off the verses, so I'll stick around.  Risk-y chorus, though.

We're almost through Super Collider, and the drums have been playing hide-and-seek the entire time.  Try kickball next time, fucker.

"Cold Sweat"--Metallica put their Thin Lizzy cover on a throwaway Garage record, but Megadeth puts their Thin Lizzy cover on a proper studio album!  And it's actually good!  Finally, a song that kicks ass on here, and all it took was a different band to write it.  Totally macho but endearing to the end--that was Phil Lynott's charm.  Mustaine lacks charm, but can sociopath it up with the best.



Soooo, Super Collider.  Bleh.  This album is prison breakfast.

With the release of this laborious shitcicle, Megadeth are officially the most ignominious major band in thrash metal history.  Their decline has been more painful to witness than Sir Laurence Oliver in The Jazz Singer.  Mustaine's the guy who writes an album about anamnesis.  Mustaine's the guy who knows what anamnesis is to begin with.  And that album would be top-to-bottom wretched.  Maybe 63 seconds of salvageable material, and not consecutive seconds either.

                                         ----------------------------------------------------------------

In 2011, Europe's months-long Sonisphere Festival announced a major coup:  for the first time ever, the Big 4 of American Thrash Metal would be playing together.  I don't envy anyone who attended a Big 4 gig because, as I am fond of saying, if your festival doesn't begin with the letters A, T and P, fuck your festival.  I'm gonna brave the elements, squirm through the natural and unnatural aromas of my fellow man, fork over the exorbitant moolah to receive enough nourishment so I don't lose consciousness and get violated by some blitzed-out shit-bags in Twilight shirts, all so maybe I get to hear "Evil Has No Boundaries"?  No thanks.  I saw Slayer live in 2007 at a standing room only venue with a capacity of 1200 and despite the lack of "Boundaries," I had a great time.

No matter my feelings, the shows were massively successful.  While part of me is happy that these one-time harbingers of a new, exhilarating genre are still being graciously rewarded for their services, part of me is pissed that a nostalgia show is all they're basically good for anymore.

Yes, Metallica's last album was quite good.  If the new song that they debuted in concert a few days ago is any indication, their new album will run in the same vein.  Whether or not that's good news or bad news is entirely up to the standards of the individual listener.

Scott Ian swears Anthrax are done with the revolving door of lead singers.  Joey Belladonna is telling media how he has never felt totally comfortable as a member of Anthrax.  Yes, their last album was quite good.  I'm not betting on a new one.

Slayer's last record was damned good.  They're still touring and planning on recording the follow-up to World Painted Blood.  Normally such news would give me the giddies, but the best of the Big 4 have had the worst fate befall them.

January 2011, Jeff Hanneman was relaxing in a buddy's hot tub when he was bitten on the right arm by an insect carrying necrotizing fasciitis--which is a flesh-eating disease.  Leave it to someone in Slayer to get the flesh-eating disease.

He returned home a week later, and showed his arm to his wife.  By this time the limb had swollen to approximately three times its normal size and was bright red in color.  She was unable to convince her husband to visit the ER until the next morning, when he'd sobered up.

Hanneman was admitted for emergency surgery, after which doctors induced coma.  After four days he was able to breathe on his own, and so began the "recovery process":  more surgeries, skin grafts, physical rehabilitation.  Meanwhile, Slayer continued touring, with former Exodus guitarist (and Hanneman pal) Gary Holt.  Jeff was able to join Slayer for a two-song encore at a Big 4 show in Indio, CA on 4/23/2011, but a real return to action was obviously a long way off.  Later that year, Tom Araya told Billboard.com that Slayer would not be recording any new music until Jeff was back:  "There's no way we'd go into a studio without him….We require his musical skills, his writing skills."

2012 came and went.  2013 a sinkhole appeared and began swallowing the structure.

On Valentine's Day, Dave Lombardo released a statement informing fans he would not be performing on Slayer's imminent Australian tour.  He had recently discovered some chicanery involving the group's income.  Apparently, 90% of their 2012 earnings had been deducted as expenses.  Spurred to action, he sat down with Tom and Kerry prior to rehearsals for the Aussie gigs and "proposed a new business model."  Kerry, the giver of no fucks, told Dave to can it or get canned.  Sure enough, near the end of May, Slayer announced that Dave was gone and Paul Bostaph was back in the band--and  Dave found out along with the rest of us.

Incredibly, that was only the second-worst news for Slayer fans that month.  On May 2, the world learned of Jeff Hanneman's death.  Although speculation ran rampant that the insect bite was the culprit, the actual cause of death was cirrhosis of the liver.  A long-time drinker, Hanneman's physical tribulations only served to accelerate his dependence on the bottle.  Loved ones say his recovery wasn't going well enough or fast enough to suit Jeff, and he began losing hope at ever playing guitar at the proficiency and speed required to make a return to Slayer.

Lastly, there's Megadeth.  Not long after the release of Super Collider, Dave Mustaine told 93X Radio that fans could expect a follow-up sooner than later:  "Time is short….You see what happened with Jeff Hanneman, so I wanna write as much as I can while I can."

Oh.  Cliff Burton getting crushed by a bus at the age of 24 didn't clue you in as to the ephemeral nature of existence on Earth?  Gar fucking Samuelson's death didn't imbue you with a sense of urgency?

Is there a compelling reason (or reasons) for any of the Big 4 to go on as anything other than nostalgic cash-printing machines?  What do any of them have left to prove, to themselves or anyone else?  Anthrax will always be the Joey Fatone…Metallica will always be the mainstream behemoth whose albums automatically debut at number one…Megadeth will never have a number one album…Slayer will only damage their legacy.  Honestly, the first three can do whatever the hell they want.  Anthrax, make a country-rap album.  Metallica, perform a concert on Mars.  Megadeth, do an album comprised of nothing but "A Tout La Monde" in a dozen different musical styles, up to and including jazz fusion.  It doesn't matter.  But Slayer?  I can't abide this.  No offense to Gary Holt and Paul Bostaph, talented dudes both, but this band calling themselves Slayer are not Slayer.  They are now the Tom and Kerry Show.  Maybe they'll make a good record, maybe a great one (I sincerely doubt that, however).  Maybe it will be a disaster.  Conjecture shouldn't even be happening at this point, because after the death of their creative epicenter, Slayer should've called it a day.  So long and thanks for all the Hail Satan! 

There's a possibility the new Slayer album will feature at least one song written by Jeff Hanneman, and sure, I'd want to hear that.  But what if it's a diamond surrounded by rock salt?  Conjecture again!

Fuck it.  Thank you very much for reading and experiencing the fantastic (even when it wasn't).  Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and take solace in what actually transpires.

Aren't You Lucky

BEYOND MAGNETIC
1/30/2012

Initially made available on iTunes on 12/13/2011 before being given a physical release a month later, Beyond Magnetic is comprised of the four songs that were excised from the final tracklisting for Death Magnetic. 

"Hate Train"--"Fuel" with a forced smile.  Hetfield's cadence reminds of me Lenny Kravitz on "Are You Gonna Go My Way?"  Hey, remember that chick drummer Kravitz had?  What's her name…Cindy Blackman!  Yeah, did you know she's married to Carlos Santana?  Bet ya didn't.  Did you know she's a better drummer than Lars Ulrich?  Bet ya did.

"Just a Bullet Away"--"Dry" is not a negative adjective for a piece of music so long as there is power in abundance.  Determination prevails over poor production, or there wouldn't be any punk rock records worth listening to. 

While the title Death Magnetic was inspired by the rise and demise of Alice In Chains singer Layne Staley, the track most explicitly about him didn't make the final cut.  Not entirely sure why; fuck guns, this is one of the faster, grittier bouts of hand-to-hand combat 21st century Metallica have taken part in.  And while James Hetfield remains unsophisticated in his empathy, addicts lamenting other addicts sure beats addicts publicly mocking other addicts.

"Hell and Back"--A small insect crawling up one's back isn't an unpleasant sensation if you don't know or think about what's causing it.  Likewise, these new Metallica songs aren't at all bad if you can overlook Hetfield's constipated vocals.

"Rebel of Babylon"--More Deathstyles of the Poor and Lowly.  Eight minutes of glorified oblivion, four of those in the mutating forms of highly-charged crescendos.  Get discombobulated to this.


It would be ideal if Metallica's newest full-length is a continuation of the Death Magnetic sound (minus the God Static, that is).  Would also be ideal if Metallica released said full-length before half of its current fanbase is dead.


* I wrote this review back in July 2013, and wouldn't you know, the day I begin to prep this review for publication is the day videos begin circulating from the band's March 16th show in Bogota, Columbia.  The setlist seems pretty basic, with the marked exception of a new song, the eight-minute "The Lords of Summer."  The running time is neither here or there (a rule of thrash metal) but that title is rotted carcass levels of hideous and if I don't hear the lyrics "Out on the road today/I saw an Exodus sticker on a Prius" I will be both relieved and ashamed.  No, I won't be sharing my opinion on the track here, as I have a personal "six month" rule when it comes to these reviews.  (Also, it's a friggin' live version.)  Believe I am wishing for the best. 

Butterfly In the Jar

LULU
11/1/2011
(The only occasion to date that two Big 4 bands have released records on the same day in North America.  Megadeth outsold Metallica by 29,000 copies, but then again Lulu is not just Metallica, so ha ha, thwarted again, you soulless ginger prick.)

Yeah, Lulu is not a Metallica album.  It's Metallica and that "Walk On the Wild Side" guy pairing up for a project that sent their respective fantasies into apoplectic fits and I'm somehow supposed to seek out a reason to avoid reviewing this?

Performing together at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame's 25th Anniversary show in 2009 planted the seed.  Initially, Lou thought it would be dandy to work out new renditions of his older, unreleased material with the world's most famous heavy metal act, but then honed in on songs he had composed for Lulu, a theatrical production of the Frank Wedekind plays Earth Spirit and Pandora's Box.  These works feature mariticide, unrequited lesbian love, prostitution and Jack the fuckin' Ripper.  All of which sounds too fascinating to be put (even partially) in the hands of modern day Metallica.  But as Lars Ulrich said:  "Lulu is almost like two languages.  We have m-e-t-a-l in our name.  But we can go fucking anywhere and do anything." 

See?  It's not an album, it's a fucking episode of Reading Rainbow! 

"Brandenburg Gate"--Let's kick it off with some rehearsal!  No no, put that pesky electricity away for now.

How to describe that feeling that shoots throughout my body approximately a minute into "Brandenburg Gate"?  See, this high-fiber diet, low-calorie diet has multifarious benefits, but no small number of detriments as well.  Several late nights during the week I'll be lying in bed, trying to entice sleep, but the solar plexus pull proves too great, and I find myself stumbling towards the kitchen.  I enter the darkened area without bothering to fumble for the light switch--the refrigerator draws me to it with magnetic ease.  I reach out a hand, grasp, pull…the light emanating from the interior of the appliance is nothing compared to the light in my eyes.  A festival of digestibles rests on the shelves--cans and bottles of quenching liquids; tightly-wrapped dishes holding an array of meats, vegetables and sauces.  All of it is immensely appealing.  Any of it would satisfy my urge.  But nothing quite so fully as that slice of red velvet cake hiding underneath some plastic.  I grab it and bring it to my breast.  I am one step closer to completion. 

"SMALL TOWN GIIIRRRRLLLLL!"

"The View"--Lars, would you seriously with the cymbals? 

Discussing the highs of the Lulu experience, Lou told Rolling Stone, "The drums are no joke."  Lou, the drums are all the jokes.  "Knock-knock" to "practical" to "poor taste ethnic." You, on the other paw?  Golden.  I adore Lou on "The View."  His coffeehouse tone and delivery over the brick-brained chord pattern keeps me intrigued, even as James Hetfield tries to ruin it with his fantastical proclamations.

"Pumping Blood"--Chewie, hit the throttle to activate the hyperdrive 'cause kee-rist, this got weird quick. 

Lou quavers out some winners:  "Oh Jack I beseech thee."  "I will swallow your sharpest cutter like a colored man's dick."  Throughout time, women have said some odd things to bring their sex partner to orgasm.

The guitars here are pretty perfect--for the midsection of another song.  The result here is what I feared it would be for the majority of the record:  Lou Reed recites nonsense, Metallica goes CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK.  Obviously Metallica didn't need to adopt the "Legatos Or Bust" mentality to make this oddball collabo work, but they definitely needed to know when and how to sound like more than just Lou Reed's backing band.  Here, they sound like Lou Reed's backing band. 

The drums, I swear…if Lars Ulrich were a waiter, he'd only refill half of your glass.  I hope those wasps get him but good.

"Mistress Dread"--As I just bitched about how rote and "stock"--har har--the guit-fiddles on the last song sounded, so must I praise them here for taking no prisoners.  If only they weren't an anomaly in the bigger picture! 

The repetition makes me genuinely warm from laughter instead of boiling from rage and for that reason I recommend "Mistress Dread" for the next time you need a hilarious distraction (apply as needed). 

Lulu wants a mouthful of spit and shit?  Absolution via degradation, you say?  Cool, 'cause I just got back from a secret rendezvous with the late-night menu at Taco Bell.  I guess a crap is as good as a kiss to a filthy whore.  Wait, am I being a gender traitor?  I'm just saying, of the two of us, Lulu's odds of being found dead in a hotel room with her intestines draped over the headboard are far greater than mine. 

"Iced Honey"--Why did Lou and Johnny Cash never collaborate?  Two raconteurs, one masterpiece.  Guaranteed. 

The bad boys and their treasure map with the singed corners prove a bit much for Lou, who sounds in dire need of a straight line to a bench.  If nothing else, really, the title is stupendous.  Winnie the Pooh in a parka, look of unbearable anticipation on his precious ursine face.  That's what I see.

"Cheat On Me"--Men adore a woman who care nothing for them beyond the occasional fleshly escape. 

"I want lovers like the rain."  No way, I want lovers like the snow--just lay there and look pretty.

"Frustration"--This one goes out to you, Metallica fans convinced your heroes have lost their friggin' marbles!  This one goes out to you, Lou Reed fans convinced your hero is engaging in the most pathetic pandering possible!

I hate songs that tell me what and/or how to think and/or feel.  I loathe songs that nail my thoughts and feelings to a "t."  That's a violation of the creator-consumer trust.  There needs to exist at all times a barrier of great tensile strength between us, Art.  If you want to screw, and I want it too, fine.  But let's get a sheet and a pair of scissors first. 

"Lexicon of hate"--that's pretty metal.  (You could sell it on Etsy.)  "Puke my guts out"--that's pretty Metallica.  Think back to when Jason Newsted had just left, James Hetfield was seeking professionals to assist in the fight with his demons, and the future of the band was in doubt.  All of that uncertainty was like a virus churning in the gut of Metallica.  The only way to get better was to vomit all the bad stuff out.  And that vomit…was St. Anger.  Subsequent to this purgative puke, Death Magnetic showed the band at renewed health. 

Lou Reed, you astute bastard.

"Little Dog"--Banana pudding without vanilla wafers.  Is what this is.

"Dragon"--Some rabidly brain-deficient members of the Metallica famileeh sent Lou Reed threats of violence for aiding and abetting in the horrendous crime of Lulu.  Did they not realize that the man they were promising to pummel had, decades prior, made himself persona non grata in the mainstream music scene for daring to release the wordless feedback-fest known as Metal Machine Music at the height of his commercial success?  Poor pitiful creatures, indeed. 

"Opium white bathrobe"?  Dude, I used that in a Thurston Moore parody poem years ago! 

"Junior Dad"--It is possible to make a good nineteen-minute song.  It has been done.  

With Vangelis composing the guitars, apparently, Lou proceeds to relay the desultory tale of a boy who grew up hating his father only to become like his father as he progressed deeper and deeper into adulthood.  Thus, a "Junior Dad."  (James Hetfield and Kirk Hammett were apparently brought to tears in the studio.)  My father died several years ago, and this didn't make me cry.  Or even sniffle.  I suppose it wasn't meant to, but I'd love to hear a song by a female artist outlining the myriad of depressing, unsavory ways she's becoming just like her tormented father.  No, wait…probably I wouldn't love to hear that. 



Lulu is nowhere near the self-indulgent disaster it had the potential to be (and that some people insist is is), but nor would I call it a true success.  Lars Ulrich claimed, "This makes …And Justice For All sound like the first Ramones album."  The best parts of Lulu can hang with some of the better moments on Justice, but no individual song (okay, maybe the agonizingly delightful "Mistress Dread") is better than that albums nadir.  Likewise, the worst parts of Lulu make a Ramones chopped and screwed album sound like a fantastic idea, could some high-off-his-ass motherfucker in Texas please get on that one posthaste?

Accessibility is overrated when the masses are such opiate-laced asses, but so is experimentation.  Too often here band and singer sounded at loggerheads.  Rather than cite that as a reason to say, "Fuck this album with a long rusty thing," I'll concede that if Lou Reed and Metallica had decided to do a true collaboration right there in the studio, with fresh lyrics and music, pushing and pulling, acting and reacting, giving and taking, well, the results could have been highly enjoyable. 

By all means--innovate the model.  Experiment on the specimen.  Explore the realm.  Deviate from the well-worn path.  Just don't forget to poke some holes and let that beautiful thing breathe, eh?