Entertainment

August 2015 - Posts

  • RED Hearts: Entertainment: Why Wilco Will Rock Your Summer

    By Carey Dunne, 25, reporting from Brooklyn, NY, on the new (free) record from her rain-or-shine favorite band.

    Wilco is one of the few bands I was obsessed with as a 15-year-old that I'm still obsessed with now. And I expect to never outgrow them, not even when I'm a dad rock-listening old lady and newer, daddier dad rock has come and gone.

    The last time I saw them live was in a downpour in June, at New Orleans Jazz Fest, standing in disgusting-smelling mud. Most people in the crowd were pot-bellied 40-plus men with bucket hats, tie-dyed T-shirts, and cargo shorts—guys I would've thought I had nothing in common with if it weren't for our mutual love of this band. It was the least cool music festival you can imagine.

    But Wilco is one of those bands that transcends the tyranny of cool, which makes their live shows so much better than those that feel like look-at-me scenester fashion shows. When they took the stage, droll frontman Jeff Tweedy pointed out that the weather "could be worse."

    As they played "Jesus, Etc.," an aging hippie tripping out and wildly flailing his arms and legs around splattered mud in my face. But…it could be worse. Soon, lightning started striking the fairgrounds and the amps were fritzing out. Their set ended early. Everyone booed.

    But Wilco had played most of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and a good part of A Ghost Is Born, so it was still among the better shows I'd ever seen. Also, this was my second Wilco show in a serious downpour (two summers ago, Ommegang Brewery, I wore a trash bag poncho). That too was one of the better shows I’ve ever seen.

    Point is, I think this works as a cheesy metaphor for my general feelings about this band: Listening to Wilco makes me not mind if the weather sucks or hippie or hipster is sending mud in my direction. Their music is that good.

    So I was excited when they released their first new album in four years, Star Wars, a couple of weeks ago—as a surprise and a free download. The first track, "EKG," made me think my headphones were broken when I first listened to it, but turns out it's just that twitchy and weird of a song (in a good way).

    Confession: I realize I have no idea how to write about music. There are only so many adjectives that can describe sound, and none of them ever seem to do justice to the nuances of feeling a song. All I know how to say is, "This is really good, go listen to it."

    For an articulate analysis of "Star Wars," go read the smartypants Pitchfork review. (It describes one song as "skronking"—see, you have to make up words in order to write about music effectively.) Or you can skip the reviews and just go listen to the record itself. It’s the perfect addition to your summer soundtrack, under sunny skies or in case of extreme downpour.

  • RED Hearts: Entertainment: A Living Tribute to Amy Winehouse

    By RED editor Amy Goldwasser, reporting from NYC on Amy, the movie of a true talent lost

    Amy, the new documentary about Amy Winehouse, is the kind of movie you feel bad about recommending. Or at least I do. Because it’s pretty much guaranteed to break your heart. I’ll put it this way: During the end credits I thought I was crying a lot till I found my husband sobbing on my shoulder. He stayed like that till pretty much everyone else had left the theater.

    So be prepared to actively miss Amy Winehouse once this unshakable, haunting movie makes you feel as if you know her. And then you lose her.

    That’s the thing. You see her being so talented (that part we already knew), so smart, so funny, so strong, so much of a real person, someone so capable of getting her act together over and over again—that’s the revelation—that throughout the film, you keep experiencing relief. Oh, phew, she’s OK now. Then you remind yourself that this is a true story and you know how it ends.

    Amy was a total jazz nerd. She wrote her own songs because she saw the limits of everything else out there—and besides, why wouldn’t you? She wasn’t afraid to tell it like it is in interviews, to make sure her music not only moved you but made you think or cracked you up. She had real friends, loyal and loving, who, at least for a while, could ground her in the middle of the surreal nightmare of her sudden stardom. She didn’t take herself too seriously.

    Imagine this in a celebrity. It seems she was an extraordinary talent—who truly did not want the fame. It’s like she was missing the layer of narcissism that seems to be the key, a protective layer, to surviving a life surrounded by people who say nothing but yes to you, by paparazzi mobs who won’t let you walk down the street, by comedians who consider you fare game as a public figure and are free to cruelly mock your very personal struggles.

    Amy not only made me admire her even more, but it made me think a little bit differently, more responsibly, more kindly, about what we assume and project—about what the world does—to celebrities. See this movie. Go home and listen to your favorite Amy Winehouse song and realize how deeply original and wise and enduring and unmistakably hers it is. And forgive me for making you cry on someone’s shoulder.