Live Blogging While Viewing the Restored Edition of The Last Waltz Which I Avoided Watching In the Past Because the Soundtrack Makes Me Gag

00:09 This film should be played loud, the intro titles read. I would concur, except I would also add, "Be sure to turn the volume down during the actual music segments.".

09:28 Our first glimpse of how The Band looks. Now I know where Wilco get their fashion sense.

15:14 Oh, look--it's Ronnie Hawkins performing one of my favorite rock and roll mannerisms: redneck band leader screaming encouraging rev-it-up phrases over the guitar solo. Darby Crash died for your sins, Ronnie--please don't let his loss be in vain.

26:51 If there is anything more painful than hearing a fuzzy-brained hippie reading the introduction to The Canterbury Tales, I have yet to experience it.

30:28 "You know this guy, I bet..." Robbie Robertson exclaims as Neil Young ambles his ramshackle self onto the stage. I certainly do: I saw him begging for change in the parking lot of my local Walgreens this morning. He said he needed money to buy diapers, but I wasn't born yesterday.

53:29 The puzzling sight of Neil Diamond playing on this bill is akin to witnessing Sha Na Na when they performed at Woodstock. I'm half expecting The Manhattan Transfer to make an appearance next.

57:43 "What about women on the road?", Scorsese asks The Band during a backstage interview. "I love 'em!", exclaims the nearly-toothless, homeless-looking Richard Manuel. The follow-up question should have been, "How much did you end up having to pay for each one?"

59:25 Is the necklace draped around the skinny neck of delicate songstress Joni Mitchell fashioned from Nazi insignia? No wonder she was so furious that Neil Diamond was invited to play!

105:18 If I never again have to hear another White man crooning "Train Kept a Rollin'" (in this case, the insufferable Paul Butterfield), I will die a happy man.

109:10 For reasons unclear to me, the blues great Muddy Waters is performing without a guitar, with that role being supplanted by some anonymous long-haired hack behind him. Were the concert organizers afraid to give him an instrument for fear he would steal it?

113:33 Two words: Eric Clapton. Good sweet Jesus, our Lord and Savior, I've passed gas more interesting than this drivel.

126:48 Levon Helm gives a nutty quote: "The greatest priests on 52nd Street were the musicians. They were doing the greatest healing work. And they knew how to push through music which would cure and make people feel good." So our national health plan should be...get some NYC street buskers to run our hospitals??

130:26 I think Levon Helm should charge Grandaddy royalties for using his look without permission.

132:24 The proto-Las Vegas stylings of Van Morrison remind me exactly of my high school Economics teacher. Especially when he does the karate kicks mid-song.

136:56 Hearing poet/boho artist/vagabond Lawrence Ferlinghetti give his refashioned reading of "The Lord's Prayer" is almost enough to make me vote Republican.

141:06 I can't decide if the hat atop Bob Dylan makes him look like a pimp or like Jeff Lynne circa Xanadu.

146:06 So it's come to this: the All-Star jam version of "I Shall Be Released" which sees more musicians on stage at one time than there are members remaining in the audience. If only this farewell concert could have been held at Altamont.

Trailer Tailing

Like all of you, I too have been repeatedly viewing the promo for the upcoming Wes Anderson feature The Darjeeling Limited. My hopes are 1) that it will reach the previous heights scaled by Rushmore and, to a lesser extent, The Royal Tenenbaums (was I the only one who found The Life Aquatic lacking?), and 2) that one of my favorite tunes by The Kinks--namely, This Time Tomorrow--will only be used in the trailer and not in the film itself. After its near-perfect placement during the most hopeful, uplifting scene in the stunning 2005 French flick Regular Lovers--with its luminous black and white imagery and eventually despairing story of 1968's lost innocence--why bother to use it in anything else?

The Baffling Music I Listened To In The Days Of My Sappy Youth (Before I Discovered Punk Rock and Everything Changed For The Better) (Part 1)

First in a series.
Religion and I never got along, even during my tenure as a pre-pubescent squirt, yet I found myself drawn towards hippy-dippy retellings of The Bible. Sadly, like millions of record-collecting dullards of the '70's, this meant owning the original motion picture soundtrack to Godspell (purchased at a thrift strore, I recall). The faux-funky gospel-tinged stylings of Light Of The World were somewhat alluring to my white-bread suburban ear canals, while All For The Best seemed, at the time, to be an absolute ovation-rendering showstopper. I was convinced it was The Most Perfect Foot-Tapping Showtune Ever Written. I never quite understood what Beautiful City was about...I still don't. I also seem to remember thinking All Good Gifts was telegraphing some important messages about...Thanksgiving??? Perhaps it was advising us to be nice to snails, being grateful for the foods we toss out after eating too much...? I never had a clue. Back then, the lyrics of By My Side seemed so deep and earnest. Today, it gives me the same painful shudder I experience upon hearing certain tracks by R.E.M. (circa Green). I was in the 4th grade and a total know-nothing. Please forgive me.

How To Sundance

Do everything possible to assist global warming in melting the world's snow in a speedier fashion. Ridding the earth of the icy nuisance that prevents you from seeing more movies is a most commendable endeavor.

The cliche, in this case, turns out to be quite true: everyone living in Utah really is a white, middle-class, heterosexual Mormon family.

When running behind schedule for a screening after sleeping late, the ability to brush morning breath from your teeth while driving 65 m.p.h. down winding slippery snow-crusted highways is a skill well worth nurturing.

Should your cinematic hero David Gordon Green happen to sit on the same shuttle bus as you, remain calm. Do not wet your pants, no matter how enjoyable that might be. Quickly but firmly approach, conveying how much his films mean to you and what an honor it is to meet him. He will be humble, polite and will shake your hand. Retreat as fast as humanly possible back to your seat. When the woman sitting next to you asks, "What filmmaker is that you were speaking with?", try to refrain from weeping.

Abstain from disembarking off the shuttle at the same time as David Gordon Green: it will lead him to think you're a stalker. If this is unavoidable, bury yourself in the festival program, giving him a few seconds head start to be in front. Sadly, things take a turn for the worst when you find yourself walking right alongside him again a few blocks later; worse, he catches you looking at him. Pretend to be distracted--whoa, there is something really super duper interesting in that shop window across the street! Speed up, passing him in a dramatic fashion as a reassurance that this has all been one big coincidence. Chartering a zigzag path doesn't help: shockingly, you suddenly find yourself right next to him yet again a few minutes later! Holy fuck, how does this keep happening? Eventually, you will have to duck into the festival headquarters to finally and truly avoid walking next to him. Later, fantasize that he relates this run-in with a crazed fan to all of his movie genius buddies as they sip Meisterbrau in the lounge of their private-membership cineaste salon.

When driving between the Sundance Resort and Park City, be sure to seek out the woman selling blankets from her front porch in the quaint town of Heber City. These handcrafted gifts all bear the likeness of various favorite childhood characters: Mickey Mouse, Dora the Explorer, Barbie and...N.W.A???

That Peter Zaremba look-alike you saw on the street the other day turns out, in fact, to be god-like filmmaker Chris Smith. You don't understand this, of course, until later in the day when he makes an appearance for a screening of his latest effort, The Pool. Wait in line to speak with him after the film ends, sulking further when you only have enough time to ask what song played on the soundtrack over the credits. He promises to post the tune on the movie's website but this statement is only meant as an abrupt conversation closer. When leaving the screening of this excellent new film, refrain from slapping the women next to you who--knowing nothing of Smith's background as a documentary filmmaker--complains that it was "too slow" and that "nothing happened".

If you happen to blank out on the name and filmography of marginally interesting queer filmmaker Gregg Araki as he scurries past you, it's best to be accompanied by an aspiring filmmaker friend with few inhibitions. He is more than eager to shout out, "Hey! Hey, you! Did you make The Doom Generation? And what's your name?" The notorious filmmaker seems amused by this arrogant and ignorant outburst; the boyfriend standing next to him, less so.

If you are a frightfully hip young man from L.A, with artfully coifed blonde hair placed just so, a good way to project just how much more evolved you are than the teeming masses sitting amongst you in the theatre would be to continue wearing your expensive brand name sunglasses as you enter the auditorium, taking great care not to remove them until just before the lights go down. You should also take great care to avoid the blogger watching you from two rows away--if he catches you alone outside, he's liable to take those sunglasses and shove them so far up your ass, you'll have to call in a search team to find them.

Because you are movie star hunk Paul Rudd, your ears will burn due to the excited shrill conversation about you between three high-pitched sorority girls who spied you strolling down the street earlier in the evening. Although the encounter with you probably took all of 30 seconds, their recounting of this brush with fame will stretch for a little over an hour.

It's not unusual to find Protagonist, the new film by Jessica Yu, surprisingly accessible because of its direct emotional core. A seemingly simple exploration on the practices of character development handed down from ancient Greek dramas (all enacted by puppets), it's the interspersed personal stories of four real-life men reflecting on power, violence, hubris and redemption which has you bawling tears of empathy. Don't be embarrassed--everyone around you is crying, too.

When flying home, don't be afraid to speak with the diminutive gentleman behind you, taking off his shoes for the X-ray machine. It's comedy legend Bob Balaban and he's the nicest man in the world. He'll accept your compliments gracefully and engage you in a friendly conversation long after he had en excuse to end it. Both the talents and the warmth of Bob Balaban make the world a better place.

Rainy Days and Mondays and New Zealand Movies With Excessive Rain As The Central Metaphor Always Get Me Down

There is nothing witty or clever about the topic of re-posts. Believe me, it's true. If there was something humorous to be said, don't you think I would have said it already? Someone wrote me asking if I could repost a particular song from the soundtrack of the depressing New Zealand flick Rain and I'm not only going to comply (Orange and Blue), I'm going to up the ante (Summer Of Love, Drive Home, Red Room.) The soundtrack (mostly by Neil Finn) is very difficult to find in the U.S. Your choices are to have someone copy the entire CD for you (which, I shouldn't have to remind you, IS COMPLETELY ILLEGAL, PEOPLE!!) or you pay through the nose for it at Gemm. You must choose your fate. I have spoken.

A Tricked Out Stingray

Here's what I think happened: All the creatures in the Kingdom we call Animal are able to talk clearly to each other, easy, and some alligator who was tired of being teased and taunted with pieces of meat and dangling babies passed it on down the line that it was time for revenge. Eventually, it reached Stella the Stingray, who decided it was time to teach this uppity Aussie that payback is a bitch. Another theory I possess: because His Funkiness The Pope-ster insulted the world's Muslims with his teasing and taunting, some Turkish Stingray terrorist is going to taunt and tease his ass during his visit next month, the same way the jocks used to tease and taunt the algebra prodigies at my grade school cafeteria at lunch time. The Turks are all, "We're going to kick your ass after school, your Eminence!". It's the same exact story, only way, way less violent and lacking a soundtrack. I would score this fight scene with Mazhar ve Fuat/Turkuz Turku Cagiririz and/or Uc Hurel/Hurel Arsivi, both taken from one of the latest in the Love, Peace & Poetry series, Turkish Psychedelic Music. How do you cry "Uncle!!" in Turkish? Be sure to visit The Crocodile Hunter website, which pays loving tribute to Irwin, offering dozens of pictures showing him as he harasses various wild animals in every corner of God's great land.

Mother Sky, Sister Moon

Sometimes, when La Luna is aligned with Sagittarius, I shuffle over to the stereo in my oversize kaftan and put on Mother Sky from Can's 2nd album Soundtracks and I just jam and jam and jam, shaking my dreadlocks until they're sore and begging for a good shampoo. Later, I strip down, put on a crisp white shirt (making sure my long translucent neck is jutting out of the collar, buttoned to the top) and play A Kitchen In The Clouds from the Come On compilation The Come On Story, all the while cutting my balding wispy hair to a choppy length. When I look in the mirror, I remind myself that I've been alive forever, and I wrote the very first song. I put the words and the melodies together. I am music and I write the songs.

Be Careful What Your Heart Desires

It's a damp, cloudy and humid morning, which really pisses me off. Why can't it just be bright sunny weather all year round? Who the hell dictated that the earth had to be such a little busybody and rotate around the sun? Why can't scientists figure out how to prevent this damn planet from having such a wobbly axis? I least I don't live in the rain capital of the southern hemisphere, New Zealand, where the movie Rain was filmed. The setting is mopey enough but then the director goes and gives the soundtrack duties to Neil Finn (of Crowded House). It's no wonder he came back with a song as dour and depressing as Orange And Blue. I doubt if you can rent this film in the States, but the DVD and CD soundtrack are both available from various NZ stores peddling their wares at Gemm.