Thursday, April 21, 2016
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
The Neon God: Disturbed and the Bravery of Sincerity
The Sound of Silence, arguably Simon & Garfunkel's most iconic and enduring song, has remained a cultural touchstone since its release, prompting fans, critics and musicians alike to hear in its cryptic lyrics whatever is reflecting upon the popular mood. Sometime in the 90s, when irony was king, it was a corny mediation on sincerity, ranking in since-deleted "Most Overrated Songs Ever" lists by publications like Spin. After 9/11 (the death of irony!) and, perhaps more importantly, Paul Simon's performance of The Boxer on SNL in late 2001, it was a prayer on the shock of terror and impending horrors of war. Later that decade, it became meme fodder thanks to pointed use on Arrested Development; kids online used it to express the minor tragedies that make life so humiliating.
And now, roughly fifteen years since their most relevant period, nu-metal band Disturbed released a cover of S&G's folk staple, complete with a dreary, lyrics-interpreted-literally music video. And it's...
(I can't believe I am saying this)
...not terrible. Awash with clashing symbols, a delicate piano melody and booming percussion, this bombastic piece plays like the "For Dummies" version of the song, hitting each syllable sung by frontman David Draiman with the exact emotional beats subtly intended by its authors. Make no mistake, it's manipulation so transparent it would make Spielberg blush and the music video's interpretation of the song as taking the lyrics at face value almost undoes any goodwill garnered from the band's intention. But in an age where Bon Iver can amass universal praise for taking inspiration by the unabashedly sincere Bruce Hornsby, is it fair to take Disturbed to task for doing the same?
Ironic cool only has so much tolerance for the truly ugly and aggressive. It's why you can sport a fishing hat and Garfield pin at a Mac DeMarco show but not a Staind tee with a pair of Oakleys rested on your head. It's why Tarantino can use Miserlou to an effect that the Black Eyed Peas cannot. To reveal yourself as having been an angry, brooding butt-rock enthusiast is the last hurdle and final frontier before a hipster douche can evolve into a sincere, open adult. To not just admit you used to play with Ninja Turtles but that you still stay up till 1AM playing Borderlands and religiously watch Monday Night Raw. Nu-metal acts like Disturbed, Korn, Linkin Park and the like are an embodiment of the awkward and rebellious phases turn-of-the-21st Century teens (and their poor, poor parents) endured. Just as we don't want to admit how we ignored our mothers at the mall, it's hard not to feel shame when going back and listening to every Oooh-Wah-Ah-Ah-Ahh and Yuh-muh-nuh bellowed by Disturbed and company.
Ironically, these Draiman-isms are wisely absent from their Sound of Silence cover and were it not for the raspy and transparent anger in which he yells "Neon God"in the song's fifth verse you'd be forgiven to not realize it was the same band that wrought Down with the Sickness upon the world. The Neon God Simon and Garfunkel sang of was perhaps a response to the Don Drapers of the world exploiting our desires and self-image to sell consumer goods. Over forty years later we no longer need advertisers to tell us what's cool; our Facebook and Twitter friends are doing it for them. Who better for Disturbed, the least cool of bands, to cry out against?
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Vine Stars and the Lowered Standards of Fame
Jacob Sartorius. While that name may not mean anything to those reading this, it will to the 744,000+ followers of this 13 year old boy's Vine Account which has amassed half-a-billion loops since 2014. That's billion with a 'b.' The fresh-faced, braces-laden teen is on his way to becoming one of the biggest stars online with countless fan pages, hashtags and photos already littering the sidewalks of the information superhighway. Entering his name on Google Image Search will offer you the subcategories of Braces, Abs (ugh), Selfies, Don't Judge Challenge and Facts, each with virtually endless results. "Okay," you sigh "I'll bite. What does this kid do?" Here ya' go:
That's it. But before we dissect what, if anything, makes Jacob special, a word on Vine. It's easy for pre-millenials, post-graduates and pessimists alike to dismiss Vine as a medium, but just as long-form bloggers were wrong to decry Twitter as the death of journalism, so too are film buffs' concerns about the six-second phenomenon*. One needs to look no further than the works of Cool 3D World to see that this platform can, at its best, serve as a beacon for unbridled creativity:
What Nash, and now Jacob, offer as entertainment could be considered the 21st Century equivalent of the funny pages: quick, inoffensive humor that can be recycled as often as needed. Setup ("that feel when"), Crazy thing happens, and then Reaction set to whatever popular song is in the Vine zeitgeist at that juncture (you won't believe how much mileage teen Viners got out of making their teachers do the whip dance in 2015). It's a proven three-beat formula that'll never age and requires less artistry than a Garfield gag. Not everyone can do it, (and some succeed at failing like my favorite weirdo Link Kelly), but with a handsome face, the bare amount of creativity and fame-hungry friends that won't mind holding your phone for you take-after-take, you've got all the tools needed for Vine stardom. And when the well runs dry don't fret! just re-vine a fan edit, play a prank on your buddies (all with their own accounts, trying to leech off your fame) or find some way to shoehorn a Drake song into a "joke":
To say that the bar for internet stardom - set by Justin Beiber becoming famous via YouTube performances - has been lowered is immaterial; in a world populated by Kardashians, Wests and their offspring, the talented and talentless are now desegregated. And while, yes, teenage girls were also obsessing over The Beatles much to the chagrin of their conservative parents, they were, you know, The Beatles after all and needed some merit to appear on Ed Sullivan lest they be stuck in the same crappy Hamburg bar, year after year. All Jacob Sartorius needs is a smartphone.
*Vine, not the author as a lover.
That's it. But before we dissect what, if anything, makes Jacob special, a word on Vine. It's easy for pre-millenials, post-graduates and pessimists alike to dismiss Vine as a medium, but just as long-form bloggers were wrong to decry Twitter as the death of journalism, so too are film buffs' concerns about the six-second phenomenon*. One needs to look no further than the works of Cool 3D World to see that this platform can, at its best, serve as a beacon for unbridled creativity:
This isn't about defending Vine, however. The point is that, like it or not, it's here to stay and it's where every fame-hungry pre-teen to adult will be heading to find easy fame from here on out. Just look at Nash Grier, the obnoxious, ice-eyed 18-year old "fuccboi" who just happens to be one of the most popular entertainers in the United States with a whopping 12 million followers. To put that in perspective, the The Walking Dead averages 19 million viewers weekly. And to put that in an even sadder perspective, Parks and Recreation averaged about half of Grier's follower count for most of it's run (are you still surprised Donald Trump is a serious presidential candidate in this country?). Our bafflement aside, Nash's brand is now reportedly worth $3 million and the homophobic tool is laughing his way to Hollywood proper with a (terrible looking) movie under his belt and more projects in the works.
To say that the bar for internet stardom - set by Justin Beiber becoming famous via YouTube performances - has been lowered is immaterial; in a world populated by Kardashians, Wests and their offspring, the talented and talentless are now desegregated. And while, yes, teenage girls were also obsessing over The Beatles much to the chagrin of their conservative parents, they were, you know, The Beatles after all and needed some merit to appear on Ed Sullivan lest they be stuck in the same crappy Hamburg bar, year after year. All Jacob Sartorius needs is a smartphone.
*Vine, not the author as a lover.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
In Search of Monsters: The Uneasiness of Watching Jared, Benoit and OJ
From 2006 to 2012, disgraced Subway pitchman and alleged serial pedophile Jared Fogle appeared on World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) television in sporadic appearances co-sponsored by the sandwich chain. Jared's presence was minor and mostly silent; he was the living conduit through which the wrestlers could obtain their coveted hoagies (these segments were exclusive to superstars who weren't actively seeking something more prestigious like,I don't know, a championship). His face would seesaw from grimace to wince through each appearance, as bully heel Wrestlers would threaten Jared in a manner apparently familiar to Mr. Fogle now in prison.
Though innocuous at the time, it's difficult to watch this now and not think immediately of the disturbing audio of Jared discussing his intent to seduce schoolchildren. Was he thinking about WWE's target audience, children, as they make up 21% of the fanbase? Will this appearance give him more credibility to the boys and girls upon whom he preys? How easy it is to say something as insightful yet meaningless as "he just looks like a pedophile?" Confirmation bias is a duplicitous spin doctor in our working memory; it's our "tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information in a way that confirms one's beliefs or hypotheses, while giving disproportionately less consideration to alternative possibilities." Our confirmation bias directs us to look for clues: a micro-expression that tells the whole story on the criminal's face before the crime had been committed. In the case of Jared, the search for clues is a futile one that does nothing more than cast a creepy shadow on a few awkward ads.
In 2008, WWE decided to go in a more family-friendly content direction after scoring a major partnership with toy-makers Mattel and to maintain a cleaner image for other potential sponsors after the Chris Benoit murders, thus allowing for sillier segments such as the above. Eagle-eyed and perpetually bored fans have attempted to pin-point the exact blow that knocked the "self-destruct" level in Benoit's brain. Which diving head-butt from the top of a ladder or cage was the one to scramble his noodle so severely that he would commit such an unspeakable act? As if such a thing could be deduced just so. A content warning now appears on WWE Network programming featuring Benoit that suggests a separation from the performer and performance; in other words, the fictional violent acts you are seeing is in no way attributable to the real-life violence that resulted in three deaths. It's a precarious position for the company: in the age of Wikipedia, to acknowledge the connection even in denial, sparks the same interest as would omission.
It's the same curiosity and obsession
with connecting these dots that makes American Crime Story: The People Vs. OJ Simpson so fascinating. We know 'The Juice' is getting off. The beats and catchphrases from this trail are now apart of new American folklore. Unlike the drama of a novel serial like Mad Men or a professional wrestling match, OJ's story as it's being told here, is hinged on the vague promise of insight, not the question of "what happens next?" We are now privy to the private discussions and moments of anguish and brilliance that anticipated the racial remarks, the glove, the verdict. We know where this is going, but twenty years later we are still desperate to find out why the foregone conclusion was not so in 1994, why what seems so obvious now was, to some, a mystery. American Crime story gives us the luxury or examining the faces of Simpson, Kardashian, Clark, Cochran (through proxies, of course) and the rest at their most vulnerable. And while, to date, Cuba Gooding Jr's OJ has yet to admit guilt on the program, his performance says otherwise.
Its hard to not feel like we aren't owed these answers, in some way. As if watching The Naked Gun, or Wrestlemania XX, or an ad for a Teriyaki Sub Promotion another time might tip us off to what was in front of this whole time. After all, monsters they may be, we invited them into our homes for so many years and we want to protect our loved ones from the same. The truth is, however, that looks can be deceiving and the obvious is only a myth we create to convince ourselves we knew better. We didn't.
Monday, March 14, 2016
The Kids are All Fried: A Look at Robble Robble by Sam Gascan
As the first entry to The Sunset Flip, I wanted to showcase something that was equal parts bizarre, ballsy, satiric and sleazy. Something that both celebrates and skews the mildly poisonous nostalgia culture us '90s kids' have inherited. The first and only entity that came to mind was the self-published mini-comic by a Massachusetts artist named Sam Gascan, Robble Robble.
Before we get there, remember M.C. Kids? You know, the late-NES platformer featuring Mick and Mack (one white, one black!) two kids stranded in McDonaldland on a mission to collect puzzle pieces (don't ask) in an effort to return a Magic bag to Ronald McDonald. Why can't Ronald do this himself? Two reasons:
1. McDonalds, as a company, has thrived upon its inception on using young people to do their dirty work.
2. Mick and Mack are surrogates for the diabetic, video-game obsessed audience. After all, who else is going to buy a Nintendo game based on an advertising campaign but the fast-food-fed children who (in a pre-internet age) have no other outlet?
Such was the landscape of McDonaldland in the 80s and 90s. Ronald could appear in a video game, literally ask the player to do his bidding, and we eat it up like so many McDoubles. The man (clown?) could even orchestrate a dance-party at one of his fine southern California restaurants within a feature-film E.T. knock-off like Mac and Me:
Was our affection for Ronald, Grimace and The Early Bird a pavlovian response to our french-fry, milkshake and hamburger addiction, or were these classic characters that just so happened to be corporate mascots? Likely the former, but it was an affection nonetheless, albeit an uneasy one. Which brings us to our subject, Robble Robble.Sam Gascan's 30-page mini-comic makes no attempt to subvert copywrite and create also-ran versions of the McDonaldland squad ("Meet Donald McRonald and Smirk!"). To put on an emphasis of Gascan's IDGAF approach, the inside cover features four photos of actual McDonalds locations in MA, NY and "somewhere in FL," presumably taken by the author. We are then treated to a sexually-charged conversation between two sentient cheeseburgers before it's cut short by one's call to duty as somebody's lunch. If the description of this scene sounds absurd to you, remember that if you are like me you did grow up with an emotional attachment to a group of roller-skating french fries and what I assume to be a massive, purple, milkshake slinging butt-plug.
The scene transitions into the antics of two teenage fry cooks who make Beavis and Butthead's Burger World tenure look like Ray Croc. In the universe of Robble Robble, however, Croc may well be the fictional figurehead as Ronald himself is the exasperated, no-BS boss who quickly reprimands the two goofballs. Things only get weirder from here as the entrepreneurial clown soon realizes that he cannot make this month's money-maker, The Shamrock Shake!, without O'Grimacey's "St. Patrick's Day Magic." This sets the stage for our adventure to McDonaldland, with Ronald and Grimace on the trail of their #1 suspect, none other than The Hamburglar.
Even at his worst, The Hamburglar was never much of a villain. Watch as his attempt to steal from Ronald and Grimace (who, in this ad, are carrying way more cheeseburgers than any two people, clowns, or gigantic sex toys could eat in a single sitting) begins with a handshake and ends with Ronald handing his foe a burger out of pity after thwarting his plan.
Pathetic. Even as a kid you wonder what's wrong with the Hamburlgar for being such a polite mugger, and Ronald for being so generous as to reward his assailant. Gascan's comic re-imagines these characters as truer versions of themselves, no longer tethered to the "everybody wins" philosophy of children-targeted advertising. Grimace is an imbecile, comparable to Patrick Starr of SpongeBob. Early Bird is shrill, annoying and clumsy but good-natured. The Hamburglar is a knife-wielding sociopath. And Ronald is the bitter, irascible leader with little patience for the fools surrounding him. He's like Rick Sanchez with red hair and face-paint.
Seeing these characters behave like this feels like working behind the counter of a fast-food restaurant. You see first hand that the savory delights you've developed a taste for aren't so much the colorful creations of an Oz-like utopia, but merely big plastic bags of frozen, dead flesh waiting for one last chance to be turned into something someone will pay for before resting, finally, in some sewer. Unlike working flipping burgers, however, Robble Robble is hilarious and rewarding even if some of the humor isn't for everyone.
The McDonaldland characters, sans Ronald, were retired in the early 00s in favor of a more "real-world" approach. I imagine children today have the same taste for fast-food and small collectable toys as they did when I was a child, but as news of McDonalds' suffering continues to make headlines, one has to wonder if part of the problem is their inability to connect with the youth's imagination. In an age grade-schoolers racking up bills on their parents' Apple Store accounts with endless in-game app purchases, you'd think there is room for these characters to thrive (McPlay is their mobile game, but it features outside properties like My Little Pony and Transformers).
So what's left of Grimace and Mayor McCheese is how we remember them. With fondness, bewilderment, amusement a little disgust, and a sesame-seed bun.
You can read the entirety of Sam Gascan's Robble Robble here.
Welcome and Thank You
Welcome to The Sunset Flip, a site dedicated to covering the best, worst and weirdest in all things Pop Culture with an emphasis on Film, Alt Comix, Professional Wrestling and Internet Culture. In other words, we'll be reviewing low-brow art with high-brow literary analysis and a unibrow sense of humor. In the meantime, follow me on Twitter @AlexCzysz for the latest updates and stay tuned for our first piece.
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