Sophistication is not a word normally associated with rock stars, and certainly not the immortal decadence associated with the Rolling Stones. And yet, with the passing of Charlie Watts this past Tuesday, the word has popped up multiple times to describe his playing as well as his quiet, anti-rock star demeanor.

Charlie was the eye of the crossfire hurricane that is the Rolling Stones sound, his steady backbeat providing calm in the midst of Keith Richards’ wild guitar riffs and Mick Jagger’s sneering, seedy vocals. A jazz musician at heart who initially eschewed the blues influences of his bandmates, Charlie gave the Stones sound a big band swing that defined the seductive grooves of classics like “Honky Tonk Women” and “Beast of Burden.” Richards’ deathless “Satisfaction” intro would not sound nearly as muscular with Charlie’s insistent ‘four on the floor’ backbeat hammering away underneath it, punctuating the aggression at the heart of the song. 

In the band’s live shows, Charlie was the secret weapon: whenever Keith Richards got lost in a solo or Jagger mistimed a vocal cue, you could always count on Watts to right the ship and get the band back on track. Richards would play through him, using him as the guide post to set up the tempos and grooves of songs to get the right feeling going on any given night. On the band’s live epic, “Midnight Rambler,” the entire band would have their eyes locked on him the whole time as he effortlessly navigated them through the song’s many dynamics and tempo shifts. Watts played with the Stones until he was 78 years old, and his final tour in 2019 had him sounding as brisk, sharp and punchy as ever, and still swinging.

The parallels between Watts’ playing and his personality have often been discussed; in both he was unassuming, never wont to take center stage, but always just an emphatic enough presence to make him indispensable to the Stones’ legacy. In interviews and promotional video, Charlie had a dryly comedic role, often rolling his eyes in mock embarrassment at Jagger’s endless preening and prancing. He always seemed genuinely bemused that he was apart of the biggest rock and roll band on the planet, and it was always charming and endearing how humbly he approached fame. 

Not that he didn’t indulge: Watts collected Arabian horses and vintage sports car, the latter his most jarring excess considering he never drove. He was perhaps second to David Bowie as rock’s most immaculate sartorial figure, decked to the nines in gorgeous Saville Row tailored suits and colorful shirts. He also briefly took over for Richards as the band’s resident heroine addict in the mid-1980s’, a period that gave birth to one of the most famous backstage Stone moments: an enraged Jagger called Watts down for a rehearsal and angrily referred to him as my drummer. Watts, who by own his admission was drunk, heartily decked the likely unsuspecting frontman and told him “you’re my fucking singer.” Watts wasn’t wrong; without him, Jagger would not have a beat or shuffle for him to unleash his spastic yet effective running and vamping upon the world for the last six decades.

Watts quit heroine cold turkey when he realized the effect it was having on his marriage to his wife Shirley, who he stayed with for 57 years. When Bill Wyman was bragging about having sex  with 2,000 women in 1965 alone and Jagger was having teenyboppers throw themselves at him 24/7, Watts had a steadfast, happy family life until the day he died. In music and life, Watts has been described as a rock: reliable, still, seemingly indistinct, but if you were to remove it from the landscape, it would seem less vibrant and unique.

Without Charlie in the band’s aural landscape, the Rolling Stones lose their swing and punch. They had a replacement inked for Charlie before he passed, as he had pulled out of their upcoming U.S. tour three weeks before his death under more pretenses (temporary illness, ‘returning for the 60th anniversary next year’); it’s Steve Jordan, Richards’ drummer from his side project the X-Pensive Winos. Jordan is an excellent drummer, and it’s crucial that they brought in someone who has chemistry with Keith Richards, who once said ‘no Charlie, no Stones’ when Watts battled cancer in 2004. Jordan, however, will not be Charlie. The history won’t be there,  nor the natural chemistry that developed out of nearly 60 years of playing together. It’s going to be exciting to see the Stones face a true challenge again, as opposed to coasting on the spectacle and hype of their longevity. It may be good, great even, but it won’t be as good as having Charles Robert Watts there.


Review: Taylor Swift 'Folklore' might be the best album of her ...

Bob Dylan went electric, The Beatles discovered psychedelia, and now Taylor Swift seems to be transitioning into indie rock goddess….ok, these are all ludicrous comparisons and exaggerations, but the pop icon’s sudden shift into uncharted territory could well be the start of a new, exciting chapter in her already 15 year career.

In actuality, Swift’s career has always been about gradual growth and change, as she transitioned from country sensation to mainstream pop goddess, all the while keeping the core tenets of her artistry intact; her introspective, often biting and clever takes on her personal relationships along with more nuanced statements on her autonomy and independence. 

The indie folk genre that has been pioneered by Bon Iver, The National and numerous other acts over the last 20 years is in reality a perfect nesting ground for Swift’s brand of soul probing story-songs, and thanks to genre mainstays Jack Antanoff producing and The National’s Adam Dressen co-writing 11 of the album’s 16 songs, she sounds completely comfortable and authentic in these previously uncharted waters.

Those looking for the next “Shake It Off” or “You Need to Calm Down” can stick with the mega-selling albums they came from; the slick beats and catchy hooks are replaced with stripped down arrangements, crisp piano and guitar, the occasional dreary organ, and Swift’s sultry, often ethereal vocals. Her voice barely rises above a whisper on many tracks, giving them an intimate, haunting presence that recalls Lana Del Rey and even Joni Mitchell.

Each one of folklore’s 16 tracks ranges from very good to absolutely excellent, with some of the best songs in her career in the second half of the album; it’s tough to narrow it down to a few highlights, but the dreamy “mirrorball,” the poignant and haunting “this is me trying,” the mournful “illicit affairs” and the closing “hoax” stand among Swift’s very best material ever. Other standouts include the bouncy, wistful “the last great american dynasty” and “my tears ricochet,” the latter maybe Swift’s darkest song to date and largely interpreted as a veiled kiss-off to her former record label, Big Machine.

In a year that has seen incredible new music by everyone from Bob Dylan to Phish to Dua Lipa to Fiona Apple to Lady Gaga, folklore holds its own as a bold and powerful artistic statement with the quality to match its ambitions. With this record, Swift’s next move just became that much more exciting and unpredictable.



Sigma Oasis_Phish

With the immediate fate of concerts, festivals and other music related gatherings in limbo, America’s second favorite jam band and favorite live band, Phish, have bestowed something of a consellation present in the form of its latest album, Sigma Oasis.

Sigma Oasis marks a milestone of sorts for the band, as it’s the first studio album to successfully conjure the alchemy that results in their most legendary and transformative jams live jamming; the lengthy excursions in “Everything’s Right,” “Steam,” and the haunting closer “Thread” are as good as any the band has laid down onstage, filled with dynamic twists and turns and endless exploration, as well as their typically fantastic musicianship. 

Lyrically and musically, Phish are more mature and thoughtful as ever; on songs like the whimsical title tracks, the haunting “Leaves,” and the truly sublime “Shade,” Anastastio displays a depth and maturity to his lyricism that has only been shown in flashes previously (most notably on his solo record, Ghosts of the Forest), while the vocal melodies and harmonies on “Mercury” rank among the most clever in Phish’s catalog. His playing continues to be as sharp, fluid and creative as ever, with his solo on “Leaves” standing out in particular for its emotional colouring that recalls the depth his forefather Jerry Garcia would inject into his most soulful “Stella Blue” outros.

The rest of the band sounds terrific too, with some of their most delicate and nuanced playing to date; Page McConnell really struck me as the album’s other MVP, especially on “Everything’s Right,” where his intricate and thoughtful keyboard work is the motivating force towards leading the song into deeper waters. The rhythm section of John Fishman and Mike Gordon are air tight throughout, giving each song the proper foundation and standing out especially on the heady funk breakdowns in “Steam” and “Thread.”

Sigma Oasis is a true gift of an album, not just for Phish’s rabid fanbase but for 2020 as a whole; its a true ‘feel good’ record that, coupled with Phish’s generally relaxed and sunny musical disposition, allows you to drift away from the chaos of the current climate, if only for an hour and six minutes.



Dua Lipa’s latest release, the cleverly titled Future Nostalgia, came on a wave of hype, as the Grammy winning English pop sensation has been responsible for some of the most irresistible and inescapable hits of the last three years. Predictably, Future Nostalgia not only lives up to its hype, but actually exceeds it.

On Future Nostalgia, Dua Lipa asserts her bold, assertive and unapologetic femininity in a way in a series of tough, punchy dance floor anthems bristling with clever, often biting and hilarious lyrics and complemented by dazzling production values. From the opening infectious title track, Lipa immediately establishes herself as a dominant force to be reckoned, as well as clarifies the intent behind the album’s contradictory title:

You want a timeless song, I wanna change the game

Like modern architecture, John Lautner coming your way

I know you like this beat ’cause Jeff been doing the damn thing

You wanna turn it up loud, future nostalgia is the name.” *

If her goal was to create an album of songs that are indisputably rotted in modern times while incorporating iconic sounds and production values of the 1970s’, ’80s, and beyond, she achieves it, especially on tracks such as the dreamy “Levitating” and the lush “Love Again,” both of which sail on a caressing wave of 70s’ R&B tapestries, with the latter also incorporating the more pointed New Jack Swing beats of the early 1990s’.  

Specific artists are also recalled, either consciously or consciously; the fantric, pulsating beat of “Physical” recalls the similarly suggestive pacing of ABBA’s edgy “Lay All Your On Me” and Madonna’s early classic “Burning Up,” among others. The appropriately hypnotic “Hallucinate” pays homage to The Fame era Gaga without sounding derivative, while the album’s best song, the irresistbly raunchy “Good in Bed” combines the brassiness of TLC, the lyrical bite of Lily Allen (as pointed out by other critics) and the raw, upfront sexual bravado of Lizzo, as well as echoing Prince’s similarly graphic and spiritually gratifying portrayal of sex during the days of Dirty Mind.

The album’s closer, “Boys Will Be Boys,” is a blunt condemnation against toxic masculinity as well as the idea that it’s on women to protect themselves rather than on men to behave appropriately; it’s not the first song tackle these subjects, but the song’s lyrics are laced with a formidable combo of defiance, resignation, and even humor. Its serious pedigree may seem jarring, but in reality it’s a culmination of all the non-apologetic femininity Lipa presents throughout the album, and establishes her as an artist capable of serious depth and thought and offers a great conclusion.

With its smartly constructed songs, soaring and diverse production values, and Lipa’s charismatic vocals and personality, it’s going to be very tough to top Future Nostalgia as one of, if not the, best albums of 2020. Be on the lookout come Grammys time, whenever that will be.

* Lyrics credited to




DIRECTOR: Vince Gilligan

CAST: Aaron Paul, Robert Forster, Jesse Plemmons, Matt Jones, Charles Baker, Scott MacArthur, Scott Shepherd

Breaking Bad, the legendary series about a chemistry teacher turned empirically successful, unforgiving ruthless meth kingpin, is a show whose impact is still felt today. Vince Gilligan’s ballsy series set a new vanguard for episodic storytelling across several mediums, leading way to some of the great drama series of today that employ similarly daring character choices, plot lines, and atmospheres.

El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie, coming four years after the show’s breathtaking finale, was designed by Gilligan and star Aaron Paul, who played the conflicted partner of Bryan Cranston’s Walter White, Jesse Pinkman. Pinkman’s arc ended on a cliffhanger, one that many fans wanted to see completed. After various hints and teases from both on social media, El Camino hit Netflix and select theaters on October 11.

El Camino picks up right where the series finale of Breaking Bad left off, with Pinkman speeding away from the compound from which he was held captive, bruised, bloodied but free. Of course, Jesse is not really ‘free’: the police are hunting him down, his exploits with Heisenberg plastered all over the evening news, and there’s a very good chance those associated with his now deceased captors are looking to finish the job on him. Pinkman winds up turning to the only people he can trust (that are still alive): Skinny Pete (Charles Baker) and Badger (Matt L. Jones), both of whom assist in helping Pinkman clean up and avoid capture. With his incriminating car off his hands, Pinkman sets out to retrieve the cash owed to him by his former partners turned captors, breaking into Todd’s (Jesse Plemmons) apartment to retrieve over a million dollars’ cash. Unfortunately, Jesse is not the only one looking for the money, as several other associates from his past make it much harder for Jesse to start over, most notably vacuum salesman Ed Galbraith (the late Robert Forster in his final onscreen performance), the ‘cleaner’ who helped Walter White form a new identity and escape from his (for awhile, anyway). This leads to a somewhat predictable but totally satisfying ending to Pinkman’s arc, and it’s hard to imagine any fans of the show will be disappointed by it.

El Camino does not have the constant high velocity twists and turns of Breaking Bad‘s more intense episodes; as a film as opposed to a tv show, it’s much more reserved and dynamic, which makes the more explosive moments all the more effective once they hit. The inter-cutting of Jesse’s present day dilemma with flashbacks to how he got to where he is now help immensely is tightly incorporated into the flow of the film and compliments the main story perfectly. It also leads to some great cameos, including one from Plemmons where his sociopathic killer character is almost humanized as he takes Jesse out for the day to give him a break from his constant torture sessions. I won’t spoil the rest (some you can see coming from miles away), but each one was a character it really felt good to see again and remind you just how brilliantly acted the series was as a whole.

Paul is absolutely mesmerizing as he revisits his signature character, adding new nuances and depth to the character; there are long stretches of the film where he barely utters a complete sentence, acting totally with his eyes and body language, that totally capture the anger and regret over Jesse’s past actions, as well as his ambitions to start over. It’s as good an acting performance as I’ve ever seen, and hopefully the upcoming awards season will recognize it a such. The rest of the cast compliments him nicely, especially Forster, who as Jesse’s most tormenting antagonist here despite posing no physical threat, gets to put one last notch on his belt of fine, fine performances throughout his career. You ride a roller coaster with his character, hating for him on being so stern in his one requirement to help Jesse, and yet respecting how he holds his own against Jesse’s still smug, arrogant attitude. Their scenes together are among the very best part of the movie for me, just two great actors matching each other’s passion, intensity, and craftsmanship.

If you have yet to watch Breaking Bad, you will find El Camino slow, laborious, and predictable. If you watched it and loved it, you will be smiling ear to ear at its conclusion. Vince Gilligan did 100 % right by his fans, giving them the perfect post script to this groundbreaking series.


DIRECTOR: Todd Phillips


CAST: Joaquin Phoenix, Robert De Niro, Frances Conroy, Brett Cullen, Zazie Beetz

Genre: Drama / Thriller

The media hype as well as scrutiny leading up to the release of Todd Phillips’ Joker, starring Joaquin Phoenix as the legendary Batman villian, was as unavoidable as it was controversial. Marketed as a Joker origin story, one in which the character is a well meaning but mentally ill man who is tired of getting beaten down by those better off than them and as a result completely snaps, many felt it echoed too closely the mindframe of mass shooters and incels who take their own personal insecurities and resentments out on the public. Its supporters, on the other hand, felt it would open a door to a new conversation about mental illness, how to recognize signs of suffering and empathize with those afflicted, and help us realize the warning signs of a potentially homicidal break before it’s too late.

With such a burden on its back, Joker couldn’t afford to be a failure, and it certainly isn’t; in fact, Joker fully accomplishes what it sets out to do, to the point where you can almost consider it a masterpiece. It’s not an easy watch: it’s bleak and disturbing. You will sweat and your knuckles will turn white while you’re watching it. Depending on who you are, it will frighten you how much you relate to the main character’s sense of hopelessness and rejection from an unforgiving society. I personally don’t know if I can ever sit through it again.

Phoenix stars as Arthur Fleck, a lonely, disturbed man who lives in abject poverty while taking care of his mother Penny (Frances Conroy). Arthur has a mental illness that causes him to laugh hysterically and uncontrollably even in the most inappropriate moments, which is why the only work he is able to find is a professional clown. Despite his belief that his purpose is to “bring laughter and joy to the world” and aspirations to become a successful standup comedian, Arthur makes everyone around him, from his social worker to the other professional clowns he works with, deeply uncomfortable with his constant laughing, nihilistic outlook, and generally unsettling demeanor. Eventually, one of his co-workers devises a plan to get him fired, which works and sends Arthur on the course that eventually turns him into the beloved (feared?) Clown Prince of Crime.

Joker is relentlessly unnerving, constantly challenging the limits of your empathy as the titular character descends further and further into psychotic madness. As a person whose had his own struggles with mental illness, it absolutely terrified me how much I related to the character early on; only when he actually started killing his antagonists did I thank God for a stable, supportive family, a good job, and impulse control.

The film muddies the waters further by making his victims increasingly despicable in their own right: three ‘well to do’ preppies who antagonize both Arthur and a young woman on the train, a seemingly well meaning co-worker who gives Arthur a gun under the guise of protecting himself but then gets him fired for possessing it, and a smug, faux-genial late night talk show host (Robert De Niro, hamming it up in one of his best roles in recent years) who belittles Arthur’s attempts at standup on the show without his consent, then pays the price when he invites Fleck on. Even Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen), who’s not a victim of Fleck’s crimes, is portrayed as far less heroic and sympathetic than he is in other iterations. The movie ultimately winds up with no character as a moral center; while this is certainly off putting too many, it fits seamlessly with the film’s narrative and provides a perfect contrast to the entertaining but predictable formulas of your average superhero movies. 

People have said that the movie has no real goal, but I left with the impression that Phillips wanted us to make our decision on what to take away from the film; if you came away thinking that he wanted to make a pointed statement about the socio-political climate and wealth disparity in today’s America, an unflinching condemnation on our treatment and often rejection of the homeless, mentally ill and other groups seen as undesirable, or just a violent origin story for a beloved villain, it’s futile and perhaps impossible to say you’re wrong.

While Joker is tightly written and beautifully filmed, the reason for its success is Phoenix. It’s no secret that Phoenix is an actor of the finest vintage, but he outdoes himself here. He plays Arthur in such a dynamic, nuanced way that the aforementioned sympathy you have for him early on is totally valid. His performance acts as a road map for the viewers’ feelings of the character, from the way his signature laugh becomes more abrasive and obnoxious to the subtle changes in facial expressions and general mannerisms that paint as vivid a picture of insanity as any. Arthur Fleck, for me, comfortably takes his spot alongside Norman Bates, Hannibal Lecter, John Doe from Se7en and any other legendary cinematic antagonist you could think of.

Visually, the film is stunning; Phillips creates by far the eeriest live action imagining of Gotham City to date. Whereas Tim Burton’s had a gothic beauty to it that felt appropriate only because it was Tim Burton, and Nolan’s felt like a normal city getting being terrorizes, Phillips’ is a grey, desolate hellscape with no relief to be found at any corner.

Simply put, Joker is a brilliant movie. I feel comfortable using the word ‘masterpiece,’ even. While I’ve ‘enjoyed’ other films that came out this year more, they did not leave the mark on me that Joker did. I can’t recommend it for everyone, but if you enjoy being challenged by a film, Joker is a winner in every way.



IMG_0301“This could be the last time,

This could be the last time,

May be the last time, I don’t know.”

The Rolling Stones did not play that 1964 hit at their show last night at MetLife Stadium, yet it was the one running through my head as I decided to purchase tickets as well when I arrived at the venue.

I’ve been a Stones fan since the riff of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” seared its way into my brain when I was about five or so. I’ve seen them twice before, once in 2003 at Madison Square Garden and again in 2005 at Giants Stadium (aka the old MetLife). I still consider them the best pure hard rock band of all time. And yet, I entered the stadium with a feeling of trepidation.

Many an unfunny joke has been made about the band’s increasingly advanced years, along with the prognostication that every tour since 1997 could be their last. Having heard some recordings of shows within the last year or so, I thought age had finally caught up with the band: the tempos dragged, Jagger sounded labored, and Keith wasn’t churning out riffs with the same verve and power he’s renowned for. For the first time in their life, the Stones really sounded like what they are: very old men playing rock and roll.

As the opening riff to “Jumping Jack Flash” jolted the stadium crowd onto their feet, any misgivings I may have had were erased. The band attacked the song, with Keith firing off power riffs, Charlie pounding the drums while keeping perfect time and tempo, and Mick strutted and prowled with the confidence and energy he’s always had.

From end to end, the band sounded virile, tough, and engaged on every song. There was no sluggishness, no dull moments, no sense of them going through the motions. They left all they could on that stage. Mick had the crowd in the palm of his hand as he led them through the singalong chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” and his banter was equal funny, witty, cheesy and sincere, acknowledging it was the 90th time they’ve played Jersey and how they love playing the Northeast more than anywhere else in America.

The set list speaks for itself: to name a few, “Tumbling Dice,” “Sympathy for the Devil,” “Honky Tonk Women,” “Miss You,” “Start Me Up,” “Brown Sugar,” “Gimme Shelter,” and “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” are some of the most important songs in all of rock and roll, and hearing them in person always feels like you’re experiencing a little bit of history. “Sympathy” and “Gimme Shelter” both felt especially potent in the wake of the current political atmosphere, and they played each with intimidating purpose.

While the set was heavy on the hits, the band was more than accommodating for hardcore fans craving deep cuts. Early on, they busted out their hit cover of Bob & Earl’s “Harlem Shuffle” for the first time since 1990; in theory it’s not a song I love, but between the novelty of it being not done for so long and that they nailed it so well, it was one of the highlights of the evening. They followed it up with the sinister Let It Bleed track “Monkey Man,” the result of a four song online fan vote that beat out “Rocks Off,” “When the Whip Comes Down,” and “She’s So Cold.” An acoustic set done at the foot of the stage brought forth the raunchy title track from “Let It Bleed” as well as the darkly humorous Sticky Fingers gem “Dead Flowers.” After the band introductions, Keith took vocal duties for two songs, contrasting the gentle, ‘rocking chair’ swing of “You Got the Silver” with the raw grit of “Before They Make Me Run.” 

The biggest highlight for me was when Mick returned to the stage to a rousing “Miss You,” followed by the two best songs of the evening: a powerful “Midnight Rambler” featured an incendiary extended jam with Ronnie and Keith trading riffs as smoothly as passing someone the salt, and Mick delivered his best vocal of the night, really leaning into the menacing titular character to a point that was almost scary. They followed it up with the song I most wanted to hear, a thunderous “Paint It Black” with Charlie at the helm, driving its signature Moroccan beat with brute force. The song’s bleak, nihilistic outlook has even more pathos today than it did 53 years ago, as the world has indeed grown darker and more chaotic, and Mick seemed to draw on that as he delivered another robust, passionate vocal.

Outside of the music, the band’s stage set up was a stunning spectacle of sight and sound. The sound system was phenomenal, with a punchy and dynamic sound that allowed for every instrument to be heard perfectly and every word Mick sang ring clear as bell. Each song had specific lighting and accompanying visuals, where it almost felt like each song was literally unfolding before your eyes. Finally, there was a pyrotechnic display at the end of “Satisfaction” that could only be appreciated (or perhaps even pulled off) in the vast, roofless stadium.

The Stones have a stellar group of supporting musicians led by longtime sidemen Chuck Leavell on keyboards, Bernard Fowler on percussion, and the great Darryl Jones on bass; Leavell’s coda to “Honky Tonk Women” and Jones’ solo during “Miss You” in particular were two of the evening’s biggest highlights instrumentally. Backing vocalist Sasha Allen was a charismatic and sexy presence throughout, letting Mick bump and grind on her during “Miss You” and absolutely nailing the iconic bridge of “Gimme Shelter.”

All in all, I feel confident in saying this: The Rolling Stones played a perfect show last night, bolstered by a wild crowd who stood up and sang along all night. They continue to defy expectations brought on by age and the abuses each of their bodies have taken over the years. They are still the best at what they do, and what they do is fucking incredible.


Jumping Jack Flash

You Got Me Rocking

Tumbling Dice

Harlem Shuffle *

Monkey Man **

You Can’t Always Get You Want

— acoustic set —

Let It Bleed

Dead Flowers

Sympathy for the Devil

Honky Tonk Women

You Got the Silver +

Before They Make Me Run +

Miss You

Midnight Rambler

Paint It Black

Start Me Up

Brown Sugar


Gimme Shelter

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

* first since 8/25/90

** online choice

+ Keith Richards on lead vocals, Mick offstage

The Rolling Stones

Mick Jagger – lead vocals, guitar, harmonica, percussion

Keith Richards – guitars, backing vocals

Ronnie Wood – guitars, backing vocals

Charlie Watts – drums, percussion

Additional musicians

Darryl Jones – bass

Chuck Leavell – keyboards, backing vocals

Sasha Allen – backing vocals

Karl Denson – saxophone

Tim Ries – saxophone, keyboards

Matt Clifford – keyboards, percussion, French horn, show introduction voice

Bernard Fowler – backing vocals, percussion



For the last several Christmases a debate is had as to whether the evergreen “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is a relic of a bygone era in which plying women with alcohol in exchange for a romantic physical encounter was totally acceptable. With what we know about rape culture and the advent of the #metoo movement, it’s become a sore point with many culture historians; some say it is indeed an encouragement of such behaviour, others think it was quite progressive for its time as the woman manages to come to her own conclusion and exercised her own autonomy in the end. Others say it’s just a song.

With Valentine’s Day coming up, I have taken it upon myself to tear down another standard associated with the holidays, Rogers & Hart’s “My Funny Valentine.”

Originally in the classic Babes in Arms, “My Funny Valentine” has been described in the past for being progressive in that the male lead assures his love that despite not fitting conventional beauty standards:

“My funny valentine…
Sweet, comic valentine…
You make me smile with my heart
Your looks are laughable, unphotographable
yet you’re my favorite work of art
Is your figure less than Greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak,
are you smart?”

While this may read nicely at first glance, let’s reconsider the context: this is the male basically telling his lover that she’s chubby and stupid in a coy but obvious way. The next verse compounds this:

“But don’t change a hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little valentine
Each day is Valentine’s Day.”

There are several things wrong with this passage. It reads as not only condescending, but possessive and controlling. His affection totally hinges on whether she chooses to change anything about herself. Whereas “Baby It’s Cold Outside” is a playful back-and-forth by an ultimately consenting couple, “My Funny Valentine” is an entirely one sided account of a relationship.

Look, I’m all for destroying conventional beauty standards and women embracing who they are, but “My Funny Valentine” doesn’t do that, try as it might. It serves, instead, as a monument to the toxic, controlling side that permeated male culture in the 1930s and 1940s. Be gone, vile song.


On the weekend of August 16-19, thousands will be truckin’ up to Watkins Glen, New York, for the 50th anniversary of the most well known music festival of all time, Woodstock.

For those who don’t know, Woodstock was basically the amalgamation of everything that made the 1960s’ the 1960s’: hippies, drugs, the promotion of peace and love as the ultimate virtues, and some of the best damned music ever made. (There was also mud and nudity. Lots and lots of mud and nudity. Also, one dude got run over by a tractor.) For three days, a crowd of 500,000 flower children tripped their collective balls off to the music of Jimi Hendrix, Joe Cocker, the Grateful Dead, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Who and numerous other iconic acts of the era. Some performances, such as Hendrix’s searing instrumental version of “The Star Spangled Banner” and Joe Cocker’s cover of the Beatles classic “With a Little Help of My Friends,” are some of the most significant moments in rock and roll.

Woodstock has taken an almost mythical status in popular culture, and it’s served as the catalyst for Coachella, Bonnaroo, Warped Tour, and numerous other multi-big name annual festival events that have taken place since. There have been two formal anniversary celebrations since, one in 1994 for its 25th and again in 1999 for its 30th. The first one was pretty good; Bob Dylan atoned for not playing in 1969, and Aerosmith, Green Day, Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blind Melon, Crosby, Stills & Nash, and an all around eclectic lineup of well known names turned out for a respectable, if slightly hollow, celebration of the original.

Woodstock 1999 is infamous as probably the worst major musical festival in music history. Marred by various acts of violence, destruction of property, and a lineup that seemed to have been decided by throwing a bunch of darts at names and booking whoever was landed on (how else would James Brown and Limp Bizkit be in the same vicinity?), it served more as anniversary for Altamont than for Woodstock.

According to original promoter Michael Lang, the 50th anniversary will not make the same mistakes as the 30th anniversary and will try to recapture the spirit and message of the original festival, and also feature an eclectic mix of iconic acts ranging from legendary classic rock acts to modern hip hop and pop artists. This all sounds promising, but

Dead & Company

The latest (and best) incarnation of the surviving members of the Grateful Dead seems like a no-brainer; the band still embodies the free spirited values that the original lineup promoted, and with John Mayer fronting, younger audiences will have a big name to latch onto and ultimately introduce classics like “Uncle John’s Band,” “Casey Jones,” and “Dark Star” to a whole new generation. Plus, it would serve as a mea culpa of sorts for the surviving members, as the original band notoriously put on one of the worst sets of the original festival. Just no hologram Jerry Garcia.

Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan wasn’t living too far from Yasgar’s Farm in 1969, but was too wrapped up in his newfound laid back family life to perform at the original festival. He eventually performed at the 25th anniversary in 1994, putting on a memorable set, and the ultimate voice of the 1960s’ counter culture would seem to be an essential choice to have on board for the seminal 50th. Just one caveat: ditch all those Sinatra covers and play “Like a Rolling Stone,” “Blowin’ in the Wind,” and numerous other anthems that defined the generation.

John Fogerty

The Creedence Clearwater Revival legend is one of the major surviving participants of the original festival, so it would be disrespectful to not extend him an invitation. At 73, Fogerty’s voice is still in great shape and he puts on a hell of a show. With songs like “Proud Mary,” “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?,” and “Bad Moon Rising” in his repertoire, Fogerty will no doubt be a highlight who’ll have the likely thousands strong crowd singing along with every note.

Neil Young

Another notable survivor of the original lineup, Neil Young has not only cemented himself as one of rock’s most vital and influential singer songwriters, he remains one of its most exciting live acts. Constantly reinventing his own classics as well as writing great new material, a hypothetical set by the Canadian troubadour will no doubt be one of its most memorable. Whether solo acoustic or full band (or both), Neil will absolutely bring it if asked.

Foo Fighters

Even at almost 25 years into their career, the Foo Fighters still command a fresh, contemporary sound and have won the respect of not only younger crowds but of the old guard as well. Frontman Dave Grohl has cemented himself as a rock legend as much as anyone else on this list, and with an ample set list of crowd pleasing anthems, they’ll bring a youthful vitality to the festival while still maintaining the spirit of the original lineup.

Pearl Jam

Another band nearly thirty years old that somehow still feels almost contemporary, the last standing core grunge band of the early 1990s’ still packs stadiums and has amassed some of the most powerful classic rock anthems of the 1990s’. The thought of 500, 000+ naked people on acid singing along to “Betterman” already gives me chills.

Bruce Springsteen

The Boss is another legendary musician who made his mark post-Woodstock, but he’s in the same rarified air as Dylan, Young and other trailblazers in the singer-songwriter arena. At 69, he still has a seemingly endless supply energy, still putting on four hour shows with his equally spry E Street Band. Even if playing an abbreviated version of his marathon concerts, Bruce will give everything he’s got, leaving the crowd wanting more. Plus, Bruce has a history of disobeying curfews, so we’ll probably get a four hour show anyway.

The Rolling Stones

People can mock the aging rock gods as ‘relics’ and ‘dinosaurs’ all they want, they still pack ‘em in night after night and play the hell out of their hits. With a new album in the works as well as the 50th anniversary of “Let it Bleed” on the horizon, the self proclaimed ‘Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World’ has the opportunity to introduce a wide berth of material to a whole new crowd.

Kendrick Lamar

If hip hop is gonna be represented at the festival, it’s proclaimed king will need to be present. Lamar is already pretty much cemented as a legend in hip hop with two classic albums and several hit singles under his belt, and he is also an incredibly dynamic live performer. His rebellious, often politically charged lyrics mirror the attitudes of the anti-Vietnam sentiment that fueled much of the original festival, and with a similarly frought political landscape emerging now, we can expect something comeplling and controversial from him.

The Who

The only one of the core British Invasion bands to perform at the original festival, The Who’s surving members, lead singer Roger Daltrey and guitarist Pete Townshend, are still going strong. With a new tour and album announced, they’re another band who’d benefit from debuting a wide range of material to a crowd of which many are hearing them for the first time. Also, there’ll be no Abby Hoffman to raid their set this time, so Pete Townshend won’t need to literally beat someone off the stage.

Lady Gaga

10 years ago, the idea of Lady Gaga appearing on the same stage as any of these artists would have sent everyone reading this into a flurry of blind range. However, ten years later, Gaga has solidified herself as one of the better pop artists ever. She now has wide ranging catalog of classic songs of various genres, her voice is at its zenith, and her sonic palette is wide enough to appeal to most everyone young or old. Having covered Zeppelin and the Beatles quite successfully in the past, there’s a good chance of her collaborating with any of the older artists on this list for a truly memorable cross-generational performance.

Paul McCartney

By 1969, The Beatles hadn’t performed live in three years and were on the verge of breaking up, so they too missed out on Woodstock. However, no band from the era has made a more lasting impact than The Beatles, and to not invite Sir Paul would be a travesty. He’s near 80, his voice isn’t what it used to be, but the soul and spirit are still there, and with a crowd who will no doubt know the words to every song anyway, the limitations of his age will be an afterthought.

The musical guest list is only one element of making the event a success; there also logistical factors and other components that are crucial in making it go off without a hitch. Here are just five:

  1. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT LET ANY PERFORMERS USE FUCKING HOLOGRAMS. If I see Hendrix or Jerry Garcia or John Lennon out on that stage, I want it to be because of some good fucking acid, not cheap technology.
  2. Security: it’s a festival, shit happens. People get drunk, high, or just lost in whatever the moment seems to bring about. Hire security that is going to be vigilant and fair with festival goers. However…
  3. No Narcs. It’s a festival. People are gonna do drugs. People are gonna drink alcohol. Someone smoking a joint, swigging cheap vodka from an Evian bottle, or even doing a line in the confines of their camper, isn’t inherently going to harm anyone.
  4. A diverse lineup. Don’t make it a lineup of just classic rock acts and mainstream pop stars. I know, my list is exactly that, but I confess to not listening to a great deal of modern music. With three non-stop days of music, there is plenty of room for indie acts, current megastars, and elder statesmen to peacefully coexist.
  5. Bathrooms. For the love of God in Heaven, have a humane bathroom system. I’m not digging a hole.

All in all, I have no reason to doubt that Woodstock 50 will be at the very least enjoyable, but it has every chance in the world to be a spectacular gathering of the vibes to honor an era whose spirit still lingers brightly today.

We Can Forgive Our Favorite Characters for Saying Awful Things. Why Can’t We Forgive the Same Behavior in Reality?

maxresdefaultA few months ago, Kevin Hart became the latest celebrity to have a series of very old social media posts come back to haunt him, as several homophobic tweets from 2011 forced him to step down from hosting the 2019 Oscars. Hart responded by issuing a confusing and arrogant non-apology where he called out our culture for being too sensitive (an excuse that turns out to not be exclusive bitter white male Trump supporters), and also stated:

“I just got a call from the Academy…they said ‘Kevin, apologize for your tweets of old or  we’re going to move on and find another host…I chose to pass. I passed on the apology.”

Hart later tacked on a half assed apology to the LGBT community, but it was too little, and way too late. He was persona non gratta, at least up until yesterday, when he was interviewed by Ellen DeGeneres ostensibly to promote his new movie, The Upside; however, America’s most well known openly gay celebrity wasn’t afraid to confront him about his statements, forcing Hart to issue his most sincere and self reflective apology to date. Whether he meant it or appearing on Ellen was just a PR move, it worked: the Oscars have re-opened the possibility of Hart hosting, and

What Kevin Hart said was wrong; even in 2011, the attitudes towards the gay community had already been rapidly progressive and stating that he’d beat his son if he were gay is horrifying. Hart deserves the consequences he’s facing, not just for what he said, but for the arrogance with which he approached his response.

Before Hart, we had Guardians of the Galaxy franchise director James Gunn get fired from helming future installments for a series of posts in 2009 in which he made off-color tweets about child molestation that were apparently intended to be funny, although not a single one had a discernible punchline. Gunn’s tweets were disgusting, but unlike Hart, he approached the issue with a sincere apology and acknowledgement of how his words were offensive. Gunn was still fired.

In the days before social media, we had Mel Gibson’s infamous homophobic and racist rants against the Jewish, LGBT and African American communities. Gibson became persona non grata for nearly 10 years and still bears the mark of Cain from his actions. However, even Gibson did his damndest to rehab his image by meeting with members of these various communities and tried to gain an understanding of how his actions and words were so hurtful.

I’ve been watching The Office a lot lately – a bizarre segue, I know, but hear me out. These days, Michael Scott is a beloved icon whose progression from insensitive jackass to good friend and father figure to his employees is seen as one of the best instances of character development in any sitcom. I love Michael Scott, too, but let me remind you all something: Michael was a fucking jackass until about the end of Season 4. He made comments that were racist, homophobic, fat shaming, and sexist. The ‘Diversity Day’ episode alone would have been reason for Michael to never land another job had he existed in our objective reality. At the end of day, Michael really just went from a hopelessly clueless, offensive idiot to a far more self aware but still slightly clueless and offensive idiot.

Now, Michael Scott was not a hateful bigot. He was just ignorant and wanted to be liked. It’s well established that he loves standup comedy, and it can be argued that he approaches his jokes with the same intent as Mel Brooks or Don Rickles – to point out how absurd prejudice is and that we all need to laugh at ourselves. Of course, Michael doesn’t have the edge or intelligence of either those characters, as his “jokes” lack a punchline and dive right into the puddles of ignorance. Still, if someone in the office called Oscar a f***ot or Stanley or Darryl the n-word, he’d likely recognize why those words are wrong and defend his employees is his own ridiculous ways (that actually would’ve been an interesting episode – how Michael would confront actual prejudice in the office).

Going back further, there’s maybe television’s most famous example of the loveable social ignoramus, Archie Bunker. Of course, Archie was deftly written and portrayed, to the point where we all knew we were supposed to be laughing at him and not with him. Still, Archie ultimately was a protagonist, who learned to love and respect those who were different than him, albeit begrudgingly.

So, if we can forgive our fictional characters, why do we find it so hard to forgive real life figures? Is it because there is a controlled narrative where the creators can dictate their redemption in exactly the right way? Do we just find it easier because they are not real? I’m not saying there shouldn’t be a repentance process – they do need to really show that they’re sorry. And there are some transgressions that are unforgivable (Weinstein, Cosby, etc.) But we are so quick to demonize for an indefinite period of time that we lose sight of the fact that a person can evolve and realize their errors. A few months ago, Samantha Bee interviewed former neo-Nazi’s who committed to changing their lives around and advocating against white supremacy. The social media outpouring was largely positive, as many were genuinely moved by the segment, including myself. Still, why can we forgive people who at one point openly advocated violence towards minorities and may have even committed such violence themselves, but we struggle to forgive mere words stemming from immaturity and lack of experience and self-awareness?

I’m not trying to speak for the gay community on this issue; their anger is valid and there have been far more eloquent points made about why Hart should continue to face a certain level of scorn. I’m genuinely curious as to why we seem to have a double standard when it comes to fiction vs. reality, and if the endless news cycle of revealed transgressions of beloved figures guilty of far worse has made us cautious in that if we forgive people for mere words, they feel they can get away with worse.

I wish I knew the answer.