Ten years ago, the ill-fated Snake River Conspiracy released its first and only LP, Sonic Jihad, an unfortunate album title indeed in light of later historical developments. At its core, the group was composed of former Third Eye Blind member Jason Slater and vocalist and Hot Topic model Tobey Torres, both of whom seemed dedicated to concocting the type of brash, but mostly inoffensive, post-grunge metal popular in the late 1990s. In the annals of music history, the release is mostly unremarkable, although the album did feature upbeat covers of both The Cure's "Lovesong" and The Smiths' "How Soon is Now?" (in response to which Morrisseyallegedly stated was a better version that his group's original version).
At the time, music critic J.D. Considine wrote:
Goth dance music is not a sub-genre with which folks in the MTV mainstream are likely to be familiar, but Snake River Conspiracy might change that. With a sound drawing equally from alt-rock, industrial and club music, the Conspiracy - actually, just singer Tobey Torres and synthesist Jason Slater - puts a bright, tuneful sheen on the music while somehow maintaining the dark energy of goth, a formula that gives "Sonic Jihad" the heft of a hit. While the duo's studio savvy adds luster to the languorously tuneful "You and Your Friend" and the kinky-but-catchy "Vulcan," the Snake River sound is strongest when applied to cover tunes; both the Cure's "Love Song" and the Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?" work wonderfully well in goth dance drag.1
At the time, Torres offered these thoughts on her band's Smiths cover:
In addition to "Lovesong," "Sonic Jihad" finds the duo covering the Smiths' "How Soon is Now?" It's far more recognizable than "Lovesong."
"Since I am a huge Smiths fan," says Torres, "I thought that Morrissey did a perfect job. I just loved the way he delivers the song, so I just pretty much sang it like he did. So that one is a carbon copy in a lot of ways. But I just couldn't do it any other way, 'cause I love Morrissey. I love the way he did it, just the yearning in his voice."
He's heard it, Torres announces with a giggle.
"He said, `It's better than the original.' I'm like `No way! Shut up!' But for him to say that ... 'cause you're always hesitant to do a cover song. You always wonder what the original artist is going to think. Are they gonna think that I butchered it?"2
The album doesn't hold up too terribly well ten years later, as it appears the band was more interested in being a part of a particular scene than creating fine music. Miscellaneous images of the band from its heyday can be found below (including a news clip featuring a photograph of Torres and Morrissey, in which Moz is quoted about the Smiths cover).
1. Considine, J.D. "Listen Up." Star Tribune. August 6, 2000. 2. 2. Ed Masley, "No Whining Snake River Conspiracy Goes for the Gutsier Girl Sound," Pittsburgh Post Gazette, August 25, 2000.
Ten years ago today, on May 31, 2000, the very first episode of "Survivor" aired on the CBS television network. Surely, no one knew then how much a part of the culture this reality show would become and that it would still be on the air a decade later. Watching that first episode this past week, so many years after its initial airing, it's astonishing how primitive the game is compared to its modern counterpart. It's not unlike watching those old black and white silent films from the 1910s, in that you know you are watching something influential and groundbreaking for its time, but its innovations have so much become a part of the culture and improved upon in the mean time that it is almost tedious to watch in its first incarnation. But as a cultural artifact from the first half of 2000, it's fascinating to revisit, both because television has changed, but so too have we as television viewers (and for that matter, as Americans). Plus, the first episode becomes an origin story of sorts for many of the traditions and contestant mistakes that have become such a part of "Survivor" the television program and the game itself.
The show begins by depicting the sixteen anxious contestants throwing supplies off a boat in the South China Sea. The program's host, a very young looking 37 year old Jeff Probst, explains that the contestants are divided into two tribes (Tagi and Pagong) and that they are to set up camp on the beaches of a nearby island. The contestants leap into the sea and the game begins in earnest.
This being the first episode, Probst pops up a few times to explain the set-up, rules, and conventions of the game, but much of the action focuses on the contestants' interaction with one another. (Contestants who survive well into the season, like Colleen Haskell, Jenna Lewis, Greg Buis, Gervase Peterson, and a number of others, receive very little screen time, as the emphasis must be upon those whose departure is a bit more imminent.). There are some basic character moments, such as the brief depiction of a praying Dirk Been (shown above), a twenty three year old from Wisconsin and the fifth contestant to be voted out. We also see much of Richard Hatch, who we know would go on to win the game with his series of Machiavellian machinations. He, a corporate communications consultant, initially quibbles with truck driver and Tagi tribemate Sue Hawk (who lectures him that what works in the corporate world will not work on the island).
Hatch (depicted above in the red hammock) does attempt to use some corporate speak to his advantage. In so doing, he convenes the Tagi tribe and acts as if the game is a corporate team-building session. (This does not go over well with those assembled, who just seem bored by it.). But Hatch also knows what will make good television: In one private interview, he claims to have already written himself a check for a million dollars, while in another, he admits that he is concerned what might occur if his level of arrogance is discovered by his fellow tribe members.
Meanwhile, at the Pagong tribe, sixty four year old Kansas real estate developer B.B. Andersen (who would last just one more episode) finds a water map and consults with twenty-nine year old Ramona Gray (the fourth to be voted out of the game). They agree that their strategy should be "not giving up the secret of the water supply," although that tactic, if ultimately carried through, was unsuccessful for either. (B.B., for his part, wears what appears to be a home-made shirt featuring a collage of photographs of what must be his extended family members.).
B.B.'s exit from the game is heavily foreshadowed by a number of mistakes he makes. He spends a good bit of time complaining that there are a lot of "lazy people" on his tribe and that they "can't have lazy people" in the game. He gets into an argument with his fellow tribe mate, Gretchen Cordy, who believes he is working too hard and suggests that he take a quick break for fifteen minutes. He declines her suggestion and insists on continuing his attempts to build the tribe some type of structure to inhabit. But his younger tribemates do seem to like the curmudgeon in their midst; they even nickname him "Viagra." Ew.
Back at the Tagi tribe, seventy-two year old Rudy Boesch understands his dilemma. He notes that the hardest part about the game is "hanging out with young kids" when he, a former Navy SEAL, doesn't "even know what MTV means." But unlike B.B. in the Pagong tribe, Boesch knows that it is he who must fit in with the younger group, not vice versa. Twenty seven year old attorney Stacey Stillman (depicted above) has other ideas for Boesch: his ouster from the game. She is unappreciative of his age and prickly demeanor, but he would outlive her in this game.
Also on the Tagi tribe is 63 year old Sonja Christopher, an eccentric musician who takes with her to the island a ukulele. She suffers some type of injury or minor scratch, which her tribemate, Dr. Sean Kenniff, attempts to repair. She also sings a song called "Bye Bye Blues" about pharmaceutical anti-depressants. Quirky, and older than average, her days were numbered.
Typically, reward and immunity challenges are done separately, but the first episode featured a joint challenge, in which the winning team would be awarded both immunity from tribal council but also 50 waterproof matches (which must have been of great utilitarian value to the newbies).
The challenge itself was pretty basic by "Survivor" standards. Each team must take a raft to from the water to the beach, and along the way, light various torches and then, their respective side of a fire spirit statute. The catch: each tribe member must have one hand on the raft at all times. Introducing the inaugural challenge, Probst warns the contestants not to put him "in the position of having to make a judgment call" about their compliance with the challenge rules. This is an amusing remark, as these days, Probst isn't the least bit shy about doing just that.
Ultimately, Pagong prevails over Tagi, much to the disappointment of Kelly Wiglesworth (depicted above), who would come in second place in the game. There is much celebrating by the members of Pagong (including a very happy Colleen Haskell, whose excited dancing about can be seen in the background in the aftermath of the challenge).
In typical "Survivor" fashion, the loss by Tagi leads to much scurrying about and politicking by the members of the losing tribe. Boesch contemplates the beginning of an alliance with Hatch (although there is not much discussion generally of the value of alliances). Stacy attempts to recruit others to vote for Boesch, while Sonja seems unaware, for the most part, of her fate.
At tribal council, Probst coins a number of phrases that he will use for the remainder of the series, including the statement that at the council "fire represents life." Commenting upon what other tribe members are thinking, Probst asking Sonja, "How are you holding up physically?"
Nothing good can follow that framing of the issue by the host.
In the end, Sonja draws four votes, Rudy gets three, and Stacy gets one from Hatch (who comments that he chose her for "subtle reasons," though he is not entirely certain what they are). Stacy comments that she voted for Rudy because he is an "ornery guy, [who] doesn't really help that much, [and] for a navy seal doesn't know how to start fire."
Some dramatic close-ups from the very first tribal council (including Sue immediately after the vote is announced and Stillman and Hatch during an early part of the proceeding):
At first glance, Sonja seemed a lovely addition to the mix of islanders: an artsy senior citizen who played the ukulele, she had a bright view of human nature and, unlike some of her playmates, was genuinely nice. Sure, she had a fateful stumble during the first immunity challenge, but her true vulnerability ran deeper. This was an island of snakes and rats, and Sonja's guileless personality made her seem impossibly weak. In a scene midway through the first episode, Sonja played a cheerful ditty called "Bye-Bye Blues" for eventual winner Richard Hatch. He applauded her gamely—he probably even meant it—but you know what he was thinking: bull's-eye.
The episode serves as an interesting snapshot of America (and Americans) in early 2000. It was a time well before that year's divisive presidential election, more than a year before 9/11, and long span of time before the rise of social media. These contestants were certainly not the breed of would-be stars and starlets desperate to use a reality show to advance an acting career (that would come later); this group of sixteen just seemed to be a gaggle of randomly assembled Americans (none of whom had the advantage of previously watching the game they were playing). That lack of knowledge was deadly to some in the game, as none of them, at least in that first episode, seemed to appreciate the power of voting blocs and alliances. (Boesch spoke of a budding alliance between he and Hatch, but they voted differently at tribal council.).
The direction and camera work have also advanced considerably since that first episode. (In fact, it's initially jarring to see an episode not filmed in HD). These days, the show is far, far superior in quality, both with respect to its direction and cinematography. Those advances are readily apparent when viewing the first episode, which is not nearly as ambitious in that respect.
How different the game is now; these days, it's populated by students of the show like Russell Hantze, super-fans who bring with them to the island an institutional knowledge of what came before. Further, as the series has progressed, the producers have opted to select a higher percentage of hotties and beefcakes, many of whom are the least interesting of the bunch. Some other fun thoughts upon watching the program;
Stacey Stillman, eliminated in the third episode, would later sue the show and its producers. In early 2000, when the program was filmed, Stillman was a young California attorney who had become licensed to practice law just over a year before filming in December of 1998. She is now a managing associate in the Silicon Valley office of Orrick, Herrington & Sutcliffe, L.L.P., and of all things, she has represented Facebook.
The lovely Colleen Haskell (pictured above) would become enough of an "America's Sweetheart" to land a role in the 2001 Rob Schneider movie, The Animal, but would ultimately vanish from the pop culture landscape. Rumor has it that she was asked to return for the all star edition of "Survivor" in 2004, but she declined. Alas.
Sue Hawk, Richard Hatch, and Rudy Boesch did appear on "Survivor: All Stars" in 2004. An awkward and troubling altercation between Hawk and Hatch resulted in Hawk voluntarily removing herself from that game. (They had mostly smoothed over their differences by the time of the reunion show in 2004).
Sean Kenniff would try to reinvent himself as a journalist and commentator, but how anyone could take him seriously after he adopted that ridiculous alphabet voting strategy later on in the game is beyond those of us here at Chronological Snobbery.
Where to begin with Richard Hatch? His post-"Survivor" career has been engulfed by legal problems. A good rule of thumb: If you win a million dollars on a popular television program, be certain that you report it as income to the Internal Revenue Service.
Probst have proven himself to be a fine reality show host. Sure, he seems to favor the strong alpha-males in the competition, but he injects just enough personality and commentary into the show without it seeming as if he is trying to be the show's star.
The day after "Survivor" premiered, on June 1, 2000, Sonja, as the ousted contestant, appeared on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, a clip of which is below. (It's interesting to watch, for at that time, Stewart had only been the host of that program for about a year and a half.).
We here at this site did not watch this first episode of "Survivor" when it first aired. In fact, in the summer of 2000, we weren't watching much television, but we caught the fourth episode (airdate June 21, 2000) after a neighbor remarked that he personally knew one of the contestants. After that, we were hooked on the series, so much so that we began to follow the speculation about the winner online. In this, the first season, the ultimate winner was named at the final tribal council, rather than live on the night of the series finale. Thus, the winner was a known quantity, and theories abounded about who it might be. (A particular favorite site was the original Survivor Sucks site (see more here), which offered some theories, many later disproven, about who might be the next to go. Remember the Gervase X theory?). Whatever the case, we've watched the show on and off in the last decade, sometimes skipping a season, but always returning (although we were disappointed to see Russell Hantze lose two seasons in a row).
You can see the first ten minutes of the first episode here:
Ten years ago today, on May 5, 2000, the big budget blockbuster Gladiator hit theatres. Directed by Ridley Scott, and starring Russell Crowe, the film was a huge success. It made Crowe an action hero, gave a star turn to Joaquin Phoenix, and became the last film of Oliver Reed. (It also featured the lovely Connie Nielsen.). But what to say about it ten years later?
It certainly had its moments. But the film, occasionally fun, but mostly mediocre, could have showcased a bit more Roman architecture via CGI, and its supernatural elements could have been omitted to make the Maximus narrative more compelling. Certainly, it was undeserving of the Best Picture accolade, but it received it anyway, likely due to its financial success more than anything else. But here's the real question about its legacy: How many DVD players were sold in 2000 as a result of this film? Remember, back then, the DVD player was a new technology, and consumers always need that extra push over the cliff when adapting to new audiovisual components. But could they justify the acquisition of a new system when it would enhance the experience of watching a big budget flick like Gladiator? Very likely. I suspect that for many mainstream consumers, this film was that last push (just as the newly released Avatar may be for Blu-Ray players today). So for that, we must say thank you, Gladiator. You helped us to adopt a new video technology that would become obsolete just a decade later. Thanks.
What to say about Jack Black, the over the top comedian who rose to prominence with his role as Barry, the obnoxious record store clerk, in the 2000 film, High Fidelity? As the final installment of this site's coverage of the tenth anniversary of the release of that film, we pause to reflect upon Black's performance at the end of the film, during which he covers Marvin Gaye's immortal classic, "Let's Get It On." His emotive version of this tune is important, as the viewer is left with the impression throughout the film that Barry is nothing but a pretentious hack lacking any talent whatsoever. He brags about his musical efforts, but none of his friends or co-workers really believe that he has any musical chops whatsoever. Throughout much of the film, he banters about his band, Sonic Death Monkey, which is renamed several more times during the movie, once to Kathleen Turner Overdrive and again to Barry Jive and the Uptown Five. Thus, when he rises to take the stage at the film's end, everyone, the viewers of the film, assume that he will crash and burn. But he does not. He delivers a fine rendition of the song. And the film ends.
In 2000, I didn't know much about Jack Black, and I suppose not many others did, either. Of course, I had seen some of the films in which he appeared before High Fidelity, but I doubt I knew who he was at the time. (I adore the 1992 film Bob Roberts, in which Black appears as a sycophant of the rebel conservative title character.). He had already appeared in the Tenacious D television series, but I wasn't really familiar with it. But it was High Fidelity in which he truly came to light as a comic actor (although he has certainly appeared in his fair share of stinkers since then, including the wretched Shallow Hal and the even worse King Kong remake). But for every few instances of cinematic detritus, he charms us in a film like School of Rock. What to do?
And so it was with his first major role in High Fidelity, featuring his fateful homage to Marvin Gaye. How did that come to pass? In fact, it was Black himself who chose the song he would cover in the film, as one news account from April 2000 notes:
Tenacious D fans will be shocked to hear lead singer Jack Black sing "Let's Get It On" at the end of "High Fidelity," but it was Black himself who chose the song. Black is known more for his heavy-metal parodies than the sweet rendition of the Gaye standard that closes the movie starring John Cusack. "I pushed for the song that they ended up using just 'cause I thought I could sing it well. They were talking about me doing another Marvin Gaye song that I didn't think rocked as hard. I wanted to really get a good clop in the chops at the end of the movie." Black plays a bombastic music snob who works in a record store.1
Curiously, though, the soundtrack to the film featured not the live version depicted on screen but a far more restrained studio version. I recall reading an article at the time, or shortly thereafter, indicating that Black had hoped one of the live versions recorded on film would appear on the soundtrack, but that when the soundtrack was released, the studio (or the record company) had included the studio version, which can only be characterized as lifeless. Alas.
Since 2000, Black has become a major star. Whether this is a good thing, the jury is still out. Well, it's probably a good thing, as he does make us laugh, every so often.
This brief article, of course, would not be complete without a link to the video:
As a part of today's installment of this site's coverage of the tenth anniversary of the release of the 2000 film High Fidelity, we pause to reflect upon that movie's homage to the 1979 debut album of the Northern Ireland punk band, Stiff Little Fingers. And in so doing, we feature an original interview with Damian Rogers, an actress featured in that scene. In the film, record store clerk Dick (Todd Louiso) uses his knowledge of Green Day's influences to flirt with a customer, Anaugh (Sara Gilbert). Dick informs her that in addition to The Clash, one of Green Day's biggest influences is Stiff Little Fingers, whose album, Inflammable Material, he produces and begins to play over the store's system. As he does so, one customer (Rogers) asks if he's playing the new Green Day album. This amuses Dick and Anaugh.
Stiff Little Fingers is a band I probably never would have discovered had I not gone through a punk phase in the last decade. Sure, I remembered the scene from the film, but it was not until several years later that I stumbled across and purchased Inflammable Material. I can recall lounging about in a chair as the record playing and then sitting straight up as "Suspect Device," the album's first track, came over the speakers and shook me from the adjacent room. (Another stellar song on that album is "Alternative Ulster."). The band certainly has an energy that few groups - even those labeled punk today - apparently lack. When "Suspect Device" crashes into its chorus, there is no better example of punk rock. If you've not heard their debut album, or any of the live recordings from the 1970s, investigate them. As the years passed, the band altered its musical approach a bit, and by 1982, the band had a slightly poppier feel, as can be evidenced by its album, Now Then . . . The band has broken up, reformed, and to this day, still tours.
Here's the dialog from the scene in question:
DICK
Well, the interesting thing about Green Day is that, um, so much of their music is, in truth, directly influenced by, in my opinion, uh, two bands.
ANAUGH AND DICK
The Clash.
DICK
Uh, correct, The Clash. Uh, but also by this band called the Stiff Little Fingers. Um, I think you would really love this band.
At this point in the film, Dick begins to play "Suspect Device" over the record store's speakers. It's actually difficult to hear and distinguish in the scene. (A neat aside: This scene has been referenced by the band on its Twitter account.). The scene continues:
ANAUGH
It sounds great. My name's Anaugh.
DICK
The name's um . . . My name's Dick.
GREEN DAY GIRL
Is this the new Green Day?
In response, Anna and Dick share a knowing glance (despite the fact that Anaugh didn't know of the existence of Stiff Little Fingers until just a few moments before).
"Green Day Girl" was played by Damian Rogers, originally from Detroit, but in 1999, a Chicago resident. She can be seen in the image above in between Anaugh and Dick, at the very moment in the film where she asks her question about Green Day. (She can also be seen in this image, which was used in my previous post about the Beta Band, as well as in the background of a few other images in this post.). Last week, Rogers was kind enough to submit to an email interview with this site, in which she discussed her involvement with the film and professed a wistful nostalgia for the Chicago she knew in the late 1990s. (We here at this site fully support any type of nostalgia for the 1990s and appreciated her thoughts and memories of the era.).
Without further ado, the interview with Ms. Rogers is as follows:
1. How did you become a part of the film, High Fidelity?
A lot of the extras in High Fidelity — and in that scene especially — were people who actually spent a lot of their time and money at independent record stores in Chicago, like Reckless Records. I had become friends with a couple people who were working on the film and lots of people I knew were participating in one way or another.
It was a total fluke I ended up with a line. That line was supposed to be delivered by Al Johnson from the band U.S. Maple, but then he was cast in a larger cameo in a different scene. ([Jack Black's] character tortures him by refusing to sell him some rare vinyl — I’m pretty sure it’s a Captain Beefheart record.). So the line was up for grabs on set and they gave it to me minutes before shooting that part of the scene.
2. You are credited as "Green Day Girl." What do you remember about the filming of your particular scene?
Most of the people playing customers sifting through records in the background were a part of the Chicago music scene at the time, or at least, a particular corner of it. Ian Williams (formerly of Don Caballero and Storm & Stress, currently of Battles) has some prominent face time. A bunch of my old friends and acquaintances are in it, so when I watch it, I am totally distracted by my instinct to scan the screen for their split-second appearances.
As for the day of filming, I remember milling around, lots of waiting, sitting with my friend Nicole as she grew increasingly bored and irritable. I remember that one of the professional extras made a point of asking me why so many of us already knew each other.
It was an interesting way to spend a day of my life. A long, repetitive day, mostly spent watching other people work, but interesting nonetheless. And due to union contracts, I was issued an empty trailer when I was upgraded from non-speaking shopper to “Green Day Girl.” This delighted me, even though I didn’t have the opportunity to lock myself in there.
3. Were you previously familiar with the band, Stiff Little Fingers, whose song plays and is referenced in that scene?
I’d heard their name, but I don’t think I’d ever listened to them at that point. (Though my husband owns a couple of their records, so they’re in the house now.) As far as the movie’s soundtrack goes, I’m more into the old psychedelic stuff and the Drag City artists — Love, 13th Floor Elevators, Kinks, Smog, Plush, Royal Trux, etc.
4. Did you talk music with any members of the principal cast? If so, what did you discuss?
I have no memory of talking about music with any of the members of the principal cast. I did have a number of conversations about music with people working on the production side. The screenwriter and music supervisor was already deeply engaged in Chicago’s underground and independent music scene — his name still pops up in the liner notes of various Drag City releases. I can’t really watch the movie objectively, but I would credit any sense of authenticity to a real effort on the part of the filmmakers to involve people they respected in as many aspects of the film as possible.
The last time I saw High Fidelity — I’ve actually only seen it twice in its entirety — it made me a bit nostalgic for a time and a place that is ten years (and a couple cities now) behind me. The scene in which Lisa Bonet is singing as “Marie De Salle” was shot at the rock club Lounge Ax, a place I spent many, many nights. In 1999, it seemed to be the center of my social and emotional world in a way I doubt another public establishment ever could be again. Maybe it was only really for a few years, but I felt like I lived there, with all that that implies.
Lounge Ax closed at the beginning of 2000, the year the film was released, also the year I left Chicago for New York. It’s a place that survives in images and memory, but that I can’t go back and visit. It’s bittersweet to see it onscreen. For me the whole movie is a surreal blend of artifice and document. I appreciate it as a kind of collision worlds. I remember a friend of mine’s boyfriend was bored by how breathless and star-struck all these supposedly jaded hipsters became when Hollywood came to town for a few months. “It’s not the fucking Taj Mahal,” he said. “It’s a movie. In a couple years, the video will be on sale in the used bin at Reckless.” (I did, in fact, buy the DVD from a used bookstore around the corner from me in Toronto.)
But it seemed very important and exciting at the time. I suppose, like everything, it’s relative. I remember when I was spending every night at Lounge Ax filming bands during the last two weeks they were open, one of my colleagues at the literary journal where I worked marveled at my commitment, confused by my grief. After all, he pointed out, “It’s only a bar.”
Rogers is not the only one online with a nostalgia for the Lounge Ax. A Facebook group called "I Miss The Lounge Ax" boasts 903 members as of this writing. (Additional information about the now defunct club can be found here and here.). Here's the scene featuring Bonet performing at the Lounge Ax referenced by Rogers in her interview:
Rogers's official site can be found here (and, if you're on Twitter, you can follow her here). She describes herself as "an American-born poet who now lives in Canada" who "sometimes writes about music." Her first book of poems, Paper Radio, was published in the fall of 2009. (You can hear her read some of her poems at her MySpace page.). Its cover is below:
Finally, the scene in question featuring Louiso, Gilbert, Rogers, and the music of Stiff Little Fingers can be viewed here:
As a part of today's installment of this site's coverage of the tenth anniversary of the release of the 2000 film High Fidelity, we pause to reflect upon that movie's brief homage to an old Minutemen album. And in so doing, we feature an original interview with Chris Rehmann, one of the actors from the scene in question (featured in the image below wearing the Charlie Brown t-shirt). But, first, onto the music: Featured briefly in the film is the 1984 Minutemen album, Double Nickels on the Dime. Two hooligans, Vince (Rehmann) and Justin (Ben Carr), shoplift a handful of LPs from Championship Vinyl, located in Chicago at the corner of Milwaukee and Honore streets and owned by protagonist Rob Gordon (John Cusack). Gordon spots the two shoplifters just as they are about to leave the store; he yells to his employee, Barry (Jack Black), to bar the door, but Barry is too late, and the thieves flee the premises. Rob and Barry immediately give chase outside the store and around the corner.
Gordon and Barry catch up to them, and Gordon orders them to halt, which they do, when the two young punks realize that Gordon has their skateboard, which may be more valuable than the pilfered records. The two miscreants them toss their records and tapes onto the sidewalk:
Gordon seems surprised at the records that they have stolen, going so far as to ask if they are taking them for someone else. (Note in the image above the copy of the Minutemen album at issue as well as the copy of 1978's Music for Films by Brian Eno. Gordon also professes surprise at their pilfering of music by RyuichiSakamoto, Serge Gainsbourg, and SigueSigue Sputnik.). The two young thieves scoff at Gordon's disdain, suggesting that Gordon is a musical bigot to think that just by looking at them he can discern what music they should or do in fact enjoy.
The encounter ends with the two sets of adversaries parting ways (although Gordon later learns that the two thieves are musicians in their own right, and he elects to produce their first EP).
For me, the Minutemen was one of those bands that I had always heard of, but never truly discovered until later adulthood, when I could afford to experiment and buy expensive selections from the SST Records back catalog. (Try finding a new copy of one of their LPs for under $16!). Around 1991, I bought a copy of the SST Records compilation, SST Acoustic, which featured one track by the Minutemen, "Stories," which originally appeared on the band's final album, 1985's 3-Way Tie (For Last). That album, of course, was released very shortly before the untimely death of D. Boon, who along with Mike Watt, was the core of the band. It was not until a number of years after I bought the acoustic compilation that I discovered Double Nickels on the Dime, which is really an epic example of the fusion of punk and other genres from the mid-1980s.
Last week, Rehmann kindly agreed to an interview, in which he reflects upon the filming of the scene in question and his memories of shooting in Chicago ten years ago. He recalls:
I got the part when the director Stephen Frears and a casting agent Claire Simon came to a Second City class I was in. They asked me to come and audition for the part. A friend from the second City Alum named Tim O'Malley coached me through the audition and helped me get the part.
I was new to how film worked as it was my first paying job. I was just thrilled the entire shoot. I remember that my first day on the set was to do my hair. The spots. Due to the director and producers having to check out how dark or light the spots or blond was it took seven hours before I was done.
Shooting the part when we got busted was interesting because the set was in a studio and the outside was set on location. So it was run out the door. Then two weeks later we were running away from the door. Jack Black was also a lot of fun in between takes, joking around a lot.
I was not [previously] familiar with the Minutemen. I did not get a chance to talk much music with the cast. Everyone was so busy, except Jack Black, who took the time to hang out, that I did not have much time to talk music. I did overhear discussions by the producers on what music they wanted in the film and one time let John [Cusack] listen to it when he was in make up. I was not in make up with him much and he ate his lunch mostly in his trailer.
The fondest memory was getting the part meeting John Cusack and Jack Black, and then shooting in the double door for the club scene near the end of the film. I was able to watch Jack sing, and it was just a lot of fun. I also got to improvise the part where I was stealing again and when seeing the movie with friends, it got a laugh. So I was proud of that.
Since High Fidelity, Rehmann has appeared in What about Joan (a television series starring John Cusack's sister, Joan), Early Edition, and a few television commercials but, as he notes, "nothing as big or cool as being part of High Fidelity."
Here's another scene featuring Rehmann, Carr, and Cusack:
Anthony Ortale, a Flickr user, has posted a photograph of the exterior that was used for Championship Vinyl in Chicago and the scene at issue in this post. As Rehmann noted, the film's scenes inside the record store were on a set, but the exterior was on a street corner in Chicago. See Ortale's photograph, which shows the site now all boarded up, here.
Today, as a part of this week's coverage of the tenth anniversary of the release of High Fidelity, we turn to The Beta Band. There's a scene in the film, in which Rob Gordon (John Cusack), pauses to survey the scene in the record he owns, Championship Vinyl. He notices customers walking through the establishment and browsing, but he decides to take matters into his own hands. He retrieves a copy of The Three E.P.'s, a 1998 compilation of, well, three previously released extended plays by The Beta Band, the British band that some have dubbed "folktronica." Perhaps that's just one way of saying that their music is catchy?
Gordon turns to his employee, Dick (Todd Louiso) and whispers "I will now sell five copies of The Three E.P.'s by The Beta Band." "Do it," replies Dick, with gravitas. He does, and the album's first track, "Dry the Rain," begins to play over the store's system. As it does so, Rob surveys the store, waiting for (and clearly expecting) a reaction from his clientele. He waits.
(It should be noted that when the song begins, its opening sequence is truncated. The portion of that is first heard is actually several moments into the song, rather than its initial beginning.).
Sure enough, the customers react.
One man, who is grooving to the music, asks Rob, "Who is that?"
"The Beta Band," Rob replies.
"It's good," says the customer.
"I know," says Rob, very sure of himself.
I remember seeing this scene in 2000 and being driven to investigate The Beta Band, a group about which I knew little, if anything, at the time. Sometime thereafter, I found myself at San Antonio's Hogwild Records, where I picked up a copy of The Three E.P.'s, which I remember wearing out at that time. A fine album, actually, and "Dry the Rain" does indeed provoke the same sort of reaction depicted in the film when first heard by an unsuspecting listener. Several years later, when I began frequently downloading music from the iTunes Store, I would also acquire the band's 1999 self titled album and their 2001 record, Hot Shots II (which Wikipedia alerts me know to confuse with the 1993 film, Hot Shots! Part Deux). Apparently now defunct, the band would release one more record in 2004 before calling it quits.
It's actually unusual in a film for a character to pick up a copy of a compact disc, mention both its title and artist, and the play a song from the referenced album. Here, Gordon does just that, which allows the viewer to later track down the song far more easily. (Remember, this was in the days before Shazam.). "Dry the Rain" would also appear on the film's soundtrack.
Below, you'll find a clip from High Fidelity, which includes the above referenced scene (as well as a scene featuring a discussion of Stiff Little Fingers to be discussed later this week).
Ten years ago this week, on March 31, 2000, the wonderful film High Fidelity starring John Cusack and directed by Stephen Frears, was released in theatres across the nation. Anyone who has survived - or attempted to survive - a crumbling relationship can relate to this film, which relies heavily on its source material. Indeed, those familiar with the original 1995 book by Nick Hornby know that the adaptation was nearly flawless, with just a few changes to transplant the narrative from the U.K. to Chicago, Illinois. Cusack, essentially playing John Cusack, tortures himself by recounting the most excruciating break-ups of his life. In his confessions, he provides some surprising insight and a number of touching sentiments. Also interesting are Cusack/Hornby's observations as professional appreciaters - unpaid critics who cast their disdain upon those can't see what they see in music (as well as how music itself often fosters the misery of the broken-hearted). Jack Black - still early in his career - showcases his comic talents as Barry, the obnoxious record store clerk and frontman of the mighty band, Sonic Death Monkey. Popular music is almost a character in and of itself, as the characters are constantly referencing this album or that, and relating how particular songs and records affect their lives.
I have seen this movie many, many times. Many times. Surely you've seen it, too, and know the characters and plot all too well. This week, I plan to do a brief series of posts regarding some of the albums and music mentioned in the film, including some that are pivotal in particular scenes in the film. So, without further ado, this week, you can expect posts on the following:
Monday, March 29, 2010: High Fidelity - Tenth Anniversary Intro
Though far less ambitious than my commemoration of the tenth anniversary of the film, Zero Effect (which was, of course, a lesser known film), I would like to use this series of posts to pause to reflect upon the music and narrative of High Fidelity. The film captures so much of what it means to be a fan of both music and melancholy. In so doing, it references some meaningful albums and songs, some of which are not as well known as they should be. This project is my attempt to remedy that in whatever small way I can via this medium.
Ten years ago today, on February 14, 2000, The Cure released Bloodflowers, the band's eleventh album which featured the wonderful and sad single, "Maybe Someday." (The "Acoustic Mix" of "Maybe Someday" would later appear on the compilation album, Join the Dots: B-sides & Rarities 1978-2001 (The Fiction Years)). As luck would have it, I actually remember purchasing this album in the summer of 2000 at a used bookstore in San Antonio, Texas and thinking to myself that it was a return to form for the band. Prior to that, I hadn't paid much attention to the band's output since 1991's Wish. So there it is, happy birthday, Bloodflowers.
Ten years ago today, on February 1, 2000, the band Morphine released what would be its last official studio album, The Night. The band's lead singer and sax player, Mark Sandman, had passed away the previous July, just after the band completed the recording this album. It's a dark and sad album, one that should be played during dark moments of melancholy and accompanied by the consumption of brown liquor (or something stronger, if you prefer). The Sandman surname is appropriate, as the music occasionally directed him to serve as somnambulist. Somber and melancholy as it may be, the album holds up well a decade later. The strength and power of the music, coupled with the sometimes strong, sometimes weak vocals of Sandman, make for a truly classic record. It is a shame that it was the band's last effort.
In the years since, there have been a number of live and compilation albums, and in the wake of Sandman's death, the band attempted to soldier on in various incarnations, first as the Orchestra Morphine, and then as the Twinemen. But it was not, and could not be the same.
2000's Italian for Beginners was the last major film to subscribe to the cinematic rules promulgated by the Danish Dogme 95 movement. The plot: All of the characters have recently been affected by the death of a loved one, and as their lives begin to unravel, they begin a new search for love and companionship. (Think of it as depressing Danish send-up of The Big Chill.). Unlike just about every American independent film-maker from 1993 to 1999, though, the writer/director, Lone Scherfig, did not pepper the narrative with alienated and woebegone lonely-hearts who incessantly bemoan their isolation from the world. Though this film easily could have degenerated into existentialist nonsense, it actually boasts a good natured feeling that is unusual in the cinemas both in 2000 and today, a decade later. The actors, then and still unknowns to American movie-goers, perform admirably, and as the film progressed, I actually found myself concerned for their welfare. Imagine that! A strange reaction considering that I am so accustomed to throwaway stereotypical characters in most films these days. Sigh.
A number of very interesting films have arisen from the Dogme 95 movement, including 1996's Breaking the Waves (written and directed by the then still tolerable Lars Von Trier), 1999's bizarre Harmony Korine directed Julien Donkey-Boy (which at times is a bit more expressionist than Dogme 95, if that can be said), and 1998's quite good Festen (a/k/a The Celebration).
Dogme directors vow to abide by the following rules:
1. Shooting must be done on location. Props and sets must not be brought in (if a particular prop is necessary for the story, a location must be chosen where this prop is to be found). 2. The sound must never be produced apart from the images or vice versa. (Music must not be used unless it occurs where the scene is being shot). 3. The camera must be hand-held. Any movement or immobility attainable in the hand is permitted. (The film must not take place where the camera is standing; shooting must take place where the film takes place). 4. The film must be in colour. Special lighting is not acceptable. (If there is too little light for exposure the scene must be cut or a single lamp be attached to the camera). 5. Optical work and filters are forbidden. 6. The film must not contain superficial action. (Murders, weapons, etc. must not occur.) 7. Temporal and geographical alienation are forbidden. (That is to say that the film takes place here and now.) 8. Genre movies are not acceptable. 9. The film format must be Academy 35 mm. 10. The director must not be credited.
The ten dictates were written by Danish directors Thomas Vinterburg (who directed Festen) and Von Trier, perpetrator of the aforementioned Breaking the Waves and the interesting-though-flawed Dancer in the Dark, also from 2000, which featured the musician Bjork as a put-upon immigrant mother in 1950s America. (Side note: Dancer boasted a number of courtrooms scenes which indicated a fundamental misunderstanding of the American criminal justice system. The original New York Times reviewer noted this fact in his commentary, quipping that the depicted "murder trial that seems to have been inspired by watching poorly dubbed episodes of 'Law and Order' on Danish television."). In the years that followed, Von Trier has become a pretentious hack, although perhaps he always was, but there at least used to be a scintilla of intriguing material in his films, which cannot be said for his more recent cinematic output.
A funny thing: The Dogme 95 vow essentially outlaws those things which low budget film-makers cannot afford anyway; thus, it elevates to virtue the pre-existing poverty of the film-maker and fobs off a lack of resources as a commitment to a new cinema. However, adherence to a readily defined set of rules could do many a film-maker much good. Working within a pre-arranged set of constraints fosters creativity. One need only look to the cinematic detritus arising at the multiplexes to ascertain that gobs of money and creative freedom are doing little, if anything, to produce art, genius, or even worthwhile films in today's America.
Thirty-something suffering from nostalgia but, thankfully, not from bouts of irony. Here, I will revisit artifacts of popular culture not sufficiently explored elsewhere, though I may perhaps stray from that mission at times.
Click the image above to review Chronological Snobbery's in-depth coverage of the tenth anniversary of the 1998 film, Zero Effect, starring Bill Pullman and Ben Stiller
High Fidelity (2000 - 2010)
Click the image above to review Chronological Snobbery's in-depth coverage of the tenth anniversary of the 2000 film, High Fidelity, starring John Cusack and Jack Black.
Ten years ago, the ill-fated Snake River Conspiracy released its first and only LP, Sonic Jihad, an unfortunate album title indeed in light of later historical developments. At its core, the group was composed of former Third Eye Blind member Jason Slater and vocalist and Hot Topic model Tobey Torres, both of whom seemed dedicated to concocting the type of brash, but mostly inoffensive, post-grunge metal popular in the late 1990s. In the annals of music history, the release is mostly unremarkable, although the album did feature upbeat covers of both The Cure's "Lovesong" and The Smiths' "How Soon is Now?" (in response to which Morrissey allegedly stated was a better version that his group's original version).
1. Considine, J.D. "Listen Up." Star Tribune. August 6, 2000.
