brain-massaging exercise watching Akerman juggle with one hand the unreality of French musical spectacle (which was informed by the Technicolor Hollywood feats, which were in turn informed by the French spectacles), while thumbing her nose with the other. it's an awkward work; too cheap to immolate the genre with its intended, wrathful scope and too self-absorbed to laugh at itself with its full gut. Likely you'll be able to analyze more about the absurd shape and sounds of 80s pop…
absolutely no clue who these guys are. Never a part of my upbringing nor my conception of popular music nor even a perceived benchmark in the greater scheme of 20th century “smart cultured people like this” music. Just a group of guys that, once i crossed the rubicon into my mid-20s, suddenly became cited nonstop as an essential artistic fulcrum point of the 1900s? Okay.
every time i go to listen to “The Weight” (read: maybe a total of 3…
After a Kubrick-on-speed diamond heist at a neon-blacklit strip club, Nas walks into DMX's crib, turns on the plasma TV and confusedly watches GUMMO as DMX angrily plays billiards by himself, frustrated that his cohort isn't shutting up and appreciating the movie.
These are the first 7 minutes of BELLY.