THEY SIMPLY WILL NOT DIE
Norma Jean - 11/28 at the Buffalo Icon
9/10
by Stephen Boyd
Tuesday night at the Buffalo Icon, Norma Jean played to a packed room of 12-year-olds with asymmetrical haircuts and tight jeans who probably, up until the release of the band’s newest album Redeemer, had never heard of metal and thought Norma Jean was a ‘50s movie star. Their main concern was not the music; showing off their haircuts was worth the ticket price. But once the music started, the scenesters were nowhere to be found.
Opening bands Misery Signals, Fear Before the March of Flames, and Between the Buried and Me were adequate but dull at times. Misery Signals was plagued by a faulty vocal microphone, Fear Before was a bunch of pretentious pricks, and Between the Buried and Me was technically savvy but boring.
Blending together thrash, hardcore, and brutal, God-inspired force, Norma Jean has transcended the metalcore genre since the release of their much-praised debut Bless the Martyr and Kiss the Child. As one of the forerunners of the Christian hardcore scene, their unrelenting brand of noise-driven metal has converted many fans, as evidenced by the packed room to which they played. They delivered a strong set powered by strobe lights and soul-shaking breakdowns: two of my favorite things ever.
The set was comprised of a healthy cornucopia of old and new material, but drew primarily from Redeemer. Opening with “A Grand Scene for a Color Film,” they also played “The End of All Things Will be Televised” and “A Small Spark vs. a Great Forest” from the newest release. Moving into older material, the band followed with “Liarsenic” from O God, the Aftermath and “A Shotgun Message” from Bless the Martyr and Kiss the Child. The ultimate highlight of the show was the encore, which I truly did not expect, when the band played “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It,” an older song that they have not played on any recent tour. The mighty breakdown at the end of that song is one of the most intense and stirring of any contemporary metal band in the scene today and was presented flawlessly.
A couple parts of their set surprised me, having seen them many times previously. First, to the side of the (tiny) stage was an alternate drum kit. Did drummer Daniel Davison dare drum double? Nay. Instead, a skinny fellow pounded on the drums along with the band throughout the entire set which, contrary to what you might imagine, sounded pretty awesome. The additional percussion enhanced the subtle rhythmic nuances of the music and provided some interesting visual entertainment. Skinny guy? Drumming while standing up? Entertaining any day. Secondly, the band appeared onstage covered in some sort of dark mud-looking makeup. Going into battle, perhaps? Some new gimmick for the kiddies? I didn’t really get it, but the strobe lights flashed so much I couldn’t see much of anything by the end of the show, so I guess, in the end, it doesn’t really matter.
I WISH SASQUATCH WAS MY DADDY
Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny
10/10
by Elina Vaysbeyn
Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny makes dreams come alive. It is a truly inspirational movie. In life, there are things we would like to do that are not always realistic. The harsh reality and practicality of our world has forced us to become robots who attend college only to graduate with the minimal knowledge needed to succeed at our future professions. We’re heralded out of our childhood with a big kick in the ass. Grow up, and forget your dreams of being the first basketball player in outer space. Those who deviate from the mold are mocked and ostracized. Bombarded with commercial and consumer propaganda, Jack Black deflects the influences of capitalist ideology and succeeds in making childhood aspirations become reality.
As a pre-pubescent boy, Black lives with his religious family, despised for the satanic rock music he listens to. After a big blow out with his dad (Meatloaf), Black’s hero, heavy metal vocalist, Ronnie James Dio, advises him to rebel and move to California. When he is finally old enough to leave the nest, Jack encounters obstacles that discourage him from following his aspiring music career, but destiny and a good friend (and Satan) compel him to persevere.
Not only is The Pick of Destiny a down-to-Earth comedy that doesn’t employ cheesy romance, but it also has some really dirty guitar riffs and spine-tingling vocal solos. There is a “rock off” between Satan (Dave Grohl) and Tenacious D that will make your jaw drop and your ears fall off, in a good way. Hair metal has never sounded so amazing. They ripped the stereotypical plotline to shreds, introducing a kind of “musical-in-a-movie.” Anyone that enjoys big classic rock names like Hendrix and Zeppelin will be highly amused by it. Jack Black and Kyle Gass were obviously having fun when they wrote this script with Liam Lynch. It’s got an old school feel that’s hard to shake. It relates to both the ‘80s hair metal and the ‘90s grunge eras.
Black and Gass basically embody their real-life personas. Tim Robbins and Ben Stiller are excellent in their roles as washed up, crusty, old metal-heads. What I loved about it was the film’s ability to make cracks about the very subject it was addressing. There is a perfect medley of genuine Rock n’ Roll culture and the overplayed, comical stereotype of it. The chemistry between all the actors tops off the cake. The Pick of Destiny made me want to move to California, buy a badass guitar, and well, leave my hair as long as it is. Black’s message was obvious: don’t get too caught up in shallow delusions of grandeur. In the end though, it is really about loyalty, friendship, and keepin’ it real. Don’t sell out, kids, not even for rock star status.
AS HARD TO UNDERSTAND AS MAYAN MATH
Apocalypto
7/10
by Andrew Blake
I’ll come out and say it right away: Motherfuck Mel Gibson. The dude makes a movie called Apocalypto and doesn’t have a single alien in it. Not even a cyborg or android. I suppose if you are smart enough to know the basic plot of the film on your way to the theatre, you won’t be let down, but I, on the other hand, well, I lack the instinct to know what I am getting myself into on an almost constant basis. Such was the case with Apocalypto.
Upon arrival, I just assumed the film was going to be another end-of-the-world doomsday flick. Thankfully, Gibson realized that has been overplayed for years now, and instead, he made a movie about Mayans. It’s all spoken in Yucatec, too. Subtitled. And no androids. As you can imagine, I was a bit confused for a good half hour or so when I went to see this the other night. After taking my seat and unsuccessfully trying to scam free popcorn, I waited for the explosion, invasion, meteor, whatever. But no. Fucking Mayans. It actually was exactly 20 minutes into the movie before I even saw any sort of action or violence at all. By this point, I had realized that there would be no space ships. I also remembered that Mel Gibson makes long, long movies, and hoped this one would be good, because I do not have the patience necessary to sit through another language for god knows how long. And I watch.
In Apocalypto, once the plot is established, a trained monkey can predict the outcome from there. At least Gibson throws in enough gore and tits to keep me watching. I’ll admit, the movie was actually made really well, but the predictability factor is through the roof. Apocalypto tells the story of a group of Mayans captured by another tribe. There is plenty of raping and pillaging, and by the end of the takeover, much of their homeland is completely devastated. We then watch the disheveled tribe forced into slavery and face hardships at the hand of their captivators. Blah blah blah. Oh, but get this: Before the tribe is slaughtered, one of their warriors ushers his family into a secret hiding spot AND PROMISES TO RETURN. Will he overcome his slave-driving capturers? Will he battle with countless hardships along the way? Will he be reunited with his family at the last possible second? Does the good guy win?
Obviousness aside, Apocalypto was pretty damn good. If you don’t care about storylines and originality, this is definitely the movie for you this week. The scenery and filming are all outstanding, but don’t expect much of a thriller. Unless you are retarded. Oh, and Mel Gibson hates Jewish people.
WORK IT OUT ON THE FLOOR
Indian SA: Muqabla 2006
2/10
by Guy M. Scrivo
“Did you go to that Kabala meeting we sent you to?” queried Daniele, my editor. “No, I took a nap that ended up spanning four hours instead,” I told her. “Well it’s okay; I have something else I’d like you to do.” My stomach dropped, and I waited to find out what new UB-sponsored waste of my time on Earth I was being sent to. “There’s this Indian dance thing on Saturday at the CFA, Muqabla. Pick up the tickets and information at the office.” Muqabla is an annual dance-off between rival colleges, not unlike the film You Got Served, but statewide, organized, and without rap.
When I think of Indian dancing, I think of those flaming chains that look like rave-dancers’ glowsticks, only they have flaming flails instead of glowsticks on shoelaces. Those are cool, and so are those costumed dances in Bali, so I was incredibly eager to attend this mysterious Muqabla 2006. “This is a prime spot to scope out some Punjabi punany,” my friend Rico noted. “Can I come with you?” I couldn’t think of anyone particularly suited to come to see Muqabla amongst my circle of friends, and so Rico’s enthusiasm won him a seat. When we arrived, the CFA was easily packed with what I estimate to have been 2,500 people. The popularity of this event really surprised me because I had never heard of it, but clearly it had a fan base of Fuccillo proportions.
Rico and I tried to secure ourselves seats on the balcony, but the bouncers positioned at the bottom of the stairwell just shook their heads at us. We sat down near the front comfortably, but soon we were all neatly shoved into tight rows by an usher, against everyone’s will. Forty minutes after the show was supposed to start, the grey-haired Indian man next to me started complaining to his family of four in a foreign tongue. “They are giving Indian people a bad name!” he proclaimed to me, out of nowhere. I asked him if Indian people were known for being late, and he screamed “YES! Indian people are late for EVERYTHING!” Years of frustration with his own people came to a climax as he educated me on a new stereotype I didn’t know.
While the dancing at Muqabla was entertaining, it was broken up by long periods of obnoxious MCs giving shout-outs to Rochester, and then everyone in the audience from Rochester would cheer for four minutes so loudly that the PA system could not overpower it. Now repeat this for every college in NY State you can think of, and that was Muqabla, interspersed with ten-minute traditional South Asian dance routines. If you don’t know someone in the show who is performing, like everyone else in the audience seemed to, there’s really no reason to go. Though I must admit I’m sorry I missed the after party, and so was Rico, because the flyer advertised the DJ would be spinning banghra and reggaeton.
CRANK IT UP! AGAIN!
Guitar Hero II
8/10
by Joe Speranza
Wow, what a month. I played “Jessica” by the Allman Brothers to a sold-out crowd at the Rat Cellar and entertained the audience by performing “Last Child” by Aerosmith and “Killing in the Name” by Rage Against the Machine at the Blackout Bar.
I know what you are thinking, but no, my cover band has not made a comeback. Instead, I’ve been so wrapped up in Guitar Hero II that every part of my daily routine has been peppered with some kind of musical reference. I find myself walking to and from class humming guitar riffs from Cheap Trick’s “Surrender.” When I hear Heart’s “Crazy on You” on my car radio, I immediately bust out the air guitar. It’s like I’m participating in another classical conditioning experiment; Pavlov might have been interested in the effect this game has on humans.
If you haven’t heard of Guitar Hero II, and have no idea what I’m talking about, think of the idea behind Dance Dance Revolution. Instead of stepping where the arrows tell you, you simply press the button on the guitar that corresponds to the color on the screen and strum using the white lever that replaces a pick.
The game itself is broken up into four skill levels, helping it conform to your capabilities. The easy level is strictly for beginners and people lacking dexterity with their fingers. Most people will be able to skip right to the medium level, which is still a bit on the simple side but challenging enough to be fun. The hard level is very tricky, but manageable, while the expert level is just insane and way too difficult to even think about playing until you’ve mastered hard.
There are two problems with Guitar Hero II. The first is that while there are more songs than the original, the majority of them suck. There are some absolute gems, like “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas and “Sweet Child O’Mine” by Guns N’ Roses, but for every “Heart-Shaped Box” by Nirvana there is a “Psychobelly Freakout” by Reverend Horton Heat or a “John the Fisherman” by Primus. Guitar Hero had the same problem, but the relatively unpopular songs in that game were fun to play, whereas in Guitar Hero II, they are just extremely hard to learn and no fun whatsoever. If you’ve ever heard a Lamb of God song, for example, imagine trying to play it on guitar.
The second problem is the butchered vocals each song features. For some reason the makers of the game (IGN) didn’t include the real vocals, which are instead performed by another singer attempting to mimic the sound. They are embarrassingly bad.
Overall, the game is a blast. If you already own Guitar Hero, then you don’t need to be told to go out and buy Guitar Hero II, and you probably know that you can save $30 and not buy another guitar. That was a plus, because since the old guitar is compatible with the new game, the price tag drops from a scary $80 to an affordable $50.
Buy the game, plug it in, and rock out. Just be sure to close your blinds so nobody sees you going nuts with a toy guitar in your hand.
TRIPLE THREAT
Euphoria
10/10
by Susy Kim
One of the most frustrating things in life is finding the right hair salon. For men, it is about finding that one barber that completely understands his hairline and style. For women, it involves everything from hair color to cut, texture, and volume. After some intense trial and error, I finally found my soulmate: Euphoria.
Euphoria is a full-service day spa on the first floor of the Walden Galleria. They offer many services including hair, nails, spa treatments, facials, massages, and makeup. I visited Euphoria a few times for a manicure and a pedicure, and they have amazed me every time. They have great customer service (they always offer each customer tea, coffee, or water), and the spa itself is very relaxing.
Euphoria offers three degrees of hair stylists: designer, advanced, and artistic. Each stylist’s length of experience determines what category they fall into. When I went to get highlights recently, I was paired with a designer stylist and she did a fantastic job. I have never been able to ever achieve the hair color I wanted and I finally found someone that understood my style. They even saved the hair color mix so I can get the same color retouched. Euphoria uses Aveda Full Spectrum Color, which is damage-free and resistant to fading. Their haircuts start at $32 for women. Each cut includes a stress-relieving scalp massage. For a more permanent change, you can also get your hair curled at a low price of $65.
If you think your body needs some pampering, Euphoria is the place to visit. They offer a large variety of body works such as Swedish massage, hot stone therapy, and deep tissue massage. You get to listen to some relaxing music during your session and enjoy some snacks at the same time.
Euphoria is a triple threat: professional, friendly, and cheap. It is extremely difficult to find a full service salon that has these three qualities. Next time you need to get yourself all prettied up, drive to the Walden Galleria Mall, do some shopping, grab some food, then relax at Euphoria.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
Food Network
by Brad Deck
Back in the day, college students subsisted on one thing outside of the mass-produced dining hall extravaganza of food: Ramen noodles. Depending on whom you talk to, you may hear that this is still the case, but this is a lie.
Now, it’s Ramen and Easy-Mac.
Perhaps this diet consisting solely of simple carbohydrates and trans fats is the reason that the popularity of the Food Network is on the rise, particularly on college campuses. Can this be attributed to the dreams of millions of teenagers and 20-somethings to one day become masterful chefs? Is it merely the comfort of watching people cook things on television that one knows is not a possibility in the communal dormitory kitchen? Whatever the reason, the array of programming available on Food Network gives us all a little something to nibble on.
Listening to Paula Deen talk to herself never gets old.
As Food Network’s resident southern belle, Paula Deen knows a little something about home cooking.
She also knows a little something about butter.
With every dish she makes, viewers of Paula Deen’s three cooking shows (Paula’s Home Cooking, Paula’s Party, and Paula’s Cooking School) witness nothing short of a miracle in the amount of butter that woman uses. It would be no surprise for the country cook to melt a stick of butter with mayonnaise, heavy cream, and cheese to produce a soup fit for a coronary embolism.
Aside from the plethora of dairy Deen refuses to omit from her variety of heart-healthy dishes, the woman’s sheer lunacy is never boring to watch. With the format of her original Food Network broadcast requiring her to film from her own home without a studio audience to keep her company, Deen usually has little to do other than eat, talk to her beloved dog, Gertie, and talk to herself. Constantly mumbling about how her latest creation trumps all the rest in its “deeleeshuuhs”ness, the porcine wonder finally got to thrust her tingly awkwardness onto a group of living, breathing (bless them) human beings in her latter two shows, which involve raucous audience interaction and an obscene over-usage of the word “y’all.”
Big tits always look better bouncing over a hot stove.
While there must be guys somewhere on the planet who watch Food Network for the culinary splendor, the rest of the station’s male viewership is most likely tuning in for two reasons.
Breasts. Get it?
While the channel does have its share of unfortunate-looking personalities, like Deen and the saltine cracker of the pack, Sara Moulton, it also has a couple reasonably sexy women on its roster.
The most popular of the sex-pot chefs is arguably Giada DeLaurentis the host of Everyday Italian and the party documentary show Behind the Bash. The former is easily the more enjoyable of the two, mainly because of DeLaurentis’ low-cut shirt and her constant use of the intensely vibrating food processor.
Another fox on the Food Network is the host of the worst cooking show ever created (because there is almost no cooking involved… ever), Semi-Homemade Cooking with Sandra Lee. The bleached blonde divorcee with fake boobs the size of melons clearly has zero cooking ability, but it could be worse than seeing this older, more mature, but still completely sexy woman trouncing around the kitchen in a form-fitting top and ass-hugging jeans.
Marc Summers says, “There is life after Double Dare.”
Learning stuff is fun sometimes, especially when it has absolutely nothing to do with college. Discovering the origin of the Reese’s Pieces, or learning why mayonnaise is good for sandwiches and not as a sexual lubricant is interesting, especially when it flows from the mouth of the legendary Nickelodeon host Marc Summers.
On the show Unwrapped, Summers tells the tales of America’s favorite foods, as well as the companies that create them. Similar documentary-style shows like Road Tasted, The Secret Life of…, and Good Eats all fall into the same “food stories” category, with lonely, middle-aged men informing the audience about the way to perfectly smoke a brisket.
Interesting? Not really.
Entertaining? Always.
This is sort of the method of the Food Network. They aren’t breaking any new ground when it comes to the culinary arts; they’re just bringing the procedure to the people. With personalities, titillation, and that little bit of residual green slime in Marc Summers’ hair, Food Network’s genius is in its simplicity, and it is that simplicity that makes the station more than just free softcore porn—it gives a kitchen education.
