ABUSED HUSBAND NEEDS A NEW GIRLFRIEND
Norbit
10/10
by Susy Kim
After taking a serious role in the award-winning Dreamgirls, Eddie Murphy returned to his comic roots with the new movie Norbit. Murphy takes on three roles as different characters who are extremely odd in many ways. Although Norbit cannot hold a candle to Murphy’s earlier works such as Coming to America and The Nutty Professor, it is nonetheless a good film to put a smile on your face.
In the film Murphy plays the geeky Norbit, who grew up in an orphanage operated by a Chinese couple, Mr. and Mrs. Wong. There, he spent most of his time with his buddy Kate (Thandie Newton) who eventually leaves because she gets adopted. Lonely and sad, Norbit is often picked on by other children until he meets an obnoxious and cruel girl named Rasputia (also played by Murphy). He eventually marries Rasputia, but leads an unhappy life being dominated by his obese wife and her three brothers. One day, Norbit is reunited with Kate and falls back in love with her. He makes up his mind to leave Rasputia for Kate, and that’s where trouble begins.
Much of the film’s running time is spent on Rasputia and her cruel ways. She is portrayed to fit the stereotypical standard of a big mean lady who makes everyone’s life miserable. In one scene she beats up her mailman and in another she runs over a dog with her car. Luckily, Murphy’s character gets some help from his fellow comedians, Eddie Griffin and Katt Williams, who play two pimps. They also assist Norbit in winning over Kate’s heart.
Norbit is a perfect date flick. It combines humor and romance to satisfy everyone’s taste in movies. Eddie Murphy’s use of stereotypes to portray Norbit, Rasputia, and Mr. Wong may seem a bit unethical at times, but there is no doubt that those three characters are what made the movie. I couldn’t stop laughing for the whole 102 minutes of this film. This week, I plan on going again to laugh my face off and so should you.
A NEW KIND OF ROCK ‘N ROLL
The Fall of Troy - The Icon
8/10
by Andrew Blake
It has been increasingly difficult for me to find new music I like. Apparently it is near impossible to create a new sound without blatantly wearing your influences on your sleeve. Luckily for the first time in awhile, I was able to hear a handful of bands that truly impressed me. They combined elements of rock not employed enough nowadays.
The Fall of Troy, a Washington state based trio of young, budding prog-rockers headlined a sold-out show at The Buffalo Icon on Friday. Their songs were mostly guitar driven post-hardcore numbers that seemed to emphasize the technical side of songwriting. The musicianship and craft in all of their songs were remarkably in-depth as well as catchy, but I felt that the band’s tendency to play from within the crowd, although entertaining, took away from the music, limiting the full potential of their performance.
The full house at The Icon loved every note that guitarist Thomas Erak screeched from atop of the audience, as displayed by fans often climbing atop one another to get close to their hero inches away. Their songs seemed to combine the progressive tendencies of Rush with more modern and aggressive descendents such as At The Drive In. At the same time, I couldn’t help but think the band, who was without a doubt demonstrating superb musical skills, could have sounded even better if they concentrated less on the show and more on the songs. While I did love the energy and soul put into their music, for the first time in quite some while I felt that the headliner was overshadowed by the opening bands.
Damiera, a local band recently signed to Equal Visions, had a huge response from their hometown fans. The guys in Damiera played their instruments really high up on their bodies, something I found only fat people or really good musicians do. Given that the band consisted of a bunch of slims, I decided that they obviously knew what they were doing. Like The Fall of Troy, Damiera’s songs were all musically complex, more so than the average modern rock song. Their blending of instruments managed to create intricate layers to all of their tunes. Some of their songs, while still containing memorable hooks, were constructed well enough to put me into a trance. One qualm I had was with the guitarist’s shitty Alkaline Trio tattoo.
Without a doubt, my favorite band of the night was Portugal the Man. They took elements of early ‘70s metal bands and blended them with exotic percussion and unpredictable rhythms. Combined with a Robert Plant sound-alike, they were like Wolfmother, but without the suck. Think Queens of the Stone Age, but more intoxicated.
I learned my lesson—new bands still make good music. They just borrow a tad. Note to up-and-comers: Please rip off Cheap Trick. Thanks in advance!
HYPNOSIS. FUNNIER THAN EXPECTED
The Sandman - Comix Café
8/10
by Matthew Dashkoff
The Comix Café on Eggert Road in Tonawanda is well known around the Buffalo area for presenting various up-and-coming entertainers. Commonly featuring stand-up performances and improv groups, Comix Café will now and again have special shows by performers who incorporate unusual talents into their comedic routine. On this particular occasion, The Sandman, the self-proclaimed “Copperfield of Hypnosis,” showcased six nights of off the wall material.
Upon entering the Comix Café, I was over-enthusiastically greeted by a staff member and immediately needed a drink from the bar. One, because everybody working at this place has been around B-list stand-up for a little too long, and two, because I was nervous about what this nutball was about to have me do once he dropped his witchcraft on my ass.
The Sandman opened his performance with a few clearly rehearsed jokes about Buffalo weather, and went into his schpeal of how hypnosis actually works. He explained to the audience that participants will not go under unless they open their mind to the unknown, lose their skepticism, and submit themselves to his direction. Although I had my doubts, I ran up onstage when he asked for volunteers and took my seat at center stage.
With the bright stage lights shining into my eyes, I squinted to get a look at the few hundred people in front of whom I was about to make an ass of myself. The Sandman, a white haired man in his fifties, grizzled from years on the road, began leading us through the stages of hypnosis. For 15 or 20 minutes he had us perform various breathing and relaxation exercises, all the while instructing us that when he is finished we will be under his complete control. As suspicious as I had been of all this, I went from being nervous as shit to feeling like I was alone in my room in minutes—an impressive feat, seeing as we had hundreds of eyes staring us down.
Being hypnotized is not what you think. I knew who I was and where I was; I simply had not a care in the world and felt a strong willingness to do whatever this dude instructed me to do. It being his XXX show, he had me smoking imaginary joints (from which I actually felt high) and dry-humping the blonde to my right (who in turn was groping the guy on her right, who was face deep between the legs of the next girl over). At that point I began to come up from my hypnotic coma. There’s something sobering about losing all sense of personal decency in front of a crowd. Still, I stripped to my skivvies when he told us “you have found yourself in a contest to see who can remove your clothes the fastest—and you’re willing to win at all costs!” How could I resist? What an opportunity.
I left thinking “that was enough mind-control for a lifetime,” but I do recommend this for next time The Sandman comes around. For more info on The Comix Café, their website, www.Comixcafe.com, shows their lineup of both respectable and cheesy acts alike. Their service may have been marginal, but their charisma is worth noting. I would suggest this place for dates or large group events. If you’re single, what are you thinking? Go to a strip club.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
The End - Elementary
10/10
by Stephen Boyd
Elementary, the newest release from Canada’s The End, is a genre-defying tour de force that elevates the band out of any generic metal-hardcore description. Hell, it elevates them out of any generic description whatsoever. This is easily already one of the best releases 2007 will see. Drop this record into the Middle East and it will solve some problems. It’s that good.
Following on the heels of Within Dividia, their first full length for Relapse Records in 2003, Elementary is a vast departure from anything remotely near the cookie-cutter sludge churned out by other bands. More importantly, it is a vast departure from the band’s previous frenetic, twenty-tempo-changes-per-minute style. Within Dividia was a challenging album to listen to for long periods at a time. It made your head feel sort of woozy, like time kept stopping and then starting up again. Elementary, dare I say it, is nearly cathartic in its ability to shift seamlessly between off-tempo chaos and soothing, ambient melody. Vocalist Aaron Wolff has changed his style from frantic screaming that nearly disappeared under the roar of the song to a more understated, melodic approach. His screaming has improved, perhaps aided by better production techniques, and his skill as a singer far surpasses that of most other “singers” who can barely hold a note and miss half the lyrics because they’re too wasted to stand up.
A thorough understanding of arrangement and tempo combined with supreme technical skill makes each song hit hard, lull you into a sense of awe at the beautifully styled melodic interludes, and then devolve completely into madness again. “And Always…” is a ten-minute epic that closes the CD, and is nothing one would expect from an experimental metal band. Starting with only an acoustic guitar, piano, and sung vocals, it slowly layers harmony upon harmony to create a subtly-crafted masterpiece. Other standout tracks include the brutal “Animals,” reminiscent of the chaos of earlier albums, and “Throwing Stones,” a song that frames Wolff’s captivating vocal abilities.
In an age when one band’s MySpace page can spawn a hundred similar bands who list the band they plagiarize under the “influences” label, this record feels like someone opened a window in a crowded room full of smoke and really dirty people. “Experimental” metal has lost the excitement it once carried, but The End is truly a progressive band in a scene crowded by blatant imitators. This record pushes boundaries, resets limits, and challenges the idea of what a metal band can accomplish.
ELECTRICA HELL
Trans Am - Sex Change
6/10
by Guy M. Scrivo
Usually, my opinion is that any electronica might as well be the soundtrack to Dance Dance Revolution. Bad memories spring to my mind, of when electronica was a popular musical trend. I was a wee lad, and all sorts of rotting celebrity musicians experimented with the genre—Madonna’s release of atrocities like “Ray of Light” is one example. I think of people with neon orange parachute pants that have giant nylon straps hanging out of the cargo pockets down to the ankles, covered in plastic beads, and holding glow sticks, high on four hundred and fifty dollars worth of synthetic drugs from the former Soviet Union. This mental point of view allows me to keep a healthy distance from most electronic music, after foolishly spending my money on a Prodigy cassette that I got sick of a week later.
I was told that Trans Am was electronica and even “dance music,” so I immediately assumed every song off their new album Sex Change had kicks on all four measures of the beat and was made with a cheesy drum machine. This meant that the album started with a rating of zero out of ten and had to work its way up. The first few tracks were obviously made with a cheesy drum machine, so my notions of electronic music stood unchallenged. I forced myself to listen to the repetitive beats and it made me unhappy.
Then, a song called “Obscene Strategies” came on, and it was dripping with delicious vintage mellotron funk. All of a sudden my bedroom turned into the climactic scene of Napoleon Dynamite, the spirit of James Brown possessed me and I started dancing more wildly than a drunken iPod silhouette at Thursday at the Square. When the song ended, I came to my senses and sat down.
The song “Tesco vs. Sainsbury’s” sounded like the boss stage in an ‘80s arcade game and made me pumped up enough to smash big buttons the size of a fifty cent piece and curse at a machine. It was so close to the actual style of such a soundtrack that I can’t help but have a deep appreciation for the band being able to compose such a piece and make it work. I can’t imagine dancing to it, but I can imagine being eight years old and playing through to a large boss at Major Magic’s Fun Center while listening to this genre of music playing, stimulating my tiny adrenal glands.
Based on those two pieces, this album climbed its way up the ratings scale from a zero to a six, but the rest of the album is mainly for serious fans of electronic music only. Once all is said and done, those people still wear silly pants and should invest their money more wisely.
CHECK THIS REALITY
Virtual Reality at CFA - Human Trials
7/10
by Billy Rohan
After brushing my car off for the fourth time in 24 hours on another beautiful nine-degree day in Buffalo, I walked into the CFA ready for a virtual escape. I had visions of joining Beyonce and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit models on a white sandy beach as I made my way upstairs. Walking past a couple of guys wearing suits with converse sneakers matching their ties, I was met by a myriad of computer towers, wiring, cameras, speakers, and projectors. Although I didn’t get a scantily clad pop diva basking in the sun, I was brought into the virtual fantasy world of Human Trials.
Human Trials is an interactive virtual reality production of the Inter Media Performance Studio involving the departments of Media Study, Computer Science and Engineering, as well as the department of Theatre and Dance. The best way to describe the experience is a cross between a video game and a play. One lucky audience member was chosen from the crowd to participate in the show, and thus become the “Seeker.” The premise of the story is that the Seeker must maneuver his or her way through the virtual world, completing a series of tasks. Guiding the Seeker through the quest are Patofil and Filopat, who look like red and blue floating sheets wearing white Mardi Gras masks.
Throughout the experience the actual participant stayed hidden from view while her point of view was projected onto the wall. The virtual actors playing the guides were seated in front of the audience with both their viewpoints projected on either side of the Seeker’s. Having the actors sitting in front of the audience brought the sense of being at a play into the equation as art and technology were brought together nicely in this unique production.
If you want an idea of the graphics, think not as good as the original Playstation and even boxier. The beauty of the show was that there was a lot of room for exploration and adlibbing between the Seeker and the guides as they maneuvered their way through the virtual environment. More than once, the audience broke out into laughter as the participant expressed her frustration over completing a task. Some interactive features were reeds that moved when walked over, and water that the characters could splash at each other. The journey took place over a few different levels (to use video game terminology) including a castle level that culminated in an underground battle scene.
Overall, the graphics and game play of Human Trials isn’t going to blow your mind. However, what the program lacked in shock and awe it made up for in uniqueness. Human Trials was a combination of video games, theatre, technology and art. What makes it more appealing is that the whole thing was created and designed by UB students and faculty. Although not what I expected, Human Trials did not disappoint. I would certainly recommend keeping a virtual eye and ear out for the next production, due out in late April.
COME AGAIN, GAFFIGAN!
Jim Gaffigan - CFA
9/10
by Andrew Blake
Apparently Jim Gaffigan is stalking me. I know! I didn’t have the faintest idea, either. How else can you explain his stand-up being nearly identical to my thoughts? If Jim Gaffigan is not lurking over my shoulder right now, then the only reasonable explanation is that he is a direct embodiment of everyman. And when I say everyman, I mean every American. Er, white American, that is—lazy, white American. Okay, the dude is fucking lazy, but that’s cool with me.
Gaffigan gave a one-hour performance at the Center for the Arts last week. Those that walked in with little knowledge of the comedian probably knew Gaffigan for nothing more than the fact he is “the other guy” from the Sierra Mist commercials, the one who sported the “beard comb over” in the latest ad. I can only assume that most, myself included, left the CFA Sunday night with their chin muscles tense from laughing too hard.
Gaffigan’s stand-up takes the art of Seinfeldian everyday observations to a new level. His comments were, more often than not, that of the lowest brow. His tirade on how reading is boring and watching movies is always better due to the obvious convenience had me nodding with great approval. Bacon is the best thing ever, he says. Finally, I found someone who agrees with me. Gaffigan was not ashamed (or at least was willing to make a crack at) his own lethargic lifestyle, which apparently consists of little more than just sitting around.
His trademark “audience response voice” punctuated his observations. That is, he often responds to his own jokes via the voice of an imaginary audience member, questioning almost all of his own statements. Most of Gaffigan’s jokes were so funny in the first place that the ruckus of laughter from the crowd made his commentary on his own jokes hard to hear. If you were lucky enough to catch the second part of what he said, you found yourself laughing straight through his entire hour.
Gaffigan’s set was so funny, I actually realized halfway through that I had not stopped laughing since he started. Finally, a comic I can relate to. It was about time someone came up to the forefront and spent 15 minutes discussing the cons (and believe me, they are plentiful) of Hot Pockets in a manner that was one part informative, one part cautionary, and entirely hilarious.
AN EMO NIGHTMARE
The Ataris - Welcome the Night
1/10
by Danielle Westfall
Your girlfriend comes home to tell you she’s leaving you for another man because you are dull and lifeless. Maybe you then decide to change your life around and do more exciting things. Or maybe you sit around like The Ataris, making up suicidal poetry and goodbye letters. Then you release an album all about your pain and agony.
Welcome the Night, released February 20, is a catchy, energetic new release for about one song. Their single, “Not Capable of Love,” made me tap my foot and sway my head while I listened to the lead singer wail in a sexy voice about his lack of romantic options. I was eager to soak up some more Ataris, until I actually did.
“Cardiff by the Sea” is a sad song about being lonely and helpless. Much like the rest of the songs, it did not grab my attention. The slow music and the lead singer’s steamy voice encouraged me to want more, but I just couldn’t enjoy the lyrics. Singing about being lonely and pathetic did not interest me in the least. How many songs about “missing the point of living” and “fading into nothing” can you possibly come up with for one album? It seems a little obsessive to me. I just can’t get into music that sounds like it was written by a stalker. All the suicidal drug-and-alcohol related lyrics made the songs seem barren of emotion, instead of the other way around.
Every track sounds the same, considering the album content is mainly self-deprecating thoughts. The song title “And We All Become Like Smoke” speaks for itself. “Fading into nothing/Fading into nothing/Just a trace of my life that burns when I fade across,” are probably some of the most pitiful and cliché lyrics I have ever heard. For some astonishing reason, it seems like people just can’t stop fading away into oblivion nowadays.
Drunken confessions are not always a good idea. In fact, sometimes they make you seem like a lame asshole. “From the Last, Last Call” sounds like the singer is, instead of drunk dialing, drunk singing. “Doubled up on angel dust they’re crying on my knees for some God to come and save this lifeless soul,” makes me think someone should probably call 911. Apparently, The Ataris have been making awfully unsafe choices.
If it’s not bad enough with the drunken singing, there are practically suicide instructions in the song “Act V, Scene IV; And So It Ends Like It Began.” The song might as well be a step-by-step instruction on how to off yourself. First you fill the room up with incense smoke. Then get a casket lined with pills. Dive in there and throw caution to the wind. Gnaw on those pills like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t forget to wash them down with the bitter taste of absinth. Disclaimer: Don’t try this at home!
AN UNINSPIRING PACE
The Pace - The Squeaky Wheel
5/10
by Katie Young
The voice pleads, hushed, “My arms still curve to your shape… my arms still curve to your shape.” The image of a mouth flickers in front of you, and carefully pronounces silent words. All of a sudden, a train chugs along on the open plain and images of garbage appear out of nowhere. Don’t worry, you’re not schizophrenic! You’re merely watching the newest exhibit at The Squeaky Wheel, a non-profit media arts center on Main Street.
“The Pace” is an interactive installation by Elizabeth Knipe on display until February 23. It attempts to reveal the mental and emotional energies that exist inside a person’s physical act of walking. A bombardment of various videos, textual phrases, and sounds is manifested upon viewers as they walk through the room. Knipe manages to execute its surreal intention, albeit in a slightly creepy fashion.
Along the front wall were the larger video clips, and along the adjacent wall there was a montage of smaller images. As I literally paced through the room, my feet triggered sensors underneath the carpet. Images and sounds throughout the room were changed as a result, from a flickering image reminiscent of the good ole’ Yule log, to a close-up of a hefty girl playing with her hair. The sounds of birds and trains quietly attacked me from varying angles, reminding me of the intro to an emotionally poetic MySpace page, or a haunting girl’s voice offering introspective thoughts.
Within the confines of the small room, the apparatuses utilized had the potential to be overwhelming. It offered a dreamlike glimpse into the minds and thoughts of a person, yet it failed to show the full passion of these energies. The combination of sounds and images were not intense enough. Their alterations as I walked about the room were often too subdued to be noticed. Unless Knipe’s intended audience was Homer Simpson or George W. Bush, she failed to show the brilliance and explosive energies coexisting in a person’s mind. Instead of escaping the confines of the room, the stimulations were too repetitive, leading to an entrapped sense of self.
Although the contrasts in images supported a variety of thoughts that preoccupy one’s mind, the auditory aspect of the installation was weak. The exhibit does manage to successfully convey one thing, however, regardless of intention. It illustrates the triggering of memories with everyday movements, such as the simple act of pacing. Some of the memories are fond—for example, a video following a boy at a playground, or an image of an enamored couple, kissing and smiling at one another. In this sense, Knipe is successful at capturing elusive bits and pieces of a person’s existence, if only for a short while. As the girl murmurs throughout this installation, thoughts are “held fast in corporeal memory, only to die out again.”
AN OLD DOG WITH OLD TRICKS
Harlem Globetrotters - HSBC Arena
6/10
by Shane Frasier
We all know who the Harlem Globetrotters are. They’re America’s favorite fake basketball team. They’ve tricked, dunked, and laughed their way into the hearts of millions of kids—at least according to the game’s announcer. This being my second time seeing the Globetrotters, I thought I knew what to expect: stylized, un-rigged basketball. I was ashamed of what I witnessed.
Technology has a funny way of ruining things. And how could it defeat the Globetrotters’ charm, you ask? The entire team wore microphones, which meant that throughout the game you heard them mock their opponents, the New York Nationals. This worked for about ten minutes of the show, but it lost its charm immediately thereafter. It distracted me from the game, which has also, unfortunately, turned into a mockery. I finally realized the whole thing was fixed, anyway.
The Globetrotters have turned into the Johnny Carson of basketball. They’ve become a variety show of sorts. It’s all basketball, but you get a few different events within the game itself. Globie, the mascot, comes out and cheers with the crowd. Of course, mascots usually do that, but the highlight of this event was Big G, Globie’s “brother.” Big G is a man in a huge inflatable suit that looks exactly like Globie, only he’s been stung by a bee. Big G is allergic to bees, and swells up. Literally. He danced on the court, and acted out whatever song was playing. When “(Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty” came on, he delightfully spazzed out in a rocking motion. And when Chumbawumba’s “I Get Knocked Down” came on, he fell to the ground face first. This proved to be the real highlight of the night.
The performance gets old when you realize you’ve paid $17 for only a few tricks. These tricks are impressive, but not worth the nosebleed admittance price. What really made the night profoundly disappointing was when one of the Globetrotters started waving at the crowd while the game was in motion, and the referee came storming up to him yelling, “What are you doing?” The player calmly answered, “I’m waving to my family.” “Which one’s your family?” the ref asked. “The white folks,” the Globetrotter said gleefully. Ethnic humor doesn’t work well at an event that is generally marketed towards a family audience. As harmless as it was, the crowd didn’t like it, and the response was less than kind.
The next time the Globetrotters come into town, I wouldn’t recommend seeing them unless you are really bored or feel the need to watch some amazing dunks. It’s decent entertainment, but not breathtaking.
