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"This is a very unusual theft and I am confident that someone locally will have knowledge about who is responsible or where the memorial stone is at present." By way of Ted, someone has walked away in silence with Ian Curtis' tombstone. (Here's the scene of the crime.)

"In the lower courts, according to a study Professor Long published in the Washington & Lee Law Review last year, Mr. Dylan is by far the most cited songwriter. He has been quoted in 26 opinions. Paul Simon is next, with 8 (12 if you count those attributed to Simon & Garfunkel). Bruce Springsteen has 5."

With great lawyers, you have discussed lepers and crooks: By way of Ted at the Late Adopter, the NYT examines Chief Justice Roberts' use of Dylan in court opinions. "Mr. Dylan has only once before been cited as an authority on Article III standing, which concerns who can bring a lawsuit in federal court...The larger objection is that the citation is not true to the original point Mr. Dylan was making, which was about the freedom that having nothing conveys and not about who may sue a phone company."

"'Actually, one of my favorites during the political season is "Maggie's Farm,"' Obama said of one of Dylan's tracks. 'It speaks to me as I listen to some of the political rhetoric.'" But does he like the RATM version? While doing the obligatory secrets-of-his-iPod conversation with Rolling Stone -- he's a huge Stevie Wonder fan, which explains "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" on the trail -- Sen. Obama sings the praises of Dylan. (Dylan did the same of Obama earlier this month.)

"Elvis was not first; I was the first son of a gun out here, me and Chuck Berry. And I'm very sick of the lie...You know, we are over that black-and-white crap, and that was all the reason Elvis got the appreciation that he did. I'm the dude that he copied, and I'm not even mentioned...I've been out here for 50 years, man, and I haven't ever seen a royalty check." Bo Diddley, 1928-2008.

"There he lies. God rest his soul, and his rudeness. A devouring public can now share the remains of his sickness, and his phone numbers. There he lay: poet, prophet, outlaw, fake, star of electricity. Nailed by a peeping tom, who would soon discover...even the ghost was more than one person."

Whatever happens in IN and NC, at least we're all assured of one excellent piece of news on Tuesday: My favorite film of 2007, Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, comes out on DVD tomorrow. (See also my pre-Oscar Youtube appreciation.) Due to my imminent move, I'm mostly divesting myself of extraneous possessions at the moment. Still, I'm very much looking forward to picking this up tomorrow.

"To make progress, we must rise above the partisanship and the issues that divide us to find common ground. We must move the country in a dramatically new direction. I strongly believe Barack Obama is best positioned to lead the nation in that new direction." Along with Roger Waters and the Pink Floyd pig, Sen. Obama picks up another Senate super in New Mexico's Jeff Bingaman, thus putting him in the lead among his and Sen. Clinton's colleagues. Update: Clinton counters with NC Governor Mike Easley.

Meanwhile, over the weekend Matt Drudge ventured into the Wayback Machine to examine superdelegates' issues...with Bill Clinton in 1992. "'The voters haven't embraced Clinton, so I don't see any reason why I should endorse him,' Mr. Eckart said. 'Look at the exit polls. People have terrible doubts about this guy, and we're talking about Democrats.'" Cut to 2008, where, thanks to his recent transgressions, undeclared supers -- particularly African-American supers like my old rep, Jim Clyburn -- still don't think much of the man. "How do you play the race card on the ex-president of the United States? How do you do it? I would like to know how that's done and who they [are]. And I'd like to see these memos he's talking about. That's what's so bizarre about this,' Clyburn said". (Nor, it seems, is Pres. Clinton a fan of Obama, but that's not really surprising at this point, is it?)

So I guess I'm probably way behind on this one, but anyway: My sis informed me at dinner last night that not only has Portishead been working on their third album (and first in ten years), but it's in the can, it's called Third, and it officially comes out in only two weeks. The video for the dub number "Machine Gun" (the first single), is just below. Even notwithstanding the "Blue Monday"-ish rat-a-tat that drives the track, I'm loving that subterranean bass lurking under the surface. (Hearing it reminded me of the beginning of this Chemical Brothers video, which I always found more nightmarish than I think they meant it to be.) And then it gets all Kraftwerky right around 2:40, which is a direction that generally sits well with me.

I know Dummy was everybody and their brother's favorite trip-hop album back in the day, and it kinda lost some cool cachet just by becoming so gimongously popular. (Normally, I wouldn't hold that against an album, but, Dummy was kinda everywhere there for awhile. Sorta like Air or The Crystal Method a few years later.) Still, along with R.E.M.'s Monster, the Tribe's Beat, Rhymes, Life, Ill Communication, the now-insufferable, then-inescapable Pulp Fiction soundtrack, and a few others, Dummy was the score of my college years. Both melancholy and beat-intensive, it worked in the background for almost any occasion, and a lot of my fonder memories from school days are keyed to that Bristol sound.

At any rate, it seems the rest of the new tracks are also floating around Youtube: Silence | Hunter | Nylon Smile | The Rip |Plastic | We Carry On | Deep Water | Machine Gun | Small (check out that Syd Barrett bridge) | Magic Doors | Threads. At this early stage, my current favorite (other than the single) is "The Rip," mainly for that catchy acoustic-to-electronic fade right around the two-minute mark.

"The vista I see now is changing. Uncertainty is suffocating. Our hope has never felt so great..." It's become fashionable of late to hate on R.E.M.'s last album, 2004's Around the Sun, so much so that even the band has been badmouthing it lately, dismissing it as a result of them not really getting along at the time. Well, they'd know better than me, but I won't go there. Sun is clearly overproduced at times but I still think it has its grace moments, all the more so because it's an album drenched in melancholy and compromise. (And I still like it better than Reveal, and even the back half of New Adventures in Hi-Fi, their last venture with original and much-missed drummer Bill Berry.)

That being said, Accelerate, which officially came out yesterday, is no Around the Sun. It's just as political as AoS -- in some ways, Accelerate is their most overtly political album since Document. But, now, Stipe, Mills, and Buck have gotten the band back together. And, imbued with that sense of team confidence, they're picking up the pace and taking no more prisoners. The end result is short, fast, and dirty, a half-hour-long album which (as one of my colleagues in US history, southern upbringing, and R.E.M. fandom noted yesterday) probably most recalls 1986's Life's Rich Pageant.

From the first track, "Living Well is the Best Revenge," the difference is manifest. In Around the Sun, R.E.M. were just as political, but much more tentative and unsure of themselves. Remember all the relationship anguish of Sun? Well, now the men from Athens have the wind at their backs. "All your sad and lost apostles hum my name and flare their nostrils, choking on the bones you toss to them. Well I'm not one to sit and spin, 'cause living well's the best revenge. Baby, I am calling you on that." The equally aggressive second-track, "Man-Sized Wreath" (i.e. a huge, ridiculous emotional ploy and substitute for thought) takes up the standard with enthusiasm: "Nature abhors a vacuum but what’s between your ears?" That heady sense of being not only on the right side of the argument but -- at long last -- on the right side of history persists throughout Accelerate and keeps it afloat. "Mr. Richards" jauntily takes glee in a Cheney-esque figure (or at least one of Dubya's Dicks) finally receiving his comeuppance and going to prison for his transgressions, and "Horse to Water" is equally mad as hell and won't take it anymore. ("I'm not that easy, I am not your horse to water. I hold my breath, I come around.") And even the slight downers, such as the beautiful and too-brief post-Katrina ballad "Houston" ("If the storm doesn't kill me, the government will") still mostly resonate with hope of change to come: "It's a new day today, and the coffee is strong. I finally got some rest." (By the way, as a note to the R.E.M. fans out there, I love how that fog-horn sound in "Houston" calls back to "Leave" and particularly "Undertow" from Hi-Fi, which in retrospect also seem rather Katrina-esque.)

On the Peter Buck end, Accelerate interpolates and reconfigures the jingly-jangly riffs of Life's Rich Pageant with the (much-underappreciated) sonic grunge of Monster, and I can't wait to hear these cuts live. Still, Accelerate's secret weapon is probably bassist Mike Mills, who brings back the harmonizing of Out of Time and earlier albums, and single-handedly elevates tracks like "Living Well" and "Sing for the Submarine." Speaking of the latter, "Sing for the Submarine" is, for the time being, my high point of Accelerate, a dense, moody track that hearkens back to much of the R.E.M. canon. ("Electron Blue" and "Feeling Gravity's Pull" are explicitly name-dropped.) I haven't come close to unpacking it yet: "It's all a lot less frightening than you would have had it be. But that's the good news, my darling, it is what it's going to be." But I'm definitely enjoying the attempt, and I love the Pink Floydish power-chords as the song builds to chorus. (If negativity is required, I could honestly take or leave the first single, "Supernatural Superserious," -- it's a lot like "Imitation of Life" on Reveal -- and I tend to skip over it. And "Until the Day is Done," the sole mid-tempo ballad here, is less interesting than most of AoS. But neither are deal-killers.)

So, the short answer is this: if you thought R.E.M. has lost a few steps lately and have thus skipped the past few albums, then the reviews for Accelerate are true: They're back in a big way, and you should definitely check this one out. And if you've stuck with 'em all the way, then you'll be pleased to discover that they're on the same page as many of us this election year: To wit, after eight years (and arguably more) in the mire, it's nigh time we progressive-minded lefties started kicking ass and taking names. "Don't turn your talking points on me, History will set me free. The future's ours and you don't even read the footnote now!"

"Lisa Bonet ate no basil, Warsaw was raw. Was it a car or a cat I saw? Rise to vote, sir. Do geese see God? 'Do nine men interpret?' 'Nine men,' I nod." By way of THND, Weird Al Yankovic channels Dylan through palindromes, in the manner of "Subterranean Homesick Blues," I'm Not There, and "Royal Jelly." (McCain palindrome via here.)

As the Oscars are tomorrow night (remember to get your entries in for the annual Web Goddess Oscar Pool), as my favorite film of 2007 got snubbed in most categories, and as I spent an hour or two last night trawling around Youtube (which reminded me, for example, how irredeemably goofy the ending of There Will Be Blood was), here are some musical clips from the year's maligned masterpiece, Todd Haynes' I'm Not There. (Note: The Weinstein Company has posted almost all of Cate Blanchett's performance for Oscar purposes, but I wouldn't recommend watching those clips unless you've already seen the movie, since they're taken from all over the place and disrupt the careful interweaving of all 6 Dylans.)

"Subterranean Homesick Blues": I'd never seen this before, but here's the international trailer for the film, featuring all six incarnations doing the classic video from Don't Look Back.

"I Want You": Robbie (Heath Ledger) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) fall in love (directly following this scene.) Note the freewheelin' beginning and that fateful motorcycle.

"Ballad of a Thin Man": There's something happening here, but BBC's Keenan Jones (Bruce Greenwood) don't know what it is...other than that it somehow involves Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), Stephen Malkmus, circus geeks, and the Black Panthers.

"Going to Acapulco": In downtown Riddle, Billy Story (Richard Gere) attends the public funeral of young Mrs. Henry. She has slit her own throat, an ominous harbinger of dark times to come. (That's Jim James of My Morning Jacket in the Dylanesque whiteface, along with Calexico.)

"When the Ship Comes In": Wunderkind Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin) wows some kindly Middle American folk with his musical wherewithal.

The trailer for I'm Not There, opening...uh...a few months ago (and available on DVD May 6.)

Happy Valentines' Day, everyone. As per previous years (2005, 2006, 2007), I've gone ahead and thrown up some songs for the day (for the first time via the magic of Youtube.) The obligatory once-a-year update from behind-the-curtain: Sadly, no romantic life to speak of around here, uh, whatsoever. But, that's fine. Particularly given that my last serious break-up metastasized into Something Awful, and I spent basically all of 2007 with a virulent case of the broken-hearted blues, I'm actually feeling pretty happy about being single right now. Even as little as two months ago, I might've gotten defensive about it, and, to paraphrase our dear Senator from New York, grumbled that "false hope" is not a luxury I can afford to indulge in at the moment. But, these days, all the old wounds feel cauterized, and I'm actually just content to live as I am, I am Legend-style, with Berk, new movies, the most exciting election in a generation, and goodly amounts of dissertoral work taking up my plate. There are much worse ways to spend your days. Anyway, to the music:

If Kraftwerk's "Computerlove" didn't tip you off two years ago, there's a certain kind of cheesy, toe-tapping, heart-on-your-sleeve love song to which I'm highly susceptible. Yep, I'll admit it, occasionally I can be a huge softy. I saw Titanic five times...in the theater. I'll go hit the dance floor when somebody plays Madonna. I thought "Cry Me a River" was an inordinately good pop song. And I'll admit to digging such obviously embarrassing groaners as "Always," "Truly Madly Deeply," and "Your Body is a Wonderland." (Hey, admit it: Sometimes, only sometimes, you must be as embarrassing as me.) Still, I figured, if you're really going to commit to outing your cheesy streak this Valentine's Day, you might as well go straight to the source. Sigh...so, here it is. All I'll say is, God help me, I can't not smile and shimmy a little when I hear this tune.

From its fragile opening to its shimmering close, "If You Wear that Velvet Dress" may just be U2's sultriest song. (I mentioned this the other day, but I'd have loved to hear this one through the IMAX system during U2 3D.) As in Achtung Baby's jauntier "So Cruel" (today's U2 runner-up), all is not right with Bono and his ladyfriend here -- The end is obviously near, but neither party wants to talk about it. ("It's ok, the struggle for things not to say. I never listened to you anyway.") In fact, the two have fallen into a self-destructive pattern that's only making things worse. ("We've been here before, last time you scratched at my door.") But, when the moon is in the sky, and she's wearing that velvet dress, the clock stops, and nothing else matters. (This isn't the official video -- I'm not sure if there even is one -- but it gets the point across: Whatever else is going on, something about that certain someone under a certain light will always take your breath away.)

I ran a Leonard Cohen ballad ("I'm Your Man") last year, and Tom Waits is of the same gravelly, take-no-prisoners persuasion. But while the older Cohen sings with grim resignation, and often sounds like he's got a handle on his heartbreak (even when he clearly doesn't -- see "In My Secret Life") Waits is flailing about in the center of the maelstrom. You'll either see it or you won't, I guess, but I find this performance of "Make it Rain" from Letterman a few years ago almost frightening in its intensity. It's like Waits crawled out from the black, primordial, whiskey-soaked depths of the male Id to bellow away his rage and hurt. (He can sometimes ruminate on the happy times too, of course, such as in this lovely waltz (and a close runner-up for this post), "All the World is Green.") One wretched soul's undiluted howl of pain, anchored and drowning in a bluesy murk, "Make it Rain" is a song to beware of in concentrated doses. (But, as Bob Dylan once said of another classic, play it f**king loud.)

Looking at the ledger of my 33 years thus far on Earth, I'd say I've been in love four times and had three all-consuming (unrequited) crushes, none of which I will delve into here. Nevertheless, for those seven women -- and, even though none of you are in my life anymore, y'all know who you are -- this one's for you.

As a bonus track, I'm recycling this one from 2005, and why not? Even notwithstanding all the imagery from this jaw-droppingly beautiful Chris Cunningham video that I've pilfered for GitM over the years, it's really the best Valentine's Day message one can hope for. So, happy V-Day, y'all. Have a safe and happy one.

"It's almost impossible not to hear Accelerate as an attempt to win back old fans and regain the critical respect they've lost in the past ten years. That said, the music doesn't sound desperate, forced, or designed for maximum commercial impact, as with U2's last two records. If anything, they sound pissed-off and eager to brawl." Matthew Perpetua of Fluxblog and Pop Songs previews R.E.M.'s Accelerate for Stereogum.

"I tried to explain how it all began, how it's all been destroyed...and built again." R.E.M. releases a trailer for their new album, Accelerate, featuring 30 sec of its first single, "Supernatural Superserious." My reaction upon first listen: Hey, drums! And Mike Mills backing vocals! It looks like the new album may be, as rumored, an All That You Can't Leave Behind-style throwback to old-school R.E.M. We'll know for sure on April 1.

Outside, it's America, with all its stirring, hard-fought, and often thoroughly draining primary election drama. Inside the IMAX at 68th St., however, it's Catherine Owens and Mark Pellington's U2 3D, an impressive state-of-the-art concert film of Dublin's famous foursome doing what they do best, and in three dimensions! Anyone who's ever thrown in The Joshua Tree -- that's millions of people, obviously -- and listened to the thrilling opening strands of "Where the Streets Have No Name" can probably imagine the potential of U2 filtered through an IMAX sound system and projected in multiple dimensions. All I can say, it's pretty darned cool. If you're not at all a fan of the band or their music, I'd guess you'd enjoy the 3D-effect but might get bored at some point. But, if you're at all into U2, it's definitely worth checking out. I'd consider myself an above-average fan of the band, although I've probably listened to the last two albums -- All That You Can't Leave Behind and How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb -- all of twice. ("My" favorite U2 is the Achtung Baby/Zooropa/Pop period, and I thought they took a step backward when they reverted back to instant-classic-rock. But, like I said, I probably haven't given the new stuff its due.) At any rate, U2 3D really feels like the future in concert films. As a music experience, it's better than having the best seats in the house (and the drunk girl on her boyfriend's shoulders in front of you -- while in 3D -- never actually obscures your vision.)

So...U2 3D recounts the tale of four Irishmen -- arguably the biggest rock band of the last 25 years (although I'm personally partial to R.E.M.) -- in the midst of a huge sold-out stadium tour on the far side of the world (South America, to be exact.) Let's see, we've got Bono (Paul Hewson) on vocals, Adam Clayton on the bass, Larry Mullen, Jr. on the drums, and The Edge (David Evans) on guitar. And, that's about it, really -- It's just the show, no backstage banter or time on the bus or anything. With perhaps one exception (the start of the encore), the guys are definitely in their post-ironic, UN high commissioner mode for the show's entire run, and the setlist mostly reflects that. Ok, sure, I had the usual concert quibble: Despite all the rousing political numbers in their back catalog, I'd love to have heard some of their more conflicted love songs therein too ("Love is Blindness," "So Cruel," "Running to Stand Still," "If You Wear that Velvet Dress.") (And, for that matter, I kept thinking it might've been more fun to catch the more subversive MacPhisto or PopMart tours in 3D instead, but ah well.) But while there are very few surprises therein, U2 do a surprisingly good job of covering most of their main bases over the past three decades. You can guess most of the songs they play, sure, but, they still fit almost all of 'em in there.

And, the actual concert notwithstanding, the 3D aspect of U2 3D is particularly impressive. I didn't really know what to expect going in, but based on Beowulf I figured there'd be a lot of Bono trying to brain me with his mic stand. But that's not how it plays. Yes, Larry Mullen has the most hyperreal three-story drum kit I've ever seen. But the real magic of 3D here is in how directors Owens and Pellington use it to transpose different images over each other to fashion a unique and wholly different visual perspective, just as The Edge layers various guitar parts atop one another to create his own sonic landscape. In short, too much is not enough. It's actually possible to watch completely different things at once, because the various shots are operating in disparate planes -- We may have Bono singing in the foreground, a close-up of Clayton jamming in the middle distance, a shot of the crowd in the lower background, and a view of the screens along the upper tier, all at the same time. It's actually a much more striking effect than just a regular 3-D image, and it indicates more than anything else I've ever seen that 3D technology could really create an entirely new cinematic language. (See also Matt Zoller Seitz gushing about the medium.) At any rate, look, I gotta go, I'm running out of change (although, hopefully, Sen. Obama isn't.) But, to sum up, if you're into U2 or 3D, see U2 3D -- you won't be disappointed. Okay, Edge, play the blues!

"Would you hear his voice come thru the music, Would you hold it near as it were your own?" The surviving members of the Grateful Dead are reuniting to back Obama. "Mickey Hart, Phil Lesh and Bob Weir will be joined by Jackie Greene, John Molo and Steve Molitz at the concert, which will be simulcast live onto the internet on iclips.net. This will be the first time that the members of the band have performed together since 2004."

In related news, Jesse Dylan (not his brother Jakob of the Wallflowers, as I earlier reported, but still of the same esteemed lineage) has directed a video for "Yes We Can", a music-speech hybrid by Senator Obama, the Black-Eyed Peas, John Legend, and a smattering of celebrities. (For her part, Super Obama Girl works alone.)

Some patient fans over at Murmurs have reconstructed the album cover for R.E.M.'s Accelerate, their follow-up to 2004's Around the Sun, from the rotating pictures currently at REMhq. (It looks a bit like the Beasties' To the Five Boroughs.) As noted earlier, the album arrives April Fool's Day and features 11 new tracks.

A fun meme via Max at Lots of Co., if you're up for five minutes of photoshopping. Obtain your own band name, album name, and album cover through the miracle of Internet randomness. Your band name is the first Wikipedia entry you get here. (Mine was Rinspeed Mono Ego.) Your album name is the last four words of the first quote you get here. (Mine was from Irving Berlin.) Your album cover is the third Flickr picture obtained here. Throw 'em together, and voila -- you're in the music biz. Just be careful not to pull a Dewey Cox.

On my way out of There Will Be Blood, I thought the ludicrous ending might've spawned a goofy catchphrase, and this song was the first thing that came to mind. Sure enough, someone's taken that ball and ran with it. Draaaaainage! (See also I Drink Your Milkshake!, via THND.) Update: More of the same.

It may feel like spring in New York, but Alison Goldfrapp is in an autumnal mood in the new video for "A&E," from Seventh Tree, their new album out next month. The song's a bit Frou Frou at first, but it's a grower. (Via Quiddity.)

Probably a little late in the season for this, but here's a belated moment of goofy, sweet-natured christmas cheer (by way of the comments at Looka): Shane MacGowan of The Pogues may have recently turned 50, but, despite all the drinking, drugging, and carousing, he doesn't look a day over three... [the original.]

News leaks that the next R.E.M. album is titled Accelerate, and it'll be out April 1, 2008. The tracks appear to be: Living Well Is The Best Revenge | Man Sized Wreath | Supernatural Superserious | Hollow Man | Houston | Accelerate | Mr. Richards | Until The Day Is Done | Horse To Water | Sing For The Submarine | I'm Gonna DJ. Further information should pop up on New Year's Day, when R.E.M.'s promo site ninetynights.com goes live.

Wait, what? Maybe I'm just late to the plastic pantomime, but my sister informed me over the holidays that Bret McKenzie of Flight of the Conchords was previously Figwit(!) Strangely enough, I'd never made that mental connection. In any case, in honor of one of my two favorite new shows of 2007 (the other being Mad Men), here's one of the funnier television moments of the year: Jemaine as Bowie (Ashes, Labyrinth.) It is quite freaky, isn't it?

Charles, Cash, Curtis, Dylan, Strummer...Given the glut of rock biopics and documentaries we've seen in recent years, it's well past time that influential musical chameleon Dewey Cox got his due. Unfortunately, just as James Mangold's Walk the Line felt too staid and conventional to capture the true appeal of the Man in Black, Jake Kasdan's Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story -- which I saw in the days before Christmas -- never really gets inside the head of the Giant Midget. Sure, it covers most of the important facts about his life -- the childhood tragedy, the struggle with smell-blindness, the breakout single, the dark f**king middle period, the LSD decade, the selling out. But, while John C. Reilly does what he can as Cox (and the resemblance is admittedly uncanny), I never felt while watching Walk Hard that Kasdan actually "got" the man or his music...or his monkey or giraffe, for that matter. Given his famous father and his earlier affiliation with Freaks & Geeks, Kasdan seemed like he would be the guy to do Cox justice, but this is sadly a missed opportunity. It's just too bad Todd Haynes was busy with I'm Not There...Once again, nearly fifty years after the fact, Zimmerman will be walking-hard away with all Dewey's laurels.

Kasdan's take on Dewey's story begins just before Cox's final performance at the Lifetime Achievement Awards -- You may remember Eddie Vedder's memorable tribute speech, and the Jewel/Lyle Lovett/Jackson Browne/Ghostface Killa mash-up of "Walk Hard" got a lot of radio run over that summer -- before flashing back to that defining moment in the White Indian's life as a boy, the famous accidental cleaving-in-two of his prodigy brother. ("I'm cut in half pretty bad, Dewey.") Rallying to his brother's fallen musical standard, the teenage Dewey soon finds himself thrown out of the house, married young (to Edith, as played by SNL's Kristen Wiig), and working as a busboy at a local black club, where he one day wows the crowd with a version of his early hit, "(Mama) You Got to Love Your Negro Man." Soon thereafter, he lands a band and a record contract, and after the cutting of "Walk Hard," the rest is history: Cox buys a monkey, lapses into a vicious drug habit, falls for his voluptuous backup singer Darlene Madison (Jenna Fischer), gets clean, lapses into another vicious drug habit...well, you know the rest.

Ok, ok, let's go ahead and break the fourth wall. As a played-straight parody of the rock biopic genre, Walk Hard is admittedly uneven most of the time. But, it makes for a relatively amusing two hours if you're in the mood for it. It's nowhere near as funny as the original Airplane or Top Secret, but I'd say it holds its own with the Hot Shots flicks, and it's miles above Scary Movie and its ilk. Yes, the film can be unfocused and scattershot (There's even a decently funny recurring gag involving the kitchen sink.) A lot of the jokes seem like leftovers from the last Will Ferrell script, and, like Trey Parker and Matt Stone's Team America, Walk Hard occasionally follows the beats of its object of parody so closely that the movie loses its edge. Still, there are definitely some quality moments therein, from Tim Meadows trying not to seduce a naive Dewey into a marijuana habit to Cox meeting Buddy Holly (Frankie Muniz, inspired casting) and the Fab Four (Surprisingly, Justin "Mac Guy" Long is far and away the funniest as George, while Jack Black's Paul is woefully bad and Paul Rudd's John is just...strange.)

At any rate, I'm not going to give all the jokes away here, suffice to say that Cox's black-and-white Dylan period tickled my funny bone the most. Dewey does two Dylanesque ditties here: The first, "Royal Jelly", is a gloriously inscrutable poetic epic a la "Desolation Row" ("Mailboxes drip like lampposts from the twisted birth canal of the coliseum, rimjob fairy teapots mask the temper tantrum, O say can you see 'em?") [See it live.] The other, "Let Me Hold You (Little Man)", is an un-PC The Times They Are A Changin' screed directed at the injustice faced by all the, uh, little people. ("Let me hold you, midget man, pretend that you're flying in space. Let me hold you, little man, so the dog will stop licking your face.") High art it's not, and I can't recommend rushing out and seeing it or anything. But, for a few solid chuckles over the course of two hours, Dewey Cox and Walk Hard deliver the goods decently enough. Someday -- perhaps soon, given that Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Pineapple Express, and Drillbit Taylor are all due next year -- the helium will probably leak out of the Judd Apatow comedy factory's balloon. But Cox, thankfully enough, isn't the canary in the coalmine just yet.

Friend and colleague Liam of Sententiae et Clamores has tagged me with a meme of eights. And since GitM recently turned 8 and Berk's nearing that age himself, the theme seems apropos anyway...So, without further ado:

8 Passions in my life: film, history, politics, science-fiction, civic progressivism, Berkeley, Guinness/Jamesons, basketball.

8 Things to do before I die: finish the dissertation; conduct a Great American Road Trip; get immersed in the world's Great Cities; have kid(s); write a truly memorable speech; hit the buzzer-beater 3; attend my own book reading; see an Earthrise.

8 Things I often say: "One ticket please."; "Sit!"; "Ok, let's go!"; "Want to go outside?"; "Get on the couch!"; "If you bark again, you're going in the crate."; "Get in the crate!"; "G'night, little buddy."

8 Books I read (or reread) recently: An Aristocracy of Everyone, Benjamin Barber; The Final Solution, Michael Chabon; The Dissident, Nell Freudenberger; Confessions of a Reformer, Frederic Howe; Public Opinion, Walter Lippmann; Paris 1919, Margaret MacMillan; Watchmen, Alan Moore; Villa Incognito, Tom Robbins.

8 Films that mean something to me: Amadeus, Brazil, Miller's Crossing, Annie Hall, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, High Fidelity, The Empire Strikes Back, Fellowship of the Ring.

8 Songs that mean something to me: "Almost Blue," Elvis Costello; "Get the Balance Right," Depeche Mode; "Romeo and Juliet," Dire Straits; "Visions of Johanna," Bob Dylan; "The Beast in Me," Nick Lowe; "Country Feedback," R.E.M.; "If You Wear That Velvet Dress", U2; "Make it Rain," Tom Waits.

8 Living people I'd like to have as dinner guests: The Coens, Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, Russ Feingold, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Barack Obama, Camille Paglia, Stephanie Zacharek.

8 People I'm passing this on to: This gets tricky, so I'll just pass it on to whomever feels like partaking...enjoy.

"Most of the time, I'm halfway content. Most of the time, I know exactly where it all went." Maybe it's the impending holidays. Maybe it's dissertoral stress. Or maybe it's the weather, or something like that. Still, it was one of those weekends...So, in light of that, Bob Dylan's "Most of the Time" meets Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I never would have chosen this sort of hermit life for myself. But, given this is the hand I'm currently playing, at least there're great movies and great music on my side.

"A song will lift, as the mainsail shifts, and the boat drifts on to the shoreline." If you've been reading this site for any length of time, you probably already know that I drank the Bob Dylan kool-aid a good while ago. So, more than likely, my opinion of Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, which I raced down (on the D-train, no less) to catch at the Film Forum this morning, should be taken with at least a shaker of salt. And, to be honest, it's hard to imagine how this film plays to people who aren't all that into Dylan -- If you don't already have a basic sense of his story and his various periods, I could see it being as incoherent and irritating as Southland Tales (although it's assuredly better-made.) But, if you do have any fondness for Bob, oh my. The short review is: I loved it. Exploding the conventional music biopic into shimmering, impressionistic fragments, Todd Haynes has captured lightning in a bottle here. The movie is clearly a labor of love by and for Dylan fans, riddled with in-jokes, winks, and nods, and I found it thoughtful, funny, touching, and wonderful. Put simply, while No Country for Old Men is right up there, I'm Not There is my favorite film of the year. I can't wait to see it again.

Like Navin Johnson, Bob Dylan was born a poor black child. (Marcus Carl Franklin) Ok, perhaps not. But Hayne's movie doesn't really aim to tell the story of one Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota. anyway. -- He's not there. Instead I'm Not There refracts Dylan through a prism of sorts, giving us multiple versions of the man (and myth) at various stages in his life and work. And, so, after a first person POV shot of "Dylan" (us?) taking the stage in '66, and a title shot involving a potentially-momentous motorcycle, we are introduced to one Woody Guthrie (Franklin), an 11-year-old folk wunderkind traveling hobo-style along the rails, singing union songs and making up his past as he goes along. But the times they-are-a-changin', and, as a kindly matron informs Woody, the old songs don't necessarily do justice to the problems of 1959. Enter Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), an earnest young troubador who once lit Greenwich Village on fire with his ballads of social protest ("finger-pointin' songs"), and, having rejected the folk scene and found Jesus, is now the subject of a No Direction Home-style documentary. (Julianne Moore does a Joan Baez impression here, straight out of Scorsese's doc, which is pretty hilarious, and maybe even a little mean -- note the business with the cat.)

By now, you probably see where this is going. Post-Newport, Cate Blanchett shows up as Jude, a.k.a. the reedy, combative, drugged-out, and dog-tired Dylan of (blonde on) Blonde on Blonde and Don't Look Back. (It takes a woman like her, to get through, to the man in him.) Ben Whishaw shares the load of society's probing as Arthur Rimbaud, a Bob who spends most of the movie facing down some unknown interlocutors. Heath Ledger's Robbie is the romantic and the womanizer, the Dylan who woos the heartbreakingly beautiful Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg, playing an amalgamation of Suze Rotolo and Sara Lownds), looks for solace in a normal life outside Woodstock, and eventually stares into the abyss of Blood on the Tracks. And Richard Gere is Billy, an aging outlaw hiding out in Riddle, MO, part of the mythical American landscape conjured by Bob in "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream," "Desolation Row," John Wesley Harding, The Basement Tapes, "Blind Willie McTell," and countless other songs.

Each of this fellowship of Dylans does quality work in the role. Cate Blanchett is getting the most press these days, perhaps deservedly so, but I was as impressed with Bale, Whishaw, Franklin, and particularly Ledger -- After seeing the extent of his range here, it's pretty clear he's going to kill as the Joker next summer. And other actors resonate here as well. I already mentioned Julianne Moore and the exquisite Charlotte Gainsbourg. (My crush on the latter, already simmering after The Science of Sleep, will no doubt grow by leaps and bounds now, particularly once you factor in her fragile, breathy version of "Just Like a Woman" on the soundtrack. With a face that's at once honest, open, statuesque, and melancholy, she's the perfect sad-eyed lady of the lowlands.) Also notable is David Cross, the spitting image of Allen Ginsberg, Michelle Williams invoking Factory Girl Edie Sedgwick, and a well-preserved Richie Havens delivering a Joe Cocker moment with his version of "Tombstone Blues." Bruce Greenwood (of Thirteen Days, The Sweet Hereafter, and recently John from Cincinnati) does particularly impressive work as Jude's nemesis, a BBC newsman who wants to pin both the mercurial singer and the meaning of his (her) music to the wall like a butterfly. Clearly, something is happening here, but he don't know what it is...

Do you need to know a lot about Dylan going in? Well, it undoubtedly helps. I'm Not There is rife throughout with Dylanalia, and, yes, at times it's dropped as blatantly as the groaners in Across the Universe: Jude mutters "Just like a woman!" at one point as a punchline, and an LBJ on the wall during a party strangely exclaims "It's not yellow, it's chicken." But, others are more obscure, hidden in the fabric of the film like a crossword puzzle for Dylanophiles. Many of the strange denizens of Gere's Riddle recall characters in songs or various Dylan incarnations, from the whitefaced troubador at Ms. Henry's funeral to the Union solders and passing Lincoln on stilts. As Robbie and Claire (Renaldo and Clara?) have one of those tired, terse phone discussions that signifies the end is near, a movie poster over her shoulder reads "CALICO" (i.e. "Sara," the "calico sphinx in a scorpio dress (you must forgive me my unworthiness.)") Or, in the scene accompanying one of Dylan's masterpieces, "Visions of Johanna," the Ledger Dylan, a movie star of sorts, is bored on the road and skirt-chasing one of his co-stars. As this goes down, we happen to see some elderly crones in neck braces ("the jelly-faced women all sneeze"), Ledger walking in a museum ("Inside the museum, Infinity goes up on trial"), the Mona Lisa (who "musta had the highway blues, you can tell by the way she smiles"), and the co-star he's tailing, of course, is named Louise. ("Louise, she's all right, she's just near. She's delicate and seems like the mirror. But she just makes it all too concise and too clear that Johanna's not here.")

If this all is starting to sound like two and half hours of insufferable inside-baseball for Dylanheads, well, I guess it might be. But I really don't think it plays like that. (And I also don't think that was the appeal for me either. Both Masked and Anonymous and Twyla Tharp's The Times They Are-A Changin' trafficked in similar inside gags, and I didn't enjoy those anywhere near as much as this film.) Basically, I'm Not There is too vibrant and enthusiastic to feel smug, remote, or exclusive about its fondness for Dylan. It never purports to define the meaning of any particular song, showing instead that more often than not their beauty lies in their ambiguity. (For example, both defenders of the cultural Old Guard and the Black Panthers feel "Ballad of a Thin Man" is about them.) And it often pokes fun at the Dylanophiles among us, throwing in a number of disgruntled fans at various times (particularly after Bob plugs in) and having Jude get pestered by an overeager amateur Dylanologist after hanging with the Beatles (a very jolly cameo indeed.) Plus, for all the reverence, Dylan himself isn't as whitewashed as he was in No Direction Home -- His drug habit, his youthful arrogance and occasional thin skin, and some questionable views on women poets are all on display here.

A talented artist in his own right (case in point: Safe and Far from Heaven), Haynes employs all the magic of the movies to tell Dylan's story. The Robbie-and-Claire scenes are filmed in color occasionally as riotous as in Hayne's homage to Douglas Sirk, Jack's social protest and Christian periods are told in faux-documentary fashion, and Jude's England tour is all black-and-white cinema verite, a la Don't Look Back. That's why I'm pretty sure i'm Not There will work even for people who don't know the first thing about Dylan. It remains visually interesting throughout, and never falls into the usual biopic rut, that standard, hackneyed rise, fall, and rise again narrative which tends to bring down even otherwise well-made entrants in the genre like Walk the Line.

And, of course, it benefits from having one of the better soundtracks out there, and Haynes has expertly weaved Dylan's music (and some quality cover versions) into almost every moment of the film. Let me put it this way: Within the first five minutes, I'm Not There features some period NYC subway footage set to the irrepressibly toe-tapping "Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again." (Also another visual pun -- the subway folk are "stuck inside of mobile.") From that moment on, the movie pretty had much me. In the end, I don't know if non-Dylan folk will vibe into it or not, but I found I'm Not There a splendid gift from one Dylan fan to the rest of us, and assuredly one of the more inventive and captivating biopics in recent filmdom. "And the sun will respect every face on the deck, the hour that the ship comes in."

"'Isiah has to start me,' Marbury fumed, according to the source. 'I've got so much (stuff) on Isiah and he knows it. He thinks he can (get) me. But I'll (get) him first. You have no idea what I know.'" (Some choice suggestions on what Starbury knows in the comment thread here: I like "It was Isiah's call to cancel Arrested Development" and "Isiah does not care about black people.") Yep, the once-promising 2007-2008 Knickerbockers imploded early this year, with our overpaid, underachieving, untradeable "star" point guard Stephon Marbury leaving the team in a huff over coming off the bench -- at the start of a tough four game road trip -- and now threatening to expose Isiah Thomas's dirty laundry (as if we didn't get enough of that with this past summer's sexual harrassment case.) How will the saga of the Traveling Marbury pan out? Will Stephon be handled with care or sent to the end of the line? Either way, I expect the Knicks to stay moribund so long as this PG, this GM, and this owner are running the show at the Garden. (NY Daily News and Deadspin links sent to me via Ben of The Oak, who also birddogged a great find last week with these graphical representations of hip-hop.) Update: The prodigal Knick returns to a loss in LA, but something's still rotten at MSG.

Ooh la la! "A sensual counterpoint to the glitterball glamour of [previous LP] Supernature, Seventh Tree is gilded in the butterfly colours of an English surrealism shared from Lear to Lennon. It shimmers and shines with the warmth of a hazy summer, an electric whirlpool over which Alison's glistening voice soars." By way of Megg at Quiddity, Goldfrapp are currently working on a new LP, Seventh Tree, which will come to flower on Feb. 26, 2008. Count me in.

"You know what's even better than a great road tune? Not having some DJ talkin' all over it...unless, of course, that DJ is me." Sigh. On behalf of his XM radio show, Bob Dylan hawks Cadillacs. To be honest, I much preferred when he was pushing ladies' lingerie. At least that's a product I can get behind.

"As a rule, film score classical music is used as a shorthand: Handel indicates that the snobs have arrived, Mahler that someone is about to die, but not before pouting about it, and Wagner is a sure sign that big trouble's a-brewing." By way of Girlhacker, The Guardian's Joe Queenan dissects the most overused classical music tropes in film. "Vivaldi's ludicrously overplayed Four Seasons invariably indicates that the stuffed shirts are having brunch; Beethoven's Ode to Joy announces that Armageddon may be just around the corner; and anytime an aria by Verdi, Bellini or Puccini is heard, you can bet your bottom dollar that someone is going to get raped, stabbed, blinded, buried alive or impaled."

As noted in countless Woeful State of the Industry pieces over the past week, In Rainbows, the new Radiohead album, is now available for download directly from the band. (I figure I'll give 'em ten bucks.) Also, it seems R.E.M. is premiering a new song on Anderson Cooper 360 tonight. The song, "Until the Day is Done," will be featured in a CNN ecodocumentary, Planet in Peril, later this month. (If you've watched the Youtubes of the Dublin rehearsal shows a few months back, you've already heard it.) Update: