MINDHUNTER (TV, Netflix)–If you’ve got a strong stomach, this Netflix thriller about the origins of the FBI’s behavioral profiling practices is a must. The first season was very good, this one is through the roof. A more focused investigation helps, and I think the writers have learned how their show works.
I would like to kiss Netflix on the mouth for consistently getting David Fincher to apply his talents to television, because if it wasn’t for them, we’d be in a brutal Fincher drought right now. How long ago was “Gone Girl,” like six years? I don’t even want to think about it. Someone put that man behind a camera and get him back in the multiplex.
CONTROL (VIDEO GAME)–“Control” is the new game from Remedy, the people behind “Max Payne (yaaaay),” “Alan Wake (yaaaaay)” and “Quantum Break (booooo).” They’re one of the last low-key AAA independent studios, people who can give you the big-budget stuff without being owned by someone who trades on the NASDAQ. I got a free copy with my new graphics card, so I was excited to give it a shot.
How is it, you ask? How shall I put this…
… I’m OBSESSED with it. “Control” is everything. Moments like this, when you love a piece of art so viscerally that it feels like you’re drugged, are so rare and so special. From the opening credits, this trippy bastard of a game HAD me. The problem is, I don’t know how to explain WHY. It’s a MADDENING game to try to describe, you talk yourself in circles and never feel like you touch its essence. In my mind, “Control” is an absolute, a space of infinite density that is as easy to reach for as my own name. It’s like it was always there. But trying to transmit that, to put it into words, is maddening.
Here’s… the closest I can get. “Control” is a telekinetic action game married to a spooky David Lynch nightmare. It’s like if Shane Carruth directed a “John Wick” movie. The combat is visceral, hard-hitting stuff, but the story is a seductive nightmare that revels in its contradictions and dances around you like smoke. You’re always JUST on the verge of understanding it before it slips away. These two elements sound contradictory, but they sit with one another effortlessly. The color palette of the game accentuates these contradictions: hot, violent reds against grays and blacks and silvers. The setting is the corporate headquarters of a secret government agency, and it’s invisible except to those who already know it’s there (sure). It’s called “The Oldest House,” and it shifts around constantly like a living organism. It’s been invaded by beings from a parallel dimension called the “Hiss” (why not). The lead character is from a town called (not kidding) “Ordinary.” It’s all a vaguely Kojima brand of insane, which makes sense, because he makes a cameo.
I’m exhausted. I still don’t feel like I’ve landed on it. Just watch this trailer, it does a decent job giving you the vibe. Art is mysterious and different things resonate with different people, so maybe you’ll watch this and be like “I don’t get it.” Or maybe you’re like me, and when you see it, you’ll lean forward in your chair, unblinking, and feel something move over in your brain, making room.
TOOL (MUSIC)–Tool just put out an album for the first time in thirteen years. I’m not a Tool fan, but I like cultural events, so I bandwagoned aboard for the inexcusably goofy-titled “Fear Inoculum.” It was fun hanging around r/Tool and Twitter and watching fans examine how much their lives had changed since the last one, and preparing themselves for the new stuff. People took off work, changed their living rooms around, bought new speakers. I LOVE this stuff. Moments like this are why I do what I do, because art can be that powerful. I basked in the reflective glow of these diehard fans finally having their day in the sun. I was so happy for them.
So how is the album itself? Well this is where it gets awkward for me, because the problem is, it’s quite good. Like… really good. It’s rich and technical and full of astonishing musical flourishes (although Animals as Leaders still annihilate them). It’s also–forgive me–restrained and mature. I know, I know, rock music isn’t SUPPOSED to be restrained and mature, but these guys aren’t 25 anymore, and when you get older but try to make music like you’re younger, you just end up embarrassing yourself (see below re: Slipknot).
Tool, improbably, have aged with grace. As someone who found their “prime” era albums alternatively childish and pretentious, I’m sort of baffled that I’m listening to their music and… relating to it. What the hell is happening? I wanted to yell “stop it” at them. Admittedly, I was a little spooked when I glanced at “10,000 Days,” their previous LP, and discovered a handful of truly great tracks. But there were also plenty of time-wasting interludes (a trait they doggedly retain here) and meandering nonsense. “Probably a fluke,” I thought.
It was not. After more than a decade of staunchly disliking this band, they are pulling a dick move and changing into a band I DO like. Which is just rude, frankly. What am I supposed to do now? What is my answer to the question, “Do you like Tool?” “Sometimes?” “Lately, I guess.” Or, to quote my favorite Simpsons line: “Yes with an ‘if’/no with a ‘but.'”
It’s not a big deal to like some albums and not others; I love Bob Dylan, but I pretend anything after the mid-80s never happened. The problem is, you’re supposed to like their early stuff then fall away as time passes, and this is the exact reverse. This is like being a Rolling Stones fan but thinking “Beggar’s Banquet” sucks. It’s just wrong.
Do I like Tool? I like THIS album a lot, and the one before it. The farther back you go, though, the more aggressively I roll my eyes. I can’t make it through a single song of “Undertow.” It feels like Maynard, Danny, Adam and Justin (I was REALLY worried as I first typed that that I knew their names, but thank God, I had to look up the bassist) have been creeping closer to my taste with each album, and now they have me by the tail.
I really hope this is their last album, because if the progression continues, I’m gonna love the next one so much that I get it tattooed on my face. Then when people see it and go “wow, big Tool fan, huh?” I have to reply, “actually, not really.”
SUCCESSION (TV, HBO)–Required viewing for literally anyone, provided you’re cool with some bad language. I had to be dragged into this one, the concept of rich kids vying for their father’s corporate throne felt out of touch to me. Once I gave it a shot, I found it exhilarating. As some of you know I recently read all of Shakespeare’s plays, and “Succession” feels very much like a classic Shakespearean “who’s gonna claim the throne?” yarn. The dialog explodes out of the actor’s mouths.
A word on sympathetic characters: no one on this show, and I mean no one (except Greg), is sympathetic. Nobody. Sometimes it feels like one of them is going to become sympathetic, and then the writers dump a bucket of ice water on that as fast as they can. And yet the show is riveting, because the characters are compelling. They have goals and points of view I understand, and they behave consistently within those parameters. They want something that is hard for them to get, and I want to see if they pull it off.
There’s a cult of “sympathetic characters” in Hollywood. It’s why you see the same backstory over and over again: my so and so died and I blame myself, I’m just trying to get my kids back, my parents were mean to me, etc etc. This is sympathy bait, operating on the false assumption that if you superficially find a character nice or feel bad for them, they will be compelling and you’ll get roped into the story. I have never found this to be true. Nice characters are often quite boring, because there’s hard limits on what they’re willing to do to get what they want. And stories that rely on niceness can get lazy and formulaic. Give me a resourceful, compelling jerk any day of the week.
(Side note: at least ONE person reading this has watched “Succession” and is privately grousing at my assessment that none of the characters are sympathetic, trotting out their favorite and saying “nuh uuuh! I like this one!” Fine, yes, YOU like them, you’ve adopted them like a puppy. But answer me this honestly: if you had a million dollars in cash, would you leave it alone in a room with your favorite character? I rest my case.)
For no reason, here’s a list of “Succession’s” Roy family from least evil to most:
- Greg–But he’s not as nice as you think. He’s just in bad company.
- Marcia–The secret hero of the show. I agree with Marcia about 99 percent of the time. Someone’s gotta tell these kids to climb a tree and fall out of it.
- Kendall–He’s spoiled, entitled, and a prick, but he’s also the only one who bothered to learn the business and get qualified to work in it.
- Tom–Used to be higher, but now he’s all nice to Greg. Plus, he is taking it in the FACE from Shiv, I mean damn.
- Roman–He talks a big game, but at the end of the day, he’s a puppy dog looking for a pat on the head. More annoying than truly cruel.
- Logan–I’m a bit of a Logan apologist, but after Boar on the Floor even I’m like okay boss.
- Shiv–Her nickname is a weapon you use to kill people in prison. She told her husband she cheated on him and wants an open relationship ON THEIR WEDDING NIGHT. She condescends every man she sleeps with because she knows they’re gonna sleep with her anyway. She quit her job ON THE SPOT because her boss was nice to a man on the street. Shiv is like Logan on steroids with a better body. In five years she’s going to be emperor of everything.
- Connor–The Devil from Hell. Connor Roy is an anthrax letter delivered to a building full of asbestos. He’s a powerhouse trifecta of true incompetence, hipster ego mania, and an infuriating insistence that he’s easygoing and above it all. I hate him as much as I love him, which is a lot. I want to kill him every time he says anything, but any time he leaves a scene, I’m just waiting for him to come back. He’s running for President as anti-elite without realizing he IS the elite (who does THAT remind you of?). He hyper-decants his wine and gets on you about it if you don’t. He doesn’t want to pay taxes on income that was given to him for free. He has no job and never has, but he acts like a hardscrabble rancher. He won’t pay for Willa’s play, which would cost him NOTHING and make her super happy. I think I had a dream about him last night. Death to Connor. [Side note: let no one confuse this with me hating Alan Ruck, who is crushing this role and aging like a fine wine, damn him. He’s married to Mireille Enos, another of our best actors]
CLAIRO (MUSIC)– This one makes me feel good. Clairo’s new album, “Immunity” (how dare you, Jon Hopkins owns that), is really tremendous. I love it. Clairo came onto the scene with a viral hit that is–I’m sorry–vastly overrated. The lyrics are good but the execution is flat and amateur; listen to it next to Billy Eilish’s world-beating classic breakout hit “Ocean Eyes,” and it sounds like Meg White in a drum-off with John Bonham. For this reason, I have generally ignored Clairo.
A friend convinced me her debut was worth my time. With a skeptical sigh, I queued it in Spotify, and within three tracks I knew something had changed. The song craft was tight, the lyrics (especially the haunting opener “Alewife”) had gravity. I kept waiting for the next track to drop off, disappoint, lose focus, but it never happened. The credits rolled and I sat back in my chair, astonished. Clairo, this kid I had written off, just knocked out 40 minutes of wall-to-wall indie pop perfection.
“Immunity” is my favorite kind of album: a savagely focused attempt to make you hum, tap your foot, and have the feels. It’s almost military in its discipline. Each song is constantly building towards something, or coming down from something. No time is wasted. I was reminded of Sky Ferreira, one of my favorite working musicians. Sky’s modern masterpiece “Night Time, My Time” feels like a northern star for this record. Clairo isn’t on that level yet, but maybe that’s where she’s headed. Like Sky, Clairo collaborates with others on songwriting, but that’s a smart move, especially if you’re as open about it as she is.
Nothing makes me happier than seeing an artist hit their stride. Maybe Clairo wasn’t ready for fame when it found her, but by God, she’s ready now. I know there’s been some chatter about Clairo being an industry “plant,” a kid who got a career cause their father was in the industry, then acted like a viral sensation from out of nowhere. I’m not sure how much it matters where she came from, because she’s here now, and she’s putting out music that’s worth a damn. Jason Reitman only got to be a director because he was Ivan’s son, but “Thank You For Smoking” and “Young Adult” are great movies, so what do I care?
Sometimes nepotism works, guys.
CHANCE THE RAPPER, SLIPKNOT AND RICK RUBIN (MUSIC)–Chance the Rapper, who scientists have confirmed is the best person, has put out an album called “The Big Day” that you loveless jackals apparently didn’t appreciate. His Metacritic was a paltry 72, and he was beaten on the charts by some mopey white guy named NF who makes my religion seem like a huge bummer. Do you people hate puppies and sunshine as well?
Meanwhile, Slipknot puts out an album and gets an 89 on Metacritic. Eighty Nine. Slipknot. Grown men in Halloween masks outscored the gospel genius from Chi-town by over ten points. I know these scores are relative, but what the hell is happening here?
Look, I’m not saying Slipknot is bad… exactly. They actually made an album once that I genuinely like, it’s called “Vol. 3” and it was produced by Rick Rubin. Because of course it was. It’s telling that that is their best album by a wide margin, and it produced all their biggest hits, and yet they’ve never worked with him again. Rick has that effect. He makes you better than you were before, and then you hate him cause you resent that you need him to be great. I read somewhere that they felt like Rick wasn’t ever around, and maybe that’s true, but apparently he didn’t need to be, because absentee Rick Rubin still sprinkles magic fairy dust on you dudes and suddenly you’re a decent metal band.
Rick Rubin is a producing god. He invented modern metal with Slayer on “Reign in Blood,” and THEN he helped pioneer modern hip hop with Run-DMC. Kanye West’s “Yeezus” was literally a pile of audio scraps before Rick came in and turned it into an album. I saw a scene in a movie recently where a character meets an old man who claims to have written every great pop and rock song of the last forty years. Rick Rubin is that man, but for real.
For some reason, I’m not doing talking about Slipknot. I listened to this new album of theirs, “We Are Not Your Kind,” and it took me almost a week to get through it, because I kept shutting it off. It’s awful. That everyone from Anthony Fantano to Pitchfork are calling it their best work is proof that I’m in “The Twilight Zone.”
Remember when I told you Tool have aged gracefully? Slipknot have not. “Kind” is clearly intended to be a divorce record for lead singer Corey Taylor, mining his anguish for new lyrical and musical fury. The problem is, Slipknot is incompatible with a divorce record. They don’t have the tools for those emotions, it’s like KISS going political. Divorce records are for Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Tom Petty, people who can sit on a barstool, sigh heavily into a cigarette, and tell you how it was all so good when they first met. Picture that scene, now imagine a guy dressed as Jason Voorhees running in and screaming “I hope you’re happy now, KAREN!!” That’s this album.
Slipknot CAN be effective as a band. Their lead singer has very bravely spoken about being a victim of sexual abuse as a child, and there are moments in their earlier music where he channels his rage and shame into some really potent stuff. Emotions like that, things too horrific to face, work well in a costume, where the veneer of unreality makes it possible to confront the unimaginable. But they have no business even trying for “Blood on the Tracks.”
Also, “The Big Day” by Chance the Rapper is wonderful. He loves his wife and his wedding was a blast, so he made an album about it, and no one likes it but me. You’re all dead inside.