Kurt Cobain: About a Son

A lot has happened since I last posted here.  Spring arrived, Prince William tied the knot (early risers  may have had the privilege of watching the whole thing on TLC, brought to you by Fancy Feast in the most inspired example of TV sponsorship in my lifetime), and Osama bin Laden was killed and promptly dumped into the ocean.  Unfortunately, nothing I'm about to tell you is nearly as exciting as all that, but I do have a great new (old) film to recommend to you, and that HAS to count for something.

So in keeping with my typically active social life in the big city, I spent a good chunk of this weekend catching up on must-see documentaries for both work and pleasure.  I finally got around to watching Exit Through the Gift Shop (which was fabulous, though I'm sure the rest of you already knew that since you saw the film upon its release last year) and an upcoming doc on the Earth Liberation Front we're promoting this summer (a hint: its title rhymes with If a Bee Calls...).

But the surprise winner of this weekend's docu-binge was About a Son, a five-year old documentary on morbidly glamorized rock icon Kurt Cobain.  Like many suburban American teens, I went through a substantial alt-rock phase in my middle and high school years, complete with Hot Topic t-shirts, ripped jeans, and over-sized flannels.  It was my way of asserting my independence and individualism from the teeny-bopper masses, and there was no better accessory in my rebellion than Nirvana.  They were the most widely known band of the 90s grunge movement, having proliferated even the Nickelodeon programming I had consumed as a child, and were still, years after Cobain's death, all over Philadelphia modern rock radio.  I read every biography on Cobain I could find, braved every inaudible unreleased recording, and even forced myself to sit through the inane, factually-warped hilarity that is Nick Broomfield's Kurt & Courtney.

Of course, I went on to college and even more obscure indie idols, and  I abandoned Nirvana as an "obvious," "mainstream" cultural phenomenon at about the same time this documentary was released.  However, unfortunately for me (and a lot of other slightly pretentious people of my generation), Nirvana is a prime example of the music industry at its finest: a band that becomes hugely popular because they are legitimately innovative and talented above and beyond their peers.  Years later, I'm finally able to go back to Nevermind and In Utero and appreciate them for the classic albums they are.  So when I saw this title pop up in my Netflix Instant Recommendations, I figured it was worth going back to as well.

AJ Schnack's About a Son is a unique film, especially in the context of other documentaries about Cobain and the band.  The film was crafted around over 25 hours of audiotape interviews with Cobain conducted by journalist Michael Azerrad in preparation for his 1993 book, Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana.  Cobain discusses his childhood in Aberdeen, family life, and musical influences,  as well as the band's rise to stardom, his relationship with Courtney Love, and his drug use.

The most striking thing about the film is the surprising lack of video footage of Cobain himself.  While photos of the band's live performances and personal photos of Cobain, Love, and daughter Frances Bean are provided when appropriate, Schnack avoids these typical crutches of the rock biopic for most of the film, and instead opts to go into the field and film the locations and scenes Cobain discusses in his interviews.  Every frame of the film provides ambiance to flush out the real star of the show: Cobain's voice.  No other interviews are conducted, very little performance footage is included.  About a Son is, fundamentally, an audiotrack accompanied by B-roll footage.

And yet, it's highly effective.  By forcing the viewer to pay exclusive attention to Cobain's voice rather than all the hype surrounding his band, his experiences and opinions sound more and more ordinary.  While many filmmakers aspire to strip away the "Rock Star" persona of their subjects and get to the human being within, Schnack's film is the one of the few rock documentaries I've seen that succeeds in this mission.  About a Boy doesn't dwell on Nirvana's fame or Cobain's suicide.  It's just an hour and a half of Cobain talking, as if the viewers had traveled back in time and were conversing with him themselves.

About a Son is free to watch instantly online with any Netflix account.  If you don't have Netflix, you can see the film on YouTube in its entirety, although I make no promises as to the quality of the video.  Meanwhile, feel free to check out the trailer below.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, I think.

My few and precious readers, I have failed you. Four posts in and I completely neglected my newly adopted position, and for that I am sorry.  However, I did not come here without excuses, the most important of which being that I am no longer an unemployed hipster. 

"But, Justine," I can hear some of you saying, "you own the Local Natives debut on vinyl.  I just saw you buy a new pair of inexcusably large glasses."

And to you, particularly perceptive readers, I gladly confirm that, yes, I am still a hipster.  But now, I am an employed hipster.

At the start of the new year, I began working with Film First Co, a boutique PR agency specializing in independent film and television, and as a result, most of the culture I'm now consuming is directly related to my job.  I would, as a passionate film buff, LOVE to tell you guys all the juicy details of our recent projects.  But there is a definite conflict of interest on my part, and the small, malnourished voice of journalistic integrity in my head won't allow me to post positive buzz for films I'm getting paid to promote.

So instead, I've come back with a promise: I have not abandoned you.  I will return, hopefully later this week, with my latest picks for you. And they will be glorious, or at the very least, adequate.

In the meantime, please accept this video as a token of good intentions.  It's Lisa Hannigan's slightly old, but no less excellent, live performance of Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.  She does this one regularly at her live shows, and it is one of the greatest Dylan covers I've ever had the privilidge of hearing.  Enjoy.

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran

And I'm back!  After an absence devoted to job hunting, seasonal retail training (one field in which there will always be jobs, even if only for two months), and generally milling around, I completed the rather lighthearted task of reading Rob Sheffield's new book Talking to Girls About Duran Duran.  Some of you may know Sheffield from his current role as a contributing editor at Rolling Stone; others may have read his previous memoir Love is a Mix Tape; and the rest of you would probably recognize him from his frequent commentary on VH1's I Love [insert decade of choice here] series.

If you happen to be a fan of that I Love the 80s style nostalgia, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran will be right up your alley.  Sheffield takes us through the decade one song at a time, recalling how 80s pop influenced his relationships with the women in his life during his formative years and beyond.  Obviously, Duran Duran plays a key role in Sheffield's development, but he doesn't stop there, devoting chapters to Chaka Khan, Prince, David Bowie, and Hall & Oates, among others.

The book is filled with humorous 80s staples -- bad hair, John Hughes movies, cassingles -- and witty musings on timeless issues such as which artists were able to pull off an authentic 'New Wave' transformation and why one-hit-wonders have risen up to define the decade.  But as anyone who is familiar with his work already knows, Sheffield has a way of brushing aside the stereotypical aspects of pop culture and getting at its real importance -- the way it is intertwined with our lives.  He covers all the bases of essential 1980s artists and describes not just how but why they affected him, and if you're a human being with a pulse, you'll know exactly what he means almost every time.  Really, you don't need to have lived through the 80s to relate to this book -- you just need to have heard a Smiths song at some point in your life.

Sheffield is that greatest of all music journalists, in that he's primarily a fan -- a huge fan -- before anything else.  He openly discusses the imaginary relationships he has (and that we all have) with his favorite musical artists.  He projects his own messed-up issues onto them and admits that the context surrounding a song is often significantly more important to how we perceive it than the song itself.  He's enthusiastic, willing to give just about anything a chance, and perfectly okay with admitting that he really enjoyed seeing Flock of Seagulls live.  We should all aspire to such non-pretentious musical honesty.

For a short sample, check out Salon's excerpt from the book here.  And to see Sheffield's journalistic prowess in action, read his apt review of Kanye West's new album in the latest edition of Rolling Stone.

Kumail Nanjiani

You guys may have heard this clip from Kumail Nanjiani on This American Life a few months back (because I fully expect that anyone who would be so inclined to read this blog is probably a frequent listener of public radio).  If not, he's certainly worth two minutes of your time.  Anyone who can make a crowd laugh this much by essentially repeating the word "heroin"over and over again has a gift.  To hear Kumail's thoughts on The Elephant Man and racist children, check out this week's absolutely free The Sound of Young America podcast from PRI.

The Secret Sisters

I promised myself I wouldn't be typical and start off this blog with a musical recommendation, but I'm prepared to break that self-imposed rule for the common good.  And that's because The Secret Sisters self-titled debut is so refreshing that it really will turn your frustrated, bored, unemployed frown upside down.  It's that brand of old-timey country that's been sneaking its way back into indie music of late (see Mrs. Jack White's Urban Outfitters-ready debut from earlier this year), but Laura and Lydia Rogers are the genuine article.  Produced by country legend T Bone Burnett and recorded at Nashville's famed Blackbird Studio, The Secret Sisters takes old songs and vintage equipment and makes them sound distinctively new. On each track the Rogers sisters masterfully craft the kind of tight, twangy harmonies made famous by Mother Maybelle & the Carter Sisters in the 30s and 40s and rarely heard in the overproduced world of contemporary country since.

The record primarily consists of traditional and classic songs (such as Do You Love an Apple, seen above), but a few originals, such as the melancholy opener Tennessee Me, prove that these girls have the songwriting chops to back up their powerhouse vocals.

Now I'll admit, I first heard about these girls from a glowing review in Rolling Stone, which I suppose takes their obscurity-based "indie cred" down a few pegs.  But I like to think The Secret Sisters' classic sound and songbook are above such petty matters.  And while torrents of this album have yet to proliferate the interweb, it's available on iTunes for only $8, which is bound to be gentler on your wallet than whatever Queen-of-Monotonous-Pop-Country Taylor Swift is peddling nowadays.  And for a record this solid, well worth the price tag.

Obligatory Introductory Post in which Objectives are Stated

My name is Justine, and I am an unemployed hipster.  A recent graduate of NYU with a degree in Cinema Studies (yikes) and Creative Writing (double yikes), I am, unsurprisingly, struggling to find a job in the current Great Recession wasteland.  In a last ditch effort to save money, I moved home to Southern New Jersey, where I learned that, shockingly, film scholars are not in high demand.  I am a dutiful job hunter - I peruse the usual classified sites daily - but I quickly found that this took an absolutely all time maximum of three hours a day to complete.  

So what to do in the vast abyss of the rest of my day?

Read, Netflix, watch daytime reruns of Say Yes to the Dress.  I've sought solace in the best and worst that American culture has to offer and with no one to share my findings with except my two cats (who really have no appreciation for the finer things in life, with the exception of a well prepared swordfish steak), I've turned to the blogosphere to have my message heard, if only by my most devoted of friends.

So sit back on your couch and get nice and comfy in those sweatpants.  Let's commune together over our favorite things.  Because apparently, we have all the time in the world.