Fiery defender

Shaskeen comedy returns with Shane Torres

Comedian Shane Torres avoids politics in his act, even though the native Texan has strong personal opinions about, say, Ted Cruz (“I think he’s the biggest POS on the face of the planet”).

“I don’t think I’m good enough, and knowledgeable enough, to pull it off,” Torres said in a recent phone interview. “I don’t even care if I upset people that much, but I don’t know if it’ll be that funny.”

Torres is, however, a big advocate for the Mayor of Flavortown, Guy Fieri. He went viral in 2017 defending the shock-haired star against a tide of what he viewed as undeserved derision.

“All he ever did was follow his dreams,” Torres said on Late Night With Conan O’Brien, as he provided a list of the celebrity chef’s good deeds. “But because he has flames on his shirt, everybody s**ts on him like he’s a member of Nickelback.”

His bit became comedy’s version of “Uptown Funk.” Likes, shares and retweets blew up the internet, and Patton Oswalt declared it to be the one joke he wished he’d written.

For Torres, though, being known as the Fieri guy is a double-edged sword.

“I’m worried I might be a one-hit wonder,” he said. “I think I’m good enough not to be, but I’m afraid I’ll end up like … one of those YouTube stars, who does one thing and people freak out, and they never hear from them again.”

That’s unlikely. Torres’s stories about weird baby names, the mystery of why everything bagels cost the same as regular ones, or his clumsiness at sexting are as relatable as the hint of a drawl in the voice he tells them with. His talent landed him on Comedy Central, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert and Last Comic Standing — the latter “just barely,” he notes with self-deprecation.

“I don’t want that to be the only thing I’m known for,” Torres said finally of his famous Conan set. “But I also did do something that most people haven’t done, which is cool.”

Stellar standup instincts coupled with a rigorous work ethic — one reason he moved to Brooklyn a few years back was to be able to perform at multiple comedy clubs in one night — point to a solid future for Torres. After a pandemic that slowed everything down, he’s back to his old pace, and not a moment too soon.

“I was afraid I was going to have to start bartending again or something,” Torres said. “I think I have three spots tonight and four spots tomorrow, which was about what I was doing before everything shut down, and that feels nice. The only thing I do is work, and drink beer.”

Torres likes to represent the downtrodden; during his Fieri bit, he also wondered about all the Nickelback hate.

“They made 40 million bros happy,” he noted. “You don’t want them pissed off. That’s how we wound up in this mess.”

It’s an instinct he extends to his profession.

“I think people look at comedy and don’t give it the credit it deserves as an art form — it’s really f-ing hard, but for whatever reason, it’s a little dismissed,” he said, agreeing that what starts as funny ultimately should speak to the human condition in some way. “I do want it to be art, I just don’t know if it is. That’s what I want to do; I am still trying. … [It] does seem to be pretentious, but I think it does deserve to be called [art].”

Shane Torres
When
: Wednesday, May 26, 7:30 and 9:30 p.m.
Where: Shaskeen Pub, 909 Elm St., Manchester
Tickets: $30/2 seats, $60/4 seats, $90/6 seats at brownpapertickets.com

Featured photo: Shane Torres. Courtesy photo.

The Music Roundup 21/05/20

Local music news & events

Irish vibe: A Celtic-themed pub offers folk, rock and pop from Somerville singer-songwriter Karen Grenier, who carries a voluminous songbook of covers and the willingness to take lots of requests. Grenier’s original material is also wonderful; her most recent CD is Crazy Love, a 2011 effort that featured the memorable “Superhero (Ryan Michael’s Song),” the positivity anthem, “It Gets Better” and an up-tempo title track. Friday, May 21, 8 p.m., Killarney’s Irish Pub, 9 Northeastern Blvd., Nashua, karengrenier.com

Island night: Enjoy a mix of rock, blues, soul and pop from singer-guitarist Pete Massa along with a varied selection of food to please every palate, including the King Kong Burger, a study in carnivore madness. Massa has a long history in the New England music scene, including residencies at Boston pubs. His setlist ranges from Bill Withers “Ain’t No Sunshine” to tracks from the Doobies and John Mayer. Saturday, May 22, 5 p.m., Big Kahunas Smokehouse, 1158 Hooksett Road, Hooksett, nhkahuna.com.

SoCal disciples: Named after a late ’90s song by ska punk band Catch 22, Concord-based Supernothing has a percolating rock reggae sound that’s perfect for returning to the beach sporting board shorts, sandals and a summertime attitude. The group began when Dillan Welch, then attending a Christian high school, received the first Sublime album as a gift from his sister and got hooked on the Long Beach band. Sunday, May 23, 7 p.m., Bernie’s Beach Bar, 73 Ocean Blvd., Hampton Beach, 926-5050.

Moondance double: Expect Van Morrison tribute act Into The Mystic to draw from a wide range of hits without the on-stage prickliness that seems to be as much a part of Morrison’s act as his iconic voice. Led by former Bearquarium singer Justin Panigutti, the eight-piece band also includes several of the region’s top players coalescing around gems like “Real Real Gone” and “Saint Dominic’s Preview.” Sunday, May 23, 1 and 6 p.m., Tupelo Drive-In, 10 A St., Derry. Tickets are $22 per person (tent) and $75 per car at tupelohall.com.

At the Sofaplex 21/05/20

Oxygen (TV-14)

Mélanie Laurent, Malik Zidi.

And Mathieu Amalric gives his voice to MILO, the computer system running the pod where a woman (Laurent) wakes up and finds herself locked in. She tries to calm herself — she’s in a hospital, she reasons, someone will realize she needs help. But MILO tells her that the 35 percent oxygen level in her locked pod means that someone only has about 43 minutes, best case 72, to find her before her air runs out.

This is a fun little thriller, with the woman, who can’t remember her name or anything about how she got in the pod, trying to puzzle her way out. She might not know basic facts about her life but she starts to make educated guesses about where she could be and how to find people who might know who she is. Laurent, whom I still pretty much just know from her Inglourious Basterds role, is excellent here. The woman struggles, breaks down, fights and digs in to old emotions — all while lying down in a box. Oxygen makes the most of the “one person in a box” structure, using flashbacks judiciously and spanning genres to create a story that is suspenseful and even hopeful with just the right dash of humor. B+ Available on Netflix.

The Paper Tigers (PG-13)

Alan Uy, Ron Yuan.

Also Mykel Shannon Jenkins, Matthew Page and Roger Yuan, as the father-figure-like Sifu Cheung, who taught three “we’re brothers forever”-type teenage boys kung fu. Decades later, Cheung has died and though his death is thought to be the result of a heart attack, his friends believe differently. Formerly called Cheung’s “three tigers,” the now grown-up Danny (Uy), Hing (Ron Yuan) and Jim (Jenkins) decide to investigate Cheung’s death to find out what really happened to their former teacher.

Except that they were teenagers A Long Time Ago and Danny and Hing aren’t really at fighting strength or flexibility anymore. Jim is some kind of MMA-ish teacher, but he hasn’t kept up with the kung fu specifics. These middle-aged dudes have baggage in addition to back pain — their once-close friendship broke down a while ago, as did their relationship with Cheung.

The Paper Tigers frequently has the rough-edge feel of the indie that it is and there are a few elements — everything to do with Danny’s relationship with his ex-wife Caryn (Jae Suh Park) and their young son, for example — that could have used some writerly polishing. But the movie has charm, particularly in the friendship among the three men. B Available for rent or purchase.

French Exit (R)

Michelle Pfeiffer, Lucas Hedges.

Michelle Pfeiffer gives a highly entertaining performance as a woman at the end of her fortune who escapes to Paris with her grown son in this movie that is very mannered and very weird but, mostly, strangely enjoyable.

Frances Price (Pfeiffer) leaves, like, $100 tips when she goes to the cafe for coffee so it’s not a surprise that she finds herself broke after what seems like a lifetime spent in old-money-style wealth. Her friend Joan (Susan Coyne) offers to let her and her adult but still quite dependent son Malcolm (Hedges) stay at her apartment in Paris, so Frances sells what possessions she can, turns it all into cash and sets out on her Atlantic crossing with cash, son and their cat in tow.

While on the voyage, Malcolm meets Madeleine (Danielle Macdonald), who gets fired from the on-ship psychic gig after being too honest with one of the passengers. Madeleine gives us one of many clues that there is more to the family cat than meets the eye. Once the duo have arrived in Paris, they meet Madame Reynard (Valerie Mahaffey), another gentle weirdo who seems to have decided that she and Frances will be friends.

French Exit starts out seeming like kind of a riff on a Whit Stillman movie, something about monied people with more taste and elocution than sense or coping abilities. But then it turns into something much, much weirder with a story so lackadaisical in its pacing that I kept thinking it was in its final scene, only to realize that there were some 30 or so more minutes left. For all of this, I basically liked it — particularly, I think, if you choose to read it as a kind of downbeat fairy tale — and liked what Pfeiffer did with a character that could easily have come off as cartoonish and unbelievable. B- Available for rent.

Jungle Beat: The Movie (G)

Voices of David Menken, Ed Kear.

This cute if slight movie features a funny monkey and no recognizable voice talent, for all that I thought of the main characters as Ryan Reynolds Monkey (voiced by Menken) and James Corden Alien (voiced by Kear). According to Wikipedia this movie is based on a TV show (which, oddly enough, appears to have episodes available via Amazon Prime Video while this movie is on Netflix), but it doesn’t require any previous knowledge of the show to get the movie. The basic plot is that the alien named Fneep (Kear), who looks like a blue gummy bear and sounds like James Corden, comes to Earth and his universal translator tech allows the animals — Monkey, Trunk (voice of Ina Marie Smith) the elephant, Humph (voice of John Guerrasio) the hedgehog and Rocky (also Menkin) the hippo — to talk, to each other and to him. He has been sent to conquer Earth, which he does sort of hesitantly, primarily with a short speech because a frog eats his raygun. His new animal friends are chummily encouraging about his conquering (a concept they seem to understand entirely as a chore that needs completing) and try to help him get back to his spaceship so he can get home. In this loose framework, the movie works in a fair amount of just animal silliness: Monkey’s desire for a banana, the grumpy Humph getting lost in circles in a grassy plain, an ostrich and her runaway eggs, one of whom becomes a chick eager to fly. It’s mostly sweet, mostly menace-free stuff. It isn’t the cleverest or best executed “alien and animals become friends” G-rated movie (that is Farmageddon: A Shaun the Sheep Movie, also on Netflix), but it was entertaining enough for my kids, particularly the kid who is always up for monkey-related antics. B Available on Netflix

The Year Earth Changed (PG)

I don’t usually seek out content about Our Covid Year but this tidy 48-minute documentary narrated by David Attenborough was light, pretty to look at and even somewhat hopeful. The focus is animals — animals all over the world in 2020 and how, for example, reduced ocean traffic made life easier for a whale mom or fewer people on the beach meant breeding season was easier for sea turtles. Cheetahs who don’t have to compete with the noise from safari vehicles can more quietly (and thus more safely) call to their young to come feast on prey. Birds who don’t have to compete with traffic noise have their elaborate songs heard more clearly for the first time in decades. “Nature is healing itself” as the internet said — and it did, a little bit, for a little while, so argues this documentary which sort of “a-hems” at the idea about humans doing their part post-pandemic to keep the healing going without getting into the sort of bummer details that would make this a less appealing documentary to relax with. B Available on Apple TV+.


The Woman in the Window (R) | Those Who Wish Me Dead (R)

The Woman in the Window (R)

Poor Amy Adams plays a severely agoraphobic woman who believes she’s witnessed a murder in The Woman in the Window, a long-delayed movie (and not just because of the pandemic, as is clear from watching the movie) now available on Netflix.

I mean, like, poor poor Amy Adams, who can be so good (Enchanted! Arrival!) but has just been saddled with some real nonsense lately, to include all the Zack Snyder Lois Lane stuff, the mess that was Hillbilly Elegy and now this. And she tries, she gives this movie more than it deserves, but unlike Emily Blunt, who was the best thing about the otherwise borderline-silly The Girl on the Train, Amy Adams feels a bit like she’s being drowned by all the suspense melodrama.

Anna Fox (Adams) is a child psychologist but it seems like she is currently on a sabbatical and just focused on regaining her own health. Her own psychiatrist (Tracy Letts, the playwright and screenwriter who adapted this screenplay from the book by A.J. Finn) is working on finding her a medication that will help her with her anxiety and depression and with the agoraphobia that keeps her trapped in her thankfully large brownstone. Based on a conversation she has with her husband, Ed (Anthony Mackie), from whom she is separated and who is with their young daughter, Olivia (Mariah Bozeman), Anna spends a lot of her days staring out the window and watching her neighbors. She does some post-neighbor-watching Google-stalking as well, which is how she knows what the Russells, the family newly moved in across the street, have paid for the house and that they don’t have much of an internet presence.

Soon, though, the Russell family bleeds into her life a bit. Fifteen-year-old Ethan Russell (Fred Hechniger) brings over a gift from his mother. His father, Alistair Russell (Gary Oldman), hires David (Wyatt Russell), Anna’s tenant who lives in a basement apartment, to do some handyman work. And on Halloween, when Anna’s candy-free house is being pelted with eggs, Anna, who can barely bring herself to open the door and then faints when she does, meets and spends time with Ethan’s mom (Julianne Moore), who Anna’s snooping has told her is Jane Russell. Jane drops a lot of hints about the possible dark side of Alistair and is just generally kind of oddball in that way that certain Julianne Moore characters can be. But Anna has a good time with her and even seems to have made a friend.

Or has she? Has she even met Jane Russell? And later, when she thinks some harm befalls Jane, what has she actually seen, if anything at all? Despite advice, Anna can’t seem to stop herself from mixing her powerful psychiatric drugs with what seems like a steady stream of red wine. Between this mix of intoxicants and her general jumpiness that has her quick to call 911 at every hint of trouble, not only are police detectives Little (Brian Tyree Henry) and Norelli (Jeanine Serralles) unsure what to believe but even Anna can’t be sure of what she’s seen.

On paper, all of this is fine — Rear Window-ness, unreliable narrator, spacious if spookily lit real estate. And the movie has a cast of solid performers. But I feel like tone is where this movie sort of falls apart. It can’t decide if it’s playing things straight: the drama of Anna’s condition meets the suspense of the mystery of the Russells, or some pulpier blend of suspense and thrills peppered with some very dark comedy. I feel like we get examples of both — with more pulp as the movie goes on — but the lack of tonal consistency makes it hard to, say, enjoy it for the melodrama or take Adams’ performance very seriously. She’s giving A Lot of performance — which also doesn’t seem to hit exactly the right tone ever — but it feels like she is often more serious or more sudsy than the movie around her.

I didn’t dislike The Woman in the Window much in the same way I didn’t dislike last fall’s unremarkable Rebecca or the recent, slightly goofy ghost story Things Seen and Heard. Netflix actually feels like it would be a sensible outlet for prestige, movie star versions of cheap thrillers, higher-budget versions of basic cable movies about shady husbands and Muhr-Der. It’s just too bad for Adams in particular that this movie couldn’t be a nudge or two better. C

Rated R for violence and language, according to the MPA on filmratings.com. Directed by Joe Wright with a screenplay by Tracy Letts (from the book of the same name by A.J. Finn), The Woman in the Window is an hour and 40 minutes long and is available on Netflix.

Those Who Wish Me Dead (R)

Angelina Jolie is a forest firefighter running from flames and assassins to keep a kid safe in Those Who Wish Me Dead, an entertaining-enough action movie available on HBO Max and in theaters.

Hannah (Jolie) drinks too much and does potentially self-destructive stuff like parachuting off the back of a pickup truck driving fast on a wooded road. As her ex-boyfriend, Sheriff Ethan (Jon Bernthal), knows, this tough-lady stuff is all her way of self-destructively coping with her trauma and regret from a fire that trapped her team, resulting in the deaths of one firefighter and a group of kids who were stuck on a hillside. She is punished for this by being assigned to a forest fire tower for a year. On the downside, she is stuck here alone (with no toilet), but on the bright side (not really) it gives her lots of time to stare at the horizon and cry.

On the slightly brighter side, Hannah’s exile means that she is in the woods when the 11-ish-year-old Connor (Finn Little) needs someone to turn to. Connor and his father Owen (Jake Weber) are on the run after Owen’s boss, a Florida district attorney, is killed. Owen believes that the criminal organization (whose representative here is played by Tyler Perry, who is fun and could have used more screen time) that he has been investigating is now after him. Owen heads to Ethan, his late wife’s brother, whose ranch-y home, shared with pregnant wife Allison (Medina Senghore), seems like a good place to hide out. That plan would have been more successful if he didn’t have a picture of Ethan and his ranch hanging on the wall of his house as a big clue for assassins Jack (Aidan Gillen) and Patrick (Nicholas Hoult).

When Hannah finds a frightened Connor wandering in the forest, she is able to convince him that she’s a friendly but they face a series of obstacles: Hannah’s communication equipment has just been fried by a lightning strike. It’s a significant walk into town. Some of that walk will be through what is essentially a field of lightning. Jack and Patrick are on the hunt for Connor. And lastly, a big chunk of the forest they’re in the middle of is on fire.

Angelina Jolie is never not Angelina Jolie in this movie; there is nothing about her that believably suggests a hard-living firefighter. But as a movie star in an action film, she’s fine. She can sell the physicality of the part well enough and once we get over the hump of setting up Hannah’s backstory situation, the movie is pretty immediate-problem-solving-based. The problem is getting through this lightning field, the problem is hiding from Jack and Patrick, the problem is getting Connor in touch with “the News,” which was what his father told him to do if they were ever separated. (That plan has some practical flaws but in the general “don’t worry about it too much, this is an action movie” sense is fine because it gets the information disseminated and removes the point of killing Connor — aside from just revenge, I guess.) Chases through the forest and fights in front of a scary fire-lit background are the point of this movie and it executes them competently. I basically enjoyed this movie as I was watching it — particularly Senghore’s performance and character, she is the movie’s truly believable bad-ass — and while I wouldn’t recommend going out of your way to find it, if you already have HBO Max, it is perfectly acceptable low-effort entertainment. B-

Rated R for strong violence and language throughout, according to the MPA on filmratings.com. Directed by Taylor Sheridan with a screenplay by Michael Koryta and Charles Leavitt and Taylor Sheridan, Those Who With Me Dead is an hour and 40 minutes long and distributed by New Line Cinemas. It is available on HBO Max and is screening in theaters.

Featured photo: The Woman in the Window (R)

Freedom, by Sebastian Junger

Freedom, by Sebastian Junger (Simon & Schuster, 147 pages)

In 2012 Cheryl Strayed hit publishing paydirt with a memoir of her three-month solo hike on the Pacific Crest Trail. That book, Wild, was an account of how Strayed fought her way through both a literal wilderness and a wilderness of grief after her mother died from a cruelly rapid onset of lung cancer.

In his new book Freedom, Sebastian Junger also takes to the wild, with dramatically different style and intent. Best known for the commercially successful The Perfect Storm (published in 1997 if you want to feel old), Junger set off to walk a long distance along railroad lines, which happens to be illegal. This gives the account a thin tension. Will Junger and his comrades — a photographer, two Afghan War veterans and a dog — be arrested? Run over by a train? Eaten by bears? That is the extent of the mystery in this meandering account that reads at times like the collision of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books and the “N” volume of the World Book Encyclopedia — “N” for the emphasis on Native Americans.

Strayed covered 1,100 miles; Junger and his companions, 400, going from Washington, D.C., to Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. He admits in an afterword that the journey was “done in stages and not always with the same people,” which somewhat diminishes the accomplishment. But the slim book is still a surprisingly engrossing reflection of what “freedom” really means in a primitive sense, not the patriotic one, and why there is so much appeal in these stories of people who temporarily cast off the shackles of civilization for the perils and hardships of the wild.

The book is divided into three sections, titled “Run,” “Fight” and “Think.” In the first, Junger jumps right into the journey, taking no time for the formalities of explaining why he was doing this, and quickly launching into encyclopedic mode with a discourse on the freedom Native Americans had before Europeans arrived to chase and slaughter them. By the close of the section, we are weeping for the Apaches, even though Junger makes clear that brutality was not unique to the invading Europeans.

As Junger writes about the European settlers, “If you were willing to risk being captured … then you could make your way up the finger valleys of the Juniata and find a secluded spot to build a cabin and get in a quick crop of corn. … The risks were appalling and the hardships unspeakable, but no government official would ever again tell you what to do.”

In taking the journey, Junger attempts to experience not only the travails of Native Americans and the early settlers but the lifestyle of our ancestors, millennia-past. “The poor have always walked and the desperate have always slept outside. We were neither, but we were still doing something that felt ancient and hard.”

He writes vividly of the stresses of the body when moving constantly: “Sometimes you enter a great blank space where a whole hour can seem to go by faster than some of the minutes within it, and the loyal dog of your body trots along as if the entire point of its existence is to expire following your orders.”

For food, the men made fires and grilled meat and vegetables they bought when they ventured into towns, and occasionally wolfed pancakes and eggs at diners where people looked at them with a mixture of suspicion and envy. They carried a single machete, which they stuck in a tree while they slept, counting on Junger’s dog to serve as an alarm if something evil came their way.

In the second section, “Fight,” Junger returns with dismaying insistence to tales of Native American cruelty to settlers. Then he segues into stories about how the railroads were built, with equally horrific random tales of carnage. (The book could have been subtitled “1,000 horrific ways to die in early America.”) The takeaway: Trains and settling a wilderness are dangerous, as was the trip that Junger and his companions were, somewhat inexplicably, taking,

“The towns, the cops, the freight companies — no one wanted us on the lines, which was understandable. In fact, over the course of four hundred miles, we failed to come up with a single moral or legal justification for what we were doing other than the dilute principle that we weren’t causing actual harm so we should be able to keep doing it,” he writes.

In the final section, “Think,” and throughout a frayed thread that runs through the book, Junger wrestles with the perception of freedom and real freedom’s uglier realities. “People love to believe that they’re free,” he says, although flag-waving Americans “depend on a sprawling supply chain that can only function with federal oversight, and most of them pay roughly one-third of their income in taxes for the right to participate in this system.”

In the end, it’s unclear what Junger accomplished other than pulverizing his feet to something the consistency of pink oatmeal. The trip had been an escape of a 51-year-old in the middle of a divorce and was “a temporary injunction against whatever was coming” next. It’s definitely not the triumphant finish of Wild.

Except for one thing: Like Strayed, Junger got a film out of his exceedingly long hike. Called The Last Patrol, the HBO documentary came out in 2014. The book is as uneven as the territory the men crossed, but intriguing enough to make us want to see the footage. B-

BOOK NOTES
When Andy Warhol said that in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes, he left something out: that in the future, everyone will write a novel, whether anyone wants to read it or not.
I was reminded of this recently when listening to Four-Hour-Work-Week guru Tim Ferris interview author Steven Pressfield (A Man at Arms, W.W. Norton, 336 pages) on a podcast. Ferris, who has made a ton of money writing nonfiction, mused that he was thinking of writing a novel. Of course he is. Who isn’t?
That is clear from new fiction offerings from former President Bill Clinton and Georgia politician Stacey Abrams, not to mention a forthcoming novel from Empty Nest star Dinah Manoff.
Abrams, to her credit, is dedicated to the craft. She wrote her first novel in law school and has published eight romance novels under the pen name Selena Montgomery. She’s also written two nonfiction books. Her newest is While Justice Sleeps (Doubleday, 384 pages), billed as a thriller set within the U.S. Supreme Court.
Clinton teams up with superstar author James Patterson again for The President’s Daughter (Little, Brown and Co./Knopf), which, at 608 pages, brings to mind Clinton’s 35-minute speech in 1988 and how the crowd went wild when he finally said “In conclusion.” Somewhat predictably, it’s a thriller about the kidnapping of a president’s kid. The previous Patterson-Clinton book was The President is Missing (Little, Brown and Co., 527 pages). Apparently the president goes missing.
Less promising is Manoff’s July release of The Real True Hollywood Story of Jackie Gold, billed as a coming-of-age story set in Hollywood (Star Alley Press, 338 pages). Right now it’s only offered on Kindle and it appears to be the first book published by this company, which may be a cover for self-publishing. If it flops, it doesn’t take away from Manoff’s other talents (she did, after all, win a Tony) but only suggests that maybe, just maybe, everyone doesn’t have a novel in them.
Andy Warhol, by the way, thought he did. Though famous for his pop art, Warhol wrote something that he called a novel — literally. A, a Novel (Grove Press, 451 pages) was not especially well-received in 1968 and, being largely a transcript of recordings, can barely be called a novel, but a first edition is going for $6,500 on Amazon. If you’ve got one somewhere, get thee to a book dealer, fast.

Books

Author events

MEREDITH TATE AND CAMERON LUND Tate presents Shipped. Lund presents Heartbreakers and Fakers. Hosted by Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord. Virtual, via Zoom. Thurs., May 20, 7 p.m. Registration required. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

GLENN A. KNOBLOCK Author presents Hidden History of Lake Winnipesaukee. Hosted by Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord. Virtual, via Zoom. Wed., May 26, 7 p.m. Registration required. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

KEVIN KWAN Author presents Sex and Vanity. Hosted by The Music Hall in Portsmouth. Thurs., May 27, 7 p.m. Virtual. Tickets cost $5. Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

JAMIE DUCHARME AND JEFFREY KLUGER Ducharme presents Big Vape: The Incendiary Rise of Juul. Kluger presents Holdout. Hosted by Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord. Virtual, via Zoom. Wed., June 2, 7 p.m. Registration required. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

ANNETTE GORDON-REED Author presents On Juneteenth. Hosted by The Music Hall in Portsmouth. Thurs., June 3, 7 p.m. Virtual. Tickets cost $5. Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA, QUIARA ALEGRIA HUDES AND JEREMY MCCARTER Authors present the launch of their new book, In the Heights: Finding Home. Hosted by Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord. Virtual, via Zoom. Tues., June 15, 8 p.m. Registration and tickets required. Tickets cost $40 to $44. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

Call for submissions

COVID POETRY ANTHOLOGY New Hampshire residents are invited to submit original poems for review and possible publication in COVID Spring Vol. II,an anthology of poetry about the pandemic experience in New Hampshire, to be edited by New Hampshire Poet Laureate Alexandria Peary and published by Hobblebush Books this summer. Youth age 18 and under may also submit original poems to be considered for the anthology’s new youth section. Submit a poem or poems (up to three) by Sun., May 23, through the online submission form at hobblebush.com/anthology-submissions. Poets will be notified of the editor’s decision by June 15.

NH LITERARY AWARDS The New Hampshire Writers’ Project seeks submissions for its Biennial New Hampshire Literary Awards, which recognize published works written about New Hampshire and works written by New Hampshire natives or residents. Books must have been published between Jan. 1, 2019 and Dec. 31, 2020 and may be nominated in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, children’s picture books, middle grade/young adult books. All entries will be read and evaluated by a panel of judges assembled by the NHWP. Submission deadline is Mon., June 21, 5 p.m. Visit nhwritersproject.org/new-hampshire-literary-awards.

Featured photo: Freedom

Album Reviews 21/05/20

Alchemy Sound Project, Afrika Love (Artists Recording Collective)

I assume you know by now that I try to steer readers away from dissonant, disagreeable jazz. I roll like that mostly because purposely annoying runs, no matter the level of talent, go through me like a nail. In other words, I am not a hawker of Charles Mingus et al; I think I’ve only covered one of his live albums here, purely for the sake of humanity (and to keep the remastered Blue Note albums coming in, like you couldn’t have guessed). So this one, from a scarily talented quintet of bandleaders (on trumpet, woodwinds and piano on the prime-mover side), does start with some dis-ambiance (“The Fountain”), and I was about to commence to barfing, but then it just flies off into hyperspace with the immensely complicated “Dark Blue Residue”: You’re at once overwhelmed by the band’s depth of musicianship; I mean it’s Jedi-level. And accessible as well. Mind, I’m just trying to help the genre, not scold anyone for liking skronky nonsense, but I’d recommend this to anyone exploring jazz. A

Living Wreckage, “Breaking Point” (self-released)

I’m sure we can dispose of this quickly, the teaser single from a quote-unquote “superstar metal band consisting of vocalist Jeff Gard (Death Ray Vision), guitarists Jon Donais (Anthrax, Shadows Fall) and Matt LeBreton (Downpour), bassist Matt Bachand (Shadows Fall, Act of Defiance) and drummer Jon Morency (Let Us Prey). Their goal is to make “good ol’ hard rock/metal that fits somewhere between Skid Row and Pantera.” Now, the only thing I know for sure is that I’ve always considered Anthrax to be the Pepsi to Metallica’s Coca-Cola within the ’80s thrash-metal sphere, like Anthrax wanted to be DRI so badly that they even named a song after that band. Pretty hurtin’, huh? Now, that’s not to say these guys aren’t going to be the next (place name of “superstar thrash band” that everyone forgot about in three months here), because who knows, maybe this tune’s combination-ripoff of Meshuggah, Nine Inch Nails and Metallica will be the key to unleashing speed-metal again upon our unsuspecting world, this time for a permanent reign. But I doubt it. B

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• May 21 sounds like a great Friday for new CDs, am I right? Well, tough Tootsie Rolls, frantic fam, because here they come anyway. Let’s have a look at the list of albums coming out tomorrow, shall we? Right, blah blah blah, Georgia Anne Muldrow, don’t like her; Blake Shelton, never heard of him, unless that was the guy who tried to sell me a used Corolla in 1996 — ah, here’s something I can actually get excited about (you wouldn’t believe how short that list is these days, guys): It’s none other than goth king Gary Numan, with his new album, Intruder! You may know that this vampire-techno vanguard, he of the swirling fog and and the spooky tunes that are so awesome they’re probably illegal in the Midwest, has had himself a few setbacks, like the time he was supposed to collaborate with Trent Reznor but it just turned into Nine Inch Nails doing a cover of Numan’s “Metal,” and Numan is self-diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome, and he has a really crazy girlfriend (which of course only means he’s in a band, but whatever). Anyway, even though everyone expected him (because he announced such) to just buy a farm and retire after his big 1980s hit “Cars,” he stuck with it, and his last bajillion albums are the gold standard for post-Bauhaus vampire rock, and I’m sure I’ll listen to this single, “Now And Forever,” from Intruder and will pronounce it awesome. Yes, I will be doing just that. It has a weird, scratchy Nine Inch Nails style beat, but when you add Numan’s half-yodeling voice it becomes instantly awesome. I have no idea why he isn’t more popular than Reznor, but whatever.

• The Monkees are a long-gone band and TV show that was huge in the mid-1960s, because they were basically The Beatles with more accessible songs and lots of sight gags involving chimpanzees and hot girls named Mary and Sandra, because those were the official hot girl names of that generation. There are only two Monkees still alive now (and yes, I had to check that they’re still alive), namely Micky Dolenz (the goofy, chimp-like drummer) and Mike Nesmith, the slacker guitarist. Since these guys still have to make a living playing music, there is a new album on the way, called Micky Dolenz Sings Nesmith, which should be self-explanatory if unexciting news to Monkees fans, because none of those guys were allowed to write songs for the original TV show, so I assume the song snippets I just heard were random songs written by Nesmith, jingly ’60s-pop trifles that are happy and catchy, whatever, and Dolenz can still actually sing, which is the weird part.

• Columbus, Ohio, alternative hip-hop duo Twenty One Pilots will release their sixth full-length, Scaled And Icy, on May 21. You’ll know them from the Eminem-meets-boy-band hit “Stressed Out,” or maybe you somehow don’t, which doesn’t mean that you aren’t cool anymore, it just means that you never bother to Shazam the songs you hear at fashionable outlet malls (if so, send me a Friend request). The pair’s latest single is “Shy Away,” which starts off like bloopy Billie Eilish electropop, then becomes emo, then tries to sound like a Smashing Pumpkins B-Side. Your dog might like it, I don’t know.

• We’ll put this week in the books with a quick listen to eclectic techno-whatever dude Nicholas Krgovich, whose new LP, This Spring, consists of a bunch of cover songs originally done by Canadian experimental wingnut Veda Hille. “LuckLucky,” the first single, sounds like Orbital in mellow mode. It’s OK.

Retro Playlist

You might think of me as a closed-minded punk/noise/metal guy, given all the love I’ve heaped on the louder genres and my constant bashing of half-plugged fedora and indie bands. But there’s a soft side to my W.C. Fields-ness that’s surfaced recently: I’ve become completely obsessed with Fleetwood Mac.

There’s an explanation. I did the math the other week, and between this newspaper and all the other magazines, papers and blogs to which I’ve “contributed,” I have written, to date, at the very least, around 4,500 CD reviews. Do you have any idea how much damage all that bad music could do to a human cerebrum? I kidded around about that in my book and sometimes mention it here, but never did I realize that my experiencing all that horror would actually lead to something positive.

Announcement: I have become convinced that Fleetwood Mac is the greatest pop-songwriting unit in history. I say all this for the benefit of young music-searchers, of course; old folks know how divine the band’s Rumours album is. There’s “Dreams,” “Go Your Own Way,” and all that stuff.

I’m also grimly fascinated by how bloody weird the band members were. Sara Fleetwood, who stole drummer Mick from Stevie Nicks and married him, has (maybe) posted all sorts of insider groupie details over at the blog songfacts.com. As with any potential troll, it’s impossible to determine if she’s real or not, but sure, I believe it, and besides, whether it’s fake or not, Sara’s got to be completely crazy by now.

That Sara person may have been the inspiration for the only great song (the suspiciously named “Sara”) on the band’s absolutely awful 1979 album Tusk. The stunted yin to Rumours’ yang, Tusk was written almost exclusively by guitarist Lindsey Buckingham, who, in a drugged-up panic, was desperate to make people forget that the band made epic pop-rock. The critics sure did, after Tusk flopped its way into the stores.

But regardless, “Sara” — obviously a rough sketch for “Gypsy,” which came later — is a magnificent touchy-feely song. If you’re young, add that to your playlist, as well as anything else either of the two women wrote back then.

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