Tag: 220811

Old school

Greg Fitzsimmons brings his comedy to Manchester

It was inevitable that Greg Fitzsimmons would find his way into comedy. His father was a revered New York City radio host who knew guys like Henny Youngman and emceed Friars Club roasts. “It was sort of the family business…. It’s like when your father’s a doctor, you think, ‘OK, Dad did that, I could do it,’” Fitzsimmons said by phone recently.

That prediction has been borne out by a career lasting over 30 years. He’s won accolades for his writing skills, including four daytime Emmys working on the Ellen DeGeneres show, and his standup, which comes to Manchester for two shows on Aug. 12 and Aug. 13. However, Fitzsimmons’s first foray into comedy happened in Boston, not the Big Apple.

In the late ’80s, while attending BU, he tested the waters at places like Nick’s Comedy Stop, one among a rich crop of new comics.

“Joe Rogan and I started at the exact same time,” he said. “We spent a lot of time in cars together, going to gigs all over New England. Dane Cook, David Cross, Marc Maron, Louis C.K., Bill Burr, Patrice O’Neal…. Those were all the guys that were around when I was coming up. It was just crazy that there was this much talent.”

One luxury they shared during that time was access, even if there were plenty of what Fitzsimmons termed “hell gigs … true saloon comedy where it was never assumed that the comedian was the funniest one in the room” — a hard but valuable proving ground. Today’s young comics are encountering a different terrain.

“It’s so competitive at the entry level, trying to get seen and get stage time,” Fitzsimmons said. “I was fortunate enough to make a living when I wasn’t even very funny just because there was a ton of rooms and they needed warm bodies. Because of that, I was able to log my 10,000 hours and get to a more proficient place.”

Fitzsimmons was one of the first comics to launch a podcast, in the mid-2000s. It grew out of a radio show Howard Stern gave him for his Howard 101 channel. “I would get these really great guests, like Bill Burr, Adam Carolla, Jimmy Kimmel and Sarah Silverman, and then it would be over so fast,” he said. “So we’d continue with the same guest for another hour.”

The Fitzdog Radio podcast marks its 1,000th episode in a few weeks. Along with Ellen, he’s also written for HBO’s slice-of-standup-life series Crashing, The Man Show, Politically Incorrect and Lucky Louie. The latter was his favorite. “I just had so much respect for Louis [C.K.],” he said. “We started in Boston together, we’ve always lived in the same city, and we have kids that are the same age. We’d drive to work together and just talk about ideas … very organic, I didn’t have to imagine anything. We just had to tell stories from our life.”

An unconventional show with a dour disposition, Lucky Louie only lasted one season, though HBO ordered a second one that wasn’t made. “I think the show was aesthetically unappealing … done to look like The Honeymooners,” Fitzsimmons said. “With the drabness of the characters, it became something people [who] watch sitcoms weren’t used to. They wanted a bunch of people in a bright coffee shop.”

The comic’s onstage act doesn’t suffer similarly. Fitzsimmons is quick and instinctive, adept at crowd work and able to mine his own life for comedy gold. Lately, as he noted in a recent Fitzdog Radio episode, he’s hitting on all cylinders.

“I’m very funny right now; it goes in waves,” he said. As to why, “it’s all about being in the moment. … There are times where you’re caught up in your thoughts and second-guessing, trying too hard, worrying about whatever you’re doing wrong. Then there are times you just get in the pocket … it’s money. Even the same jokes you’ve been doing for a long time have new life in them for some reason.”

If it sounds easy, it’s not, he continued, offering advice to aspirants: “Comedy is a game of inches; each joke lives and dies on a turn of a phrase, losing a word or adding a little tag line,” he said. It starts with finding a voice. “Some people are storytellers and it doesn’t hinge on the words as much. But life for most comics really is about rolling up your sleeves, really honing the material. Because people are seeing a lot of comedy; they know the difference. They can feel it when somebody has put in the work.”

Greg Fitzsimmons
When: Friday, Aug. 12, 8:30 p.m. and Saturday, Aug. 13, 9 p.m.
Where: Chunky’s Cinema Pub, 707 Huse Road, Manchester
Tickets: $30 at chunkys.com

Featured photo: Greg Fitzsimmons. Courtesy photo.

The Music Roundup 22/08/11

Local music news & events

• Dad jokes: One of the reasons comedian Robbie Printz welcomed the birth of his first child over a decade ago was the prospect of having new jokes for his act. Printz was inspired by an Eddie Murphy show to break into comedy, deciding to parlay a childhood spent making up his own SNL skits into a career telling jokes. He’s appeared on Comedy Central and won the Boston Comedy Fest. Rob Steen hosts an under-the-tent show. Friday, Aug. 12, 7 p.m., Tuscan Kitchen, 67 Main St., Salem, $30 at tuscanbrands.com.

• Prankster pop: A wildly adventurous combo for over two decades, SeepeopleS is readying the release of a new album later this fall featuring help from Morphine’s Dana Colley and Jerome Deupree, Nikki Glaspie and Nate Edgar from Nth Power and Dave Matthews collaborator Tim Reynolds, and a few others. The “anti-genre” band appears at a favorite area spot with Way of the Headband and Lucid Elephants. Saturday, Aug. 13, 9 p.m., Stone Church, 5 Granite St., Newmarket, $15 at stonechurchrocks.com, 21+.

• Shady music: Performing outdoors under the Bridge Street bridge, the Shawna Jackson Band is a country rock band led by a local singer with roots in gospel music, back for a second act after taking a long break to raise a family. Members include Oklahoma-born guitarist Dan Messick and fellow axe man Bruce Stone, a Granite State native who spent a decade playing the Highway 49 circuit in California. Saturday, Aug. 13, 6 p.m., Stark Brewing Co., 500 N. Commercial St., Manchester. See shawnajacksonband.com.

• Rock show: The twice pandemic-postponed Goo Goo Dolls tour is finally underway, with support from alt rockers Blue October. They’re one of Buffalo’s best-known bands and a big reason the movie City of Angels was even watchable, and their new album, Chaos In Bloom, is being hailed as a return to their early sound. The shows are also getting good reviews — “a true feeling of being alive,” wrote one critic. Sunday, Aug. 14, 7 p.m., Bank of New Hampshire Pavilion, 72 Meadowbrook Lane, Gilford, $25 and up at ticketmaster.com.

• Morning song: Early Sunday acoustic concerts continue in central Concord with Ryan Williamson, a homegrown singer-songwriter who jumped into performing after his mother tricked him into playing an open mic night. Now one of the busiest musicians in the area, he’s a one-man band who covers a range of material; a mashup of Lee Brice’s “Hard to Love” and Tom Petty’s “Learning to Fly” is a set standout. Sunday, Aug. 14, 10 a.m., White Park, 1 White St, Concord. More at walkerlecture.org.

Manchester International Film Festival

The Manchester International Film Festival brings shorts, documentaries, feature films, cult faves and a search for Adam Sandler to the Rex Theatre (23 Amherst St. in Manchester) Friday, Aug. 12, through Sunday, Aug. 14. A ticket for a one-day pass costs $20 or get a weekend pass for $50. See palacetheatre.org/film.

In last week’s (Aug. 4) issue of the Hippo, we talked to festival organizers about how the event came together and to some of the filmmakers about their entries. Find the e-edition of the issue at hippopress.com; the story starts on page 10.

In addition to the films, see a star of stage and screen live in person at “An Evening with John Lithgow” at the Palace Theatre (80 Hanover St. in Manchester; palacetheatre.org) on Saturday, Aug. 13, at 7:30 p.m. Tickets for the John Lithgow event, which start at $50 (and are separate from the Saturday pass purchased by itself), include a pass to all festival events.

Screenings on the schedule include these:

Friday, Aug. 12

• Sherlock Jr. (1924) a silent film directed by Buster Keaton with live musical accompaniment by Jeff Rapsis at 5:45 p.m.

• Slap Shot (1977) the ice hockey movie starring Paul Newman, screening with live comedic commentary from comedian Jimmy Dunn, Roadkill from Greg and the Morning Buzz and retired NHL Referee Mark Riley at 7:30 p.m.

Saturday, Aug. 13

• Shrek (2001) at noon (with $5 tickets)

• Finding Sandler (2022) a documentary about a director who passed up having a drink with Adam Sandler back in 1998 and decides to fix that mistake. 6:30 p.m.

• An American Werewolf in London (1981) 9:05 p.m.

Sunday, Aug. 14

• Love Is Strange (2014) which stars John Lithgow, Alfred Molina and Marisa Tomei. 1 p.m.

• Haute Couture (2021) a French film, presented in partnership with the New Hampshire Jewish Film Festival. 3 p.m.

Find a longer list featuring films including the shorts on the schedule in the story from Aug. 4 and more specifics on times at the Palace’s event website.

Featured photo: Love is Strange.

Bullet Train (R)

Brad Pitt helms a pretty good collection of supporting players and fun cameos in the bafflingly flat Bullet Train.

I see what you want to be doing here, Bullet Train, maybe even what you think you are doing. Director David Leitch also directed Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw, which is a masterpiece of a certain kind of film-making, and is an uncredited director on John Wick, which is another one of cinema’s greatest super-fun, eat-it-up-with-a-spoon franchises. I feel like that sorta-dumb-but-excellent sweet spot is where Bullet Train wants to be. And should be, by all rights, with its cast, its many action scenes that take place on a speeding train, its regular diversion into caper and its Japanese candy wrapper visual aesthetic, but it just doesn’t get there.

Ladybug (Brad Pitt) — that’s a code name — is an ambivalent criminal directed by his handler (Sandra Bullock, largely just as a voice) to steal a sleek metallic briefcase on a bullet train traveling from Tokyo to Kyoto. Easy job on a snazzy train — except an assortment of other sketchy characters have been hired to watch the briefcase or take someone out or otherwise cause trouble on the train. These not-just-bystanders include the affable brothers Lemon (Brian Tyree Henry) and Tangerine (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), a too-shiny girl played by Joey King called The Prince, a rumpled mess (Andrew Koji) whose young son is in the hospital, a man called The Wolf (Bad Bunny) and a woman called The Hornet (Zazie Beetz). And some other people — many introduced with a title card and a backstory. Or we get to see their backstory later. You get some vengeance, some grudges, a nice mix of languages with stylish subtitles and some highjinks that blend overly complicated plan and dumb luck. And through it all, a kind of John Wick by way of Guy Ritchie violence is delivered in a way that is highly choreographed, extremely stylized and, like, not funny exactly but not without a sense of humor in that Fast & Furious/John Wick way.

Like I said, I should totally love this.

But I didn’t. The overall effect of Bullet Train reminded me a bit of how I felt about the recent Netflix movie The Gray Man, where it had the look and feel of the kind of movie it was trying to be without actually being that movie. This is the Paris Las Vegas hotel, the EPCOT Parabellum Pavilion version of a high-energy action romp; it is telling you, loudly, that that is what you are watching without ever really convincing you of it.

I can not overstate the strangeness of being so underwhelmed by a movie with such a strong cast. Pitt is such a great goofball, and here he gets to tap into those comic abilities. Henry is fun (despite this: Lemon has a whole affectation about how Thomas the Tank Engine explains how people are in the world and it is, er, tolerable but not as awesome as the movie thinks it is). Lemon feels lifted out of a (better) Guy Ritchie affair. I would be inclined to say “this movie needs more characters as developed and thought through as Lemon” except that I wonder if “more” is this movie’s problem. Maybe this movie needs, to borrow from Coco Chanel, to take a few assassins off before it leaves the house.

Some of the cameos — Beetz, for example, and a few I haven’t mentioned — are super fun, or at least they would be if the movie were having fun instead of “portraying a mandatory jolliness experience,” which is how it feels like the “fun” is being given to us here. I wanted to like this movie more, I will probably watch it again when it winds up on some streaming service or some TNT Saturday afternoon lineup (which is how I went from “meh” to “woo-hoo!” on the 2017 Guy Ritchie take on King Arthur). But at first viewing, at least, all that speed and flash fizzled far more than it crackled. C+

Rated R for strong and bloody violence, pervasive language and brief sexuality, according to the MPA at filmratings.com. Directed by David Leitch with a screenplay by Zak Olkewicz, Bullet Train is two hours and six minutes long and distributed in theaters by Columbia Pictures.

Featured photo: Bullet Train.

The Summer Friend, by Charles McGrath

The Summer Friend, by Charles McGrath (Knopf, 227 pages)

For people of a certain socioeconomic class, “summer” has long been more of a verb than a noun. To summer at the Cape or in Newport, or even spend a month at some Dirty Dancing type resort, was a privilege far removed from going somewhere with the kids for a week or two.

In his memoir The Summer Friend, Charles McGrath acknowledges the class divide in our experience of summer, writing, “In this country, the idea of vacations … didn’t come along until the nineteenth century, and it was initially embraced by people who didn’t work all that hard to begin with. … Working people didn’t get time off, and farmers, in particular, were busiest during the hot summer months.”

So thank the rich if you enjoy summer because the season as we know it began with the wealthy embarking for their “camps” in the Adirondacks and “cottages” in Newport to escape the heat of the South and cities. Of course, summer activities were quite different then, because in the 1800s swimming and sunning weren’t popular activities: “What people mostly did was stroll around and wait for the next meal, sort of like people in rest homes,” McGrath drolly observes.

Not so McGrath, a former editor for The New Yorker and The New York Times, whose remembrance of summer is much more action-packed and includes a friend, also named Chip, who hailed from New Hampshire.

That friendship, cut short by metastasized prostate cancer, is ostensibly the subject of this slim, often elegant memoir. However, the seasonal friendship, though it spanned decades, didn’t provide enough material to fill a book, and a more accurate title would have been “My Summer House,” filled as the book is with McGrath’s reflections on his own summers, both as a child and as a parent. (He’s the father of New Yorker writer Ben McGrath, who also published a memoir about a doomed friendship this year; it’s called Riverman.)

McGrath’s summer friend was Chip Gillespie, a New Hampshire native whose father taught (and was briefly the headmaster) at Phillips Exeter Academy. The men met — at a square dance — because McGrath and his wife had decided they wanted to spend their summers as they did in childhood, decamping to a primitive cottage for an extended period of time instead of flying the family to a Disney resort or some exotic locale.

As it turned out, both the McGraths and the Gillespies had young children of the same gender and age, and as so often happens, the need for children’s playmates helped to facilitate the parents’ friendship, as did the natural gregagriousness of Chip and his wife, Gay. (McGrath would say at Gillespie’s funeral that, “of his many abilities, Chip’s greatest talent was for friendship.”)

The Gillespies had the McGraths over for dinner the following night, and there was soon after a playdate for their daughters from which Chip Gillespie arrived on the water in a sailboat to pick his daughter up by towing her across the channel to their house. “Who knew you could do that with a sailboat, and how could you not want to be friends with the guy who thought of it?” McGrath writes.

It’s not that McGrath wasn’t accomplished in his own right, but Gillespie, an architect five years older, seemed to have the more interesting life, and McGrath came to be something of a fanboy. Gillespie was the instigator behind the pair’s more daring adventures, such as jumping off bridges at night and skinny-dipping with their wives, and it was Gillespie who taught his city friend how to trap lobsters, and to illegally obtain fireworks from Phantom Fireworks in Seabrook.

Unlike the McGraths, the Gillespies lived in the unidentified beach town in Massachusetts, year-round; they “made summering into something like an occupation,” McGrath writes. There was a built-in imbalance to their friendship since McGrath was there on vacation while Gillespie was still working; the Gillespie family vacationed in Canada.

But the two took to hanging out together when Gillespie wasn’t working, and while it appears they didn’t talk much, they participated in the storied rites of affluent male-bonding: playing golf, sailing, checking scores on ESPN, and performing random chores like sanding their boats and hauling trash to the dump. There was an easy camaraderie between the men, and they picked up the friendship easily when the McGraths came to town. Then Gillespie got sick.

Diagnosed with prostate cancer, he fought it off for a few years, but the cancer spread catastrophically, to the point of destroying his hip and eventually claiming his life. It appears that Gillespie worked to hide the extent of his illness from his friend, or maybe they just weren’t that close after all. For a significant friendship, the men seemed to not talk much, at least not about significant stuff, and this is passed off as being common among men. “Call it cowardice if you want, but my sense was that he didn’t want to talk about death or friendship either. I thought it was enough that we were just there in the same room,” McGrath wrote.

At the end, though, McGrath expresses his profound regret at what was not said; when he finally gets around to expressing how he feels about Gillespie and their friendship, it’s in a letter delivered in the final months of Gillespie’s life, and McGrath admits that it was too little, too late. “This book is what I should have given him,” he confesses.

Few people lose friends or family without pangs of guilt and regret, so in this, The Summer Friend is a cautionary tale. It is also a fine summer musing, though mostly for people of a certain age and class. Your cousin from Boston may not care much for it, but your grandfather from Newport definitely will. B

Book Notes

People in the U.K. forgave Americans for stealing the sitcom The Office, the actor Benedict Cumberbatch and even the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. But they still haven’t gotten over how we took over the Man Booker Prize.

The most prestigious literary award in the U.K., the Booker Prize honors the best fiction written or translated into English and it was only opened to American authors in 2014. It didn’t take long for Americans to win: Paul Beatty won in 2016 for The Sellout and George Saunders in 2017 for Lincoln in the Bardo, leading critics to grouse that Americans had “colonized” the award and should be excluded again. That hasn’t happened, and this year’s longlist will likely renew the complaining: six of the 13 novels on the list are from the U.S.

And one, Nightcrawling (Knopf, 271 pages), has the distinction of the youngest author ever to be nominated for the prize. Leila Mottley is now 20 and started writing the novel when she was 16. (Last month, we gave it an “A.”)

If you’re playing at home (highly advised), here are the other American books to read, or at least skim, before the 2022 winner is announced on Oct. 17:

Oh William! by Elizabeth Strout (Random House, 256 pages) is about “a grief-stricken woman who helps her ex-husband investigate his family past,” according to NPR.

Booth by Karen Joy Fowler is a fictionalized story about the family of the man who killed Abraham Lincoln (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 480 pages).

Trust (Riverhead, 416 pages) by Hernan Diaz is about New York tycoons during the 1920s and ’30s. A New York Times review called it “ intricate, cunning and constantly surprising.

After Sappho (Liveright, 288 pages) by Selby Wynn Schwartz is a publisher’s dream, an award nominee before it’s even been released. Scheduled for January, it’s been described as “speculative biography” tying together the lives of diverse artists such as Virginia Woolf and Romaine Brooks and imagining them as queer trailblazers.

The Trees by Percival Everett (Graywolf, 288 pages) is a thriller/mystery about racism and lynching set in rural Mississippi. Given the subject matter, it’s a nod to the author’s skill that some of the reviews mention that it’s often witty.

Finally, shoutout to the Irish author Claire Keegan, whose Small Things Like These is the shortest book nominated in Man Booker history, coming in at 116 pages.

Book Events

Author events

• KATHLEEN BAILEY and SHEILA BAILEY present their book New Hampshire War Monuments: The Stories Behind the Stones at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, Aug. 11, at 6:30 p.m.

• R.A. SALVATORE presents Glacier’s Edge at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Friday, Aug. 12, at 6:30 p.m.

• E.B. BARTLES will sign and discuss (with Sy Montgomery) her book Good Grief: On Loving Pets Here and Hereafter at the Toadstool Bookshop in Peterborough (12 Depot Square; 924-3543, toadbooks.com) on Saturday, Aug. 13, at 11 a.m.

• CASEY SHERMAN presents Helltown at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Sunday, Aug. 14, at 1:30 p.m. Free event; register at www.bookerymht.com/our-events.

• VIRGINA CHAMLEE presents Big Thrift Energy: The Art and Thrill of Finding Vintage Treasuresat Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Monday, Aug. 15, at 6:30 p.m.

• TOM MOORE Andy’s Summer Playhouse (582 Isaac Frye Highway in Wilton; 654-2613, andyssummerplayhouse.org) and Toadstool Bookshop will present an event with Tom Moore, one of the authors of the book Grease, Tell Me More, Tell Me More: Stories from the Broadway Phenomenon That Started It All on Friday, Aug. 19, at 5 p.m. at Andy’s Summer Playhouse. See andyssummerplayhouse.org/grease to RSVP to the event.

Poetry

• OPEN MIC POETRY hosted by the Poetry Society of NH at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com), starting with a reading by poet Sam DeFlitch, on Wednesday, July 20, from 4:30 to 6 p.m. Newcomers encouraged. Free.

• DOWN CELLAR POETRY SALON Poetry event series presented by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Monthly. First Sunday. Visit poetrysocietynh.wordpress.com.

Writers groups

• MERRIMACK VALLEY WRITERS’ GROUP All published and unpublished local writers who are interested in sharing their work with other writers and giving and receiving constructive feedback are invited to join. The group meets regularly Email [email protected].

Book Clubs

• BOOKERY Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. 844 Elm St., Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

• GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

• TO SHARE BREWING CO. 720 Union St., Manchester. Monthly. Second Thursday, 6 p.m. RSVP required. Visit tosharebrewing.com or call 836-6947.

• GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com

• BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

• NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

Language

• FRENCH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE CLASSES

Offered remotely by the Franco-American Centre. Six-week session with classes held Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. $225. Visit facnh.com/education or call 623-1093.

Album Reviews 22/08/11

Jackboy, Majorly Independent (1804 Records)

I do make a constant attempt to cover all musical genres in this space, and yeah, it’s made me a jack of all trades and master of — OK, not all that many, especially indie hip-hop records that sound like I’ve heard them before, a ton of times, and break no new ground. Like this one, which does, for its part, come with receipts: JackBoy — real name Pierre Delince — spent the first six years of his life in Haiti, then wound up in Florida, where he became part of Sniper Gang with Kodak Black, with whom he has (of course) beef nowadays. I won’t get into why I’m convinced this guy’s “fame” is largely generated by a bot swarm, nor will I bother rattling off a list of very similar-sounding artists, since you know the drill by now: smack talk and savings account fables delivered via “clipped cadences and pained operatics,” as one rap wiki observed (in a review snippet that could describe, well, nearly every rapper ever), while the beats explore basic trap, polite neo-crunk and whatnot, nothing too crazy. You see, folks, albums like this don’t want actual music reviews, they want sets of biographical drama bullets on the artist. My DMs and PMs are wide open if you disagree, but I can’t imagine anyone would. As is, sure, it’s tight and whatnot. And absolutely disposable. C+

Rusty Santos, High Reality (Lo Recordings)

This Los Angeles-based producer/musician has worked with tons of bands and artists, usually in the space occupied by purveyors of wetwork tuneage of pretty high quality: Chui Wann, Gang Gang Dance, Animal Collective (since you likely have no idea what those acts sound like, just think pretty layers, electronically tweaked/pinched vocal lines, things like that in general). By my count, High Reality is Santos’s sixth solo album, his forte a guitar/vocal thing with varying levels of roughness on the sample side. Opener “Dream In Stereo” is throwback Beck, for sure; it starts with a really woozy, wobbly sample that, it turns out, is a template for most of the songs that are aboard this thing. It’s kind of dated in that regard; in the press materials for this one he yammers about learning all kinds of stuff, which would be natural, given the collaborations in which he’s figured, but after many minutes of wobbling and slow-trilling and whatnot it feels like the work of a one-trick pony who should probably stick to remixing and things like that. B-

Playlist

• Aug. 12 is here, homies, here it comes, we may as well just call it September, fun-time’s over. But since the 12th is a Friday, there will at least be some new albums, if that’s any consolation (I know, I know), so let’s pull up the barnacle-covered lobster trap, toss the bewildered-looking starfish back in the water and see what albums wandered into my crafty little device for capturing albums before they can swim away and not have to face my mightily eloquent blah blah blah. We may as well start with movie soundtrack dude Danny Elfman, whose new album, Bigger Messier, consists of a bunch of remixes from his 2021 artist album, Big Mess. Right, so just to clear up one of the questions that always comes up about Danny Elfman: He is the uncle of actor Bodhi Elfman, who is married to actress Jenna Elfman, so they’re not siblings or whatever, he’s just — you know, whatever an uncle-in-law is called. Now, you also may not know that Elfman was in a really awful band called Oingo Boingo in the ’80s. They were like Devo but basically 200 percent less funny, but one interesting thing is that there’s been a lot of confusion around one particular actor who appeared in Oingo Bongo’s video for their really terrible single “Little Girls”: Tons of young people are clogging internet boards proclaiming that they’re convinced that the actor is indeed Peter Dinklage from Game Of Thrones. However, some smarty-pants on LinusTechTips.com set the entire internet straight in one post, so the question will never be posed again, ever, by anyone, because the internet is a perfect, self-maintained mechanism. To wit: “Peter Dinklage was 12 when that song was released, so it’s very unlikely that the person with a mustache who looks nothing like Peter Dinklage is him.” So there’s that; and remember, Elfman’s pretty dumb-looking; he played the parts of all the Oompa Loompas in the Willy Wonka movie that starred Johnny Depp, and, cutting to now, I wasn’t that impressed with anything I heard from the Big Mess album, like, it kind of wanted to be an edgy rock album but wasn’t interesting; however, the Squarepusher remix of “We Belong” turns the original tune, a morose, funereal droner, into a dubstep tour de force. It’s fine, but has nothing to do with the original. Let’s just leave that here.

• Yikes, look, folks, it’s Japanese stoner/psychedelic-metal masters Boris, with their new album Heavy Rocks 2022; this is probably awesome! The trio usually gets lumped in with Seattle’s plodding drone-meisters Sunn(((O))), mostly because they collaborated on a (rather unnecessary) record; you should ignore any such nonsense and go check them out if you’re into Jack White’s retro-hard-rock and that kind of thing. But wait, maybe I spoke too soon, because I haven’t even listened to the new advance tune “She Is Burning,” so for all I know they’re horrible now, let’s go check it out. OK, forget it, this is wicked cool, hyper-thrash hard-rock with dueling guitar riffs, why aren’t these guys 100 times bigger than they are now?

• Oh, how adorable, San Francisco borderline punk outfit OC’s have changed the spelling of their band name to Osees, just to make sure their fans won’t be able to find their new album, A Foul Form, on the internet (again). Isn’t that special? Too bad, because the title track is hardcore no-wave, thrashy, really bad-ass, love it.

• We’ll wrap it up with 1980s-famous synthpop duo Erasure, whose new LP, Day-Glo (Based On A True Story) is broken up into “chapters.” The tune “Chapter 2” is krautrock-ish roller-rink techno that immediately made me think of aughts-era Haujobb. I can deal with it.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

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