Review: Ms. Purple (2019)

Posted on September 6, 2019 by sheila

I really dug Ms. Purple. I reviewed it for Rogerebert.com.

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August 2019 Viewing Diary

Posted on September 4, 2019 by sheila

While We’re Young (2014; d. Noah Baumbach)
Part of my own Noah Baumbach retrospective in preparation for writing a piece for Film Comment about his filmography. On stands now. Or order here! I love this one. It’s so honest and funny about growing older, feeling left behind, the mix of admiration/resentment of the young … Adam Driver is just perfect in this. Well, he’s perfect in everything.

Blinded by the Light (2019; d. Gurinder Chadha)
I really liked this. I reviewed for Rogerebert.com.

Light of my Life (2019; d. Casey Affleck)
This didn’t get much chatter which I find slightly surprising, especially considering it was directed by Affleck. I really liked the film and feel it was quite effective. I reviewed for Ebert.

The American Dreamer (1971; d. Lawrence Schiller and L.M. Kit Carson)
The crazy documentary about Dennis Hopper. Or, not even really a documentary. Schiller/Carson just follow Hopper around, and Hopper speaks. And has sex with multiple women in bathtubs. And hosts parties at his house. And shoots guns in the desert. And never ever stops talking. The whole thing is riveting. On Youtube. I re-watched in preparation for my piece on Out of the Blue for Film Comment.

Aquarius, Seasons 1 and 2 (almost)
So the conversations around Once Upon a Time in Hollywood – which seemed to take place almost 100% on Twitter – were just not my scene, maaan. Who knew that “the Manson murderers did a bad thing” would be a controversial opinion? In one of the conversations on Facebook, though, someone recommended Aquarius to me, a TV series which I had completely missed the first time around (2015-2016). Starring David Duchovny, Aquarius is about a homicide detective in late-1960s Los Angeles – who, along with working a bunch of other cases – is also trying to track down the daughter of an old girlfriend. The daughter ran away from home and is apparently living with a bunch of hippies in some house in one of the canyons, and she’s in thrall to the “leader,” a grub-ball named Charles Manson. The series was about a lot of things – the clash of the older square generation (as represented by Duchovny – which doesn’t quite work. Duchovny can play many things but he can’t really play The Man) with the younger hipper angrier generation – it was about Los Angeles in the late 1960s, a swirling mass of chaos and riots and Black Power compounds and hippie compounds, and yadda yadda. I liked a lot of it. But there was much I did not like, and in Season 2 I got so turned off I stopped watching. Ironically, all of the things people were criticizing Once Upon a Time in Hollywood for – criticisms I mostly disagreed with – are completely true of Aquarius, so much so that I recoiled. Manson was the main focus in Aquarius (he has only one short scene in Hollywood), and when he’s given a lot of screen-time, he becomes the focus, the mad-genius-leader, the “reason” all this happened, screentime where he gets to act crazy and threatening and messiah-like – scaring Dennis Wilson, etc. – people who wanted “more Manson” in Tarantino’s film … this is what it would have looked like because this is what it ALWAYS looks like when Manson is prioritized. He’s the boogey-man. That’s how he thought of himself, too. But the issues are far more complex than that. And key elements of the Manson story were changed, basically to make them seem even MORE evil (which … why. They already were evil). For example, Mary Brunner gave birth to Charles Manson’s son. This is a fact. She gave birth in some isolated location, surrounded by other members of “the family.” This is also a fact. In Aquarius, though, the baby is born dead. This is NOT a fact. Charlie is so devastated that Susan Atkins dresses up as a nurse, infiltrates a hospital, and steals a newborn. She brings it back to the family. And Mary Brunner hugs the stolen baby, crying. And that’s it. The baby is never returned. There are rules with “alternate history.” Aquarius presents it all as factual. You don’t need to PUMP UP Susan Atkin’s potential for evil. It’s already on the record. There were also extremely graphic shots of Sharon, pregnant, near-nude, dead on the floor, staring at the camera. That’s when I stopped watching. Nope.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019; d. Quentin Tarantino)
Second time, I saw it with Allison, my partner in Helter-Skelter-crime. She noticed something I hadn’t, the first time. I described it in my newsletter, which … here you can sign up, if you want. Leo is so so good. The scene where he fucks up the scene … My God, it’s so real.

Peanut Butter Falcon (2019; d. Tyler Nilson and Michael Schwartz)
I was so moved by this film. I reviewed for Ebert.

De Palma (2015; d. Noah Baumbach, Jake Paltrow)
More of my Noah Baumbach research. I saw this when it came out. It’s very good. No “talking heads.” The only talking head is De Palma, and it’s great to spend some quality time with him.

The Seduction of Joe Tynan (1979; d. Alan Alda)
I watched this for the Barbara Harris factor, preparing for my essay on Female Comedians. I saw this a million years ago. In college, I think. Meryl Streep was exploding, and this was “early” work, so I was curious. It’s now pretty hard to find. I had to pull some strings. It’s interesting. You can see Alan Alda’s self-righteousness at play, and you can also see how he – subconsciously? – lowered the stakes for himself. The man is “seduced” but he also has a great and sexy relationship with his wife (Harris). There are two valid choices for him. And he makes the right choice in the end, but they have this long meaningful stare across the primary-floor, and you can tell that she is now like, “You’re a bad-ass, and I love you, and I’m all in with your political career now.” So … okay? Harris is great, though. It’s THE performance in the movie.

Bridesmaids (2011; d. Paul Feig)
It’s just so freakin’ good. I don’t even know how many times I’ve seen it. It’s so hilarious but it’s also so damn honest. It has everything, cake and eating it. Humor and pathos. Incredible cast. And it’s really honest about feeling like you’re being left behind by your friends. Love it. Watched it, again, for my Female Comedians piece.

Mindhunter, Season 2
My God, I’ve been counting the days for this and my God it didn’t disappoint. Fascinatingly enough, there was a whole “Manson episode” and so … August, which is the anniversary of the murders, was very Manson-heavy – so much so I was like, “This asshole again? I thought he was dead and we’d never have to hear him fucking talk again.” There was Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Aquarius AND Mindhunter. There was also, earlier this year, the despicable The Haunting of Sharon Tate (I was unfortunate enough to review it – giving it my only flat-out no-points Thumbs Down), and Mary Harron’s Charlie Says, which had some interest (but the more I think about it, the more I dislike it). The Manson episode in Mindhunter is fascinating, as is the follow-up interview with Tex Watson. They both say different things: Manson puts it all on Tex and Susan, Tex throws it right back. But it’s treated intelligently and with enough ambiguity that it makes you think about it, rather than come down as a Hammer of Truth. I was fascinated by it. If you’ve been reading me for any length of time, then you already know my feelings on the Manson family. Unless you’ve driven out to Hawthorne to wander around the Western supply store where members of the Manson family had a shootout with the cops – as I did with Alex and Emily – we all were like “we have an afternoon together so here, let’s do THIS” – then maybe do a bit more reading before you tell the rest of us that we’re all just blood-thirsty ghouls for our interest. How is it even possible that some people seem to not realize that True Crime is one of the most popular genres there is? Whatever. Back to Mindhunter. I was fascinated by the development of the Bill Tench character – played by the great Holt McCallany (great as in capital-G great). Season 1 was really about Jonathan Groff. Season 2 is all about Bill. There’s a moment where he’s manning the grill in some depressing backyard barbecue he’s hosting, and he’s wearing plaid pants, and it’s just perfect.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019; d. Quentin Tarantino)
Allison and I wanted to see it again. So we went again. God, I love this movie. Every time we’ve gone, the place has been packed. It plays like gangbusters.

The Mustang (2019; d. Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre)
I had missed this on its initial release early this year, but I’m such a Matthias Schoenaerts fan I caught up with it as quickly as I could. He’s so good.

Jawline (2019; d. Liza Mandelup)
I was surprised by how moved I was by this documentary about a Tennessee teenage boy’s dream of becoming a YouTube sensation. I expected to judge. I was drawn in. There’s something wistful and sweet in Mandelup’s approach that really really works. I reviewed for Ebert.

Hard Times (1975; d. Walter Hill)
I had forgotten how good this is. How good Bronson is in it. Everyone’s good in it. And the look and feel of it – seedy-glamorous-Depression-era beauty, the Walter Hill look and feel, stylish and moody, calling up memories of other movies, and also grounding the action in what seems like a very real place. I loved it.

The Family, episode 1-3 (2019; d. Jesse Moss)
I didn’t finish this Netflix documentary about a right-wing Christian secret society which basically runs the world. It was good and paranoid, but I guess not as revelatory as the film thinks it is. Of course these horrible people are organized. Of course. And of course they’re all hypocrites, having affairs and behaving in all kinds of inappropriate ways. This is not news.

The Warriors (1979; d. Walter Hill)
As you can tell, I’m on a Walter Hill kick. This movie is a classic.

The 43, Season 1, episode 1-2 (2019; d. )
Netflix docuseries about the disappearance of 43 students in Iguala, Mexico in 2014. It’s extremely upsetting and I highly recommend it.

The Long Riders (1980; d. Walter Hill)
Such a fine film. Charlie and I went to go see it at the Metrograph on Father’s Day last year. If you haven’t seen it, what are you waiting for? Featuring all of these actor-brothers: the Quaids, the Carradines, the Keachs, the Guests … plus a phenomenal cast of women. Great roles for women. Really the whole movie is about these guys’ relationships with their women. Pamela Reed! I love it so much.

Monos (2019; d. Alejandro Landes)
I will be reviewing this one for Ebert.

48 Hrs. (1982; d. Walter Hill)
Gritty San Francisco cop drama/comedy, with great chemistry between the two leads.

Crossroads (1986; d. Walter Hill)
My Ralph Macchio mania had died down by the time this came out, but you can bet I went to see it. And many years later, when I saw Supernatural‘s “Crossroad Blues,” and I saw the brothers go check out the crossroads near a place called “Lloyd’s Bar” I recognized the reference, and knew I was in very good hands with these Supernatural people.

Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile (2019; d. Joe Berlinger)
The desire/demand for art to be a moral lesson, for art to show good clearly and bad clearly, is kind of … shocking to me. I would expect it from Sunday School teachers in the 1950s, or from Victorian-era matrons. Not only am I fine with ambiguity, I prefer it. And this film, which caught a lot of flak for idolizing Bundy (which, of course, it doesn’t), and for not showing clearly ENOUGH that Bundy is “Bad” … was such a great experience for me because it lived in that grey area of Liz’s perspective. We only see what she sees. And she is dazzled by him. Many were. I reviewed for Ebert. Berlinger himself thanked me on Twitter for understanding what they were going for. That doesn’t happen a lot. It felt good. If you watch this and admire Bundy, that’s your problem, not mine, and not the film’s.

Ms. Purple (2019; d. Justin Chon)
Reviewing for Ebert. It opens this week.

Disorder (2016; d. Alice Winocour)
One of my favorite films of 2016. I reviewed for Ebert. See it.

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50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley, #17. Minor Threat, Minor Threat EP/In My Eyes

Posted on September 2, 2019 by sheila

My talented brother Brendan O’Malley is an amazing writer and actor. He’s wonderful in the recent You & Me, directed by Alexander Baack. (I interviewed Baack about the film here.) His most recent gig was story editor/writer on the hit series Survivor’s Remorse. Brendan hasn’t blogged in years, but the “content” (dreaded word) is so good I asked if I could import some of it to my blog. He did series on books he loved, and albums he loved. I thought it would be fun to put up some of the stuff here. So we’ll start with his list of 50 Best Albums. I’ll put up one every Monday.

Brendan’s list of 50 Best Albums is part music-critique and part memoir and part cultural snapshot.

I have always loved these essays, because I love to hear my brother talk. I am happy to share them with you!

50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley

17. Minor Threat – Minor Threat EP/In My Eyes

I am in high school. I have just become friends with Tom via Justin. I’d known of Tom as far back as junior high, mostly because he got a mohawk and rumor had it that he’d almost been kicked out of school because of it.

That goes to show you just how much CONTROL was still being exerted over teenagers in 1983. If you cut your hair a certain way, they threatened to DISCONTINUE your education.

Preppies. When I look back on this fad, I get profoundly disturbed. Teens and pre-teens dressing as if they were figures from a 1950’s sitcom. Now, I don’t want my teenagers toting guns and shooting heroin but a little rebellion is rather important. At a time when they ought to have been questioning the line of malarkey their parents were giving them, these kids were emulating not even the parents themselves but some sick idealized version of a past their parents wished they had lived. Very creepy.

This was the atmosphere I was in when I met Tom. I remember us in a study hall laughing about some math homework and that was it. Best friends. He, Justin and I then spent all of our free time loitering around town or in Tom’s room listening to music.

This is where I first heard Minor Threat.

My musical upbringing consisted of show tunes and folk songs, with a little bit of The Beatles thrown in for good measure. I knew virtually no classic rock, none of the punk scene, nothing. I was a babe in the woods. Justin and Tom would continually rag on me when our band would try to cover some classic rock song. They’d play something, ask me what it was, and then roll on the floor when I had no clue. I couldn’t tell Zeppelin apart from The Scorpions.

So I’d had no intermediate LOUDNESS in my music. Minor Threat sounded like a bomb going off.

I flipped out.

I went back recently and listened to their entire catalog and was pleasantly surprised at how good the songs are. How instantly catchy. How well-played. Compared to what passed for rock in those days, they sounded like a bunch of monkeys trying to turn Shakespeare into the Sex Pistols but it is almost poppy music. Crude, yes, sloppy? Not a bit.

Minor Threat had broken up by the time I ever heard them so I never got the chance to see them live. I wonder at how few people actually did see them live. It can’t be over 10,000 in total. But if you listen to Ian MacKaye bark and growl, in those songs you hear the future of radio. The poser from Rage Against The Machine? Stole it from Ian. Nirvana’s rasp? Cribbed. Linkin Park’s almost rap? Minor Threat.

Much like the beginnings of what is today gangsta rap, Minor Threat started something that quickly snowballed into a whole new industry. At the time Minor Threat picked up their instruments, the loudest thing you heard on the radio was Led Zeppelin. Maybe late at night you got The Ramones.

When I played Minor Threat for the uninitiated back in those days it was as if I were physically placing their heads inside of giant machinery. People have been trained differently now. They don’t automatically dismiss something merely due to the volume at which it is played.

But they sure did back then.

And the guys who INVENTED this music were all teenagers. Minor threat, indeed.

Tom and Justin had guitars. I knew I could sing. Et voila. A band was born. Are Tom, Justin and I friends today because we were in a band? I don’t know but I sort of think so. In some way we will always be that band. Fecund Youth. And even though we never put out a record (officially!), never toured (farther than a house down the road without parents), we also never officially broke up, either.

Take your time
Try not to forget
We never will
We’re just a minor threat
-Ian MacKaye, “Minor Threat”

— Brendan O’Malley

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Film Comment Sept./Oct. 2019: on Noah Baumbach

Posted on September 1, 2019 by sheila

I have an essay on Noah Baumbach’s career – his themes and interests – for the latest Film Comment, on sale now. Editor-in-chief Nicolas Rapold wrote about Baumbach’s latest film Marriage Story. You can pick up a copy or purchase here.

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Review: Don’t Let Go (2019)

Posted on August 30, 2019 by sheila

I reviewed Don’t Let Go, a new thriller-family-drama-with-time-travel-supernatural-elements, for Rogerebert.com.

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For Tuesday Weld’s Birthday: An Electric Pairing

Posted on August 27, 2019 by sheila


Tuesday Weld, Elvis Presley

Tuesday Weld, Elvis Presley’s sometimes girl, was also his costar in the wonderful Wild in the Country (1961), where they play two individuals who, at first, circle warily around each other, like cats who either want to fuck or fight, or maybe both (why choose?). His first words to her in the film are a soft gentlemanly, “Excuse me”, but he says it to her because she has purposefully and kind of rudely stood in the doorway, blocking his passage. She does so to make him deal with her. It takes willpower for him to slip past her, and his body language as he moves by her, trying not to touch her is one of his most erotic moments as an actor (yes, even more so than the “That ain’t tactics, baby, it’s just the beast in me” moment in Jailhouse Rock. It’s more so because it’s subtle, and the moment requires self-control and repression, which is inherently hot when you’re talking about two sexual powerhouses such as Tuesday Weld and Elvis Presley.)

What he does in the moment I’m talking about is simple as can be, natural and un-pushed, but eloquent and deep. From that moment, you know those two are going to go at it. Presley and Weld’s characters in Wild in the Country are bad news together when they finally hook up, but it is awesome cinema when Elvis is allowed to be wild, dirty, troubled, and careless, with a gal by his side who is even more so, a woman who has had a baby out of wedlock, eats with her mouth open, lets her dress strap fall down on her shoulder, and laughs with her head thrown back. They’re electric together.

Tuesday Weld said, in re: Presley:

He walked into a room and everything stopped. Elvis was just so physically beautiful that even if he didn’t have any talent . . . just his face, just his presence. And he was funny, charming, and complicated, but he didn’t wear it on his sleeve. You didn’t see that he was complicated. You saw great needs.

As electric as she is in Wild in the Country (and it’s unbelievable to think how young she is, to give such an assured performance), I love her especially in Pretty Poison with Anthony Perkins. It recently got a run at Film Forum and it was awesome to see it on the big screen. Her beauty is undeniable, and it works almost like an assault in the film. She is irresistible. But as the film goes on, you start to see/feel other more creepy sides. With the last frame, you are left with more questions. Her presence enlarges the second the film ends. It’s a character you walk around thinking about.

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50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley, #18. Foo Fighters, The Colour And The Shape

Posted on August 26, 2019 by sheila

My talented brother Brendan O’Malley is an amazing writer and actor. He’s wonderful in the recent You & Me, directed by Alexander Baack. (I interviewed Baack about the film here.) His most recent gig was story editor/writer on the hit series Survivor’s Remorse. Brendan hasn’t blogged in years, but the “content” (dreaded word) is so good I asked if I could import some of it to my blog. He did series on books he loved, and albums he loved. I thought it would be fun to put up some of the stuff here. So we’ll start with his list of 50 Best Albums. I’ll put up one every Monday.

Brendan’s list of 50 Best Albums is part music-critique and part memoir and part cultural snapshot.

I have always loved these essays, because I love to hear my brother talk. I am happy to share them with you!

50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley

18. Foo Fighters – The Colour And The Shape

This album is a marker for me, a placeholder, a doorjamb. It came out in the spring of 1997 which was a very full time for me, as Cashel would be born on Halloween several months later. If you tested my DNA you would find microcosmic snippets of these songs in there.

I know many people who are big fans of this band and most of them dislike this album. Most of them had flipped over the first Foo Fighters record which I have never gotten into. In fact, I don’t own any other Foo Fighters music. I’ve heard the songs and like them, I enjoy Dave Grohl immensely and root for them, but I never needed anything but The Colour And The Shape.

There are a few albums like this in my collection. I knew they were in the pantheon the first time I heard them, I listened to them obsessively until I could sing every note (and by every note I mean every vocal, every guitar solo, every bass line, every drum roll, EVERYTHING), and I consistently revisit them once the initial obsession has passed.

From what I can tell, Grohl was going through a breakup and much of the album delves into this difficult territory. It’s hard not to layer Cobain over everything, which gives it a whole different level of depth and tragedy, something that doesn’t detract at all. It’s like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler. The movie isn’t about Mickey Rourke fucking up his movie career, but those echoes certainly add to the impact the story has.

So it is with this album. For me, a guy who was in a trying relationship of his own, it hit me like a ton of bricks. From the gentle opening notes of “Doll” which segue violently into “Monkey Wrench”, it is clear that we are in for a tough ride.

Actors all have little tricks for getting at difficult emotion. Or good actors do. Years later doing my cousin’s play Searching For Certainty in Los Angeles, I would use The Colour And The Shape to channel myself into the state I needed to be in. My character has been pining away for 9 years over the girl that got away in college. He takes a road trip to New York and has a dinner with her in which he finally comes clean. They kiss. The pent-up emotion lets loose and he begins to cry at this dream which has finally come true.

This is what this album sounds like to me. A triumph, a moment so hard-earned that your celebration has a wide swath of regret braided into it. You wish you could merely jump for joy but you paid such a price in getting there that your capacity for that kind of unfettered positivity has diminished. You receive your trophy, it is in your image, but it needs crutches to stay on its pedestal.

To my taste, the sound on this album perfectly represents that kind of contradiction. The guitars are crisper than crisp but still pack major punch. The drums are powerful and full of abandon but never stray over into bombast. Grohl’s singing is emotionally spot on, to the point that he disappears and the song becomes its own performance. This album is alive to me, it has a personality and a point of view. It hurts.

To this day if I need to cry for any reason, all I have to do is try and sing along to “February Stars”.

I simply can’t get through that song without having the primal response I had when I first heard it, when I felt as if I’d never be happy again, but at least I was admitting I had to try.

I said you’d find snippets of this album in my DNA which is true. The strange thing is, it hit me so hard it felt like it had been there my whole life. As if I’d been born with this album. Just like Dave Grohl. And I would like to give him a prize for it, one that didn’t have to use crutches to hold itself up.

— Brendan O’Malley

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Present Tense: Female Comedians

Posted on August 23, 2019 by sheila

For my next column at Film Comment, I wrote about actresses who come from a comedy/improv background, and the special gifts they bring to bear in dramatic material. Featuring a couple of interviews I did with circus people, and also a quote from …. Window-Boy. Yes. There’s his name. Out there in the world. lol. Not like it’s ever been a big secret. But he said this thing to me years ago I never forgot. So I’m usin’ it.

I’ve been wanting to write this one for a long time!

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Review: Jawline (2019)

Posted on August 23, 2019 by sheila

This documentary is sweet and surprisingly sad, but not sad in the expected way. Tender. And that’s unexpected, considering the topic (a kid who wants to be a social media star).

I reviewed Jawline for Rogerebert.com.

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50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley, #19. Jeff Buckley, Grace

Posted on August 19, 2019 by sheila

My talented brother Brendan O’Malley is an amazing writer and actor. He’s wonderful in the recent You & Me, directed by Alexander Baack. (I interviewed Baack about the film here.) His most recent gig was story editor/writer on the hit series Survivor’s Remorse. Brendan hasn’t blogged in years, but the “content” (dreaded word) is so good I asked if I could import some of it to my blog. He did series on books he loved, and albums he loved. I thought it would be fun to put up some of the stuff here. So we’ll start with his list of 50 Best Albums. I’ll put up one every Monday.

Brendan’s list of 50 Best Albums is part music-critique and part memoir and part cultural snapshot.

I have always loved these essays, because I love to hear my brother talk. I am happy to share them with you!

50 Best Albums, by Brendan O’Malley

19. Let’s Hope It’s Beck or Jeff Buckley – Grace

The year is 1997. It is May and New York is blossoming. Maria is pregnant with what will turn out to be Cashel. We work together at The Hub, a channel on AOL. I am writing a column a week as Legs Urbano, investigating urban legends for the Urban Legends website.

It seems an impossibly naive time in the city. The internet boom is in such full force that money is being thrown at anyone with an idea. People still smoke in bars. Clinton is flirting with the whole world. In fact, one of the legends that had started to surface on my site was that Clinton had had an affair with an intern. Unlike the albino alligator in the sewer, this one was true.

Even that brewing scandal seems quaint now that we’ve had 9/11, Abu Ghraib, Cheney hunting old friends, fake yellowcake, and the collapse of the economy. We all gathered every morning at the offices in midtown and played ping pong until we had good ideas. We were making it up as we went along.

Several years earlier, when Maria still lived in Providence and we were doing the long-distance dating thing, Jeff Buckley was playing an in-store appearance at a record store in Providence. I took the bus up and we went and sat on the floor as he sang a short set of material from Grace.

In person he was somewhat of a disappointment. He was not as handsome as he seemed in the shots on the album and this made that seem like a bit of a pose. He was sort of a runt, stringy hair, a bit of a dirtbag.

But when he sang, all of a sudden the James Dean beauty that infused the photos on Grace appeared. He became larger, larger than he’d seemed, larger than life. Then the song would end and he would shrink back down to the little scrawny dude who just didn’t know what to do with all these people watching him. He seemed like a monk who all of a sudden has to pray in front of an audience.

To anyone who wasn’t around when the album came out, you might not be able to fully grasp the feeling he brought out in people. He influenced so many singers that his style seems inevitable, like something that was there all along. But, no. If you go back to 1994 there was a grunt and groan aesthetic born from grunge that was passing for emotional depth. Jeff Buckley shot an arrow through the heart of that bullshit.

I can’t help but compare the sound of Grace to the vision I have of New York prior to 9/11. There is a simplicity and ease that can never be duplicated.

Working for an internet startup in those days meant that I was something of a town crier to my friends who weren’t connected to the internet. So when word started coming in that a “young white male rock musician” had passed away, I was one of the few who knew about it. There was a short period of time when those were the only details we had. Young white male rock musician. It was rumored to be Buckley but no one knew for sure.

One of my coworkers, no doubt busy creating a slide-show that would seem prehistoric today, spoke out into the common space.

“Let’s hope it’s Beck.”

I’ve always been startled by the blackness of that comment, which never fails to make me laugh. And it seemed like after we found out who it really was, everything started to come apart at the seams.

Less than 4 years later, my marriage would be over, The Hub would be long gone, Bush was President, and the city was in flames. Thank God you could still stand in a bar and have a smoke.

— Brendan O’Malley

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