Howlin in Anguish, Travelin By Beard

This isn’t a eulogy for Anthony Bourdain. It’s a celebration of rock and roll. Which in its way is a celebration of that which Bourdain loved. Rather than focus on the man who’s gone, let’s hoist a fucking chalice to the man who’s still here, Ethan Miller. Miller might not have inspired a love of travel, untold stories, or unconsidered

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Valerian and the Cinema of a Thousand Damn-Its

It ain’t over until the floating fat man soars. That’s the hope anyway. When I say “over,” I mean the debate raging in my mind about cinematic space exploration. Perhaps “suspended until a later date” would be more accurate. The fate of big-screen science fiction seems to hang in the balance right now, and director Denis Villeneuve might just be

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Another Green World

The Iguana Tree is empty tonight. We stand under it, searching the monochromatic foliage for bursts of radioactivity – neon oranges and greens signaling the presence of Earth’s once and future overlords. We’ve already been food-poisoned, but as with radiation sickness, we won’t know it until it’s too late to do anything about it. New Year’s Eve 2017. Woo-fucking-hoo. Walking

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Fragments of Dune: The Jake Ten Pas Story

From this day forward, whenever I have the blues, I’ll pray to St. Jodorowsky. For last night, as it was likely written in his original 3,000-page manuscript for “Dune,” I had a religious experience while watching the documentary “Jodorowsky’s Dune.” It is entirely possible that my viewing of this documentary, based on the cult filmmaker’s failed attempt to bring his

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Straight Outta Ferguson

You can’t write about rap music without writing about race. Every aspect of the music and its progression over the years from community center dance parties in the Bronx to a billion-dollar, global phenomenon is somehow tied into the African-American experience. As a white guy, writing about hip-hop necessarily presents its own challenges, because nobody likes a white guy writing

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Talkin’ Homeland Jazz

“People wonder why jazz is dying.” Terence Fletcher, “Whiplash” To paraphrase the title of a recent Mogwai album, jazz will never die, but you will. Jazz is forever, and we’re just lucky enough to live during its lifetime. But good old abusive, homophobic Terence has a point. Jazz isn’t dying, but its relation to the popular consciousness is very, very

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