The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

I have to open this "sermon" with a sincere apology to my sister, Heather.  She'll know why when she sees this.

This week's film choice is an unusual one--which is certainly one of the reasons I love it.  As the son of a librarian with an inherited love of literature, I was immediately drawn to the plot.  Like a number of films I've submitted in the year and change that I've been writing these missives, this one is another of those movies I've classified as a "mindfuck" (as always, pardon my French), which is one of the other reasons I love it.

I chose this week's film for a couple of reasons.  Most notably, I read this week that the author Susan Beth Pfeffer died at the age of 77.  When I was a kid, I was given an autographed copy of one of her books.  It was the first autographed anything I ever had.  It was a good book, although anyone who knows me would know that I can't really identify with a book called What Do You Do When Your Mouth Won't Open?  Sadly, I lost it when I moved to Cleveland 25 years ago.  So, primarily in honour of Ms. Pfeffer, I thought I'd share the most literary film I know that wasn't already based on a book.

In this particular movie, Will Ferrell plays I.R.S. agent Harold Crick.  One day, Harold wakes up to hear a voice in his head that seems to be narrating his life, "accurately and with a better vocabulary," as Harold notes.  Refusing to believe the psychiatrist who tells him he has schizophrenia, Harold seeks advice from a literature professor, Jules Hilbert (Dustin Hoffman).  While Hilbert and Harold try to figure out what kind of story he's in, Harold falls in love with a baker he's auditing (Maggie Gyllenhaal), which completely shakes up his otherwise non-literary life.  All the while (SPOILER ALERT!!!!), author Karen Eiffel (Dame Emma Thompson) is suffering from writer's block--she can't figure out how to kill her main character, Harold Crick.  (Insert dramatic music here.)

There are so many quirky little things about this movie that make me adore it.  All the little mathematic special effects that can sometimes get missed.  The fact that all the characters--major and minor, even the ones whose names are not mentioned in the film itself--are named after scientists, mathematicians, and architects.  The acting.  The directing.  The writing.  The score.  The city of Chicago.  The neat and orderly--almost monastic--atmosphere of Harold's apartment versus the very lived-in clutter of Professor Hilbert's office.  The fact that we don't hear the word "miscreant" often enough.  All of these things combine into a beautiful, even haunting, work of cinema that I've watched many times over the nearly twenty years since its release.

When I hear people say they don't like Will Ferrell (ususally people my parents' age), I always tell them they're not watching the right Will Ferrell films.  When you can get him away from his normal "SNL"-type schtick that he's so well known for and give him a great script, a talented director, and an amazing supporting cast, he's capable of great things--I feel the same is true of Adam Sandler.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of people want to see that schtick, so when actors like Ferrell and Sandler do something outside of that, those projects aren't usually as successful at the box office, which is a real shame.  Those films always amaze me, particularly this one.  In fact, it should be noted that Ferrell even got a Golden Globe nomination for his performance.

Released in 2006, the film co-stars Queen Latifah and Tony Hale with some lovely cameos by Tom Hulce, Linda Hunt, and Kristen Chenoweth.  Written by Zach Helm and directed by Marc Forster, please enjoy Stranger Than Fiction.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

When I first moved to northern Indiana I started writing a pop culture blog for The South Bend Tribune.  In it I would pick some aspect of popular culture that fascinated me, and I would write something about it and then include a list of what I thought were the five best examples of that subject.  Subjects included such things as best backup singing performances, cinematic death scenes, double albums, TV commercials, albums to drive to (preferably with a manual transmission), and primal screams in rock and roll.

As you may have guessed, I am a compulsive list-maker and this was the perfect indulgence for that side of my personality.  It's one of those things in which I take a lot of delight.  It creates a nice distraction when I'm pissed off at everyday life and kind of keeps me sane.  The problem is that, being me, I can never seem to make practical lists for anything.  I rarely can make a decent "To Do" list.  My grocery lists are spotty at best.  But if you ask me for a list of albums or songs to listen to after the sun has gone down, I'll present you with what I feel is the ultimate playlist--my specialty.

Since I started writing these weekly "sermons" almost six years ago, I've somehow managed to submit nine of my top ten favourite albums of all time.  This week, I wanted to be able to submit that last album (#4 on my list) just because I haven't so far and I think that's kind of sad.  (I'll even supply a recap if you missed some of them.)

I've been a fan of this album since at least college.  In 2018, I discovered that it was actually a much different album than I thought it was.  Weirdly, this didn't detract from my enjoyment of it--in fact, I think it made me like it more.

Big Brother & The Holding Company recorded their eponymous debut album in December of 1966 for Mainstream Records, which was primarily a jazz label.  Big Brother was a rock band from San Francisco that was part of the burgeoning psychedelic/acid rock/hippie movement.  The band and the label were not a good match.  The resulting album--released in August of 1967--does, in fact, sound like a rock album produced by jazz engineers.  The whole sound is clear and polished and, overall, just too... clean.  If you were to see the band play in a club at that time, they wouldn't sound anything like their record.  When they performed live, they had a much heavier, distorted, even experimental sound to them--a sound that recording engineers who were used to working with jazz musicians would not exactly understand how to record.  Vocalist/guitarist Sam Andrew was later quoted as saying, "We were quite disappointed at the time that we could not make the engineer understand what we wanted. He was afraid of the needle going into the red and that is where we wanted the needle to be all the time."

Two months before the album's release, Big Brother played the legendary Monterey Pop Festival.  It was one of the standout moments of the entire weekend.  If you watch D.A. Pennebaker's documentary of the festival (1968's Monterey Pop), the look on Cass Elliott's face as Janis Joplin belts out "Ball and Chain" says it all.  I think it's safe to say they blew the crowd away.  Consequently, Columbia Records signed them to a new contract and bought out their contract with Mainstream.  By the end of the year, the group also had a new manager in Albert Grossman who also managed Peter, Paul & Mary and Bob Dylan, among others.

Their next goal seemed to be to make a record that managed to approximate what they sounded like live.  The outcome, 1968's Cheap Thrills, went to #1 on Billboard's Top LPs chart and eventually went double platinum (more than 2 million copies sold).  I fell in love with the album about 25 years later.  I considered it one of the greatest (mostly) live albums I'd ever heard.  At the time I was taking a class in audio production.  Our instructor asked us to name an album that stood out to us just from a production level.  I cited Cheap Thrills because of that raw, imperfect sound.  It wasn't polished, it wasn't clean.  It was distorted and dirty.  I felt it lent a certain level of character to the album that made it stand out more than it might have otherwise.

Fast forward another 25 years.  In 2018, Columbia Records released a two-CD set of the session recordings from that album called Sex, Dope & Cheap Thrills (which, as I understand it, was the original title of that 1968 album, but Columbia wouldn't allow it at that time).  In reading those liner notes and listening to those session recordings, I was surprised to discover that those live recordings on the record were not really live.  The applause and other crowd noises were actually added to the studio recordings in an effort to make it sound like a live performance.  In fact, the album's closing track, a blistering cover of Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton's "Ball and Chain," is the only song on the album that actually is a live performance, and I feel the best recording of that song.

In spite of that discovery, the album is still one of my all-time favourites--one of those albums that is just part of the soundtrack of my life that I feel it necessary to revisit on a semi-regular basis.  Featuring their hit single, "Piece of My Heart," and one of my favourite album covers by the great underground cartoonist Robert Crumb, please enjoy--to quote Bill Graham at the beginning of the record--"Four gentlemen and one great, great broad, Big Brother & The Holding Company," with their 1968 classic, Cheap Thrills.

GEEK NOTE:  The attached YouTube link features four bonus tracks that were included in the 1999 CD re-issue of the album--two studio outtakes ("Roadblock" and "Flower in the Sun") and two live performances ("Catch Me Daddy" and "Magic of Love") recorded at the Grande Ballroom in Detroit in March of 1968.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

The Reverend Will the Thrill's Top 10 Favourite Albums

1.  Abbey Road by The Beatles (1969)

2.  Abraxas by Santana (1970)

3.  Let It Bleed by The Rolling Stones (1969)

4.  Cheap Thrills by Big Brother & The Holding Company (1968)

5.  Born To Run by Bruce Springsteen (1975)

6.  Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel (1970)

7.  Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane (1967)

8.  In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly (1968)

9.  Bashin' by Jimmy Smith (1962)

10.  Mr. Lucky by John Lee Hooker (1991)

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week (One From the Vault!)

As I said in my album rant, I decided to take one more week off from writing these weekly missives.  But if you look forward to reading them each week, I didn't want to just leave you empty-handed, so I decided to share a couple of things I wrote that were originally just posted to Facebook--before they regularly deleted them for no apparent reason.  What follows was written on 9 March, 2024.  Enjoy! 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

I have a confession to make--I don't like the sound of my own voice.  I don't mind it if I'm just conversing with someone (or myself), but when I hear a recording of it, I think to myself, "Wow!  That does not sound remotely good!"  I'm convinced that when I'm actually speaking, I'm hearing it from within myself and there's an acoustic difference between my body and whatever audio system is allowing me to hear a playback of my voice.  Regardless of the science behind it, people constantly tell me how much they like my voice.  Lots of people have told me I should be in radio--someone even once told me I should be a minister!  And while I may not like the sound of my voice, I've always seemed to like using it.  I've never particularly had a problem with public speaking.  In fact, a perverse part of me really enjoys doing it, even if I find the results highly questionable at best.  My logic is that so many people have complimented me on my voice that they must know something I don't.  And since I enjoy doing it anyway, why not just roll with it?

I started making periodic announcements over the PA system at Barnes & Noble some twenty-plus years ago to promote various things within the store--even though I'll never receive credit for it, I like to think I was the one who pioneered it within the company.  I worked hard to make my announcements as entertaining as they were informative--sometimes there was even poetry.  I especially had a lot of fun with the closing announcement(s).  Eventually I wound up helping out periodically at a local volunteer radio station (WFHB at 93.1 on the FM dial, if you happen to be in Bloomington).  When the station manager found out I worked for Barnes & Noble, he said, "Are you the person who does all the funny announcements?"  Apparently I had developed a reputation within the community.

So I've just kept doing it where and when I can.  A little over a decade ago, I offered my services as an announcer to the newly-formed roller derby team (GO, SOUTH BEND ROLLER GIRLS!).  They were very accepting of me and seemed to enjoy the personalized introductions I wrote for each of them.  One skater in particular once remarked to me that she really enjoyed hearing me announce when she was the lead jammer during the bouts.  Sadly, I haven't done that since before the pandemic, and every time they've asked me since, it was always at the last minute and I was already scheduled to work my "real job" that day.  Hopefully I can do that again soon.

A profound moment for me happened in 2008 when Wolfman Jack came to me in a dream and said he thought I did a good job with the overhead announcements at B&N.  I was quite touched by that statement as he's always been one of my idols.  I didn't even know he'd been in the store, let alone heard my blathering into the store's PA system.  It was only after I woke up that I remembered he had died in 1995... and I still have no idea why we were in my high school gym.  I've frequently said that my dream job is a radio DJ--I always thought it would be particularly fun to work late at night playing music for insomniacs and other people working the graveyard shift.  And if I were ever fortunate enough to have that job, I would probably try to be a more subdued version of the Wolfman.

Some of my favourite characters in films have been radio disc jockeys and I've frequently imagined myself doing their job.  From Robin Williams's Oscar-nominated portrayal of real-life Air Force DJ Adrian Cronauer in Good Morning, Vietnam to Clint Eastwood's performance as a local jazz DJ with a stalker problem in his directorial debut, Play Misty For Me--or even Howard Hesseman's Emmy-nominated performance as Dr. Johnny Fever in the beloved TV classic "WKRP in Cincinnati."  Even Wolfman Jack made a wonderful appearance as himself in American Graffiti in one of my favourite individual scenes from a movie.  I wanted to be those guys.  I'd watch their "on air" performances and think to myself how cool it would be to sit behind a turntable and share music with anyone in the area who could pick up the radio signal.  I got the impression that when I was behind a microphone, I could safely be my normal off-center, off-kilter self without fear of judgement. This week's film is a fictionalized account of actual events in British history and features a whole boat-load of these wacky characters with whom I've always felt a kind of kinship.

In the 1960s, the British Broadcasting Corporation, for one reason or another, did not play a lot of rock and roll music on its radio stations in spite of public demand for it.  Certain entrepreneurial-minded individuals began to set up unlicensed ("pirate") radio stations on boats anchored off the coast.  Since they were in international waters, they did not violate any laws and these pirate radio stations broadcasted pop and rock music to the denizens of the UK to fill the void created by the BBC.

In 2009, writer/director Richard Curtis--the man behind such beloved British films as Four Weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill, and Love Actually, released a film about these stations.  Like most Curtis films, it features a wonderful cast of great British and Irish actors including Nick Frost, Chris O'Dowd, Kenneth Brannagh, Rhys Darby (who's actually from New Zealand), Gemma Arterton, and Jack Davenport, as well as past Curtis collaborators, Rhys Ifans (whose character, Gavin Cavanaugh, makes one of the greatest entrances in cinema history), Emma Thompson, and Bill Nighy, along with a token American--in this case the great Philip Seymour Hoffman as "The Count."  And even though some of the songs featured in the movie were recorded after the period depicted (a minor pet peeve of mine), it also features one of the greatest period soundtracks ever put together. (which is saying something since it's practically impossible, especially then, to license Beatles songs for this kind of thing).  It's stuck with me over the years because it's primarily a love letter to rock and roll.  The characters in the film are all non-conformist music lovers--something I have striven to be in my own life.

I saw it in a theater when it was first released (in America).  I discovered later that the film was edited differently in America than it was originally in England.  This is not uncommon, particularly with action films like 007 thrillers.  The English like to cut a lot of the violence out of their movies.  We Americans like to cut out the sex and nudity and leave the violence--what I refer to as a "make war, not love" mentality.  I've never seen the British version of this movie and I've always wanted to.  Since Curtis himself, as well as the bulk of the cast, is British, I presume that version hews closer to his original cinematic vision.  But even the American version causes me to run the full gamut of emotions while watching it.  I laugh, I cry, I sing along, I play air guitar.  It genuinely moves me.  Thank you, Richard Curtis.

So if you love boats and classic rock music, this week I recommend you check out The Boat That Rocked (or, as it was called in this country, Pirate Radio).

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember to "Take care.  Be good.  Listen to the music.  It's a good thing."

Yours in peace, love, and ROCK AND ROLL!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week (One From the Vault!)

Due to certain mitigating circumstances, I decided to take another week off from writing these "sermons."  But on the off chance you the reader look forward to them each week, I didn't want to leave you hanging.  So here's one I wrote three years ago that was originally posted to Facebook on 30 April, 2022.  It's always held a special place in my heart... especially while I'm driving.  Enjoy!

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

Two of the next three "sermons" (and I'm not sure which two just yet--I will say this is the first), are all about the transportative power of music.  Before anyone asks, I'm coining the word "transportative."  It's not recognized by Merriam-Webster, so I'm inventing it.  I'm defining it as the ability of something to move you from one time or place to another, even if it's just in your own mind.

The summer of 1993 was an important time for me.  I had just completed my freshman year of college.  I was very excited about my sophomore year as I had recently been hired by Ball State University to be a Resident Assistant in the fall.  I had also decided that at the ripe old age of nineteen, I should finally break down and get my drivers license.   I was given access to the former family car, a 1986 Ford P.O.S... I mean Tempo.  It was the car on which Dad taught me to drive.  It was not a reliable vehicle, which is why it was no longer the family car.  At the time, we went to church with a guy who forgot more about cars than I'll ever know and Dad had asked him to fix it up for us.  We picked it up the day I got my license.  That was my first drive by myself.  I spent that summer driving all over the back roads of Orange and Lawrence Counties in southern Indiana, usually going either to or from my summer job as a busboy in a local restaurant.  On the car stereo (such as it was), I discovered a station at 92.3 MHz on the FM band out of Bloomington (WTTS) that played a wider variety of music than the other stations.  They played a lot of newer stuff, but also a lot of older stuff... not just the hits, but also deep album cuts that other stations wouldn't touch (I've never heard Billy Joel's "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" on any other station).  On Sunday nights, I would drive aimlessly along back roads listening to Tom Roznowski play two hours of blues music telling stories about the Chauncey Rose Orphans' Home in Terre Haute and the great lost secret of the blues.

One day, while enjoying my newly found freedom behind the wheel, I heard what sounded like my blues idol, John Lee Hooker, performing the Van Morrison song "Gloria" that had been a hit for Morrison's band Them back in 1964.  As the song progressed, I discovered that it was actually a duet between Hooker and Morrison that was on Morrison's most recent album.  When I finally got around to buying the album--a full year later!--it's hard to say what entranced me the most.  It could have been the music, it could have been the lyrics, it could have been the sax solos provided by Candy Dulfer, Katie St. Johns, and Van the Man himself (I didn't even know he played the instrument).  It might have been Georgie Fame's Hammond organ which seemed to permeate the album and envelop it in a fog of melancholy jazz (if it is, in fact, possible to permeate and envelop something at the same time).  It could have been the mix of not only original songs, but covers of works by Sonny Boy Williamson, Brook Benton, and Doc Pomus.  Hell, it might have even been the cover art which, nearly thirty years later, is still one of my favourite album covers.  I would love to have the album on vinyl just to put it up on my wall.

Perhaps it was a combination of all of those elements.  I honestly don't know anymore and I'm not sure I ever did.  All I do know for certain is that it created a mood and transported me to a place that I still don't know how to describe.  I don't know where it is on any map, let alone how to get there.  For all I know, it doesn't exist at all, at least not on this plane of existence.  Maybe, like Brigadoon, it only becomes visible for a little while, straddling that mythical line where tonight and tomorrow are, in the words of Janis Joplin, "all the same fucking day, man!"  And every so often I find myself wanting to go there and I know this album will get me there.

So from 1993, please enjoy the one and only Van Morrison with Too Long in Exile.

A few postscripts...

The album clearly had some kind of hold on me over the years.  In 2001, I spent my twenty-seventh birthday roaming the streets of London, England, with my sister and another friend of ours.  I found myself enthralled with an alley... or what looked like an alley to me.  Upon further examination it's really just a sidewalk surrounded by buildings on both sides.  I felt compelled to take a picture of it just because it reminded me of the cover art to this week's album.  It's not a great picture (I was still using film at the time and had to wait a couple weeks to have it developed to see how it came out), but I've included it in the comments section.

Tom Roznowski can still be heard on WFIU radio (103.7 FM) in Bloomington which produces his hour-long public radio show "PorchLight w/ Tom Roznowski" which can be heard and streamed live Saturdays at 6:00 pm Eastern Time.  More information is available at tomroznowski.net.

I still have the ignition key to that '86 Tempo as a souvenir of those days.  This was back in the day when cars came with two keys--one to the ignition and one to the doors and trunk.  I'm sad to say I don't have the other key.  Maybe I'll stumble upon it sometime while listening to this week's album.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

London, UK, 19 April, 2001

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents a Bonus Album of the Week! (One From the Vault!)

I originally posted the following on Facebook on 4 June, 2022.  I stumbled upon it and thought now would be a good time to revisit it.  (And I still don't like the words "cisgender" or "woke.")

 

 

I've been thinking a lot about the fact that this is Pride Month. Full disclosure--I am the following: a) middle aged, b) cisgender (a word I will never get used to using), and c) heterosexual. I've never questioned my sexuality--either my orientation or my gender identity. I've always known who and what I am in that department. However, I am totally sympathetic to those who have had to question it and those who still are--even though it's not something I can ever fully understand. In this politically correct, "woke" (another word I will never get used to using) age in which we live, I do worry that someone may take offense to some element of what follows. And no offense or malice is intended in any way, shape, or form--certainly not toward anyone who celebrates Pride Month.

 

Growing up in a small, rural town in southern Indiana during the 1980s, the concept of "pride" was never anything that was discussed. Just being gay was considered not only disgusting, but also a sin against God. I'm sure there are many in my home town who still feel that way. Growing up in my town, I kind of got the impression that if you weren't straight, white, Christian, and super conservative Republican, you were "different" and that was bad. I often joked that vegetarians were looked at as an ethnic minority. Now I realize this is a gross overgeneralization and in the thirty years that I've been away a lot's changed. But, as someone who doesn't conform easily (even being straight and white), I never felt like I belonged there. I always felt different. It was bad enough being a fat nerd--I can't imagine actually being gay, trans, Jewish, Muslim, let alone having any kind of pigment in my skin at that point in time.

 

I remember the first time a friend came out to me. While I was glad he felt like he could tell me, I also didn't care. That may sound cold and harsh, but the truth is it doesn't matter to me. Nor should it. If I'm bothered by someone else's sexuality or if I feel that it somehow challenges or affects my own, then I have a serious problem. The only time someone else's orientation and/or identity should be of any consequence to me is if it's that of someone to whom I'm attracted. And even then, I still have no say or influence on how that person identifies and I would never fault that person for being themselves. I'm sure I'd get over any initial disappointments. I have always felt that as long as you're not hurting anyone, you have the right to live whatever kind of life makes you happy and I will support that right to my dying day.

 

And while I will admit that sometimes I find it exhausting keeping up with new vocabulary terms (like "cisgender" and "woke") and there are some elements of this whole debate I may never understand (again, mostly centered around vocabulary--like, when did "queer" stop being an anti-gay slur? And, as a straight person, am I even allowed to use it?), I will call anyone whatever name or use any pronoun I'm asked to use just out of respect for that individual. And ultimately I feel that's what the whole thing is about--respect for others. Which is why I don't care how a person identifies. Not only does it not affect me, but I will still respect that person regardless. If we all did that, Pride Month would be unnecessary. I don't have a problem with celebrating it--after all, I enjoy a good parade just as much as anyone. I just feel that if we as a society had been more accepting of each others' differences from the beginning, we could just take pride in being human and there wouldn't be any history of discrimination toward others just because some people didn't fit our definition of what humans should be.

 

Today, the LGBTQ+SorryIfILeftOutAnyLetters community has a lot of public figures to look up to, particularly in the arts--Lady Gaga, Elton John, Billy Porter, Brandi Carlile, Cher, just to name a few. I feel that the artist behind this week's album is often left out. For the record, he may not be--I just may interpret it that way because he's been dead for almost nine years and the examples I mentioned above are very much currently in the public eye. The late, great Lewis Allan Reed spent his career singing about all those elements of humanity that we've spent centuries trying to repress--cross-dressing, depression and other mental illnesses, "deviant" sexual behavior, even drug use and abuse--he seemed to celebrate it all as part of who we are as a species. Celebrating its fiftieth anniversary this year, many consider this week's album to be his masterpiece. It features not just my favourite of his songs ("Satellite of Love"), but also the only one of his songs I've ever heard on the radio, the classic "Walk on the Wild Side" which "The New York Times" described after Reed's death as a "ballad of misfits and oddballs." The song is even more of an oddball today because I'm not sure it could still be played on the radio. However, I will say it has one of the greatest bass riffs in music history. Please enjoy the one and only Lou Reed with his 1972 album, "Transformer."

 

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

 

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill