Artistic Brevity / Critical Blathering

Critically acclaimed and respected actor Laurence Fishbourne … know what he was doing in the ‘80’s? I do. He was a cowboy on PeeWee’s Playhouse. I made this disturbing discovery last night while flipping channels at my parent’s house (I watch TV religiously when I go home, since I do not bother paying for cable at The Palace). Here I was, meandering through the various channels that occasionally show things I can appreciate, and suddenly coming to two creepy revelations within seconds. 1st – Adult Swim on Cartoon Network now shows PeeWee’s Playhouse every night at 11:00 for reasons that currently escape me. 2nd- well, you already know. The bit about Laurence Fishbourne. Quite a road he traveled, I suppose. After getting work at only 14-years-old in Coppola’s classic “Apocalypse Now,” he wound up in his mid-20’s dressing like a flaming cowboy with deep-fried, still-dripping long black curls. Fast forward nine more years and he is starring as Othello in the Shakespeare masterwork, and ultimately gaining international superstardom as the brazenly cool Morpheus in “The Matrix.” Highs and lows, I suppose.

My letter to the Buffalo News Sunday Sports Letters (they better publish it!):

After the thrill and excitement of this past season, it saddens me to be forced to declare shenanigans on the entire Buffalo Sabres front office. Yes, the whole lot of them, Golisano included. I will cite the past year as indisputable evidence, which includes the Zhitnik mistake, the goalie monster, the Noronen trade that has left us without a backup and forced to keep Biron, the use of a draft pick acquired in exchange for a goaltender to select a goaltender, and the refusal to bring in a defenseman at last year’s trade deadline.

But it is their most recent inaction that will be the crux of my case against them. Free agent season was not even days old yet, and already two key contributors of the soundest intangible contribution were gone from the Sabres' roster despite pleas from fans and players alike. This continues a disappointing trend of scorn and contempt that has marked Sabres' management throughout the Regier and particularly the off and on again Quinn years. I think the jury should have little trouble deliberating on this.

I realize the serious nature of the charges, but I believe they will be found guilty of shenanigans nevertheless. Hopefully we will then have the foresight to bring in a committed group of administrators who can exercise fiscal discretion, but at the same time show some commitment to the team and community rather than simply focusing on turning a small profit on Golisano's investment.

Mike Sherry
Buffalo, NY

Unsolicited Album Review:
The staff of Dominion of Cool is proud to present you with our big-talkin’, bat-swingin’, babe-bangin’ review of Tom Petty’s latest, immaculate solo album – “Highway Companion.”

Stop reading this review before you even hit the period at the end of this sentence. In fact, there was no need for me to even finish that sentence because by the time you got to the word “this” after “stop reading” you should have been out of your chair and motoring your way over to the local album distributor with an apprehensive (yet unnerving) grin on your visage. So let me start over … Stop reading this. I’m waiting patiently. I’m expecting that you’ve already gone and got the album, listened to it several times through, took notes, compared it to previous Petty efforts, taken it in consideration alongside recent albums from Petty’s contemporaries for context, and read all the history and research and previous reviews associated with the album for entirety of understanding. Which you’ve completed by now if you’re reading these sentences, so I’ll push on.

This album fires Petty into a whole new stratosphere of disturbing awesomeness. We know he hit a zenith of his artistic creativity in the years from ’89-’94, peaking with his indescribably brilliant masterwork “Wildflowers.” Since then it’s been a downhill slide – ‘96’s “She’s the One” was a half-assed soundtrack. Good, but not spectacular, nor was it meant to be. ‘99’s “Echo” was an inconsistent record with a garage feel. Good, but especially half-assed given Petty’s unfortunate psychological melancholies at that time. ‘02’s “The Last DJ” was a strange, poorly produced, and crabby effort. Good in some respects, but bogged down by too much bitter hostility and ranting from a man who has always embodied the heroism of the optimistic blue-collar underdog. So, essentially, ’95-’05 was a decade of disappointment – bones of mediocrity thrown to the eternally hungry dogs who stood by their master regardless.

“Highway Companion” sees Petty back at work as a master of the rock medium once again, putting to bed any notions that his time was over, he’d spent his creativity during the first 20 years, and all that was left was very occasional sparks of something interesting. This album is beyond interesting … it is an exercise in art as thematic brevity. Yes, it is a brief album, but it does not need to be longer – it is a self-contained work of sonic unity, a consistency of sound that works just as well for this album as variance and versatility did for “Wildflowers.” Petty has taken the acoustic cleanliness of The Traveling Wilburys/Full Moon Fever/Into the Great Wide Open era and brought it back to life as an older, more mature, more beautiful entity. He kicks it off with an upbeat, bluesy rocker (“Saving Grace”) reminiscent of ZZ Top’s “Le Grange”, but after that it’s mostly acoustics – mellow, mid-tempo gems of moving and sentimental magnificence.

The album is a surprise for it’s poetic quality as well. Long known for his blunt forwardness and uncomplicated statement of feelings/intentions, Petty has suddenly found it in his pencil to write abstract imagery (Green and gray and auburn / sliding down the sky / the devil winks an eye), wisdom (Can’t sell your soul for peace of mind), and personal reflection (Living free / is gaining on me / can’t keep ahead of my dreams). And, naturally, while these new strengths dominate the album, he still hasn’t lost his gift for the candid (I love you so deep, but you can’t understand) nor the skill of the storyteller (Lazy Jim / took a bottle with him / tried to flag down a train) nor the ever-present Petty humor (impress all the women / pretend I’m Samuel Clemens / wear seersucker and white linen).

Moreover, Petty is in great voice. In “Echo” he often sounded a little depressed or tired or distracted. In “The Last DJ” he just sounded old. For the first time in ten years, Tom Petty sounds like Tom Petty.

For those who like thematic albums, this one has got a lot of fun stuff about driving (duh! It is named “Highway Companion,” isn’t it?) and time – namely that it passes and doesn’t last forever.

So, bottom line, this is easily one of the top three albums of Petty’s career. I don’t think it has the overall versatility and scope of “Wildflowers,” but, like “Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers” (’76) or “Damn the Torpedoes” (’79) or “Full Moon Fever” (’89), this is an album of sonic consistency – meaning they are all of a similar nature (an audio theme of sorts), yet different enough to make each song stand on its own. No song, no arrangement, no lyric is wasted, and none are a disappointment. There are twelve songs, and twelve of them are damn good. And, quite honestly, this is perhaps the single most sonically gorgeous album of Petty’s career. A lot of beautiful chord progressions that give you the chills on their own, let alone considering the personal and moving nature of the lyrics.

Well, I’ll be listening to this album over and over for the next week. So don’t bother me. Just leave messages.

A Presto

Mike