JOSH RITTER Live at the River Music Hall Boston, MA | 02.06.06 by Jon Gorey | Age: 29 | Boston, MA This week, thanks to some good timing, good fortune, and a fellow fan's generosity, I found myself with a guest pass to see folk hero Josh Ritter play a private acoustic concert for 92.5 FM The River. If you're not familiar with Josh Ritter, he's a skillful and inspired songwriter from the (assumedly) nowhereness of Idaho. Some years ago he moved east to Providence, and later Boston, where he impressed the lead singer of the popular Irish band The Frames enough to land an opening spot on their tour. Since then he's managed to stay a bright and rising star in the folk-rock universe. As a devoted fan, I was eager to get a better (and closer) listen to Ritter's newest songs. I'd seen him play a few of them in a noisy Dublin bar this summer, and at the Somerville Theater just a couple months ago, so fragments of his new lyrics and melodies had been bouncing around my head without any form or structure. They longed to be put into coherent place again so I could, at the least, hum them to myself. Starting a little late (after getting lost in an elevator, he saidó hey, it's happened to me too), Ritter went straight into his new songbook, beginning with the lonesome "Idaho." One of those songs whose melody mirrors the lyricsó sparse, longingó even John Denver would be hard-pressed to come up with a more evocative soundtrack to the American West. Reading a loved one's letter from far-off Tangiers, he sings, "I thought I was out at sea / 'til a single word landlocked me / turned the mast to cedar trees / and the wind to gravel roads / Idaho, Idaho." While still one of the most genuine and kind people you're likely to find, Ritter's songs seem to have grown a little darker over the last year or two, some filled with more sorrow than usual and rebellious religious imagery. In the soft, finger-picked "Girl in the War" he sings: "The keys to the kingdom God locked inside the kingdom / And the angels fly around in there where we can't see them / I got a girl in the war, Paul, I know that they can hear me yell / And if they can't find a way to help her they can go to hell." Meanwhile the epic "Thin Blue Flame" awards the listener with more poetic marvels and brilliant couplets than I have room to fit here. A culmination of fantasy, fury, inspiration, passion, hope, desperation, realization... everything in the spectrum of human emotion and experience seems to find its way inside this ambitious song. Ritter's engrossing storytelling doesn't stop when the song ends. As always he proved to be a charming host, good-naturedly bantering with the audience and provoking big laughs in between songs (and sometimes in the middle of them: during a crowd-pleasing rendition of his radio hit "Kathleen," he came to the teetering quiet that precedes the song's climax, only to pause and tell a lengthy story about an 11-foot tall Aaron Neville before resuming the songó impersonating Neville's voice at pointsó to uproarious applause). At the end of the set he remarked, "I hate to say goodbye... I've been trying to say goodbye for three songs now!" before closing with another crowd favorite, "Snow is Gone." Furiously strumming, he climbed up on a cushioned chair and tried to reach to the ceiling before giving everyone in attendance a scare and taking a headfirst tumble. I don't know how it will translate to radio, but he popped up and finished the set with a bubbling smile and hard-to-repress laughter, to everyone's relief and enjoyment. (Josh Ritter's new CD, The Animal Years, will be released in Ireland on March 3rd and in the U.S. on April 11th.)

THEY SHOOT HORSES, DON'T THEY? Boo Hoo Hoo Boo (Kill Rock Stars, 2005) by Bob Ham | Age: 30 | Portland, OR You have to hand it to the Canadians for trying to include as many people they can into their artistic endeavors. From Broken Social Scene's listing 17 people as members of the band on their new album to the New Pornographers' attempts to bring together up to 8 people for their pop ecstasies all the way to Godspeed You Black Emperor's attempts to change the face of instrumental music with up to 11 people in any given sitting, it seems as if you would be hard pressed to find someone in the nation to our North that's not in a band. Following those same lines comes this wild crew from Vancouver, BC who count seven people among their ranks. Each member makes a stunning contribution to this unholy racket of an album. The music, augmented by healthy portions of saxophone and trombone as well as chanted vocal work, is a mish mash of styles and ideas that cohere into a sound not unlike if Sun Ra's Arkestra decided to go indie rock. Each song on this album tends to revolve around one melodic idea (usually announced by the horn section) over which is laid a thumping bass line, rolling drums, the odd bit of percussion, a touch of keyboard and vocals spat out by either their front man or in a raucous sing-along by everyone in the group. The end result is a wildly hypnotic experience that is the perfect accompaniment to either the dream sequence of Pee Wee's Big Adventure or an afternoon spent on making oneself dizzy on the tire swing. This only being their first full-length makes the mind reel at the possibilities of what the future holds for these forward thinking kids from Canada, but thankfully the good people at Kill Rock Stars are willing to give their musical adventures their proper due.

FAZIL SAY Mozart Piano Concertos 12, 21, 23 (Naive, 2005) by Casey Rue | Age: 26 | Boston, MA This year the classical music world celebrates Mozart's 250th birthday. Despite a multitude of Mozart recordings, it's generally a safe bet you can go out and buy almost any Mozart CD and experience great music regardless of who's playing, simply because it's Mozart. But that doesn't mean you should. Last year a young Turkish pianist named Fazil Say released his version of three of Mozart's piano concertos (p.c. 12, 21, 23). These are without reserve some of the lushest and most creative interpretations I've heard. From colorful cadenzas (with hints of Gershwin-esq twists and turns) to Say proving through his playing alone that a benevolent deity does exist (particularly in p.c. 23, adagio, 4:45-4:58), there is no trace of the oftentimes robotic and insipid phrases heard from the likes of Horowitz and Brendel's p.c. 23 (yeah, I said it, so stop your whining) or the sense of urgency felt in Uchida's p.c. 21 (although there are some really beautiful phrases spread throughout her recording). Despite a seemingly carefree touch, there's no doubt as to the intimate and emotional attachment he has to the music. Say's playing is fine-tuned and extraordinarily controlled, not to say he doesn't take risks (notably in his cadenzas, which admittedly take some getting used to). His phrasing is divine, bordering on orgasmic. In my opinion, Fazil Say is a consummate pianist, despite his limited repertoire. Mozart was the master of unifying the balance between the soloist and the orchestra. It's not merely accompaniment; his music is a palpable dialogue between the two. You can definitely feel this when you listen to Say's CD. Maybe it has to do with the unconventional way it was recorded. Say positioned himself in the center of the orchestra versus locking himself in a sound box. Of course, it helps that the conductor and orchestra, Howard Griffiths and the Zurich Chamber, were responsive to such informal mores. That and the fact that Howard Griffiths' conducting is clean and the Zurich Chamber are much more than a pretty face. Griffiths rounds out harsh phrases that other conductors such as Anda and Rabinovich seem to have trouble avoiding. As for the Zurich Chamber, such a seamless group hasn't been heard since the days of the New York Phil under Ormandy. All these elements combined produce a sublime creation.

LISSA SCHNECKENBURGER Lissa Schneckenburger (Footprint Records, 2005) by Jason Holloway | Age: 27 | Boston, MA Let's get this out of the way first: my only qualm with this CD is the overbearing rosy pink packaging, which, although beautiful and ornately designed, made me slightly uncomfortable in publicó similar to when I buy Special K at the grocery store. The box is a soft pink, sporting women on elliptical machines and advice on performing self breast exams. It makes me feel a bit like I'm buying tampons or something. But that doesn't stop me from buying Special K of course, and it certainly doesn't overshadow the wonder of Lissa Schneckenburger's self-titled release. A perfect accompaniment to your Saturday morning coffee and crossword, it's a beautiful blend of violin and voice, backed by a diverse and quite talented group of musicians. The recording is impeccably mixed, clean and spread out, allowing the melodies some room to seduce you. The instrumental first track is a perfect example: a distinguished bass line lends the song a buoyantly uptempo beat underneath Lissa's (Schneckenburger is a mouthful) expert fiddling and rich string harmonies. "The Irish Girl" introduces us to Lissa's lovely, gentle voice and proves to be the song stuck in your head hours after listening. After a deceivingly deliberate intro, "The Lover's Tasks/Riddle" perks up; the masterfully understated drumming keeps a great rhythm to this frisky song but never steps on the main parts. As the album progresses, "Dear Companion" is a slower, more solemn attempt to intensify things, but not as successful as the stirringly beautiful "Before They Close the Minstrel Show" (nicely accented by fuzzy, dangling electric guitar notes). "The River" is pure joy. An original composition, its quirky rhythm and transition from moody minor verses to a spirited major chorus really pays off; I push the repeat button each time it begins to fade away. Following a pair of jigs and reels, "Coleman's March Reprise" is a very haunting and melancholy way to exit an otherwise delightful album. Lissa's voice and songwriting are very good, but the mix of instrumentals and traditional songs help keep the album from falling into any ruts, and makes this a great listen for fans of celtic music and the singer/songwriter genre alike.

LILYS Everything Wrong is Imaginary (Manifesto, 2005) by Bob Ham | Age: 30 | Portland, OR One of the aspects of music that tends to move units for your upper echelon record companies is a sense of consistency. You can slowly progress your sound towards something different but as groups as varied as The Strokes and Matchbox 20 have proven, if you stick to a "sound" people will stick with you. This is something that either hasn't occurred to or just plainly doesn't bother an artist like Kurt Heasley. Ever since the early '90s when he introduced the world to his musical conundrum known as Lilys, Heasley has gone through various lineups and musical styles to a mixed bag of results. Whereas he started his career with a heavily processed guitar shoegazer sound, he has since veered into an abstract version of the Kinks sound and, on his last album Precollection, seemed to take up camp with the records of The Small Faces for a more folksy pop sound. On his latest album, Heasley has decided to flex his new wave muscles, leaning on keyboards and programmed rhythms (not to mention mixing his vocals through any filter that will make it sound like the HAL 9000 on an LSD binge). The strength of any Lilys record which makes them worth checking out despite the shifting musical inclinations is the songwriting. Even when his lyrics leave you high and dry in a world of abstract images and ideas (I tried to change the ocean / I was wrong, wrong, wrong), Heasley has an almost unreal understanding of melody and, when delivered by his distinctive and dreamlike voice, will have at least three songs off of any given record bouncing around in your head for days after your first listen. This is not to say that the album isn't lacking. Many of his songs are one chord/one keyboard line that meander to nowhere in particular (this is especially evident on "Still in All The Glitter" and the instrumental title track) and a couple sound a little too much like songs he has written in the past. It is still a nice addition to a varied and still viable catalog of one of the best pop songwriters working today and well worth your attention.

JONATHAN LOWY The Temple of Music (Three Rivers Press, 2004) by Gina Favata | Age: 26 | Boston, MA Jonathan Lowy''s second novel The Temple of Music brilliantly details the sights and sounds of the Gilded Age‹the era of the Robber Barons, big money, monopolies, railroads, and great strikes. It was a time when the rich were getting richer, the poor kept working harder for less money, and immigrants kept stepping off of boats in hopes of the American dream. But while the wheels of industry and money were churning, they were also prepping a new president to take the stage. Backed with big money, President McKinley was set to be the puppet of the rich. At the same time, poor man Leon Czolgosz was bouncing from city to city trying to find work, and listening to murmurs and shouts about living wages and 8 hour work days. Socialism and anarchism were being bred in the bars, the slums, and on the assembly lines. The Temple of Music successfully sets the scene for the time, and details the events that lead up to the assassination of President McKinley by Leon Czolgosz. Lowy based his story on historical fact that was well researched (he even used actual transcripts of speeches and meetings), while filling in the holes with logical assumptions of what may have been going on in the lives of these characters. Lowy tells this story in short bursts of varied points of view that allows us, as readers, to get inside the heads of William McKinley, his mentally ill wife Ida, anarchist Emma Goldman, the men with the money and the connections behind McKinley, Leon Czolgosz, Andrew Carnegie, journalist William Randolph Hearst, and some other minor players of the age. While watching their lives unfold we learn about the politics, and the disloyalty of the rich, the relationships and the sacrifices of those working to bring down the government, and all that went in between. Surprisingly, no character seems to be painted with a biased light, and they all seem to have done bad things along with good. The story is well told; although, at times it is hard to keep track of the characters and the time frame. Seeing the different sides of this one story definitely made me feel as if I understood the complexities of the age and how one man can end up committing such a large crime. I highly recommend this book for anyone who enjoys historical fiction, like Devil in the White City.

MAX BARRY Company (Doubleday, 2006) by Sunny Rhode | Age: 18 | Chicago, IL For anyone who has worked in the bleak and soul crushing Hell that is an office or those who are just interested in the black depths of human ambition and the ugly face of executive callousness, Company is a great read. Max Barry's latest novel is a surprisingly intelligent and frightening comedy about the office world, ethics, and missing donuts. Barry is well known for his two previous dystopian novels, Syrup and Jennifer Government, which also center on the American business world and his newest novel follows suit. In Company he tackles outsourcing, teamwork, business executives, the firing process, and the treatment of pregnant women and disabled workers with biting criticism. The novel follows protagonist Stephan Jones and his co-workers experiences in the mysterious company of Zephyr, "a loose congregation of elves, giants, peacocks, gnomes and organized crime." When Jones arrives at Zephyr he finds the employees do no real work, no one knows what Zephyr does, and becomes acquainted with a Human Resources department that would make Big Brother jealous. But Jones can't just sit back; he investigates and quickly discovers the truth about Zephyr. His discovery reveals the cruel forces behind the company and he is thrown into a battle with loyalty, ethics, love, and his own identity. If you're unfamiliar with Barry's previous novels,Company will, during the first few pages, seem to be nothing but a clone or variant of other successful office satires like Mike Judge's Office Space or the hit British television program The Office. But reading on, you'll find more than just archetypes and typical office humor. Company provides dynamic and very real characters with natural dialogue and a compelling plot. The novel reads a lot like a Tarantino movie might be edited, with frequent cross cutting to expose the entire world and build enough tension to engross the reader. Company, much like Jennifer Government, is rich with Orwellian undertones and even a hint of Ray Bradbury's concern for how technology and the perversion of nature can affect and destroy human beings. What I liked best about Barry's newest achievement, and in fact, his other books as well, was his focus on the workers and their own humanity; a factor that business tends to ignore and destroy. Barry is quickly becoming one of the great writers of our time and Company is 336 pages and a few hours well spent. If you're strapped for cash, check out a local library, where the book should be available.

LAURA WHITCOMB A Certain Slant of Light (Graphia, 2005) by Gina Favata | Age: 26 | Boston, MA Helen is dead, or light as she calls it. She doesn't remember her life before, or what she did; she does know she did something bad. For the last 130 years, she has been following around different humans, mostly men, mostly writers. She "haunts" these men, or perhaps she's their muse, but they don't know she's there and she causes them no harm. However, if she leaves her haunt's side, she starts to descend back into what she thinks is hellóicy cold despair. Then she meets James. Up until now, no one has ever been able to see her. But James is like herólight. He just happened to take over a body with no soul, a body that belonged to a 16 year-old drug addict. Helen and James have lots in common and plan for her take a body too. A twisted love story ensues, and we not only learn about the past of the two light beings, but we learn about the more twisted and more interesting lives of the two teenagers they have inhabited. I was skeptical at first. The premise sounded stretched and the dead people bored me; however, once some living souls appear the storyline became more intriguing and it kept me reading. Her explanation of how our souls can work was interesting, and I enjoyed learning, along with the characters, the mysteries behind why these teenagers' souls had fled their bodies. Given the circumstances, the love story also proved to be fun to read. I'm still not sure what to make of the conclusion, but it wasn't horrible and it wasn't necessarily predictable either. If you are a bigger fan of the fantastical you will probably like this book from cover-to-cover, and if your like me and prefer real people to ghosts, it's worth the read just for the second half.

ROBERT GOLDSBOROUGH Three Strikes You're Dead (Echelon Press, 2005) by Sunny Rhode | Age: 18 | Chicago, IL In the mid 1930's, author Rex Stout published the first installment of what would become a hit series boasting forty-eight novels and forty-one short stories. These stories centered around the character of Nero Wolfe, a Montenegrin detective living in New York City. When Stout died in 1975, many feared that the series would die with him. But long time fan and budding writer Robert Goldsborough arrived on the scene just in time to rescue Nero and breathe life back into the series. Goldsborough published his first Wolfe novel in 1986 (Murder in E-Minor) and went on to publish 6 more in the series and his own nonfiction book in 1999. But Goldsborough is back... and this time he's brought his own characters! Three Strikes You're Dead follows his new hero, Chicago Tribune reporter Steve Malek, in 1938 Chicago. Malek learns that possible mayoral candidate and reformist Lloyd Martindale has been gunned down in a parking lot by an unknown attacker. The mob pays him a visit when the papers and the police finger them for the killing and convince Malek he'd be better off finding the real culprit. While he investigates, the story twists and swirls around politics, organized crime, and hidden pasts. Malek digs deeper and deeper into Martindale's death, crossing paths with infamous gangster Al Capone, actress Helen Hayes, Tribune publisher Robert R. McCormick, Richard J. Daley, and recent trade to the Chicago Cubs, Jay Hanna "Dizzy" Dean. When I picked up Three Strikes You're Dead I wasn't expecting much. I was never a big Nero Wolfe fan myself, and I wasn't sure that Goldsborough could do well on his own. However, I was surprised with what I read. The novel flows very well and despite a lot of awkward dialogue and noir fiction cliches, it is very engrossing. In fact, some of the pitfalls of the book actually make it more fun to read. The classic bartender, the exhausted but honest Chief of Detectives, and the squabbling, comical reporters reminded me a lot of movies like His Girl Friday and other newspaper-orientated films (noir or comedy) that came out in the 1940s and 50s. In Three Strikes, Goldsborough pays a lot of attention to setting and describes clothes and architecture in vivid detail. And although the story reads fairly easily, he does use a lot of time period slang. At times, Goldsborough introduces random historical facts that have nothing to do with what is going on, but his tidbits of Chicago history are spread out well and interwoven seamlessly for a better part of the novel. Just be aware that from time to time, it will seem a lot like "...name drop... (actual text) ...historical event... (actual text)... brand name...". But the plot twists and a few very realistic and interesting characters make up for any minor faults you might find. Three Strikes You're Dead is a victory for Goldsborough, proving he can not only write his own material, but write it well. The novel is a good start to what will hopefully be a long line of original novels.

ANNUAL WINTER FESTIVAL Kaji Aso Institute of the Arts by Barry Maloney | Age: 37 | Dedham, MA A feeling of magic always seems to hang above the doorway of 40 St. Stephen Street in Boston's South End. For over 30 years now, just around the corner from Symphony Hall, Kaji Aso Institute of the Arts has been the mainstay of a flourishing community of artists and thinkers with a passion for Japanese culture and tradition. Born under the inspiration of Mr. Kaji Aso, the studio hosts classes in a multiplicity of esthetic pursuits, such as painting, calligraphy, poetry, opera, and ceramics, yet the heart of this studio is in philosophy. New England has had its share of great names in thought throughout its history. Ben Franklin, the first true American philosopher sprung from this soil. The judicious Oliver Wendell Holmes; the transcendentalists Emerson, Thoreau, Bronson Alcott and Margaret Fuller; and even China's Lin Yutang and India's J. Krisnamurti spent formative periods in Boston, thriving in the fresh, invigorating climate of New England thought. This tradition has not perished in our day but rather reached its zenith in philosopher Kaji Aso, who has been sharing his wisdom with a generation of Boston thinkers who somehow found themselves passing through the heavy oak door of the handsome brownstone on St. Stephen Street. The proof of a good philosophy is in its fruit, and here many have found a haven of beauty amid this world of struggle. From January 21 through March 2, the Institute's Gallery Nature & Temptation is hosting its annual Winter Exhibition. Member and resident artists work from a selected naturalist theme each year as a starting point, with this year's theme being Snow Rainbow. The opening reception took place on January 21 starting at 7:00 pm, followed by poetry reading and musical performances at 8:00 pm. On opening night, a positive vibe of community and commitment filled the St. Stephens Street gallery with high attendance and interest. Following an hour of reception and the viewing of a group exhibition of high-quality paintings (selected reviews below), the performance phase of the evening began when pianist Tania Stevreva took the floor and sent the audience's spirits high with three etudes by Chopin: "Ocean," "Winter Wind," and "Butterfly." Next, Poetry Director Michael Biales and co-orators Marjorie Layman and Jeanne Gugino recited poems composed at the studio based on the Snow Rainbow theme (selected poems below). The audience was then treated to an original composition by Jonathan Lovenstein (on piano) featuring a focused performance by mezzo soprano Laura Backley. The performance phase of the evening closed with original haiku ó some humorous, others sublime ó read by members of the Boston Haiku Society. I caught up with Executive Director Kaji Aso and offered this analysis regarding this year's theme: "On first consideration, the theme Snow Rainbow conjured to my mind childlike and even childish imagery, drawings done by children. But on further consideration, I realized that this is a very sophisticated subject, addressing conceptions of dimension, depth, light on wind, feelings of elation, and almost certainly (for painters) a full-palette challenge. Was this theme intentionally selected to challenge?" He replied: "Yes. In some ways something simple can be developed into something more sophisticated. Let me tell you a story of a little girl in a store who found some tiny shoes, and the advertisement said if you wear these shoes you can walk on wind. So she bought them, and began to notice that with every step these shoes make nice sound, and gradually she got interested in this sound and what she herself was doing and nice music started to come out. And she found out that the appreciation of the wind is something quite different from what other people would make it for you." Art Reviewed: ~ Artist Gary Tucker, best known for ephemeral watercolors and landscape drawings that combine a tranquil calm with an undercurrent of feeling, exhibited a new work titled Day After Blizzard (right). This understated watercolor painted draws the willing viewer into an inner dimension of peace and crystal calm. Mr. Tucker's works consistently show clarity of concept and a radiating elegance. ~ Katie Sloss, a cornerstone artist of many Gallery Nature & Temptation exhibitions, has been steadily raising the bar for herself over the years, along with the expectations of her audience. She brought a strong showing to this year's annual festival, exhibiting several substantial works, particularly her watercolor Winter Night. This cosmic vision of birthing stars gave the distinct impression of living gems existing in some color-imbued nebula. Her work shows technical mastery of her medium, a sophisticated pallette, and enchanting illusionary effects. ~ Mid-career watercolorist Jessica Vohs proffers watercolors of color melodies, clearly relishing her dappled, symphonic subject matter. ~ Yvette Stenzel presents several strong works, most memorably Winter in Back Bay, an unpretentious oil painting of stark, snow-covered trees before a segment of Boston brownstones. This image, composed in earthy hews of brick and brown with rugged brushstrokes, gave a real sense of place and, to this reviewer, feelings of melancholy remembrance. ~ Exhibiting visual artists include: Kate Finnegan, Jeanne Gugino, Marjorie Layman, Barry Maloney, Michael Milburn, Jane Richardson, and Lainie Senechal. Selected Poems from Winter Festival: All poems reprinted with permission by the author. winter's bitter cold; on the branch, blackened apple and snow rainbow ~ Michael Biales in the night you came quietly first snowfall ~ Gary Tucker new year's day ó more lint than money in my pocket ~ Stanford M. Forrester frozen tears on windowsill ó pear bursts skin ~ Sarah Fuhro snowflakes above the fire melting one by one sleeping to the lullaby of falling snow snowfield full of moonlight and howl of wolf ~ Kate Finnegan There is nothing I can do about being exposed to the cold weather. It has given me goosebumps ó made me faint, blue, and sleepy, while I have been wondering what the hidden meaning of alchemy is. ~ Sue Biales birds feast on dried crabapples then decorate my car near the moon star cluster and planet mars frozen lake golden sunlight gleams from it winter morning ~ Jeanne Gugino Spirit of February Dance Dance between branches which have no flowers yet Dance Dance this tiny spirit until reaching exhaustion Dance Dance to the end of the land to the end of the world ~ Kaji Aso Winter Festival runs January 21 - March 2, 2006 at Gallery Nature & Temptation, Kaji Aso Institute of the Arts, 40 St. Stephen Street, Boston. Gallery Hours: Saturday 1-4pm and by appointment. Tel: 617.247.1719

QUEER EYE Exhibit at the Harbor Gallery UMASS Boston by Johnny Lasagna | Boston, MA Hey Itís Johnny here, Johnny Lasagna. Got this Web Rag Gig going here, critiquing the Art World! High class culture stuff. Hey, just getting my culture, and greeting dames, and drinking someone elseís wine for a changeñ you got it. Ok, whatís in the sights tonight... Ah ìQueer Eye.î Hmmmmmm what can I say..... Ah well let me say first Iím straight and I enjoyed the exhibition. It was great. And I think thatís what great. In this day of polarization. Ya know? Ya got tha Left versus the Right. The Red States versus the Green States.... or is it the blue....what ever. Ya see what I mean. I canít keep up with it all. Look! Let me give it to you straight between the eyes. The show is worth seeing. Itís art with a meaning, something to say for a change. Go find out what it says to you. OK enough, my brainís exhausted. Hereís the info: Harbor Gallery, UMass Boston McCormack Hall, 100 Morrissey Blvd., Boston, MA 02125, (617) 287-7988 galleryharbor@yahoo.com Hours: M-F 11am - 6pm Exhibition: January 23 - February 26, 2006 Get some culture, kid!

GLORY ROAD Directed by James Gartner by Steve Brachmann | Age: 18 | Boston, MA Texas. Mid-20th Century. This is the deep south, where segregation is commonplace; members of different races didn't eat in the same facility, let alone converse. Things go along quietly until a man arrives on the scene and stands up to this hideous status quo. His weapon? A racially-integrated sports team. Gasps, shock, and horror ensue. But against all odds (except those laid out in Hollywood movies, of course), the team comes together and overthrows all opponents until they alone stand at the top, having cast off the shackles of segregation. Commence the victory parade scene. Haven't I seen this movie before? Wasn't its name Remember the Titans? Okay, yes, it is unoriginal of me to say that; there are probably fresher cracks to make. But the amounts of similarities between the two are sickening; this is practically the same film, only in college basketball form. They even share almost identical production teams. At least Zathura had the balls to tell you it was created by the same people who made Jumanji. Jerry Bruckheimer, you not only mock my intelligence, you honk loogies onto my soul. Now, I have nothing against sports movies. The Mighty Ducks franchise is flawless in my eyes, and I don't think I need to reiterate the amount of ass Miracle kicked. Oh, yeah, and Any Given Sunday and The Longest Yard, but I'm a hockey fan. So screw 'em. I even liked Remember the Titans. I just take offense when somebody tries to microwave leftovers and tell me it's take-out. Glory Road is the day-old, congealed goulash of the movie world. And I'm all for movies showing the plight of the oppressed, whether it be blacks, non-Christians in today's America, or 7-11 employees. But please, I beg you, give me another Glory or Roots, don't hand me a product that has been Disney-fied and watered down. Now, this is an entertaining movie. You will get to see "the hot guy from Sweet Home Alabama." Hell, you might even regain most of that blissful ignorance you lost watching Munich. But if you want my advice, just rent and re-watch Remember the Titans. It'll be cheaper, you can do it from your own home, and you can parlay that eighteen bucks you'd have spent on a small popcorn into a couple of porn rentals.

THE MATADOR Written and directed by Richard Shepard Starring Pierce Brosnan, Greg Kinnear by Mel Cartagena | Lowell, MA Two random lives have converged in a hotel bar in Mexico City. One is racing toward self-destruction. The other is trying to stay a step ahead of the poorhouse. The brief word exchange that comes after a semi-chaotic meeting creates a bond from which each man draws strength and hope for the future. Those are the bare bones of Richard Shepard's wickedly clever The Matador, a bleakly funny look at the life of Julian Noble, a veteran contract killer whose chronic loneliness and nomadic lifestyle are driving him to the edge of a breakdown. In a radical departure from his James Bond smooth and bland persona, Pierce Brosnan tears a hole through the British agent's license to kill as Julian Noble, a man who kills without a license, and bangs anything that's available. He's an aging hitman whose overwhelming loneliness hits home one night when he finds there's no one to reminisce the old days with on his birthday. His hair is peppered and he has a bushy mustache streaked with gray; his lanky muscularity is overlaid with flab, but that doesn't stop Julian from casually flirting with every available young thing that engages his attention, and tossing bad jokes and dry wit in the same sentence. It's a routine that's increasing in its sense of urgency. The frenzied talk and desperate pick ups are Julian's defense mechanism against the inevitable realization that he is a cipher, until Danny Wright's (Greg Kinnear) simple honesty and friendliness put the brakes on Julian's headlong dive into emotional oblivion. Those few minutes spent with Danny in the hotel bar are the most honest and touching Julian has felt with another human being in a long time. Julian is disarmed into shutting his mouth and listening to Danny talk about his dead son. It's the kind of frank talk that spins out of those moments between strangers who know will never see one another again. Greg Kinnear delivers a quietly amusing performance as Danny Wright, a Denver-based businessman facing financial ruin who suddenly finds he's become the emotional anchor for Julian's growing instability. Julian's childlike inhibition makes a sharp contrast for the more urbane and urban Danny, who at first is reluctantly drawn to Julian's irreverent and coarse wit, then shocked when Julian asks for his help in completing a contract, and finally finds himself in need of Julian's services to remove a potential competitor that's posing a threat to his business, and by extension his life. Hope Davis completes the cast as "Bean" Wright, Danny's wife of 14 years. Their impending financial troubles are underscored by their unflagging devotion and love for each other. They are a couple that's still hot for each other after. Richard Shepard's script maintains a tight balance between savage humor, sheer hilariousness and the suddenly serious, but has unexpectedly tender moments that show Julian's vulnerability and Danny's secret delight at playing secret agent, and the surprising friendship that is born from the unlikeliest pair of men. There's a forward leap in time near the halfway point in the film that reveals a superb plot twist that cements Julian and Danny's friendship. Their concern for each other drives them to reluctantly step into each other's worlds, but in the end a mutual respect develops from the time shared and words traded. The Matador is a rare thing, and unpretentious film that doesn't take itself too seriously but is still about something.

MATCH POINT Written and directed by Woody Allen Starring Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Scarlett Johansson by Jim Briggs | Age: 22 | Concord, CA In the final shot of Woody Allen's Match Point, Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) looks out a window while chatting continues in the background. Anything and everything relevant is going on in our own minds. After almost 40 films, writer/director Woody Allen leaves his comfy New York City for London. Also, Allen doesn't star in this film nor does he cast a Woody-alike. In the opening shot we see a tennis ball shooting back and forth over a net that it eventually hits, bounces up in the air and has to fall on one side or another. It's a great way to start a film that luck plays a huge part in. On multiple occasions we hear a character mention their preference of luck over skill. Chris Wilton is a tennis pro turned instructor who befriends student Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode) after they discover a mutual love of opera. Chris is introduced to Tom's sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer) who immediately fancies him. The entire Hewett family is very warm to Chris partly because of his natural deadpan charm and partly because of his somewhat phony intellectualism. Early in the film we see Chris put down Crime and Punishment and pick up "The Cambridge Companion" to the book, so when he quotes Sophocles I'm immediately skeptical. Chris and Chloe's eventual marriage is followed closely by an affair between Chris and Tom's fiancee Nola (Scarlett Johansson), a struggling American actress. I've been lukewarm to Johansson in the past but she is on fire here. The heat between she and Wilton is intense. Just watching the two converse raises the temperature of the room. I'll go ahead and abandon this tired metaphor here. She doesn't just look at Chris, she studies him. Pay close attention, you'll notice Johansson's eyes darting about Rhys-Meyers' face. It's intimidating. This excitement is juxtaposed against Chris and Chloe's boring, polite home life, which has an almost cruel accuracy. Finding someone to side with in this film can be difficult as all the characters are idiosyncratic in some way. Tom and Chloe are totally aloof, Nola is a tease and Chris is... well, you'll see. These characters are also insecure in their relationships. Would Chris have married Chloe if her father, played effortlessly by Brian Cox, wasn't able to assure him financial stability for life (and a gorgeous flat overlooking the River Thames)? Would Tom's mother (Penelope Wilton, no relation to our protagonist) approve of Nola if she were British? Though I wouldn't say Allen's previous films were optimistic, there was at least some twinkle of hope in the sky, but Match Point is painfully cynical in its outlook on justice. The film leaves a bitter taste the way a film like Chinatown might. Do visit your local theatre and see a new side of Woody Allen.