Underrated/ Sick Vids: Dio's "Holy Diver"

The coolest thing about Ronnie James Dio's 1983 video for "Holy Diver" is that it treats reality like a puppet -- a shadow puppet of doom. That is to say, Dio's definitely toying with the boundaries of the universe (as we know it) here. Artistically speaking, it's a well-executed clip, with Ronnie playing the smirking hero that has time to both slay the bad dude and sing the hook. And yeah, it suits the song fairly well: you don't want a Michel Gondry lego-fest with this shit, you want some fucking swords and some really fucking hot-looking lava! Let's not mince words, the "Holy Diver" video had to bring it hard, and it does so impressively.

But there's something more here, something that makes it Underrated-worthy. The storyline for this video is absolutely astounding. It opens in silence, with the camera panning across some healthy trees that suddenly become barren. Then, the rocking commences: that axe riff sinks its teeth into our hearts as we watch a cold, desolate castle of some kind set the scene. It becomes clear that a battle between the fair, noble Ronnie James, wielding a sweet sword and a sweeter perm, and Some Ugly Douche With an Axe is about to occur. As Dio strokes his sword suggestively and all but winks at the camera, we at home think, "...Dude's got this fight in the bag." And this proves to be the case, as one swift, feminine blow to the other guy's chest somehow stuns him into falling down (witness the hilariously sorrowful collapse at 1:25). Dio walks on, and as the first chorus climaxes with "Gotta get awaaaay...", we know that there shall be more battles for this silly motherfucker to face.

Or are there?

This is where the music video steers away from its battle-scene impulses and heads toward more philosophical ground. Ronnie James Dio sorta stalks around the castle for a minute, as this evil/childish black demon artwork keeps appearing on the screen. What the hell is this? We keep expecting to find out, but more detours are taken, as a mysterious blacksmith-esque man with a black mask that does nothing for his complexion provides our hero with the most fucking beast-mode sword in history. Dio leaves with the new sword, and now, at long last, you expect an epic duel with some sinister force, right as the song winds down in a tremendous heap of awesome. But like... the next minute of the video is devoted to Ronnie James walking like a complete moron as a bird squawks at him, and then accidentally stumbling upon three guys in red hoods chillin out in front of what I can only assume is a sick-ass volcano. At 3:13, when the third one looks up to reveal big, yellow eyes and no face -- the chills, my friend.

So now, of course, Dio will battle the greatest evil the world has ever known, using the most crotch-grabbingly bitchin' sword God has ever licked. Right? Wrong: instead, the video cuts to a shot of Dio once again outside of the castle, walking toward the camera until coming into a close-up, where his face is briefly swapped with that of the frustratingly cartoonish black demon. Then, I guess, he leaves. More shots of dead trees? You got 'em! And all becomes black.

One of two things is happening here: either the director planned to film a big battle scene and the video's budget of $4.75 wouldn't allow it, or Dio is using "Holy Diver" to question the fabric of our existence. By juxtaposing Dio's face with the demon, the director is suggesting that the noble hero may not be so pristine after all; such is the case with life. Why must we watch endless battles between good and evil, when we can look inside ourselves and find aspects of both extremes? We can cut down ugly enemies in our paths, we can receive the coolest weapon to fight evil, but no training or accessory will quell the evil that lurks within us. If our biggest enemy is essentially a shadow, like Ronnie James Dio's was, is this enemy representative of nothing -- or everything? How can we fight the enemy we cannot identify?

At 2:23 in the video for "Holy Diver", Ronnie James Dio captures his soul in a chokehold and lets out the high-pitched, crushing line, "The vision never DIIIIIES!" I think this is part of the reason that the main battle sequence was omitted from the video. If we were to actually view our internal demons, all of our greatest fears and insecurities, the vision would haunt us forever. All we can see is the progress toward defeating them, and the slow, steady walk toward victory. "Holy Diver" operates in the same vein as great postmodern artists such as Samuel Beckett and David Lynch, defining itself by reflecting the mirror upon its audience. We see ourselves in "Holy Diver", and understand that, sometimes, you don't need to see the most heart-wrenching battles to know that they have occurred within all of us. And also, that you're not going to do anything in this world unless you have the biggest fucking sword in the tri-state area. Thank you, Dio.

List Madness: Top Ten Rappers That Have One (Or One More) Great Album Left In the Tank

In my opinion, talent is much easier to detect in rappers than in, say, rock bands or pop singers, because a large amount of their "talent" comes from constant variables: their delivery, their writing, their overall persona. For the most part, none of these things change too much over a career; what seems to change are the subjects they focus on and the production/beats behind them. That's why, even while releasing a slew of shitty albums, a talented MC always has the opportunity to bounce back with a change in direction. Witness Jay-Z's lackluster "Kingdom Come" and critical hit "American Gangster": the man and his flow are basically the same, but on his latest CD, the actual songs are much tighter, and Jay stopped analyzing his old age and directed the spotlight once again on his intriguing youth as a hustler.

Here are ten rappers that I believe have one truly great album buried deep within them. Their talent on the mic has hinted at greatness, but they haven't been able to capture it on a fully realized release just yet (or, if they have, haven't shown they can do it recently). Go get 'em, fellas:

10. The Roots
The inspiration for this entry was the lame process of hearing some of The Roots' just-released Rising Down. Like their last two releases, it's so bogged down in maintaining a social conscience that it refuses to hint at some exciting new dynamic. The band's sound barely even matters anymore, since Black Thought's rhyming is as boring as a high school lecture on the importance of community service. Look, I'm not saying The Roots don't have a worthy cause, but I'd love to hear it channeled into something less anger-driven and more personally affecting. Black Thought is a thoughtful, sophisticated rapper; is it too much to ask for something as beautifully constructed as "Illadelph Halflife"? I don't think so.

9. Talib Kweli
Talib seems to be unable to create an interesting place for himself in the world of hip-hop: not as hard as most rappers, but not as willing to sell out as other PG-13 rappers like Common or Mos Def. Last year's Eardrum wasn't too bad when it finally saw the light of day, but it wasn't the masterpiece that he's hinted at since Quality. It's probably asking a lot, but I'd love to see Talib make a really fucking dark album, with someone like El-P providing a handful of nasty sci-fi beats. He doesn't have to get all gangsta on us, but Talib definitely needs some sort of edge to his delivery.

8. Scarface
Okay, yeah, it's not like Scarface has been too far off his game here. He released MADE this year to some well-deserved acclaim, coming off of an "I-ain't-rappin-no-more" stint. But still, Scarface hasn't made an out-and-out masterpiece in a long time. It's hard to judge whether or not he's still got one left in him, though: at 37 years old, Scarface is at the optimal age to walk away from serious recording and become a symbolic elder statesman. What else is there to prove, really? Well, I think he's got a puncher's chance to make another classic. After "T.I. vs. T.I.P.", the South could use someone like Scarface.

7. Twista
Twista: a man destined for guest-verse purgatory? Tough to say. He keeps knocking cameos out of the park, usually because he's light years ahead of the other rapper on the track stylistically. But then he'll release something like The Day After, and suddenly you think, "Hmm, maybe a full-length Twista album wasn't that good of an idea..." It's usually because he just raps about doin' girls and doin' drugs, and since Twista raps at warp-speed, his references to doin' these things mow you down until you're numb. I mean, I would never suggest that Twista's delivery is intrinsically tied to his failure as a solo artist, but... yeah, I have to suggest it. Maybe he should try calming down a bit, not worry about showing off his word-per-minute ratio, and start writing rhymes that are more thought-provoking and not designed exclusively for the club.

6. Eminem
Oh boy, where to start with this one? When Marshall Mathers comes back (and he will come back), it'll be interesting to see what sort of reception he receives, now that he purged himself of his genius on The Marshall Mathers LP and chose to carefully destroy the album image he created on his two follow-ups. What will he say, now that he's irrelevant in a world where pop culture has moved onto the next generation? My guess (and hope): he'll release a deeply bitter, reflective album, one in which none of the singles particularly connect well and the critics hail as his Blood On the Tracks. Eminem's got too much talent and too many demons to not release another staggering album. Let's hope he gets around to it soon.

5. Busta Rhymes
I refuse to believe that The Big Bang is the harbinger of Mr. Flip Mode Squad's career. Why do so many people forget that Busta Rhymes was, for a very long time, really fucking WEIRD? Because, after years of hanging out with Diddy, making songs like "I Love My Bitch", and pissing us off by cutting his dreadlocks, it's easy to overlook such explosive past offerings as "Woo-Ha!", "Dangerous", and "Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See". The thing about Busta is that, as his production and hooks became more mainstream, his appeal as rap's wildly brilliant court jester sorta tapered off. Can Busta Rhymes be rescued from his "Ludacris, but a worse actor" fate? Of course he can. In some shape or form, the man will make another great collection of songs -- the moment he stops calling will.i.am and getting haircuts. (Busta, I'm sorry about the actor comment. You were pretty good as the brother in "Finding Forrester".)

4. De La Soul
I don't really wanna talk about why De La Soul is probably gonna make another amazing record. It'll just happen. It doesn't matter that they're old, that The Grind Date was good but not great, or that they don't seem to have any interest in recording another classic. It'll just happen. They're just that good. They will always be that good, and it will come as no surprise when they make another mind-blower. Enough said.

3. Method Man
See, this one's probably the trickiest to call, because Method Man might just be the single best rapper on this list, but he's by far the most inconsistent. Like Twista, he excels at killing the posse cut and squelches on the solo efforts he regularly produces. Unlike Twista, he already has a classic album (Tical) under his belt, not to mention his work as Wu-Tang's most recognizable member. But every time you think Johnny Blaze is ready to come back and smash the world, he puts out more unexceptional material. Dude's hard to pigeonhole. Still, as long as Method Man is still rhyming and the song "Bring The Pain" exists, you just have to believe that he'll eventually get it together and release his own Fishscale.

2. Cam'ron
No, Purple Haze was not an anomaly. Yes, Killa Season was a well-deserved victory lap. And yes, Killa Cam will release something that measures up to (or comes close to) the magenta masterpiece that I consider hands-down a top-ten rap album of the decade. It's very difficult for me to think otherwise, with Purple Haze's crackling wit, hilarious disses, and bizarre sexual come-ons still fresh in the mind. Cam'ron's rhyming style is wholly singular, and while his opinions about basically anything important are undoubtedly deplorable, he remains a genius in the studio. The Diplomats may be readjusting themselves, but Killa's personality is too irrepressible to stay in the shadows for long. My guess is, by next year, men, women, and children of all colors and creeds will be happily shouting "Dipset, bitch!" once more.

1. Cannibal Ox
If they ever get around to making it, Cannibal Ox's follow-up to The Cold Vein will cause many people to lose their respective shit. But there's that damn clause: if they ever get around to making it. Vast Aire and Vordul Mega have been quiet ever since reports of them working on a new record never lead to anything substantial. But let's be serious here: the guys will get around to it, and when they do, underground hip-hop will have a new bible to thump. This is because The Cold Vein is sorta perfect: fantastically engaging, with heart-pounding beats and enough personal insight on songs like "The F-Word" to make the listener feel like they've known the two MCs for years. If El-P can hibernate for a few years and come back with I'll Sleep When You're Dead, it's hard not to expect these two knuckleheads to do the same. And even if the follow-up is a crushing disappointment, Cannibal Ox are too talented to not give us another adrenaline shot someday. If anyone's got one great album left in the tank, it's these guys.

What Went Wrong: Madonna's "Comeback" Single

...gross.

Let's get right down to it. Three reasons why "4 Minutes", Madonna's lead single off of her new album Hard Candy, sucks:

1. It costars Timbaland and Justin Timberlake. I love Timbo and JT as much as the next guy, but there's something to be said for oversaturation. For all Timbaland accomplished as a producer in 2006, mega-hits with Timberlake, Nelly Furtado, and Young Jeezy ("3 A.M.", still a great banger) caused the man's head to swell and him to throw out his time-worn asset of subtlety. From Missy Elliott's "Get Ur Freak On" to Timberlake's "Cry Me A River" and Jay-Z's "Dirt Off Your Shoulder", Timbaland's beats have always sounded more stunning when they let the artist have his or her way with them. Ever since "Futuresex/Lovesounds", though, Timbaland's gotten thirsty to be numero uno, a position he doesn't have the voice or the persona for. "4 Minutes" is the sound of grave overcompensation: it's a Timbaland production that fires on too many cylinders, built around a boring horn riff and a chorus that's just musically ugly. As for Justin, well, he phones in the minor call-and-response action that he's assigned. "4 Minutes" is Timbaland's baby, really, and as good a team he and Justin have made, their collaborations have been a bit tired ever since "Shock Value". Timbaland, your victory lap is officially over; time to explore other options, potna.

2. Madonna isn't given anything to do. A Madonna single doesn't need Mrs. Guy Ritchie to slug notes out of the park as if she's Mary J. Blige. Hell, she barely has to say anything interesting or heighten her vocal range, as seen by "Ray Of Light" and "Music". But she's gotta do SOMETHING. "4 Minutes" sounds like Madge has been neutered. She's allotted about 1/4th of the song, and the lines she does have are handled without any form of pizzazz. Listen to the line "The road to heaven/ is filled with good intentions" at 2:39 into the song; has Madonna ever sung anything with less passion? Part of this is the fact that she's been overshadowed by Timbaland's frustrating beat and Justin's clunky singing, but come on, this is Madonna. Even if she doesn't have a great voice, she's got enough showmanship to drive a great hook. For a comeback single, Madonna sure sits around on the sidelines a lot here. But oh yeah, that's right...

3. Madonna didn't need a fucking comeback single. People are treating the decidedly Americanized "Hard Candy" as Madonna's return to form, working with hip-hop producers like Pharrell Williams and Kanye West after dabbling with Euro-dance music for the better part of a decade. The problem with this is that the past decade, starting with the William Orbit-produced "Ray Of Light" album, has been pretty goddamn successful for Madonna. Sure, there have been missteps like "American Life" and smooching the Spears, but most of what Madonna's tried has worked, from "Ray Of Light"'s rave music to "Music"'s music music to "Confessions on a Dance Floor"'s dirty dance tracks, which birthed one of her best singles ever, "Hung Up". In fact, "Confessions" and its subsequent tour have arguably been the most well-received, positive-press outings Madonna's put together in the '00s. Why change course now? To become a firmly-American pop star again, backed by radio-approved beatmakers? Granted, I haven't heard the rest of "Hard Candy", but it sounds like a backwards creative step for someone who so far has been aging suprisingly gracefully. And as far as American audiences, it has yet to resonate: it sold 280,000 copies its first week, down from "Confession"'s 463,000. After a triumph like "Hung Up", why digress with a song as calculated as "4 Minutes"? It kinda blows that, judging from this song and "Hard Candy"'s obscenely unnecessarily cover art, Madonna's choosing to be hip instead of really, really good.

The Great Debate: Is "Lollipop" the Most Important Song of the Last Five Years?

"No, I want the lollipop HERE!"

So first of all, apologies for the blatant infrequency. Chalk it up to an internship at Seventeen magazine, a really hard politics class, a radio show, and an awesome girlfriend for me to be distracted by this semester, I guess. But now it's summer, I'm done school, (almost) done my reign at Seventeen, and ready to blog. Two changes to come for "From Tha Chuuuch" over the next few months: it's gonna be almost exclusively focused on music, and it's gonna be daily. That second promise may be difficult to pull off, but fuck, man. I'm ready to make it happen.

As "Tha Carter III" gets endlessly pushed back, Lil' Wayne, largely recognized as the best rapper alive, has given us "Lollipop" to suck on. In the time Weezy released "Carter II" in '05, he's used sublime guest verses and a ridiculous mixtape output to become a critical hit. This isn't particularly newsworthy; Clipse basically did the same thing before "Hell Hath No Fury". The difference between the two is that Lil' Wayne has become equally recognized and respected in the mainstream market. He's on the cover of Vibe and XXL, dropping verses on Kanye and Jay-Z albums, and noticeably growing a cult fanbase, based on... what, exactly? "Da Drought 3"? I mean, as lethal as that mixtape is, it's still a mixtape, a medium that's not too optimal for commercial success for obvious reasons. "Carter II" is a solid disc, but it wasn't huge in '05, and its singles never received much airplay. So, Lil' Wayne has made himself a superstar based on material not available in retail stores, and now "Carter III" is more hotly anticipated than albums from veterans like Nas and T.I. It's a stunning achievement, honestly, and it sort of speaks to just how good those mixtapes (most notably "Drought 3" and "Dedication 2") have been.

Now... "Lollipop". Is this a joke? A cross between 50 Cent's mystical-penis misogyny and T-Pain's Framptonized vocoder vox? This is the new king of rap music? Lil' Wayne became famous over the past two years for his acrobatic rhyming skills and his incredibly unique voice. On "Lollipop", there's no rapping. None. Also on "Lollipop", Weezy F. Baby sounds nothing like our regular, beloved Weezy F. Baby. He uses a tired metaphor throughout the song (I'll let you guess what it is), discusses how he let some ho "lick the (w)rapper", and gives us a stinted drum machine with some minimal Souljah Boy synths. The fuck?

Well, "Lollipop" is a huge hit. It's also kind of good.

It's hard to defend "Lollipop" for several reasons, the biggest one being that it's a pretty terrible, stupid song. It's also difficult to justify its existence without appearing to be some apologist Lil' Wayne fanatic, refusing to admit that their idol sold out to hit #1. "No way," an apologist would say, "Weezy's just taking us in a new direction, perfecting the R&B-vocoder genre and giving us some catchy shit to nod our heads to. And plus, he's not really gonna make music like this forever."

All of this is more or less true. It is a new direction for Wayne, albeit a calculated attempt to capitalize on a booming music niche. But for all of its shortcomings, "Lollipop" has more soul than all of the last eight T-Pain singles combined. The first time you hear "Lollipop", you disregard it as trash. The second time, you notice how insanely emotional Lil' Wayne is throughout the song: he strains every ounce of his being to nail lines like "I liiiike that!", "Call ME/So I can make it juicy for ya", and "I make her feel RIGHT when it's wrong like lyin'". The third time you hear it, you will have the refrain "She li-li-licked me like a lollipop" stuck in your skull for the next six hours. Frustrated, and craving one more goddamn listen, you listen to it for a fourth time, and you start to think that the drum machine is actually pretty sweet, that Static Major is a serviceable hook-singer, and that the last minute is sickeningly great. It's a hypnotic process, really. Now, I keep retreating to "Lollipop" like a shameful sex junkie looking for just a quick piece of nookie. I know it's wrong, that on paper it's a terrible piece of music, but it's gotten me under its spell. I've been made a sucker.

Plus... c'mon, Lil' Wayne is still an amazing rapper. This is just the single to draw the masses into an album chock full of "I'm the man in this bitch/They say money talks, well, I'm the ventriloquist"s, right? Sadly, upon hearing "Lollipop", it's hard to expect the brilliance of "Da Drought 3" to linger over into an album seemingly made for commercial success. Expectations have to at least partially subside, because no one wants an album full of "Lollipop"s; one song without rhyming and with vocoder should be enough, thanks. Plus, the fact that its release keeps being delayed is never a good sign, especially when such spontaneous output as the mixtapes was like lightning in a bottle. No matter if you hate "Lollipop" or are kinda charmed by it, its existence has to make you a little nervous about what everyone believes to be a classic. And so, the "Carter III" wait uncomfortably continues...

But "Lollipop" should be noted for more than spiking anticipation about the album. This song, and everything it represents, is FASCINATING. An artist who started out as a Cash Money figurehead and Juvenile supporter ("Back That Azz Up", indeed) falls out of the limelight only to become a critical success on the basis of some raw mixtape power. Gaining some cred, he boosts his profile by guesting on some high-profile tracks, and suddenly the man's a rising star once again, though without that signature single as an anchor. "Tha Carter III", fast approaching, has been annointed the critical and commercial zenith in a genre quickly losing big names. With all the pressure in the world to live up to unusually curious fans and die-hard critics, Lil' Wayne releases "Lollipop".

This song feels like a plot twist no one saw coming. It's a complete musical departure, sure, but the audience it panders to sent it straight to #1; fuck me if this track isn't the jam of the summer. Critics eyeball it like Pandora's Box, either treating it like a puerile mess or praising it for, ya know, being okay and stuff. This isn't what they wanted. They wanted "I Feel Like Dying" to become a radio staple! Simply put, "Lollipop" is the point in which fans and critics have collided and coiled themselves around each other. It's the career apex for Weezy's popularity; it's the long-awaited surge of the critics' new pet rapper. No single song since "Hey Ya!" has had such a huge impact on the commercial and critical world -- the past five years have seen the radio cling onto Ne-Yo and Nickelback, and the 'zines heap praise upon Ghostface Killah and Panda Bear. This is generalization, but crossover between the two sects has been very small. "Lollipop" is the point where the critical darling becomes the people's champ, and the bloggers who nursed him back to health don't know what to do. Hate it or love it, Weezy The Underdog's on top, with a fucking vocoder and a lollipop. How is this NOT the most important song of the last five years?

Underrated/ Down to "The Wire": Season 2, The Best Season of "The Wire"

"The Wire" ended tonight. Yep, one of the best shows in the history of television ended tonight, and while it was enough to get me out of my self-imposed blogger hibernation period, it's not quite enough to get me to reflect on the final episode, and the final season, of the show -- yet. The fifth season was probably my least favorite, which seems in line with a lot of comments circulating the web these days, and I'll likely discuss why in my next post. But for now, let's take a moment to reflect on the ugly stepchild season, season 2.

I'm an ass-backwards "Wire" fan. As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I started watching season 2 before I watched season 1, because I could only find season 2 online at the time, which doesn't make much sense but I'm sticking to my story. From there I was hooked and wanted to see where the plot lead, so I watched season 3, then season 4. At this point season 5 was still two months away, so I spent a weekend at home from college, using my On Demand feature, ignoring my parents, and inhaling season 1's 13 episodes in 2 days. It underwhelmed me. Coming off of the complexity of 3 and 4, season 1 seemed like the characters were still being sketched out, and while this is perfectly fine for a first season, it still couldn't stack up to the others. I mean, c'mon, Wallace isn't half as interesting a character as Carcetti, or Michael, right? Even Stringer and Avon were broad caricatures at the time, and D'Angelo will always resemble a punk to me. So before season 5, I thought season 1 was by far the weakest. Yeah, I know, I don't make sense.

But let's back up. Why was I hooked at this point, enthused enough to watch seasons 3 and 4 in about a week each? Because I decided to give season 2 a try, and after I figured out who the hell all these characters were and what they were doing in this little universe, I couldn't help but keep watching. Maybe I'm just saying this because I watched it first, or maybe because the Avon/Stringer stuff never interested me as much as the police work being done, or maybe it's because my skin is white. But fuck it. Season 2 of "The Wire" is the show's best season.

A lot of my reasoning has to do with the actual structure of the season, which is head and shoulders above the others except for maybe season 4. Season 2 starts with the jolt of the 14 dead girls found in a can on the docks (disclaimer: if I mess up any or all of the details of this season, I apologize; I haven't watched it in its entirety since September), and from there it's a slow, steady burn. The police work is careful and shrewd, and the writing is focused on characters and attuned to detail. The setting of the docks is astonishingly fleshed-out: we get to wake up early with these guys, share drinks with them, get inside their heads. It's a little weak that the detail on Frank Sobotka arises from him basically ruffling Stan Valchek's feathers, but the way the murder case and the detail fold into each other is flawlessly paced. Most importantly to me, the steadiness is transferred to the drug storyline, which is admittedly slow but not without explosiveness. The hotshot in the prison, Stringer's seduction of D's girl before he orders his execution, the powerful presence of Prop Joe and the growing disconnect between Stringer and Avon are all deeply felt. That scene where D'Angelo talks about "The Great Gatsby" ("he frontin' wit all them books, but if we pull one down off the shelf, ain't none of them pages ever been open") is one of the best-written monologues I've ever heard, and is well worth the season's absence of gang-banging and violent drama.

The emotional violence is left for the Sobotkas. Frank, Nick and Ziggy are the epicenter for season 2, and the lynchpin for its success. Luckily, the trio are the most relatable band of miscreants the show has ever offered. Believe me, I love me some Omar, but can I REALLY relate to a gay, shotgun-wielding, Honey Nut Cheerios-loving stick-up artist? Nick is the everyman, the Polish union lackey who, fed up with shrinking hours and a bland lifestyle, tries to dabble in some extracurriculars and does horribly. He may not be the most outlandish character, but he feels very real, as does his lumbering uncle Frank. The boss man tries to keep the docks alive by buying a couple rounds and trying to be everything to everybody, even though he can't be a father to his son. Ziggy is an ass for most of the season, but he's a likable ass, the screw-up who wants to prove that he's not a screw-up even though he knows he is. Watching him slowly sink into the crimes he's too sweetly bone-headed to commit was like seeing someone be overcome by quicksand. When he killed a guy who knew he was a screw-up, we saw his ragged vulnerability fully revealed; when he turned himself in to the police, we saw what is in my opinion the finest single scene "The Wire" has ever produced: his final stinted conversation with Frank, now separated from him by a metallic prison table. "I got tired of being a punchline to every joke," he laments to his father, who doesn't know what to say. It's a gut-wrenching scene that sets up the series' two most tragic figures: Ziggy, the clown who couldn't handle the world's seriousness, and Frank, the father whose overambition made him lose everything he loves.

But let's cut to the chase: season 2 is much more subtle and implosive, but that doesn't mean there's a shortage of pulse-pounding drama. The police work of the show has never been as gripping, from Daniels' grudging participation to McNulty's brilliance during exile to the sly maneuvering of Beadie Russell. Unlike season 1, the roles of the cops were rounded out nicely, and the dialogue and in-fighting between them were electric. Simply put, many of the scenes were just executed beautifully as well. That scene where the police just barely miss putting the lock on Sobotka by tipping him off that something's funny had my heart racing. And the penultimate episode couldn't have ended with a more incredible shot: Frank Sobotka, walking toward the Greek, the shoreline, and his certain death. After that episode, how could you NOT be hooked? And while the finale was not as compelling as the end of season 4, it wrapped up the prostitute murders and Greek storyline in a believable fashion, and gave us the silhouette of rocky things to come between Avon and Stringer in season 3. And Nick Sobotka was saved, as he rightfully should have been. The final shot of him looking through a fence at the fallen docks empire his father had created could not have been more apt.

So scoff if you will, tell me I'm insane. You're probably right. As "The Wire" ends, we'll all have our personal memories of the show, and most people will not share mine. But in a show that focuses on the downfall of the American city, I will always find a storyline about a working-class character who tries bending the rules to make up for waning wages -- and the terrible consequences such a decision leads to -- much more in line with the world around us than a bunch of disciplined gangsters holding board meetings, or a dude with a shotgun sticking up the stash in the world's most risky anti-drug campaign ever. This is over-simplification/blasphemy, I know. But the story, the writing, and the characters of Season 2 will always resonate with me the strongest. "The Wire" is over, but I will always have that memory of watching Season 2 late at night in my dorm room, watching the Sobotkas and co., and wondering why this little cop show that nobody watches was so goddamn good.

Underrated: The Terribleness of the 2008 Grammys

Sometimes, I'm completely the man...

I was gonna write a post bitching and moaning about the 2008 Grammys; oh, believe me, I was. But what's the point? It's sort of after the fact (happened two whole days ago) and people have moved on. More importantly, the Grammys themselves will never change, no matter how much criticism they receive for being completely disconnected from the rest of the universe. The fact that the Grammys exist in its own nebulous where Alicia Keys is holy and everything can be solved with a interpretive-dance tribute concerns me none. Frankly, I think it's sad and a little pathetic that the U.S. does not have a valid award for musicians. Think about it. Despite what a lot of people think, the Oscars seem to get it right a lot, especially this year when two of 2007's greatest films, "No Country for Old Men" and "There Will Be Blood", are up for Best Picture. Even the Emmys have been pretty spot-on as of late; how else to explain the worthiness of winners like "30 Rock" and "The Sopranos"? Sure, some of the indie favorites get passed over, from "The Wire" to Wes Anderson's career, but at least there's a common denominator between critics and the awards for these mediums.

The Grammys, in comparison, are ass-backwards. They nominate popular artists because "popular" means "best" to them, but not BAD popular like Hinder or Nickelback, only GOOD popular, John Legend and Feist, the artists you can take home to mom. Obviously the Grammys are geared toward an older generation for viewership, which is why John Fogerty, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard scared the bejesus out of everyone with the night's final performance. But then what the hell is this? An awards show based around old-timey viewers? The nominations are already uninformed, why must we blindly pick musical performers as well? I mean... I have major beef(s) with LCD Soundsystem, but seriously, how in the name of fuck how can they appear in EVERY SINGLE TOP 10 LIST this year and not get one single nomination from what's supposed to be the quintessential music awards? That's the closest I'm getting into a rant, but I think that's a valid question. If nothing else, it forces even the most casual music fan to see a wild disconnect between the Grammys and the rest of the human world.

But enough of that. Even if I just inadvertently bitched and moaned, let's now turn to happier times: a list of four things about the 2008 Grammys that made me smile. In no particular order:

-- Daft Punk. That's right, somebody came up with a GENIUS idea to bring DP and Kanye together on stage for "Stronger", and I guess the thought had just never occurred to me up until I saw Mr. West dancing around that brooding French pyramid, but it was still pretty inspired. You gotta wonder how people like Bonnie Raitt and Ringo Starr reacted when they saw the pyramid open up and those two knucklehead robots doing their thing; I hope Bonnie's mind was fucking blown, and I hope Ringo was envious to be a part of that collective. The fact that they were just pressing random squares on a keypad, as if they were controlling every inch of music when they clearly were not, was pretty sweet too. Would anybody have minded if Kanye left the stage and they broke into some "Digital Love"?

-- That mind-warping gospel performance. The combination of Aretha Franklin's monstrous dress, that one guy who was waving a trombone around and clapping a lot, and the general air of "...okay, wait, what's this all about?" was one for the ages. What this nine-minute tribute to a irrelevant genre to the Grammys lacked in subtlety, it made up for in Israel and New Breed, and the Clark Sisters, and Trin-i-Tee 5:7, and about 78 other people. I couldn't help but smile as nothing made sense.

-- The guy who holds up the mirror so Morris Day can see how pretty he is, mid-performance. Poetic.

-- Herbie Hancock winning Album of the Year. I'm not even gonna relish in the fact that I PREDICTED THIS, on this here very blog, and felt very very smart when I heard the gasps and saw that old S.O.B. skip toward the stage. I just thought, "Good for Herbie Hancock. He proved that he could win Album of the Year with an album no one has ever heard of." What went down at the Grammys was an act of mischievous wonder: Hancock cracked the code. He exposed the Grammy's prejudice against new and interesting music. He proved that all you need is a fail-safe concept for your album (tribute to another great artist), the "classic" reputation, and a sprinkle of fairy dust, and you will have the year's Best Album. Will anyone take this award seriously after this, arguably a more ludicrous win than that one Steely Dan album and the 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' soundtrack? Herbie Hancock has just imploded the Grammys. I bet he's still laughing. How can you not admire the guy?

Down To "The Wire": Midseason Thoughts

"He was in the glee club."

Technically, I've seen the first seven episodes of the fifth and final season of "The Wire", but I won't spoil anything about the two episodes that haven't aired yet. What's been interesting about season 5 for me is the fact that I can't inhale the eps like I did for the first 4 seasons using torrents; I 've basically had to watch one episode a week, and the days in between have been painfully long.

Midway through the season, I'm finding it difficult to locate where season 5 belongs on the greatness meter when compared to the other four seasons. The serial killer plotline and the way it's linking itself to Scott Templeton is arguably the center of this season, and it seems that, if you go along with the thread without holding a grudge, you'll enjoy the season more. Frankly, it goes against the grain of the show by being so unrealistic; c'mon, how many times have cops fictionalized serial killers for more police funding? If it's not a plotline straight out of a bottomfeeding "L&O" ep, it at least treats the gritty cop beat the way "House" treats standard medical practice. Personally, I think it's a lot more interesting to think of it more as a critique of our sensationalizing society (adding bite marks to draw media attention is a terrifyingly truthful detail) and a character study of McNulty. Sure, Lester's helping him with the dynamics and Bunk's reacting like a sane person, but Jimmy's leap off the deep end is pretty damn compelling, especially after his moral breakthrough in season four. Watching him deteriorate back into a drunk and a hound helps justify the looniest, most insubordinate idea he's ever had, but the fact that he's doing it to get police work done and nail a man who dropped 22 bodies and is ruling the West side -- a man who's case the mayor sort of dismissed -- somewhat rationalizes his out-of-the-box actions. This is a man pushed to the edge, a smart man who knows how to manipulate bosses and the media so that he can get the funding to drop Marlo. If you don't dig the serial killer plot (and trust me, I've had days of disapproval), at least recognize what a fascinating character McNulty is.

On the other side of the coin, somebody get Jamie Hector some kind of fucking award, because his performance as Marlo should be the stuff of legend. As if anyone doubted the cold-bloodedness of the kid, the way he dropped Prop Joe (R.I.P.) without batting an eye or saying more than "I was never made to play the son" was truly chilling. The best part about him is that he's ridiculously successful: with a connect to the Greeks and Joe out of the way, the kid's on his way to becoming untouchable. It'll be interesting to see whether or not McNulty and Lester can bring him and his goons down by season's end, or if they still takin over, one city at a time. My gut tells me that "The Wire" does not pull any punches, and will not gift-wrap a happy ending into their depiction of the streets of Baltimore, so I think Marlo stands upright at the end of episode 10. It would be damn depressing, but having the ultimate incarnation of evil succeed would be pretty historic as well (since the Patriots lost in the Super Bowl).

Of course, Marlo's gotta dodge Omar first (SPOILER: falling out of that window wasn't the last we'll see of Mr. Honey Nut Cheerio's). Slate.com's recent article on "The Wire" criticized the show for routinely suspending its realism so that Omar can stick around, and I gotta say, it's a valid point. I mean, how the HELL is that guy not dead yet? The window stunt was probably the deepest dip into Fantasyland yet. Omar is obviously a central figure and lovable character, but his wild-card status is starting to look a little cartoonish on a show this trench-deep in reality. Not saying I love my man Mr. Little any less, although I can almost guarantee that Omar will be a goner by season's end, especially with his newfound thirst for dispatching Marlo. As we've seen before, Chris Partlow does not fuck around. I'm all about Omar taking down the king, but my money's on Chris when the two square off.

And then there's the newsroom. I don't want to dwell on this part of the show in the same way I never want a particular episode to dwell on the Baltimore Sun storyline. I don't dislike what David Simon is doing here, but it doesn't really gel with the rest of the show in the way the school storyline or even the docks of season 2 did. I think that's because it's too removed from the drug trade, the streets, the central focus of the show. From the way Hamsterdam was shoehorned into the politics-driven third season to the way we watched Frank Sobotka and Michael Lee fall in with the wrong crowd of slingers, drugs and the violence they put into motion were always pretty central to the "Big Issue" storylines of "Wire" seasons. There's a feeling of disconnect surrounding Simon's analysis of a dying newsroom, and it makes it appear more agenda-driven than it probably is. It doesn't help that all of the characters are either good or bad (good: Gus, Alma, old-timey copy editors; bad: Templeton, guy who plays Doug in 'Flight of the Conchords', main editor/suspenders enthusiast), and that's about all. We understand that there are those who abide by the sacred laws of journalism and those who want to sharpen their resume by sensationalizing their writing, and this was interesting when it was a movie called "Shattered Glass", but it doesn't congeal with the world of cops, dealers and politicians that "The Wire" has established over four brilliant seasons.

My criticisms are probably magnified, though. Omar and the BS newsroom are realistic and entertaining enough to still allow "The Wire" to wear the Best Show On Television Without A Doubt crown. There's a ton more about the first five episodes that I could talk about -- the awesomeness of Carver, Method Man's rise to Emmy-worthy status, the "why spend so much time on this?" nature of the Clay Davis trial -- and if you want my opinion, feel free to comment. Truth be told, with only five episodes left (three for me!), I'm starting to get a bit misty-eyed. I guess I'm gonna start watching "Dexter" when it's over, even the CBS commercials for it look kick-ass.