Category Archives: Nihilism

On Monday night, Donald Trump issued his endorsement in next years race for Texas attorney general. Youll never guess who he picked. Let me give you a hint: It was not the guy whose name rhymes with tush.

Thus concludes the single most craven political career inhonestly, Im not even sure how long. Because no politician in my lifetime has brought more dishonor upon himself than George P. Bush.

Over the course of his five years in politics, Donald Trump insulted, disparaged, and slandered many decent Americans. One of them happened to be George P. Bushs father, the former governor of Florida, Jeb Bush.

Lets take a trip down memory lane with a (partial) list of the things Trump said about George P.s dad:

Then there was the time Trump retweeted a dudewhose handle was White Genocidewho made a meme of Jeb as a homeless beggar outside Trump Tower.

Now maybe you say thats just the hurly-burly of politics. Its just locker room talk. Nothing personal. Man in the arena. Whatever.

Except that Trump also insulted Jebs wifethis would be George P.s own damn motherand, even after a cooling off period, refused to apologize for it.

And then there was the time that Trump talked about George P.s uncle, George W. Bush, and literally accused him of treason.

George P. Bush surveyed all of this, thought about the family to which he owed everythingdo you think this guy could have gotten elected dog catcher in Amarillo if his last name had been Jones?and decided that he didnt just want to be the Texas attorney general. He really, reeeealllllllyyyyyyyy wanted to be the Texas attorney general.

So he did this.

That, my friends, is the idiot grin of a man who thinks that selling his soul is just another thing you do. Like snagging a clerkship. Or landing a job at Akin Gump. Or getting into private equity. You want to do a thing so you just . . . do it. The doors of life are open and all you have to do is walk through them, without a care for the consequences of whats on the other side.

It gets worse.

George P. Bush leaned into this entire affair so hard that he sold merch boasting about the betrayal of his family:

Please note the date: This is from June. Six months after the January insurrection.

What did this abasement and betrayal get George P.? A fat load of jack squat.

Surely George P. wasnt foolish enough to think that Trump would go so far as to endorse him. But he probably hoped that, by toadying as shamelessly as possible, he might keep Trump on the sidelines and out of endorsing in the race.

At the least, he must have hoped that Trump wouldnt weigh in until much later in the race, when, if George P. had good poll numbers, maybe Trump would be nervous about endorsing someone else.

But you must understand that this election, the Republican primary, isnt until May 1, 2022. Its more than nine months away. Trump endorsing this early effectively puts an end to the race. It freezes all of the party establishment and money in place, because now to be for George P. is to be against Trump. Aint no Texas Republicans fixin to do that there foolishness.

It may surprise you, but I would argue that this is the best possible outcome. Maybe not for TexasKen Paxton, who has been under a longstanding indictment for securities fraud, could potentially wind up in jail as a sitting AGbut for America.

Republicans needed an object lesson in the wages of Trumpism. A great many Republicans still believe that if they just get along, theyll go along. That if they keep their heads down, or truckle under, they can keep running their game. That so long as theyre not like those icky Never Trumpers, the revolution wont come for them.

To go against Trumpism is to court defeat. To abase yourself before it is to add dishonor to the bargain.

The funny partand really, this is the single weirdest irony of our entire nationalist odysseyis that Trump frequently ended his rallies by reading The Snake.

Donald Trump literally told the Republican party who he was and what he would do to them. It was not subtext. It was the actual text. He read it from a paper. Over and over again.

Most of the party, it turned out, wanted a snake. They embraced the nihilism because it promised a chance to hurt their enemies.

But men like George P. Bush refused to believeeven at this late datethat the story could possibly be true.

Let his shame be a reminder, a warning, and a lesson.

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The Damnation of George P. Bush - The Bulwark

Peter Rehberg and I met at school in the mid-1980s. He was born exactly a year and a day before me, and was in the year above me Verulam School, the single sex comprehensive we endured in commuter belt Hertfordshire.

My musical tastes had matured from the stadium synthpop of Howard Jones to Soft Cell, Bauhaus and, erm, New Model Army. My mates and I were mainlining John Peel's Radio 1 shows and one day after school, two of us ended up in a conversation about all this with Peter. He offered to do us some tapes. With characteristic efficiency, the next day my friend received a C90 stuffed with Jim Thirlwell's Foetus productions, which blew our teenage minds with its symphonic cartoon nihilism.

My tape was Psychic TV's Dreams Less Sweet album, which Peter suggested was best listened to on headphones in the dark. This simple act of generosity would prove to be a major turning point in my life. The sounds and music on Dreams Less Sweet were like nothing I had ever heard before and I was terrified and fascinated in equal measure. It would be my first initiation of many that took place in darkened rooms late at night...

Peter's enthusiasm and evangelism about music was equalled by his inability to fit in with our school's stifling regime. He was banned from using the stereo in the sixth form common room after several incidents with Swans albums and some turntablism with a Captain Scarlet sound effects record.

One day us older pupils were subjected to a business workshop to focus our minds on future wage-slavery. It included a lecture from an invited speaker about what industry meant to us (not a lot). This was followed by some group work, where we had to produce a visual representation of our impressions. Obviously this was a load of bollocks and the outputs were instantly forgettable. Except one: Sunday supplement magazines had been cut up as source material for a large collage featuring factory chimneys, smoke and barbed wire - emblazoned with the slogan YOU DON'T HAVE TO ROB A BANK. It looked like the cover of a Throbbing Gristle bootleg. The group's spokesman displayed the artwork to the teachers and about two hundred bemused kids. He muttered apologetically: I'm really sorry, Peter took charge of this one.

Peter kept a watchful eye and was always happy to provide suggestions as I hoovered up the Some Bizzare back catalogue and boldly snaffled the weirdest records the local Our Price had to offer. One time I visited him at home, talking two to the dozen about the Butthole Surfers' Locust Abortion Technician LP. My mentor proceeded to pull out the band's entire back catalogue from his floor-to-ceiling record shelves. We watched his copy of their insane Blind Eye Sees All video and made a pact to see them live.

I finally got to a Psychic TV disconcert in 1987, marvelling at the array of freaks in the audience. I hid behind Peter in awe as he casually struck up a conversation with the goddess Paula P-Orridge. That summer was a lot of fun. Peter's beaten up blue Volkswagen Beetle ferried us to the Rough Trade shop in Ladbroke Grove, or to incredible gigs like Big Black's final show and an ecstatically deranged performance by the Butthole Surfers at the Clarendon. Starting the car involved fiddling about with some wiring under the back seat and there was no stereo, so we'd chat nonstop about music up and down the motorway.

Our record and gig habit was funded by doing dead end jobs. We both briefly had weekend shifts at Tesco. I vividly remember Peter getting bollocked when it emerged that he had spent about an hour dropping Marmite jars on the concrete floor of the storeroom. He liked how they sounded. Neither of us lasted long stacking shelves, temping jobs in the school holidays were better paid and more varied anyway. Early one morning a group of us was being inducted into the tedium of order picking at some warehouse and I noticed the manager becoming increasingly distracted. His eyes were drawn to Peter's T-shirt, bearing the bold proclamation: SWANS: PUBLIC CASTRATION IS A GOOD IDEA.

We both reacted badly to authority figures and were too easily distracted by music so unsurprisingly we both completely fucked up our 'A' Levels. Peter cashed in the dual-nationality he had from his father and headed to Vienna. I spent a miserable year doing retakes while my friends regaled me with their university adventures. I eventually scraped into college in London. Peter and I stayed in touch. Being from London and possessing sheer drive was enough for him to blag some DJ slots and insert himself into music journalism in Vienna. On his next trip to the UK we interviewed Cabaret Voltaire's Stephen Mallinder together and visited the offices of Mute Records, where Peter grinned at Daniel Miller and told him that he blamed the label boss for the way his life had turned out. I had to pinch myself.

Peter's next phase was already in train. He insisted that I buy a copy of LFO's debut album. There was vague talk of an ambient project. But I wasn't ready for the off-kilter inventiveness of the early Editions Mego releases. Nobody was. By the time I got to Vienna in 1997, Pita was an established artist and there was a buzz about the Vienna scene he was at the heart of. I was one of the speakers at the Association of Autonomous Astronauts' first Intergalactic Conference, which had been organised by Konrad Becker and Marie Ringler of seminal arts and culture venue Public Netbase.

Konrad's 1980s recordings as Monoton meant he had a natural affinity with Peter's work, so I assume that is how Pita was given the role of DJ at the children's party that was part of the event's eclectic programme. He did not compromise one iota with his set and it was a joy to watch the kids run around like maniacs and pogo to the drones, glitches and walls of noise. It ended abruptly. Peter later told me that some of the parents had been shocked and had complained, but he was characteristically amused by this and exasperated that the kids' enjoyment had been curtailed.

I found it hard to keep up with him after this. We'd meet up in London occasionally for a drink or a gig and he'd stuff armfuls of Editions Mego product in my hands or email me a bunch of download codes. I know I'm biased, but I never saw him do a bad performance.

Peter's love for music also extended to the people who made it. In 2012 we got the train from London down to Bexhill for the We Can Elude Control festival at the De La Warr Pavilion. Our travelling companions included Russell Haswell, Nick Edwards (Ekoplekz) and EVOL. Peter joked that he'd made the journey to the event to check on my investments (i.e. his artists), but his taciturn emails belied a deep affection for the people he signed to his label and collaborated with. I watched him talking to younger fans after gigs and taking the time to find out about their projects. To their delight, the more persistent ones would be inveigled into shifting his gear out of the venue.

I last saw Peter in 2018 when he played a modular set at Sutton House, Hackney's oak-panelled stately home. His excitement about forthcoming projects and his infectious humour about his escapades were unabated. Peter's life's work was music. And he spent his time doing exactly what I believe he was supposed to do. Whenever I spoke to him, the thrill of discovery that we shared as teenagers was always there. It physically hurts me that we will never meet again. But those conversations, his music, the countless people he inspired, the hundreds of incredible releases Peter was involved with all of these are an abiding and monumental legacy.

Farewell Peter, we were lucky to have you.

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Features | Remember Them... | You Don't Have To Rob A Bank: The Roots Of Peter Rehberg - The Quietus

Andrew Scott and Lily James star in The Pursuit Of LovePhoto: Robert Vigalsky/Amazon Studios

The Favourite did what Sofia Coppolas Marie Antoinette failed to doinspire a revolution in period piece aesthetics. Since Yorgos Lanthimos oddball royal court dramedy swept the Oscars, Apple TV+s Dickinson, HulusThe Great, Autumn de Wildes Emma, and Greta Gerwigs Little Women have all found success in injecting contemporary style and a modern sensibility into the standard historical drama template. And for its first episode, at least, Amazon Prime Videos interwar drama The Pursuit Of Love follows suit. When young British cousins Linda Radlett (Lily James) and Fanny Logan (Emily Beecham) meet their neighbor Lord Merlin (Fleabags Andrew Scott), the eccentric aristocrat is introduced in a fantasy sequence that channels ballroom culture by way of glam rock. Set to T. Rexs Dandy In The Underworld, the glitter-filled scene filters a late 1920s experience through a distinctly modern visual language in order to make this meeting of minds feel as alive as it would have to its characters. Its an exhilarating mix of style and substance.

B

Emily Mortimer; based on Nancy Mitford's novel of the same name

Lily James, Emily Beecham, Dominic West, Andrew Scott, Emily Mortimer, Freddie Fox, Shazad Latif, Assaad Bouab

Friday, July 30 on Amazon Prime Video

Hour-long period dramedy; complete limited series watched for review

Its just a shame the rest of the show cant keep up that level of verve. After the premiere launches the series with visual flair and a unique point of view, the next two episodes slowly devolve into more standard period piece fare. Despite its initial promise of quirky innovation, The Pursuit Of Love is mostly anchored by the familiar building blocks of a BBC co-production: sumptuous costuming, gorgeous cinematography, and strong performances. Based on Nancy Mitfords 1945 novel of the same name, the show can only intermittently keep its spark of originality alive. The Pursuit Of Love oftenstruggles to blend its kitschy comedic sensibilities with its more dramatic beatsalthough its a joy to watch when it does.

Set between 1927 and 1941, The Pursuit Of Love centers on the divergent experiences of its two female leads. Plain, pragmatic Fanny (Beecham) was given a good education but has a natural timidity and a desire not to rock the boat that sets her on the path towards a conventional life of mid-20th-century womanhood. Linda (James), meanwhile, is a beautiful, free-spirited rebel who lives in a world of superlatives. Her stern father (Dominic West, hilarious and terrifying) believes women shouldnt be educated and raises his children in what amounts to a glamorous prison at their wealthy country estate. That leaves Linda both woefully nave and desperate to escape, which sets her on a series of complicated romantic entanglements that come to define her tragicomic life. Love may be her religion, but shes worshipping at a fickle altar.

The three-episode series is adapted and directed by Emily Mortimer, who also has a small role as Fannys mother The Bolter, the responsibility-averse serial monogamist that Fanny and Linda define their lives against. Mortimer zeroes in on the either/or limitations put on upper class women in this era: They can be dutiful wives and mothers with social respectability but not a whole lot of fun or freedom (the stickers). Or they can put their own needs before that of their spouses and children, carving out a sense of independence but losing their social respect in the process (the bolters). Fanny and Lindas friendship is defined by the way they alternately fear and crave what the other has. As in her previous series, Doll & Em, Mortimer is interested in complex relationships between women. Linda and Fanny share both an aspirational intimacy and a toxic co-dependency, which Mortimer allows to ebb and flow in realistic and compelling ways.

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The main problem with The Pursuit Of Love is that it very much feels like a novel condensed into a limited series formnot least of all because of Fannys near-incessant narration throughout the series. The focused first episode gives way to a jam-packed second installment that weaves its way across England before hopping to 1930s Hollywood, a refugee camp at the border of the Spanish War, and eventually Gay Paree. The supporting characters are thinly sketched, while the relationship between Fanny and Linda battles for screen time with Lindas various romantic conquests. The Pursuit Of Love either needed more episodes to explore its decade-long story or Mortimer needed to be a little more judicious in what she cut from the source material.

It doesnt help that Linda is like a cross between Downton Abbeys Lady Rose andMamma Mia! Here We Go Agains Donna Sheridan, with a dash of War And Peaces Natasha Rostova. This isnt just a part James could play in her sleep, but one she basically already has. Though James effortlessly zings between flirtatious fun and deep melancholy, shes missing a spark of freshness as this Bright Young Thing, especially when she has to spend the entire first episode playing a teenager. Its yet another element of familiarity that weighs down The Pursuit Of Love. While the shows focus on female friendship and feminist themes is appreciable, its not all that radical to see a British period piece center on relationships between beautiful, upper class white womenas much of James own career can attest.

Instead, the most relevant themes that emerge from The Pursuit Of Love are about what its like to live at a time when it feels like the world is about to end. With war in Europe imminent, Linda initially tries to find purpose in communism only to eventually bury herself in a frivolous life of shopping and luxury instead. She was possessed by a calm and happy fatalism, Fanny explains in voiceover as Linda meets the rise of fascism by purchasing yet another new outfit. Its not entirely unlike the way we must all figure out how to cope in the current face of climate change, a global pandemic, and yet another rise in fascism. Like the glam rock montages and wry Wes Anderson-inspired cutaways, Lindas glamorous nihilism adds a spiky edge that occasionally jazzes up The Pursuit Of Loves classic period piece formula with something new.

The rest is here:

Amazon Prime Videos The Pursuit Of Love peaks in its stylish premiere - The A.V. Club

Director Garrett Price wanted his new documentary Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage, a deep-dive chronicle of one of the most disturbing music festivals in pop-culture history, to kick off with a song that evoked the mood of a '90s road trip movie. He settled on Lit's alt-rock radio hit "My Own Worst Enemy," the type of blaring guitar anthem that, for Price, brought to mind images of "Jason Biggs driving upstate with his friends in a car for a weekend of partying." If you know anything about Woodstock '99, a four-day descent into Limp Bizkit and Kid Rock soundtracked chaos in Rome, New York that ends with human waste pouring out on the ground and flames rising in the sky, you know the good vibes will not last long.

Premiering on HBO Friday night as the first entry in Music Box, a series of documentaries produced by sports media impresario Bill Simmons and The Ringer, Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage has a difficult task for itself. Over two hours, it attempts to tell a tick-tock narrative of the festivalwhich was reported on extensively at the time by outlets like Spin and MTV, and recently explored on a Ringer-produced podcast hosted by writer Steven Hyden, who appears as a talking head in this filmand connect it to larger cultural events of the period, like Bill Clinton's impeachment, the Columbine shootings, Y2K anxiety, and the transition from the vaguely progressive aspirations of early '90s alternative rock to the often hopeless nihilism and vile sexism of the nu metal era. It's a lot of (muddy) ground to cover.

By relying on footage from the festival, along with interviews with attendees, music journalists, festival staff, and artists like Moby, Jewel, Korn's Jonathan Davis, Creed's Scott Stapp, and more, the film paints an often unsettling portrait of white male anger, misogyny, and violence. Price, who previously directed Love, Antosha about the actor Anton Yelchin, spoke about the challenges of tying all the threads in the story together, the musicians who declined to tell their side of the story, and his own complicated relationship with the festival.

Thrillist: You're about 40 years old, I believe. Do you have a personal connection to Woodstock '99? What do you remember about that time?Garrett Price: I was a sophomore in college at the University of Texas, glued to the pay-per-view feed that whole weekend with my roommates. It was interesting because, yes, we saw the chaos unfold over those three days but it was more like, "Man, I wish I was there." It was more of a FOMO than really understanding the issues at play and the tragedies that occurred. It wasn't until years later when I started doing a deep dive back into the festival and seeing it's never really been told and it kinda got swept under the rug a bit. Even more fascinating, a lot of people confuse Woodstock '99 and Woodstock '94 to this day even. They're like, "Is that the one with the mud and Nine Inch Nails and Green Day?" And I'm like, "No, this is the one that ended much differently."

So, this gave me an opportunity to do what I like to do with my films, which is use these micro events to think about some macro ideas. The cultural context and the socio-political context surrounding the festival of a time when I was coming of age is really interesting to go back to, especially when you start to see some of the threads to how things are today. That's what excited me about this whole project.

So, you were not a big nu metal fan? What were your musical allegiances?A lot of indie rock. But I listened to it. I mean, I grew up in Texas in the suburbs. I watched MTV. This was the music of my generation. I was really interested in exploring what it was about this music that, for how short-lived it was, made it very popular. It spoke to a lot of people at the time and I wanted to see why.

I'm glad you mentioned the pay-per-view aspect of it. How much footage is there, and what was the process like as a filmmaker culling through all of it and trying to find what you wanted to use?There was a ton. It was covered for three straight days, so we had access to that. But more important to me was we found all these attendees who had Handycams or mini-DV cams that whole weekend. We wanted to really capture that point-of-view that hadn't been seen before, that boots on the ground experience as those three days unfolded. That's what I got excited about. The pay-per-view was great for the performances, but it was really using those different experiences that kids were capturing on their cameras. Also, just the way it looks, the graininess of it, really speaks to the time. That's my vrit footage in the movie, what they captured and what they saw unfold in real time.

How did you find that footage? What was the process for reaching out to people and getting access to it?I had an amazing archivist and researcher who basically Twitter-stalked and YouTube-stalked these clips they would find. Tape-trading communities, also. There's all this stuff. These tapes were sitting in their parents house somewhere and they'd be like, "I haven't thought about this in a long time." So they'd retrieve it and mail it out to us. It was gold. It really helped tell the story I was starting to tell. And there was a lot of it.

Given the scope of the story and the runtime of the movie, was there footage you really wanted to include but had to cut?Yeah, there were a lot of stories and moments that were really interesting that we didn't have the time for. In the beginning, we were asking, "Would this work better as a series than as a film?" I was like, "No, this has a three-act structure." It takes place over three days. I don't think I could handle more than one episode of this story. I think it works as a film, as a single sitting experience. And, truthfully, Woodstock films have always been films versus series, so it always felt like the right format to tell the story in.

In addition to the festival footage, the movie has lots of interviews with artists. We know who said "yes" to participating in the movie because, obviously, they're in the movie. But I'm curious about the artists not in the film. For example, did you reach out to Fred Durst?I talked to Fred a couple of times. We had conversations, and ultimately he decided he didn't want to participate. He's kinda moved on from that. I respect and understand that. But at the same time, I wanted to give him a platform to tell his side of the story. It was funny because, as I started making this, it's so much more about Limp Bizkit, this story. They got a lot of pushback throughout their career because of this, and I don't think that's entirely fair. There's a lot of factors that lead to the downfall of this festival.

What I did find fascinating was, what was it about Limp Bizkit that spoke to this generation of attendees so much? That's something I was more excited to dig into. Yes, the performance is very visceral and it's crazy to go back and watch, especially from the eyes of the present COVID moment. But what was it about this band that spoke to this crowd and made them so locked in? Why did they have a meteoric rise at this time? And it was a relatively short-lived genre of music. Those were the things that really excited me in telling this story, and that's what I told Fred. And he seemed interested, but, ultimately, he decided it wasn't for him and that's totally fine. I'm very happy with the people who did participate in the film.

I assume you reached out to Kid Rock and the Red Hot Chili Peppers as well?Yeah, we reached out to everybody. Again, I wanted to give them a platform. I'm sitting back objectively. It's everyone's story to tell and their experiences. Everyone has different experiences, from John [Scher] and Michael [Lang] putting the thing on, to the attendees, to the musicians. I just wanted to create a platform for everyone to tell their story and what they remembered from it and then lay it all out there.

John Scher, especially, seems still very frustrated with the way MTV told the story at the time. How did you pitch this movie to him when you were talking to him about participating?Yeah, it was the same way. I want to use the story of Woodstock '99 as a lens into the culture of the time and raise this question: Was the festival a victim of its time? That thesis of mine changed as I got deeper and deeper into this. I think there's faults everywhere. I also said, "We're making this film whether you want to be a part of it or not, so this is a chance to tell your story." And it's a story he's stuck to since the beginning. He hasn't changed his mind over the years. Anything he's said in this film, it's stuff he's been reported on saying in the past.

I like John and Michael a lot. I think they're really interesting and they've been successful with what they've done in the music world. But I do think they represent a culture of people and a generation of people in some of the things they believe and say. That's one of the themes of this movie. There are these power dynamics between generations, along with gender, race, class, and other things. Those were some of the things that excited me about using Woodstock '99 to explore and talk about.

I think you could potentially make an entire film about the sexual assaults that occurred at Woodstock '99 and the culture of misogyny of that period. What were the conversations you had in the filming and editing process about how to present that aspect of the narrative?There was a fine line between being exploitative in showing what it is and still making it feel like you're boots on the ground there, and feeling the toxicity of the environment that was created. There's an inherent danger in marketing the ideas of the late '60s and the free love movement to the culture of Girls Gone Wild, FHM, and Maxim of the late '90s. That's what I wanted to come across. As far as telling stories, it's important because, yes, the festival got a lot of press about the assaults that happened, but to put images to this and see how it unfolded and see how if things are treated this way in the beginning, it's going to result this way in the end. That was really important to me. There are lots of tragedies that happened. I got close with David Vadnais, who lost his best friend there. I can't imagine going to a festival like this for the weekend of your life, and, without cellphones, not being able to find your friend and the way that ended.

These tragedies deserve their day in court because it's a polarizing event. I talked to a lot of kids who had the time of their livesor so they thought, until you start talking about some of these issues at hand, including some people who worked on this film who were there. I think they always thought of it as this incredible weekend and they have nostalgia for it, but as we started making this film, they started to question what they were a part of, and I hope that happens with the audience because it happened with me. I think you pull people in with the nostalgia of this event, it's an engaging story and you can be entertained, but at the same time, you can reflect on the culture of the time and the culture that's coming out with things like Britney Spears right now and just how people were treated. It's important to go back and look at this as we try to move on because the threads of where we are right now are there.

I wanted to ask about the presentation of some of those elements. Were there ever considerations about blurring faces or blurring the nudity in the film?Yeah, but it felt like we were hurting the story. David Derosia [an attendee who died a day after the festival from heat stroke] talks about it in his [journal]. His first entry is, "There are boobs everywhere, this is so cool." And then even he's getting tired of it. I needed people to feel that. That's important, I think, in telling this story. It felt like this oversaturation. But, again, without being exploitative. We were very careful of trying to find that fine line and making you present there. But this was in public. A lot of this was on the pay-per-view feed. This has been out there all along. It makes it that much more horrifying, I'm sorry to say, when there are faces involved. That's the point of thishow horrific some of the events were that happened.

The movie blends interviews with artists and attendees with commentary from culture writers like Wesley Morris. How did you attempt to find that balance between the story and the analysis?Finding that pace and rhythm of going back and forth with our A story and our B story, and going on these culture dives, that was important. I'm a longtime editor and I write by editing. I throw things up and I see what sticks. I had a great co-editor on this one, too.

You don't want to stay in those too long because you want to keep moving forward as the festival progresses. I think something we were able to lean into was the performance of music in this. Every song is chosen very thoughtfully and methodically. Every song in this doc should be working on two levels. There should be an amazing performance going on and the subtext should be suggesting something deeper. That was really calculated as we were making this film.

The film ends with a parallel between the failure of Woodstock '99 and the success of Coachella. What was the intent of drawing that comparison?I wanted to show the baton being passed over to the next big festival. But I think there are some faults in how Coachella is progressing and I wanted to bring up some of those. There's a pendulum and a cycle to these things, and I think some of these things are starting to crack as other festivals start to come along. It's also just fascinating that two months after Woodstock '99 there was this new event that basically took over the world of music festivals. Things are now described as "the Coachella of something" when they used to be described as "the Woodstock of something." I think it's really interesting.

Also, I sympathize with the town of Rome, New York. I think they saw this as something that could put them on the map. They went through this loss of the Air Force base and it's hard not to see the success of Coachella and wonder what could have happened if [Woodstock] had become an annual, or every five or 10 years, thing. So, yeah, there was a lot of reasoning for that.

This is the first Music Box documentary that Bill Simmons and The Ringer are producing for HBO. What type of feedback did you get from them and what was it like making the first entry in a new ongoing series?They were great. They were completely supportive the whole time. It was probably, as far as working with producers and EPs, one of the smoothest processes I've ever gone through, making this film. They were excited and enthusiastic and really pushed to get this airing so quickly because we all thought of it as a summer movie. Look, we're premiering on the 22nd anniversary of Woodstock '99, which is a dream come true, getting this story out there so quickly. Bill tells the type of stories I like to tell. It's kinda in the mold of 30 for 30. The strongest 30 for 30's were about these events in sports that had something to say about the world, and that's what made me excited about working with them because those are the stories I like to make and watch.

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Read the rest here:

How the Director of HBO's 'Woodstock 99' Doc Cut Through the Chaos of the Infamous Festival - Thrillist

This article originally appeared inare u coming?, a newsletter about the return of New York nightlife. Sign up here.

Megumi Rooney and Jazzelle Zanaughtti, backstage at the Baroque Ball. Photo: Carmelo Varela

Im not usually someone who finds the idea of a crowded, sweaty warehouse rave that appealing. Nonetheless I ended up spending Saturday night with the collectiveNosferatu Incorporatedat one of their raves (though they preferred to call it a ball). For the most part, theyre a group of friends in their hot early-20s who hang out at HappyFun Hideaway. But now theyre trying to throw a post-pandemic party series, whose name is inspired not by the 1922 German Expressionist silent vampire film, but by aSpongeBob SquarePantsepisode that referenced it (anyone born in the 90s remembers the Hash-Slinging Slasher).

The Nosferatu backstory: Earlier this year, 22-year-old modelMegumi Rooneyand her friends were partying hard at Nowadays. On a trip to get a vape at the bodega, she met a guy who invited her and her friends to a party at the formerSpectrumspace. When they arrived, there were only five people on the dance floor. So they started posting about it on Instagram, telling their friends to pull up, and by the end of the night, there were hundreds of people dancing there. Impressed with their ability to draw a crowd, they started throwing parties professionally, backed by someone they call the investor. This weekend was their fifth event, aBaroque Ballat a red-brick building in Long Island City that used to be home to Club Exile, a punk-era discoteque. Megumi tells me it was actually their second choice of venue: The original spot was larger, but the owner suddenly died last week. She invited me along to see what it takes to throw a massive party, headlined by Eartheater, the Queens-based artist known for her experimental pop tracks and for being something of an ongoing muse to Casey Cadwallader, the creative director at Mugler.

Saturday night ended up being one of the best parties Ive been to this year. The looks were shockingly good, and the moody gothiness of it all felt right in tune with the trope-y nihilism of young Brooklyn in the careless post-pandemic summer. As Megumi told me, We wanted it to feel like the Renaissance after coming back from the pandemic. Or, put plainly by the girl working the door, Were just about like getting everyone together for one fucking sick night.

8:05 p.m. |Ive arrived early to see the party setup. Appropriately, lightning is streaking across the sky and thunder rumbling in the distance when the Nosferatu crew arrives in a frenzy of puffy white shirts, Regency-era wigs, and the occasional whale tail of a thong. Megumi is a stunning bloodySwan Lakefantasy, in a feathery white dress, towering heels covered in white papier-mch, and red sequins dripping down her powdered face, matching her red contacts. She moves fast but gingerly in the shoes, her black mullet somehow remaining unmussed as she hastily begins checking out the space. My nails are so long and I have to pee and I cant doanythingwith them, she says, zipping past me to the restroom and adding, Theres still a lot to do.

8:30 p.m. |The venue, which is starting to feel more like Frank-N-Furters sweet transexual mansion by the second one girl arriving dramatically in a black nightie on the back of a motorcycle covers two floors. On the first is a long bar, and upstairs is the ballroom, draped in white curtains. Overlooking the dance floor, theres a VIP mezzanine, where the group is setting up leather sofas, flower vases, and glass coffee tables that make it feel more like a therapists waiting room than an 18th-century salon. Trying to stay out of the way, I chat with a girl in long dangly earrings who is in charge of VIP bottle service ($299 for Titos, $359 for Patron) and she immediately says out loud what Im thinking: Whos going to order bottle service here?

8:45 p.m. |While Megumi continues to rush around a white fan in one hand, a vape in the other I check out the rooftop with her boyfriend, a very sexy, svelte fashion designer with a metal band across his nose. Hes hoping tonight will go smoothly, since some of the previous parties got shut down. The last one took place during Brooklynsfentanyl-in-the-coke craze. They stocked up on Narcan, but hypochondriacs kept using it up. Eventually, they ran out.

A voguer takes to the dance floor. Photo: Carmelo Varela

9:50 p.m. |Theentryway downstairs begins to fill with hoop skirts, giant bows, and miles and miles of silk, lace, and chiffon. Scanning the room, I cant find a single person not in costume, as well as several sets of exposed ass cheeks. The speakers play Bach, Vivaldi, and Handel. It feels like Im witnessing something important, not a rave. Like inBridgerton, theres something satisfying about the very diverse, very queer crowd in these stuffy old clothes, sexed-up with skimpy bottoms and boob-bearing tops. Powdered faces look strangely good with Bushwick mullets, and gloved fingers complement the many Telfar bags.

10:35 p.m. |Looking down at the dance floor, I watch as the music switches from Baroque to techno. The partygoers transition from some attempt at a three-step to fist pumping. A couple of voguers join the floor, and so does a built gay holding a lit votive candle in one hand and a White Claw in the other. A girl with fake black freckles and a fascinator tells me she has a theory for why so many parties like this one feel like knockoff Berghain: a Gen-Z change in the party drug of choice, from cocaine to ketamine.

11:34 p.m. |Out front, in the rain, I check out whats happening in line. When I ask one girl, in a black dress, what brought her here, she word vomits: My friends were going and then one of my friends couldnt go and then he was like, Here, do you want my ticket? Then I was like, Oh Eartheater, yes!And then I was like, Ohhh, its Baroque-themed, we get to dress up. Im a sucker for anything fancy. Further down the line, I meet a trans girl covered in pearl necklaces with bright-red Helena Bonham Carter hair. She uses cunt to describe everything, including the last Nosferatu party. She says she knows one of tonights DJs and then tells me, Im a whore, which she means professionally. She just moved to New York from Texas and apparently the clientele hasnt caught up yet; whereas she previously had sex with men with oil money, of late shes been mostly with bodega owners. A tiny white girl stops to tell her, You look like this old woman who works forTown and Country, and the trans girl shoots back, I look like an old woman?

11:54 p.m. |After talking to several others in line, it seems like the biggest draw tonight is not only the chance to get dressed up but also Eartheater, who will perform at midnight. On the way to meet her in her dressing room, people stop Megumi to compliment the party mostly the same phrase over and over again: Itsgiving. Eartheater is wearing long red braids, a mirror around her neck, and a blue dress with Oompa Loompa hips. While Megumi fans her, Eartheater spouts out a few directives: Make sure he has it on reverb! and I want the girls around me on the stage! and I need a DRINK!!! She does a few porpoise-y test shrieks into the microphone and steps onto the stage.

Eartheater performs her midnight set. Photo: Carmelo Varela

Midnight |The crowd goes nuts when they see her, but Eartheater isnt happy at first: Bring the mic down. Bring the music up. The sound is a mess. Before long, the rave feels more like a concert, with cries of I love this song! heard above the music. Twenty minutes later, Eartheater tells everyone, Its like a spirit came inside me. I feel possessed, before jumping into the crowd, surfing it face-up with her nipples out. From above, she reminds me of a red-haired Ophelia washing downstream, held up by her fans.

12:47 a.m. |Post-Eartheater, ball attendees revisit the bar downstairs while a choice crowd of friends of the collective head to the roof to cool off in the rain. Im gonna fall apart inside or out so I might as well stay in the rain, a woman with big hair says, before pointing out that the weather is ruining her drugs: The coke was already sticky and now its sticky icky. The party hits max capacity.

Guests in Baroque looks take a break downstairs. Photo: Carmelo Varela

1:41 a.m. |I meet back up with Megumi, who, after lots of work and not that much personal letting loose, is ready to head back to her boyfriends apartment for a smaller after-party. Before she heads out, she deals with a problem in the dressing room a girl with giant lips is slumped in a chair, crying and saying shes been served a drugged drink. She says she cant move her limbs, so the organizers find her somewhere to lay down for a while until she feels better. Its like a physical ailment! she tells the room.

2:13 a.m. |The rain has stopped, so I head back to the roof, where I meet a model-filmmaker-photographer-wannabe stripper who bought a one-way ticket from Miami to party in New York. Tonight, he says, was giving. Hes not the only person in town for the ball. I also talk to a model who is visiting from Texas and went to a rave Nosferatu threw in Houston, saying, It fucking changed my life pretty much. It spoke to my soul. I was like,I need to be in New York I feel free. Now, shes planning to move here. It all sounds a bit earnest, but she speaks with the sweet, innocent perspective of a lost queer spending their first week in the big city: You are who you are. It doesnt fucking matter. You can wear what you want to wear and say what you want to say sometimes.

A partygoer gives Marie Antoinette. Photo: Carmelo Varela

2:34 a.m.|The post-Eartheater recovery break is over, and the dance floor is once again packed and sweaty. In line for the bathroom, where someones cigarette butt is smoldering in a trash can, a short guy in a striped shirt says he missed his flight to L.A. this morning, so now hes here. Unfortunately, the guy he likes just left and now hes on the search for someone to go home with again: The person I wanted to take to my hotel, he said, My back hurts. And I was like, Good. I wouldve made that worse. I wouldve blown your back out.

3:13 a.m.|Near the bar, I meet two girls hanging out the window, smoking cigarettes. I trade them a swig of my drink for a smoke, and then they start distributing Purell. I ask what the highlight of their night was, and the shorter girl looks into the others eyes, saying, Doing coke and dancing with you. Her girlfriend is less sentimental, telling me, I saw Eartheaters boob. And I got her sweat on me, and thats all I could ever ask for.

Megumi. Photo: Carmelo Varela

3:35 a.m.|No matter the vodka Red Bulls Ive downed, Im starting to crave my bed. Before heading out, I stop to talk to the door girl, a long-haired blonde in a thong who tells me how she thinks this party is different from other Brooklyn nightlife. The dolls should be DJ-ing and the dolls should be organizing and the dolls should be running this shit. And we are. She tells me there was even an 86 list tonight, name-dropping a popular, partygoing drag queen who she claims is a white-twink abuser. Tonight its all about the family, the Nosferatu family, she says. Back in my Uber, a boy online messages me that he saw me inside, and when I ask how his night went, he DMs me back, Dancing to Sophie and looking hot with my friends was fucking wonderful.

Late night dispatches from a city ready to party.

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Raving With Hot Goths in Queens - The Cut

The Fear Street trilogy on Netflix eschews the doom-and-gloom sobriety of recent horror successes such as Bird Box and A Quiet Place, or the nihilism of The Purge franchise.

Still from Fear Street Part Two: 1978

Like fresh entrails sewn into an old skeleton, the Fear Street trilogy is a new creature. Released on Netflix on consecutive Fridays, the movies that make up the event straddle the line between weekly television and cinematic franchise.

This Grand Guignol was an ambitious experiment for the streamer, and it mostly succeeds: Fear Street, an engaging and scrappy mini-franchise, plays like Scream meets Stranger Things built on a supernatural premise sturdy enough to sustain interest and suspense over nearly six hours.

Based on books by RL Stine, the Fear Street movies take place in side-by-side suburbs. Shadyside is drab and dejected, full of cynical kids who work hard and play harder. Nearby, a golden glow falls over sublime Sunnyvale, Shadysides richer, snootier neighbor. General ill will divides the towns. But there is a darker pattern at play. Every few decades, Shadyside is the site of a mass murder, and each time, the killer is an apparently stable resident who just seems to snap.

Part One: 1994 opens on one such slaughter. In a lurid mall after hours, we meet our first victim in Heather (Maya Hawke), who makes an impression, although she does not survive long. The story pivots to follow the hero of the trilogy, Deena (Kiana Madeira, with a bite), a cynical high schooler going through a painful breakup with Sam (Olivia Scott Welch). Bitter, but with lingering tender feelings, Deena soon discovers that a drove of zombies is after her ex. And when efforts to involve the Sunnyside police including the snidely named Sheriff Goode (Ashley Zukerman) prove futile, Deena vows to protect Sam herself. Her nerdy little brother, Josh (Benjamin Flores Jr), and some friends, Kate (Julia Rehwald) and Simon (Fred Hechinger), tag along to run interference.

The Fear Street universes rules of zombie conduct are not especially consistent. Sometimes a mere trace of blood is enough to allow the menaces to sniff out their prey and pounce. In other scenes, they take ages to track down their teenage targets long enough, say, for a pair of exes to make up and make out. More methodical are the forces behind the zombies reanimation. Deena discovers that the undead killers are Shadysides deceased mass murderers. And then there is the 17th-century witch, Sarah Fier, who possesses their corpses and orders them to strike from beyond the grave. Why Sarah is holding a centuries-long grudge against Shadyside is one of the mysteries powering Deenas journey.

Leigh Janiak, who directed the trilogy and co-wrote the three screenplays, has deftly adapted Stines stories for the screen. Using an abundance of playful genre tropes, Janiak gives the movies a stylised energy. Motifs accompany overt references to classic horror movies, as when Simon cites a survival strategy he learned from Poltergeist. His borrowed idea turns out to be a bust, inspiring Deena to proclaim that their emergency is not like the movies.

The line nods to the audience, but, in a way, Deena is right. Fear Street feels different. The trilogy eschews the doom-and-gloom sobriety of recent horror successes such as Bird Box and A Quiet Place, or the nihilism of The Purge franchise. Shadyside and Sunnyvale represent opposite poles, but Fear Street is not an allegory about suburban privilege dressed up in blood and guts. More so, it is a motley of gore and nostalgia as told through an endearing cast of teenage rebels.

These strengths are best displayed in Part Two: 1978, the strongest of the trilogy. While Part One drips with 90s artifacts, including grunge outfits and Pixies mixtapes, Part Two takes a luscious trip back in time to a summer at Camp Nightwing. Campers donning short shorts crowd into cabin bunks while counselors just a few years older smoke pot and hook up to a soundtrack of The Runaways Cherry Bomb.

This part of the story centers on two sisters spending a summer at Nightwing: Ziggy (Sadie Sink), a sneering misfit camper, and the elder Cindy (Emily Rudd), a priggish, type-A counselor. Think Wet Hot American Summer infused with the macabre. The place gets especially gruesome once the sun sets and a killer again, a Shadysider accursed turns colour war into a red rampage. Carnage and a series of close calls follow, but the change in scenery ensures that Part Two never feels like a clone of Part One. The actors help: The combined talents of Sink, Rudd and Ryan Simpkins, as Cindys co-counselor Alice, raise the tension by a few notches.

The final instalment, Part Three: 1666, backpedals to an even earlier time, bringing us to the village of Sarah Fier. In a stage-drama surprise, many of the actors from Part One and Two return in new, 17th-century roles, sporting colonial rags and period speech that nobody quite pulls off. Here, there is less to propel the action, and lacking in pop artifacts, lingo or fashion trends, Janiak struggles to re-create the fizzy and fun tone she achieved in the earlier movies. No matter. There are wicked mysteries to be solved, and by Part Three, you feel safe following these survivors wherever they go.

Natalia Winkelmanc.2021 The New York Times Company

Fear Street trilogy is streaming on Netflix.

(Also read: Fear Street Part One: 1994 movie review A fun ode to Stranger Things, slasher films, and high-school horror)

(Also read: Fear Street Part Two: 1978 movie review A killer on the loose at a summer camp for kids equals an effective horror romp)

(Also read: Fear Street Part Three: 1666 movie review A satisfying twist and sharp commentary cap Netflix's horror trilogy)

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Netflixs Fear Street trilogy is a motley of gore and..ia as told through an endearing cast of teenage rebels - Firstpost

We used to have Oprah. Now we have Ted Lasso.

The Apple TV+ comedy series, which debuted last year like a fleeting, gee-golly antidote to our pandemic trauma and malaise, is undeniably funnyhence the record-breaking 20 Emmy nominations it earned earlier this month.

The reason it burrowed not just into the zeitgeist, but also our collective psyche is that for all the laughs, Ted Lasso offered near-incessant revelations about who we are as people and the potential for goodness in our lives. They were a-ha moments, to borrow from Winfreys phrasing, the kind you wouldnt necessarily expect from a TV show about an English football squad in which a Saturday Night Live alum known for playing some of comedys greatest assholes and jerks instead stars as an unflappably optimistic coach.

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Everything we cant stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture.

On the surface level, those revelations are portrayed as a jokeTed Lasso, what a goofballa creative sleight of hand that only makes more profound the series ruminations on humanity and its indictment of our instinct towards cynicism and nihilism. That impact deepens when the series returns Friday for its much-anticipated second season.

Jason Sudeikis Ted Lasso was brought to England in a bout of diabolical strategy by the owner of the Richmond Greyhounds, Rebecca Welton (the imperious and then irresistibly warm Hannah Waddingham), who pursues revenge against her ex-husband by secretly destroying his beloved team. An American football coach who doesnt know his offsides from his corner kick, but who is unshakable in his sincerity and desire to make everyone he comes in contact with happy, his presence on the pitch was like ice cubes in a glass of water. That is to say, he was out of step with the British way of doing things, and everyone felt like he didnt belong.

What nobody bargained for is the power of being nice. Teds earnestness, at least at first, borders on cartoonish, as if hes some sheltered dolt not emotionally complex enough to engage with the darker realities of the world. When Rebecca asks him in the series first episode if he believes in ghosts, he replies, I do. But more importantly, I think they need to believe in themselves.

There was something almost political in his peculiar, throw-pillow clichs and philosophizing by way of obscure pop-culture references. In a mustachioed Sudeikis, here was the physical embodiment of the corn-fed, all-American straight white man in the pinnacle profession for the stereotype, the professional sports coach. Yet he moved through life with gentle compassion and cheerleading instead of the unearned confidence, among other nefarious traits, associated with the epidemic of toxic masculinity.

Throughout the season, he wins over the teams players, the locals, and even Rebecca. Its part charm offensive, sure. But its also the power of his positivity as a foil (to the other characters but also to us, the viewers) that made Ted Lasso the perfect show with the perfect tone at the perfect time when it premiered last year. Now that were coming to terms with how this unmooring period in our lives has fundamentally changed us, that may be even more true now.

Ted Lassos basic storyline was genius in its accessibility. Take the movie Major League, stage it in a soccer club in the U.K., and cast Sudeikis as a coach so peppy it requires Steve Carell-as-Michael Scott levels of acting gymnastics in order to keep the character on the endearing side of a precarious teeter-totter towards grating. Whats interesting, then, is the reaction to what was happening on Ted Lasso. All this niceness. All this heart. All this genuine feeling. It was treated as positively radical.

We talked about Ted Lasso as a modern incarnation of a perfect man, as if hes a myth. A nice guy? My God, what a miracle.

In a cheeky way, the series even leans into that in its Season 1 finale, in which Lasso cribs a bit from Miracle in one of his inspiring locker room speeches. Do you believe in miracles? he asks the team. I dont need you all to answer that question for me. But I do want you to answer that question for yourselves. Right now. Do you believe in miracles? And if you do, I want you to circle up with me right now.

It was, in some regard, the series sticking the landing on a season-long mission. We maybe didnt realize as viewers that we were being recruited, too. Do you believe in miracles? Do you believe that a man this seemingly decent can exist? That by letting down the guard weve all been conditioned to use like shields against hurt and disappointment, we can find some of that goodness in ourselves? That maybe its not toughness and grit that brings out the best in us, but vulnerability and kindness?

The reason it burrowed not just into the zeitgeist, but also our collective psyche is that for all the laughs, Ted Lasso offered near-incessant revelations about who we are as people and the potential for goodness in our lives.

Weve let the pendulum swing to the point that weve convinced ourselves that nice guys do finish last. When you look at the world, that may even be empirically, indisputably true. Heck, its true of Ted Lasso, whose smothering of his wife led to his divorce and a life across the ocean from his son. But maybe thats another lesson hiding in plain sight with this show, one that is a surprise coming from a sports narrative in which what place a team finishes in is entirely the point.

The focus is too often on the result: the heroes and villains, wins and losses, the powerful and powerless, the generous and the taken advantage of, the painful existence and the hopelessness to change things. What if it was more rewarding to instead center the humanity we discover and experience on the way? To focus, in spite of outcomes we may truly not be able to control, on how there is that Ted Lasso kindness and joy we can actually make happen for ourselves and others?

At a time in our lives when we all needed a pep talk, to feel like the impossible could happen and, more, like we could be the ones to rise up and accomplish it, this show really did feel like a miracle. To that end, theres a line from the season finale that never really left me over the course of this horrible year. When Richmond loses the big game and is relegated to the Championship league, Ted tells the team, There are worse things out there than being sad, and that is being alone and sad. Then after a beat: Aint nobody in this room who is alone.

Its that last part that has been so hard to really hear and remember. But that, to me, is the big message of the show. A truth like that only needs us to validate it. The ball, so to speak, has always been in our courteven if we didnt know we were playing in the game.

Ted Lasso reminded us of our own happiness agency, at a time when we had become certain that such serotonin would never be experienced again. It would never be instant, and the work might be brutal and uncomfortable. But it might also be the most rewarding kind of work there is.

Season 1 of Ted Lasso could never have expected that so much would be placed on it because of the circumstances in which it premiered. But season two is very much aware of what has become almost the burden of responsibility: It was the show that, by surprise, helped heal many of us. Now its the show were expecting that from.

To wit, the new season finds the players and staff at Richmond not just won over by Teds quirky idioms and upbeatnessTheres only two buttons I never like to hit, and thats panic and snooze, he says in the premierebut they have come to rely on it. They seek out his advice and, more, his intense, intimate way of connecting with them. Hes the kind of person that rattles something inside of you that makes you see yourself and what you deserve differently. The Oprah a-ha moments.

Theres a shock gag that happens minutes into Season 2 that I wont spoil, but which triggers darkly comicyou could even call it tragicconsequences. Everyone, from the team to Rebecca to the football fans watching at home, turn to their newfound spiritual guide, Ted Lasso, to hear what he has to say about it, something that will make sense of it all and help them through.

He delivers, spinning one of his overlong personal yarns about a childhood dog he learned to care for that has everyone in the press conference on the verge of tears. He gets misty himself.

Its funny to think about the things in your life that make you cry just knowing that they existed, and then theyre the same things that make you cry just knowing theyre now gone, he says, a wallop of wisdom that, when I applied it to my past year, bowled me over like an emotional wrecking ball. But what makes this show work is that it doesnt just leave you there. Theres a lesson, too: Those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one.

Its yet another one of this shows dares. What if we let ourselves actually believe that, after all weve been through? Do we even have the audacity to do so?

Ted Lasso wouldnt work if its ensemble sprawl wasnt populated by fully realized characters, all of which are explored more deeply in Season 2. Roy Kent (Brett Goldstein) and Keeley (Juno Temple) navigate uncharted relationship waters. Nathan (Nick Mohammad) taps into an unsavory side effect of earning power and respect. Jamie Tartt (Phil Dunster) finds his ego crashing back down on earth, while Rebecca and Keeleys budding friendship becomes the unexpected heart of the series.

When a sports psychologist (Sarah Niles Sharon) is brought on board to help the team, the series even explores a natural, if meta, question: Can things start to be too nice? Is there too much harmony among the team? Could it even be toxic? Ted bristles at Sharons presence. If you ever wondered what this guys deal issurely, that kindness must be masking somethingsuffice it to say your suspicions are explored.

Now, this is all a lot of existential hand-wringing that buries the most important thing to know about the new episodes of Ted Lasso. Watching them made me feel very happy. Ive seen eight episodes and that was true the entire time. It never let up and my smile only disappeared when it was time to cry. (The Christmas episode, in particular, will become an instant classic.)

In some ways, its curious that were so obsessed with the idea that Ted Lasso is special because it is so nice. Especially in recent years, the best TV comedies have been nice and were celebrated for it, like Parks and Recreation or Schitts Creek. I think it speaks more to who weve become that the idea of kindness is viewed as radical.

Ted Lasso has often been characterized as the antidote to all the hurt weve felt this last year. But I think it goes beyond the premise, tone, or its endearing lead character. The secret sauce to Ted Lassojust like Schitts Creek before itisnt that its nice. Its that it has found a way for us to feel it, too.

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How 'Ted Lasso' Changed Our Lives at the Darkest Time - The Daily Beast

Is it normal to feel depressed after having the vaccine? I feel exactly as I did after doing my university exams. After I had finished months of revision, late nights and living off coffee and adrenaline, as soon as they were over I became a bit of a Debbie Downer. I felt tired, depressed and deflated for weeks afterwards, and I feel like that now. Is it me? Do I have PTSD?

Eleanor says: In my family lore we talk of a thing called deadline fever. Its the invoice your body hands you after somehow finding the energy to hurl you across a finish line the fatigue in your joints and muscles the nanosecond you complete what you needed to do.

For a while I thought the widespread malaise around right now might be a form of deadline fever. Though the pandemic is a long way from over, many of us are crossing things that feel like emotional finish lines the vaccine, returning to work or school, booking a flight to go home. Those moments uncork our reserves of exhaustion.

But in truth I think things are more complicated. Its not just that were collapsing in exhausted heaps before returning to regular life. Its that what were returning to no longer feels regular.

Most of us spend most of life looking away from three certainties: that we will die, that we will suffer, and that life is uncertain. Really inhabiting those thoughts can make the rest of life feel like an anaesthetised dream. How could we go to a restaurant, date, make or spend money, when it could all be gone again tomorrow when the one thing we know is that it will one day be gone?

I think the pandemic forced us to really inhabit those thoughts. Now, some of us feel like travellers from the river Styx, staring dazedly around at the restaurants and offices that expect us to be pleased to see them.

For obvious reasons Im not going to speculate whether you have PTSD or depression, except to say that if you think those are genuine possibilities, a professionals care will help.

What I can say is whats helped me with this feeling since I realised what it was.

Silliness helps. Its madness, whats been going on its a hellish carnival ride with a laughing skull on top. Laughing back seems to help. We could talk circles around ourselves trying to walk back from the brink of nihilism, or we could get drunk and make a sock puppet sing Whitney Houston. The sense that theres no reason or plotline can trigger despondency or it can be a liberation to do the things that the previous plotline didnt permit.

Working with hands helps. I dont know why. But finding a solution to this jigsaw or scale or origami seems to give a momentary sense of pride and order.

Rest helps. Not the slack-jawed half-shame of letting the day drip away, but the conscious decision to sleep, stretch, eat slowly, acknowledge to yourself and your body this has been an ordeal.

Using energy when youve got it helps. Now and then there will be cracks in the day where the light gets in. Seize them to throw the sheets in the laundry, get some vegetables in the house, do a kindness for a friend things that seem incomprehensibly draining when youre down. Its an old adage but a good one that feelings follow behaviour.

I dont know the way out of the existential tunnel this pandemic opened up, but I think Montaigne was right that big problems can be met in the small everyday: I want death to find me planting my cabbages, neither worrying about it nor the unfinished gardening.

Do you have a conflict, crossroads or dilemma you need help with? Eleanor Gordon-Smith will help you think through lifes questions and puzzles, big and small. Questions can be anonymous.

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Is it normal to feel depressed after having the vaccine? - The Guardian

(Credit: Vertigo Records)

35 minutes is all it took Black Sabbath to confirm themselves as the new rock overlords. Yes, of course, bands like Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were still going strong at this point; in fact, they were arguably only hitting their peaks, but Sabbath brought with them something that can never be denied change. An evolution of style and pace meant that, whether they knew it or not, Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler and Bill Ward were laying down the blueprint for rocks journey with their album Master of Reality.

The sixties had been about creative integrity and the freedom of youth. It had championed an incandescent sense of self and an unbridled feeling of potential about to erupt and save the world. Of course, in 2021, we know better. But, 50 years prior, Black Sabbath knew better too. The turn of a new decade had dyed technicolour dreams a deep shade of black that nobody could escape from. The debauched hell of the seventies was beckoning, and Black Sabbath produced a doom-laden album to precede it.

The record wasnt only a natural evolution from the previous decade and saw Black Sabbath morph into the heavy metal heroes they would soon be known as. Though their self-titled debut and the follow-up, Paranoid were far from sweetness and light, they were still tinged with the pop dreams of being a member of The Beatles. Master of Reality, however, kicked things into overdrive and set sail for the most dangerous horizons.

There is a supreme rawness to this effort that means any fans of the band who had heard them on the radio were soon cut adrift. The group tuned down their instruments and let the boom of their own nihilism ring out like the crooked church bells. This was surely the moment that Black Sabbath became the band they were always meant to be; from the first moments of Sweet Leaf, an obvious ode to marijuana, the group were confirming that they were not everyones cup of tea, and they didnt want to be.

As well as their artistic creation, musically, they also pushed themselves forward, We did some stuff that we had never done before [on Master Of Reality], lead guitarist and songwriter Tony Iommi recalls in his autobiography Iron Man. On Children Of The Grave, Lord Of This World, and Into The Void, we turned down three semitones. It was part of an experiment: tuning down together for a bigger, heavier sound.

It is these three songs that truly render this album to perfection. Theres not an ounce of gloom left unused on the record, and with the murky waters of the aforementioned tracks, the band were able to bring to life a record that emerged from the dark, primordial soup with a self-awareness that few rock bands could match. Black Sabbath didnt need to rely on fantasies about Lucifer or any other occult-adjacent frivolity to get across their vision of the world; they pointed to the growing depressive nature of society itself.

This notion has led many to draw the line between Master of Reality and punk rock. Though the record never truly picks up the pace beyond a slow trot, instead preferring to march to their doom, the no holds barred reflection of society as well as the refusal to conform to any particular method of making money for music, provided a unique viewpoint that punk rock would soon adopt, in the process, leaving out Sabbath from their figurative cultural book burning.

Truth be told, this album is difficult to pigeonhole because it is incredibly unique. Of course, there is a strong taste of metal in our mouths when we listen now, one could even call this the very first doom metal record, but that would be far too limiting. The only true first that this LP can attribute itself to is the first album Black Sabbath really found their sound.

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50 years on from Black Sabbath's magnetic 'Master of Reality' LP - Far Out Magazine

A few weeks ago, I found three distinct yet similar articles. One reported the murder of a mathematics professor at a Chinese university. Another was about a Dutch university that decided to abandon the impact factor. The last article discussed the global obsession with academic "excellence." What do these stories have in common? Research evaluation systems.

The premise of the three stories is that research evaluation systems (based on quantification and competencies) generate anxiety, increase inequality and precariousness while encouraging excessive competition and overproduction of papers. The exact mechanisms used to measure the quality of universities are designed to undermine it, as Professor Sebastiaan Faber warns in the article The Traps of University Excellence (in Spanish).

Let us first review Faber's article, which I recommend that you read from start to finish. In short, what Faber argues is that what we know today as "academic excellence" or "academic quality" is based more on quantity than quality. Furthermore, this is reflected in universities' obsession with world rankings and how science and knowledge are currently funded. How do we measure the quality of a university? We look for its position in one of the university rankings that we all know. What are the indicators that these ranking organizations commonly use? One of the most important indicators is scientific production (e.g., the number of papers, number of citations, impact factor). How do universities evaluate their professors and researchers? The decisive metrics include the number of papers published, their impact factors, the number of citations, and the projects or grants awarded during their careers. And what do the funding agencies that award these grants evaluate? You guessed it: the number of papers published, the impact factors, the citations... It is an unsustainable vicious cycle, and the academic community is suffering the damages.

"At the end of the day, it is always easier and cheaper to measure quantity than quality. However, the truth is that the fixation on the quantitative has wreaked havoc throughout academia. It has led to an insane race for survival and a huge waste of money, time and talent. A tragedy not only scientific but social," says Frank Huisman, historian and professor at the University of Utrecht. What are these ravages? In addition to the increasing precariousness of faculty, we have also seen high rates of anxiety, desertion, depression, and burnout in the academic community due to the culture of "publish or perish." The constant pressure to publish and the hyper-competency generated by the shortage of permanent faculty positions have led researchers to take drastic measures. In June, the journal Nature published the news of the murder of a mathematics professor on a university campus in Shanghai. The prime suspect is a researcher at Fudan University. Although the motive is unknown, the tragic incident reopened the debate about the failures in the incentive system and tenure track that universities in China have adopted. However, these failures are not unique to China's university system, nor are they recent. In Spain, the National Agency for Evaluation of Quality and Accreditation (ANECA) has demolished the dreams of more than one researcher. In Chile, the precariousness of an academic career has brought professors to a level of disillusionment that falls in nihilism. In Europe, the pressure to publish is so unsustainable that in 2014, a group of academicians spoke out for "dis-excellence" and, not to mention, in the United States, there are countless cases and examples.

Can we break out of this vicious cycle? Are there alternatives? Yes, there are. For some years now, various movements worldwide have sought to change the system for evaluating research. In 2012, the "San Francisco Declaration" proposed eliminating metrics based on the impact factor. There was also the Charte de la dsexcellence ("Letter of Dis-Excellence") mentioned above. In 2015, a group of academicians signed the Leiden Manifesto, which warned of the "widespread misuse of indicators in evaluating scientific performance." Since 2013, the group Science in Transition has sought to reform the science evaluation system. Finally, since 2016, the Collectiu InDocentia, created at the University of Valencia (Spain), has also been doing its part.

Even China, which in its eagerness to surpass the United States in the scientific race, adopted an ambitious long-term plan based on scientific publications, is now reviewing its incentives program. China is evaluating if the incentives offered to achieve the desired results and seek new ways to assess academics. Another more recent example is found at Utrecht University, which this week announced that in 2022, the university would formally abandon the impact factor for the hiring and promotion decisions of its academic staff. The university will judge its academicians by other standards, including their commitment to teamwork and their efforts to promote open science. "The impact factors do not truly reflect the quality of an individual researcher or academician," the statement said. Here you can read more details about the new Recognition and Rewards scheme of the university.

As Xavier Aragay said on Twitter, evaluation is being discussed at all levels of education. Not just about evaluating students who cry out for changes, but also about the assessment systems of science and knowledge and, more importantly, the people who comprise science and transmit that knowledge. So many KPIs, evaluation tables, rankings, performance metrics and numbers, in general, make us forget that in universities, the people working are in charge of the training and growth of other people. We have lost sight of the social function of the University. What more important function is there than that?

Translation by Daniel Wetta.

Read more from the original source:

Opinion | Why Do We Need to Change Research Evaluation Systems? - Observatory of Educational Innovation