October 17th, 2007
Mudhoney's Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge
Why? Mudhoney's second full-length, Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge, came out two months before Nirvana's Nevermind—and in a sense, it's the Bizarro Nevermind. Up to that point, Mudhoney was considered as big a contender as Nirvana, but Every Good Boy veered sharply left while the rest of the grunge underground turned right toward radio courtship and slickness. Where Nevermind soothed the savage sludge of its predecessor, Bleach, Mudhoney dragged Every Good Boy into the lo-fi outback, replacing the band's former heaviness with a scrappy, scruffy fuzz that embraced garage-pop and psychotropic slop alike. Mudhoney, once poised to ride the cultural wave of alternative rock, instantly became a cult act. The group never stopped releasing decent albums, but Every Good Boy in hindsight sounds like the grunge that should've been: ratty, humble, punky, weird, and catchy without resorting to grunting machismo.
Why now? With this decade's garage-rock resurgence already a punchline, there's a severe lack of roughage in the indie-rock diet. It might be a bit early for a full-on grunge revival—duck and cover when that day comes—but the current indie trend of aping the pomp and bombast of classic rock has just about hit the glass ceiling. By-the-numbers stoner metal isn't much better. And as Michael Azerrad's Our Band Could Be Your Life—which devotes a chapter to Mudhoney—continues to take root in the collective consciousness, it's only a matter of time before new bands start tapping into the wildness and noise of the late-'80s post-punk scene. All it takes is few seconds' exposure to the latest Shins knockoff to realize that the sour, jagged, boiled-in-acid sound of Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge is sorely needed today.
How it might come back: In one last spastic ploy for credibility, Zach Braff could include Every Good Boy's scabrous anthem "Into The Drink" in some lame '90s flashback montage during this fall's final season of Scrubs.
Elaine May and Charles Grodin
Why? Elaine May remains a sought-after script doctor, but after the Bronx cheers that greeted 1987's criminally underrated Ishtar—which co-starred Charles Grodin—she went MIA from the director's chair, in spite of an impeccable track record that included the brilliant 1971 screwball update A New Leaf, the classic 1972 anti-romantic comedy The Heartbreak Kid, and 1976's Mikey And Nicky, the best John Cassavetes film that Cassavetes never directed. Grodin, meanwhile, retired from acting following 1994's It Runs In The Family, only to make a tepid return with The Ex. Given the debased state of much film comedy, there's never been a better time for Grodin's wonderfully dyspeptic presence, or May's witty comedy of manners and genius for transforming discomfort into laughs.
Why now? The Farrelly brothers' widely panned Heartbreak Kid remake illustrates the huge gap between the pitch-black edginess of May's blistering satire on the dark underside of dream-chasing and the dopy, misanthropic slapstick of Ben Stiller teaming up with Carlos Mencia.
How they might come back: With something not involving Carlos Mencia in any way.
Bubba Sparxxx
Why? Bubba Sparxxx has long struggled to live down a silly name and gimmicky initial image as a hillbilly Eminem. Of course, the cheeky barn noises Timbaland threw into the mix for early Sparxxx singles like "Bubba Talk" from Sparxxx's stellar debut didn't do much for the rapper's credibility. Sparxxx's follow-up, Deliverance, audaciously mashed together Timbaland's future funk with bluegrass fiddle, only to end up alienating country and hip-hop audiences alike. After amiably parting ways with Timbaland, Sparxxx hooked up with Big Boi's Purple Ribbon label and released another fine album, The Charm, which once again failed to find an audience.
Why now? Considering Eminem's steep decline, it'd be refreshing to hear a prominent white rapper whose albums didn't limply alternate between joyless introspection and juvenile humor. Besides, hip-hop can always use more rappers with substance and heart.
How he might come back: On The Charm's "Represent," Sparxxx raps about being "one song away" from where he needs to be, career-wise. Hopefully that long-sought-after breakthrough hit will arrive before he ends up in the Koch graveyard.
Jonathan Katz
Why? Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist paved the way for cleverly written cartoons short on kinetic animation, but long on verbal wit and low-key observational humor. The show's influence can be felt throughout the Cartoon Networks' Adult Swim lineup, particularly on shows where Katz has appeared as a guest star. Multiple Sclerosis has limited Katz's mobility, but that shouldn't pose a problem in the wonderful world of animation.
Why now? The November release of a 13-disc box set containing Dr. Katz's entire run should prompt a tidal wave of nostalgia for one of comedy's most delightfully avuncular figures. The success of Adult Swim's lineup, meanwhile, proves there's still a huge audience for Katz's idiosyncratic style of squiggly, heavily improvised animation. The fact that Katz has played therapists (sometimes called "Dr. Katz") repeatedly since Dr. Katz went off the air highlights the public's enduring fondness for Katz's soothingly therapeutic brand of comedy.
How he might come back: It might just be time for Dr. Katz to hang up his shingle again and treat the neuroses and foibles of an entirely new generation of stand-up comedians.
Barney Miller re-runs
Why? From 1975 to 1982, the New York cop sitcom Barney Miller was reasonably popular and critically acclaimed, and even after ABC cancelled it, the repeats thrived in syndication for much of the next decade. But syndication packages feed on fresh meat, so Barney Miller was eventually driven out by Cheers, Seinfeld, That '70s Show, and so on. The show's abbreviated first season received a low-key DVD release a few years back, but since hardly anyone had seen the show since the mid-'90s, the set didn't sell, and there are no plans to release any more DVDs. And thus one of the sitcom form's smartest and funniest begins to disappear from the collective pop-culture consciousness.
Why now? The new conventional wisdom holds that single-camera sitcoms with no laugh tracks are ideal, and three-camera sitcoms with studio audiences or laugh tracks inherently suck, but prolonged exposure to Barney Miller—which at its best was as impeccably timed and staged as a one-act play—might convince younger TV watchers of the virtues of a simple style and good writing over shock-cuts and gags for gags' sake.
How they might come back: Since TV Land now only airs old shows that everyone has already seen in syndication or on DVD, we need a new retro-minded cable network, dedicated to hard-to-find classic sitcoms, Afterschool Specials, '70s game-show reruns, old MLB All-Star Games, and everything else that will make people of a certain generation feel like they're back under the family afghan, drinking chocolate milk.
Norm Macdonald
Why? As a stand-up comedian in the early '90s, Macdonald combined observational humor with light absurdism and a hilariously foul mouth, creating a stage persona that let him mock lotteries, televised sports, dog clothes, and the human subconscious while remaining dweebishly likeable. Then, as the anchor of Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update," Macdonald turned that persona in on itself, ramping up the dark, dry wit and downplaying the charm, making the whole idea of "fake news" and everybody participating in it—real and fictional—look ridiculous. Appropriately enough, Ridiculous is also the name of Macdonald's lone comedy album, a sketch-heavy, not-that-funny record that was released (and largely ignored) last year.
Why now? When everyone from Jon Stewart to Dennis Miller is selectively ripping out headlines to make loaded political jokes, a strong dose of Macdonald's indifference would be refreshing. Besides, with O.J. Simpson back in the news, the time is ripe for commentary by someone unafraid to call a murderer a murderer.
How he might come back: Between gambling binges, Macdonald has kept busy with stand-up appearances, voiceover gigs, and a failed pilot, but his talents would best be put to use back on Saturday Night Live, which could use some self-immolating recklessness to counteract the current cast's "stoner goof-off" vibe. Or Macdonald could kill someone. That would also get him back on TV pretty quick. (And imagine the jokes!)
« Previous | 1 | 2
- Comments