CHRIS WALKER VS. FEIST AT THE FILLMORE

Grizzly Bear might be the most overrated artist of 2006. Sure, they’re accomplished musicians and their breakthrough album, Yellow House, is brimming with melodic atmosphere but Yellow House is also incredibly boring. Fanlo tried listening to it on the drive down to San Francisco; he got about two songs deep before I decided to change it. It was putting me to sleep. However, having convinced myself I’m a big Grizzly Bear fan, I tried playing some other Grizzly Bear songs to show Fanlo they really are a good band. A minute into each song we would laugh because they all sounded the same. I kept saying, “I swear I like this one,” before going to a different track. After four failed attempts we finally switched to a new artist.

I’ve heard Grizzly Bear are phenomenal live. I guess they could be – if they were playing for dead people. Or, maybe you can appreciate them in a more intimate setting. I don’t know but, much as their music failed to impress on the drive down, it failed to impress Tuesday night at The Fillmore. The performance was dull and lifeless, which was a bummer. The only memorable moment from their set was a flawless rendition of “On A Neck, On A Spit”. However let down I was/am by Grizzly Bear that song will always sound great to me.

Speaking of disappointment, The Fillmore was not at all what I expected. In fact, I plan to never attend another concert there. Not because The Fillmore is a bad venue; the sound quality is perfect and it’s aesthetically charming. The problem is the asshole security guards and cocksucker employees. The minute Fanlo and I stepped onto the sidewalk outside The Fillmore a security guard yelled at us – directly – to move along if we didn’t have tickets. This was while I was handing Fanlo his ticket. Fanlo wanted to smoke before we went inside; he started lighting a cigarette when another security guard yelled at us to move down the street if we were smoking and continued to yell at us until we were far enough away. Making our way to the unmarked, allegedly designated smoking area, we passed a crew of five or six security guards standing around a kid who looked slightly bloodied and beaten wearing a pair of handcuffs. First impressions: fantastic place to be.

Security patted us down at the entrance. Getting patted down is standard procedure, for sure, but after years of going to venues like Slim’s, The Independent, Bimbo’s 365, Bottom of the Hill, Café Du Nord, and Rickshaw Stop it was the first time I’d ever been patted down at a show in San Francisco. It was obviously becoming a pattern and I only expected things to get worse. They, of course, did.

After patting him down, security made Fanlo check my camera at the coat check. It wasn’t just, “don’t take pictures,” it was, “you’ll check your camera and we’ll charge you for it.” I needed a drink. After placing my order, I handed the bartender my debit card and she snapped, “It’s a thirty dollar minimum. We have an ATM machine by the entrance.” I told her, “Trust me, I’ll drink thirty dollars worth.” She glared at me, disgustedly, and walked away. Minimum charges are nothing new and I don’t mind them. I typically exceed them at shows. Never once have I had a problem or been made to feel it was such a HUGE deal. The best was when I went to grab a drink after Grizzly Bear’s set. The bartender I’d originally gone to was busy so another bartender got me drink. When he gave me the total I told him I had a tab open and he just about lost his mind, “Oh no, no, no, no, no, you have to go back to the bartender who opened your tab! I can’t help you anymore.” Really? Isn’t this a fucking bar? Aren’t you all fucking bartenders stationed here – behind the same bar – to get me, and other paying concert-goers, a fucking drink? Do your fucking job and then you figure it out – otherwise just tell people they can’t open tabs, you fucking douchebag. Another fun moment was when I bought my friend Aurelia and her friend Virginie a drink. We were standing at the bar, drinking, having a conversation, when a security guard came up to us and said, “If you’re not getting a drink can you please move away from the bar?” No problem. We stepped back and continued talking. Another security walked by and commanded, “If you’re not waiting to get a drink clear the walkway.” Frustrated, I blurted out, “We can’t stand at the bar, we can’t stand here, where can we stand?” “You can take your fucking ass down there!” the guard yelled at me, pointing to the pit area. Visions of six security guards gleefully kicking the shit out of me and leaving me handcuffed on the sidewalk came to mind so I bit my tongue and went down into the pit. There was also the moment when Fanlo, bored by Grizzly Bear live, left to go smoke a cigarette outside. Fanlo told me the old man greeter (whom I later dubbed “Whiskers”) at the top of the stairs told him the venue wasn’t full enough to permit people to go out yet. It’s like, really? I’ve paid for my ticket; my hand is stamped; let me go outside and have a fucking smoke! It seriously seemed like everybody working the venue had a chip on their shoulder; every interaction with a security guard or employee was a borderline confrontation. We’d traveled all the way from Reno; we’d paid for our tickets; all these miserable motherfuckers were ruining our good time. All I could think about was how nice, relaxed, and fun seeing a show at The Independent is. Boy, have I taken that for granted over the years.

Thank god for Feist.

When she took the stage all was forgiven. She was ethereal; her voice was perfect; she played everything you could’ve asked from her and she and her band played it oh so well. Awesomely enough, near the end of the show Kevin Drew (founding member of Broken Social Scene) joined her on stage for a brilliant version of “Major Label Debut”. It’s just a shame barely anyone else came to see a show. Looking back at the crowd I couldn’t help but think of lyrics from the song “Whoa! Alright! Yeah! Uh-huh!” by The Rapture: “People don’t dance no more; they just stand there like this; they cross their arms; they stare you down; they drink and moan and diss.” I seriously felt like I was one of the few people who was really into the music. I’m sure there were others rocking and enjoying themselves but most everyone I saw just stood there, arms crossed, looking bored. Thinking of all the other people who would’ve killed to get tickets to see Feist, it was kind of sad.

Hopefully my experience tomorrow night at The Wiltern in Los Angeles will be more enjoyable.

CHRIS WALKER VS. KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL: THE COMPLETE SERIES

Allow me to start by saying Ms. Nikki Pierce (assuming you are a ‘Ms.’ and not a ‘Mrs.’, I have no clue) I would like to make out with you in the worst way possible. I want to bring you flowers and take you out to the finest dining establishment of your choice. We’re talking way nicer than Applebee’s. I will open doors and pull your chair out for you; I might even keep my elbows off the table. The joy you have brought into my life is indescribable. Words will not suffice – only emotions.

You might remember a piece I wrote called Chris Walker Vs. The Dumbing Down of America: Grate Your Own Cheese. Evidently Nikki Pierce, Online Marketing Manager for marketing company M80, read it – must’ve thought it was decent, at least – and decided I’d be the perfect candidate to review the complete series of a FOX show called Kitchen Confidential. At first I couldn’t understand why anyone would want Kitchen Confidential reviewed. The show has long been dead; FOX only aired four episodes before pulling the plug back in 2005 however; 13 episodes were actually produced and FOX is just now getting around to releasing them all onto DVD.

Within the first couple seconds of the pilot episode I figured out exactly why it was sent to me: the show is based on the memoirs of my culinary superhero, Anthony Bourdain. I almost flew off my couch screaming, “If I had known this when the show originally aired I would’ve watched it!” However overjoyed I was I had to remain unbiased. Just because the show was about Bourdain didn’t mean it was good. The short-lived Karen Sisco was about an Elmore Leonard character and that sucked. Luckily Kitchen Confidential does not suck. In fact, Kitchen Confidential is good. Fantastic. I might even go so far as to say it’s the best show no longer on television. Since peeling back the plastic and putting it in the DVD player I’ve watched the complete season three times in its entirety. For a guy who rarely turns on his television for any other reason than to play video games or watch Pardon the Interruption that’s saying a lot.

On Kitchen Confidential Bourdain’s character, Jack, is played by the evil boyfriend from Wedding Crashers: Bradley Cooper. Cooper wouldn’t be my first pick to play Bourdain (they look nothing alike, different attitudes) however; he fills the shoes of the recently sober and responsible top chef surprisingly well. The rest of the cast is top notch with Owain Yeoman as Steven, Jack’s delightfully shady sous-chef; John Cho as Teddy, the seafood guru, and Buffy’s Nicholas Brendon as Seth, the pastry aficionado – among others. The show premise is this: Jack, after a drunken blowout four years ago, is finally given another chance as head chef of the fictional restaurant Nolita. Jack has less than 48 hours to form a team so he goes around stealing all the best chefs in New York. Mayhem ensues, fingers are lost, plates are pulled, but at the end of the day the restaurant is successful. The stage is set.

Just so you know, the pilot is the most chaotic, over-the-top, and weakest episode in the series. Luckily, much like a fine Pinot Noir improves with age, Kitchen Confidential gets better with each episode. The cast becomes more comfortable; characters develop; the stories are more focused, more funny, more and more enjoyable as the season progresses. One of my favorite episodes: when the staff of Nolita goes head-to-head against a French restaurant in a series of sabotage and pranks that quickly gets out of control. After watching the entire first disc straight through I thought, “This show is so good – it’s downright brilliant. I can’t stop watching it. Why didn’t it do well?”

I’ll tell you why Kitchen Confidential didn’t do well.

Number one: by only airing four episodes FOX didn’t give it enough time to build a buzz and develop a core audience. Number two: much like Arrested Development – FOX’s other intelligent, comedic underdog – the show was too smart for the average viewer. I’m sure when Jack is telling his wait staff how he’s going to make deliciousness out of the giant fish he’s holding in front of them and screams, “Nothing sits under the lamp!” most viewers went a.) “A lamp? What’s he talking about?”; or thought b.) “What’s wrong with sitting under the lamp? That’s where the chicken nuggets go.” Typical Americans don’t have the mental capacity to understand culinary jokes – at least not the rotund masses I see waddling through the airport. The average, obese American’s idea of a culinary joke is “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!” or when Rachel Ray laughs at something she’s just said. Little do they know a real culinary joke is Rachel Ray. When sous-chef Steven is haggling in a back alley for shitake mushrooms the average American can’t relate – they don’t even know what a shitake mushroom is. The same could probably be said for any other ingredient mentioned on the show.

I’m honestly not surprised a hundred different shows about solving a murder or a piece of shit comedy with a laugh-track like According to Jim can find an audience while a smart comedy like Kitchen Confidential can’t. It’s the same reason Rogue Public Ales House now has a martini menu, the youth of our country resemble livestock, and we get weaker and more unable to support ourselves at an alarming rate. Much as I urged you a week ago to get off your ass, try something new, original, exciting, fresh (not Baja Fresh), I implore you to pick up a copy of Kitchen Confidential: The Complete Series. If you’re a fan of Arrested Development – if you’re a fan of intelligent comedy that doesn’t require a ridiculous laugh track or sub-par punch lines – this is the show for you. I’m not over exaggerating when I tell you it’s one of the best shows not on television.

[Buy] Kitchen Confidential

CHRIS WALKER VS. THE WHISKEY REVIEW: HOSTEL PART 2

It’s difficult to understand why Lion’s Gate promotes Hostel films (assuming there will be more, and there will) as horror when they’re clearly comedies. I haven’t laughed this hard in a movie since The Queen. No, I’m just kidding, I didn’t actually see The Queen however; I’m sure if I had I wouldn’t be laughing, I’d be sleeping.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS SPOILERS. That being said, it shouldn’t stop you from reading onward. It’s not like I’m ruining the end of Usual Suspects here.

THE CONS:

As much as I will admit I was entertained, Hostel Part 2 fell short in a couple areas which I will break down for you now.

Number one: not enough hot, naked chicks.
While the first Hostel was titties, titties, and mo’ titties, Hostel Part 2 only gives you a two second shot of the gorgeous, clothingless Vera Jordanova before the camera pulls away. Then it subjects you to Heather Matarazzo’s upside down boobs, as she gets hacked and slashed with a scythe by a relatively hot middle-aged woman bathing in blood, for like, five minutes. So unfair.

Speaking of the scythe scene, was it supposed to be disturbing and sadistic? I was torn between “Don’t really care,” and “Finally, the nerd gets it.” And I was sad because that’s about all the tits you get. Such a shame. I mean, come on, if you’re going to subject audiences to this kind of crap there should at least be like five more quality racks in there. Step it up.

Number two: too much character development, not enough talent.
Rocks could have performed the dialogue and they would’ve been a lot less boring/obnoxious/take your pick than the lead characters were. No more story, just kill these bitches already.

Number three: not enough gratuitous violence.
When Jay Hernandez gets beheaded in the beginning you don’t get to see it happen. When the intolerable Bijou Phillips finally gets beheaded you don’t get to see it happen. When the main bad guy shoots a little kid in the head you don’t get to see it happen. When what’s-his-name gets eaten by dogs you don’t get to see it happen. No ones getting holes drilled into them or having their Achilles tendon slashed like they did in the first film. There were no memorable cringe moments. Sure, when Roger Bart gets his dick cut off that’s pretty ruthless but at that point you’re like, “Who gives a shit? Oh, the dog is eating it now? Nice.” And when Bijou’s boyfriend is being eaten alive? Snore. For a movie that’s supposed to be all shock and gore it considerably missed the mark. Or maybe I’m just too jaded. Or had had too much to drink. Or maybe both.

Number four: not enough dead kids.
All right Eli, when I go into one of your films already expecting it to push the good taste envelope you’ve got to up the ante. A kid already got shot in Grindhouse. If you’re going to start killing little Slokajaweawhatevers you’ve got to take it up a notch. Kill two kids. Chop a kid’s head off. How about in the next installment of Hostel you just brutally murder the entire cast of High School Musical? I’d pay to see that.

THE PROS:

All complaints aside, there were some quality moments in Hostel Part 2 I feel I should highlight out of fairness:

Number one: every scene with Vera Jordanova.
Beauty marks or moles or whatever have never been so hot. If it weren’t for her in so many scenes I might’ve been a lot more bummed. Way to make the movie, girlfriend.

Number two: seeing through the eyes of the hunters as opposed to the hunted.
Although it removed a lot of the fear and atmosphere the first film tried to capture it was pretty cool to watch the guys who actually pay to do the killing instead of just seeing the killed. And that little twist at the end regarding the two male leads was appreciated, even though Fanlo and I called it beforehand.

Number three: Italian terms that will get you slapped. Or dumped.
One of the best parts about having an Italian friend your age is you get to trade all the bad words from each other’s languages. And play beer pong at 5:00 AM and eat antipasto and drink Guinness at bars in Milan you would otherwise never go to. Anyway, there’s this part in the movie where a group of Italian guys are looking for the girls on a train and as they’re knocking on doors one of the guys says something like, “Where are you, bella figa?” The Italian term “bella figa” basically translates into “nice pussy” in English; it’s like calling a girl a ‘cunt’ – or close to that. Say it to an Italian woman and she will kick your ass.

Number four: Stephen Colbert’s stunt double.
Call me crazy but Roger Bart looks just like Stephen Colbert from “The Colbert Report”:

Bart, left; Colbert, right

While Fanlo was genuinely appalled I was laughing my ass off, going, “Get her, Colbert!” I couldn’t get over it for a full minute. It was wild.

The moral of the story: when you go into a film of this caliber knowing what to expect (in this case, knowing you’re going to see bullshit) you’ll enjoy yourself a lot more. Had I gone into Hostel Part 2 with the same expectations I had for the original Hostel I probably would have been legitimately pissed off like Fanlo was. I had to laugh; as we left the theater Fanlo was fuming over it, talking about how ridiculous and stupid the movie was. He said, “This is weird because typically you’re the one who’s all pissed off and angry.” He’s was right but I just didn’t care – I thought the movie was hilarious. It was nice to not be so judgmental and opinionated for once. God bless the whiskey, I guess.