Sunshine

A new movie is coming out this fall called Sunshine which may have the stupidest premise in the respective histories of movies, premises, and stupidity. From the film's website:

The Sun is dying, and mankind is dying with it. Our last hope: a spaceship and a crew of eight men and women. They carry a device which will breathe new life into the star. But deep into their voyage, out of radio contact with Earth, their mission is starting to unravel. Soon the crew are fighting not only for their lives, but their sanity.

I should also point out that this film takes place fifty years from now. I know what you're thinking: The sun will die in fifty years? But bear in mind that the sun continually loses mass, albeit at a relatively infinitesimal rate, and as a result, the planets revolving around the sun drift farther and farther away, and their orbits therefore lengthen. Since the sun's birth, then, the earth's orbital cycle - we call it a "year" - has lengthened by about eight hours. And since the sun is about halfway through its life, it can be assumed that earth years will be even longer than they are now when the sun finally dies. So don't think of it as fifty years; think of it as fifty years and a week or two. When you put it like that, it sounds less flabbergastingly unreasonable, doesn't it?

Oh, it should also be pointed out that today, at the midpoint of its life, the sun is about 4.57 billion years old. So solar death will begin in another four or five billion years, and will probably engulf the earth in the process. Basically, if the sun were really going to die fifty years from now, that would mean that I could ask my parents to tell me all sorts of stories about the, you know, birth of the solar system.

I'm not even going to bother with the part where eight intrepid astronauts (or oil drillers, who knows?) are on a mission to fly to the sun. It seems moot. I also don't know exactly what is involved in jump-starting the sun. Probably you have to connect the red clip to a solar flare and the black clip to the moon or something. Obviously, since the sun is dying, it's much cooler. You can probably just land on it, go to the control station, find some usb ports, hook your laptop up to it and run Norton or something. I'm not exactly sure, though. I don't know too much about science, but I don't doubt that the filmmakers will explain it all to me.

Profiles in Courage: Katie Couric

Whenever you log out of Hotmail, you're rerouted to msn.com, which I'd like to believe is the only way anyone ever ends up at msn.com, but I doubt if that's true. Among their top stories today is an interview with Katie Couric in which she discusses her transition from hosting Today to anchoring the CBS evening news. The tag line - and opening sentence - of the article is, "It's a little harder than I thought it would be." Well, I would hope it's a little harder since, a., her last job was segueing between celebrity chefs, remarkable pet anecdotes and the least informative weather report east of the Rockies; and, b., it's a promotion. Promotions are supposed to be harder. That's why they pay you more money.

It should also probably alarm readers that it's only "a little harder" and not a lot harder. It is the evening news on a major television network, after all. This is, ostensibly, where most Americans get their news. One would hope that the job entails a great deal of hard work and responsibility, the news anchor serving as a gateway between the viewing public and all the, you know, information in the world.

Sadly, though, I doubt if it really is much different from any other job in television. Jimmy Kimmel or Emeril Lagasse could probably step into the anchor's chair just as easily. The news broadcasts that once, supposedly, informed the public now just serve to pacify and entertain them, striving to entice advertisers and hand off a sizable audience share to the eight o'clock sitcoms and reality shows. Much of what passes for news is simply reality-based entertainment; a few hours spent watching CNN Headline News will confirm this. The two criteria a story must meet before going to air are: a. it really happened, and b. it was caught on video. This leads to, for example, CNN's disproportionate coverage of random cat-in-tree stories in Georgia, where their Atlanta-based helicopters are readily deployable. And, of course, the mainstream media's glut of stories about... the mainstream media.

Remember a time when newscasters were the ones who read the news instead of the ones who were the news? Well neither can I, but I'm young. To watch television regularly, though, one would believe that the biggest thing to happen in the world since Katie Couric took over as CBS anchor is that Katie Couric took over as CBS anchor. I wonder if one day Tom Junod will be profiled by some other fledgling journalist for his insightful coverage of the ongoing Katie Couric saga. Probably not, since he gets to put "by Tom Junod" on this story despite its consisting of nothing but what appears to be an entry in Katie Couric's diary. Maybe he's just republishing her MySpace posts. Also, will I one day win some sort of journalistic prize for my coverage of Tom Junod's coverage of the Katie Couric story? If there is justice in the world...

Anyway, rather than rant further, I'll just leave you with a few choice quotations from the story, and my sarcastic comments:

• "My humanity is authentic." This is comforting; I always assumed that Katie Couric was invented by those people who make the Roomba. On a side note, my humanity is not authentic. This blog is the result of a complex text-generation algorithm. It's in beta testing right now, but with luck, by this time next year you'll be able to download similar tools from Google.
• "What is love? That is risky business." Baby, don't hurt me. Baby, don't hurt me no more.
• "I hate the word panties. It's a cheesy word for underpants." More at eleven. Blake Thunder reports from the scene.
• "Oh, my God, I'm so boring." Well, then it's a good thing you anchor one of the most-watched newscasts in the world.

OK, that's about all the patience I have for that. You can read the rest of the article here.

I haven't blogged in two months!

It dawned on me recently that two months have gone by with nary an entry on this illustrious blog, and yet somehow the world keeps turning. I’ve been reading a lot lately about Internet 2.0 and new media paradigms and boundaries being shattered by the digital something or other, and every time I read something like this, I’m reminded that I, too, am a part of this 21st century digital revolution. We’re supposedly challenging all sorts of conventions and creating new communities with our MySpace pages and blogs and our buddy lists and our podcasts and our externets. Okay, I made the last one up, but my point is that we’re all involved in countless digital, virtual activities that are ostensibly revolutionizing the way people live. But to me, a revolution implies some kind of positive change. Instead, though, this digital communication revolution offers only illusions. The illusion of participation, the illusion of connection, and even the illusion of life.

Sure, we’ve all read about the Arctic Monkeys parlaying their Internet popularity into real world success. We’ve all read about wily adolescents capturing (okay, not literally “capturing”) pedophiles on MySpace. And certainly, there are blogs that have gained wide readership, and have had some sort of impact on the real world. There’s your Daily Kos, your… well, I know there are others. Additionally, there are countless blogs that, while not relevant to many, have a certain degree of stature within the blogsphere. But every blog success story is contextualized like this, differentiating the “real world” from the supposed home of the revolution, the “digital world.” True Internet success stories involve people who have been able to use their digital representations to earn a place in the real world, be it through a record contract, book deal, TV appearance, legitimate journalism gig, etc. Sure, the Sports Guy had a successful blog. How do we know this? Because now he writes for a magazine. Printed on paper. Sold in stores. We’re told that the Internet portends the death of print media, and maybe one day it will, but for now it seems like more of a distraction than a revolution.

Whenever I read about how wired my generation is, I feel a little tinge of guilt that I have been negligent in my generational duties: I haven’t blogged in forever; my last.fm profile is stagnant; my bookmarks need cleaning; I still don’t even have a MySpace page and have never listened to a podcast. What was once touted as a revolution seems more and more like a task list of ever-increasing inanity; more annoying, trivial stuff to do. Forgive me if I hear my friends squabble over who’s ranked in what order on their MySpace friend lists and don’t imagine a pandemic of NY Times subscription cancellations. More and more, we fill our lives with trivial obligations under the guise of progress. We laud all these new forms of communication that bring us closer together as if, prior to the Internet, humans rarely encountered one another. One day, will our children ask us how their grandparents met, since MySpace hadn’t been invented yet? Are we just supplanting actual, physical interaction with digital, virtual interaction, the measure of one’s connectedness being proportional to the degree of solitude he can achieve while still maintaining these connections?

Instead of interaction, we get the illusion of interaction. And with our broadband-enabled online photo albums, streaming audio and video, this illusion is getting better and better. Instead of participation in the media, we have the illusion of participation. We all write our blogs, but nobody reads them. (Except this one. Eighth most popular bog on the Net, this one is. Look it up.) It’s not that all this new technology enables us necessarily to do anything, it just enables us to think that we could, maybe, someday. Everyone is a film-making, rock-and-rolling, photographing, poetry-writing journalist. Or we would be. We will be. Someday. For now, though, we’re just a bunch of people who would go out tonight, but first we’ve got to update our blogs, write some Amazon product reviews and upload our latest batch of pictures to Flickr. So if we don’t make it out of the house, well, we’ll see you on MySpace!


[Editor’s note: I’m not exactly sure what brought on this Unabomber-esque rant; probably it’s just shame that some of my once-lapsed blogging friends have started writing again. Being a blogger might make you a loser, but there’s nothing more losery than trying to be a blogger and failing. Also, “losery” is not a word. But anyway, at least this blog will from now on, if nothing else, be hypocritical. So I’ve achieved that.]

Why I Love the Kentucky Derby

I love horse racing. Just typing that statement feels weird, because I devote no more than one half hour out of each year to horse racing; I could not name a single jockey, past or present; I have never been to a horse race, nor have I ever bet on one, and I would probably only bet on one if I somehow found myself at a horse race, because otherwise I’m almost certain that I’d be infuriatingly bored; I wouldn’t play fantasy horse racing (Okay, that’s not true, I’d play fantasy horse racing, if only to draft players with names like Runs the Gamut.); I will almost certainly spend more time this year writing about horse racing than I will watching it. But it’s true: I love horse racing. Not the way I love baseball, but I love horse racing, in my way. And here’s why:

One: Enjoying horse racing requires nothing of you. I watch three horse races a year: the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont – the Triple Crown races. (Actually, I think it’s now called the Visa Triple Crown, because, you know, why wouldn’t it be?) In the Derby, I will root for whichever horse has the coolest name. As a tie-breaker between two cool-named horses, I’ll go with the bigger underdog. Occasionally I might root for a horse because there’s some sort of interesting story behind it, but rarely. Unless said story is synopsized in the five or ten minutes of pre-Derby coverage I might happen to watch, then I won’t even know about it. I just look at a list of horses, pick one, and that’s who I root for. In the Preakness I root for the Derby winner, regardless of whether or not there’s a cooler-named horse in the race, or if my Derby horse is running, because the only reason I watch horse racing is to see a Triple Crown winner. If the Derby winner wins the Preakness, obviously I root for him in the Belmont. Otherwise, back to the cool-named underdogs.

And that’s all there is to know. I doubt if there’s much else that can even possibly be known. Sure, there are people out there somewhere, buying, training, and riding the horses, but you don’t need to know anything about them to know who to root for. I may know what Bob Baffert looks like, but that hardly influences my rooting. Heck, he had three horses running in the Derby; rooting for any one horse because it’s a Baffert horse would be like rooting for the first third of the Yankees’ lineup to defeat the other two-thirds. No, you just see a list of horses, and you pick one. There’s no team to follow, no stats to keep track of, no rivalries to keep straight; just a list of funny names.

Rooting in the Triple Crown is like rooting in the NCAA tournament. Even if, like me, you don’t follow college basketball at all, you need only spend a half hour or so filling out a bracket, using some arcane methodology (like my legendary go-with-the-team-with-the-better-free-throw-percentage technique), to become emotionally invested in the tournament. Suddenly – because, for example, you haven’t picked an upset in a while so, what the hell, Bradley – these games, between schools you’ve never heard of featuring players you’ve never heard of, become exciting. Ridiculously exciting. Dinner-skipping, picture-in-picture, trash-talking, celebratory phone-calling exciting. And then you’re mathematically eliminated from winning your pool, and a month later you can’t even remember who won the tournament let alone find their school on a map or name a single player. But for those few weeks, it’s exciting. And horse racing manages this in about six minutes spread out over a month or two.

Two: Reporters on horses. This has got to be the coolest sports journalism idiosyncrasy ever. I wonder if the first televised horse races featured journalists on step ladders reaching up to get the microphones in the jockeys’ faces, and an NBC executive said, “Boys, this isn’t working. We need to get these reporters on horses of their own.” I think this kind of press corps solidarity should be mandatory in all sports. How much more interesting would the Olympics be if you had reporters slaloming down the mountain or hanging out on a third parallel bar? Give Melissa Stark a bathing suit and a waterproof microphone and let her interview Michael Phelps while doing the butterfly; I guarantee your ratings will go up.

Three: How short the race is. Barbaro won the Derby today with a time of two minutes and one second. That’s the whole race. There’s like an entire day of television coverage for a two-minute race between contestants who aren’t even people. People seem surprised that I’m into the Triple Crown races, but how could I not be? For even a casual sports fan to not muster enough enthusiasm for six annual minutes of horse racing would be like spending the eighteen dollars to ride to the top of the Empire State Building and then not throwing a quarter into the binoculars.

Four: The fact that you can’t even figure out what’s going on until the third or fourth time you watch the race. The first time you watch it, here is what you’ll see: a bunch of horses; one is in the lead; another passes it on the left; then another passes that one on the right; then it’s over. Despite the frantic announcer and NBC’s bright graphics on the bottom of the screen, you can’t tell which horse is which. I bet it’s not uncommon for a jockey to, at the end of a race, say, “Wait a minute, I’m Captain’s Pride? I thought you were Captain’s Pride.” You watch the race a second time and you start to see which horses are making moves when and what their strategies are. A few more times and you’ll finally understand what the winner did and when in order to beat out the competition. But let’s face it: everything you know about horse racing, you learned from Seabiscuit. When you’re watching the Kentucky Derby live, you only see a bunch of horses.

Five: The names of the horses. I don’t think this needs explanation. The names of the horses are (this year’s lackluster field notwithstanding) awesome. Here is a list of past Kentucky Derby winners, in no particular order: Bubbling Over, Pensive, Keep Your Cool, Exterminator, Behave Yourself, Hold Steady, Foolish Pleasure, Spend a Buck, Night Watchman, Go for Gin, Eleventh Hour, Bold Venture, Dust Commander, Broken Promise. Baseball may have a Milton Bradley and a Coco Crisp, but that’s nothing compared to an average Derby field.

By the way, I made four of those names up.

I’m not crazy about the name Barbaro. There will probably be half a dozen horses with better names at the Preakness, but I’ll be pulling for Barbaro, because that’s how it works. Horse racing is easy to understand and easy to digest. It swoops in seemingly out of nowhere, entertains us, captivates us, excites us, asks nothing of us, and then vanishes into the night. And for six minutes a year, horse racing is awesome. That is why I love horse racing.

Wii are the world, Wii are the children

Nintendo unveiled the official name of its next-generation console yesterday. Long known by its code name, the Revolution, it will now be called the Wii. Pronounced “we.” Or, if you prefer, “wheeeeee!” As in, “Wii think this sounds dumb.” The idea is that the “we” sound represents the spirit of social, interactive gaming. Also, it’s supposed to be distinctive. I don’t know how a homonym of a pronoun is supposed to be distinctive, but maybe that’s why I don’t work for Nintendo. It would seem that Nintendo executives are amazed that when you take a common word and respell it, it still sounds the same, but is spelled differently. Mind-blowing. This is what happens when you let businesspeople make creative decisions.

I’ve given myself a day to let it sink in. I’ve written it down and typed it out over and over. I have stared at those three letters masquerading as a word, but I cannot get it to not look ridiculous. I understand what they’re going for: something quirky that differentiates itself enough form its competitors that it seems to create its own niche or genre, so much so that it is devoid of competitors. Nintendo wants you to think of the Wii as not just another gaming console, but as an entirely different type of electronic device altogether. The problem is that you will think of it as a dumb, childish, possibly vulgar type of electronic device. Best case scenario: you think of it as trying to sidle up to Apple’s trendy gadgetry market, and much less subtly than it thinks.

When you spend so much time and money developing new technology, and, in the case of the Wii (bleh!), innovative technology that you’re trying to sell people on, you want the name to be a non-story. You want a name so effortless that it seems to not exist at all. Look at cars. Most cars have dumb names, but they’re dumb names that seem instantly to be car names, so no one notices, no one cares, and no one holds it against the car. What’s a Prius? Nobody knows; it’s not the point. It gets great gas mileage: that’s the point. But now, before Nintendo can even begin to convince you to buy its console over Sony’s or Microsoft’s because of its new control interface, it must first convince you to come to terms with the name “Wii.” They will have to convince you to take their name seriously and stop making sophomoric puns out of it.

The simple argument is that names of things don’t matter, but that’s inaccurate. Names of things shouldn’t matter; they only matter when they are so awkward and cumbersome that they force themselves to matter. A name cannot add any value or function to a videogame system. The only thing it can accomplish – and this is its only task – is to not make the product sounds stupid. And at this task, Wii has failed. Or is it: Wii have failed? See what I mean?

Bush wants to what...?

For years environmentalists have advocated increasing fuel efficiency standards in cars, and for years Republicans have blocked it. But lately President Bush has been on a brainstorm kick, discovering that the best way to improve life in America is to run countercurrent to Republican policy. Hey, it's what I've been saying all along!

The Internet goes the way of... Everything Else.

Congress took another step today towards a pay-to-play Internet that could relegate some of us to the slow lane while the big players get preferred access to networks. The Internet has always been praised for its democratizing powers, but like democracy itself, it will work a little more smoothly for the rich.

Health Care for Some!

More exciting news today in the world of health care: as health care costs continue to rise, more people are predictably going without. Twenty-eight percent of Americans, according to a new study. I’m not a statistician, but that seems like a lot of people. I have a feeling that if it were the richest 28% or the prettiest 28%, maybe we’d be talking a little more earnestly about national health care. Every time the subject is broached, though, horror stories abound of Canadians flocking to America to get treatments they’d otherwise have to wait months or years to get (for free) in Canada. Well, I’m sure this happens to some people; and I don’t know how many Canadians are crossing the border in need of medical treatment, but I’m going to assume it’s a lot less than 46 million. Forty-six million seems like a lot of people. That’s like Texas, New York and Oregon all without health insurance, give or take South Dakota. In America we may have lower life expectancies, higher infant mortality rates and higher per-capita health care costs than most industrialized nations, and tens of millions of uninsured people, but at least we’re not Communists! The Reds are on the march, but we’re going to win this thing!

Why do we assume that, if we had a national health care program, we would have the same problems that Canada supposedly faces? Why would we not be able to do health care better than Canada? Don’t we do pretty much everything else better than Canada? Our dollar is stronger, our bacon is better, and we’ve even taken most of their hockey teams.

But who needs national health care when you can instead use a Byzantine amalgam of interwoven private companies and government programs to lower health care costs? And this system is doing a great job. You know, sometimes. Sure, our health care policies might be causing some people to skip treatments, go without care, and sometimes die, but that’s what you get for being poor. Serves them right.

Oil

President Bush is calling for a probe into oil industry price-gouging, and looking to rescind some of the huge tax breaks he gave them in last year’s energy bill. According to the President, the tax breaks are no longer necessary, what with the oil industry’s record profits. Which begs the question, when were the tax breaks necessary? Oil companies experienced record $100 billion profits in 2004, and then Bush turned around and signed an energy bill giving them billions in tax breaks, subsidies and incentives, as well as exemptions from various environmental laws.

The energy bill also repealed the Public Utility Holding Company Act of 1935, which had blocked mergers and acquisitions in the energy industry. This was all done in the name of increased competition, because nothing says “competition” like energy companies buying one another until we’re left with one huge, unregulated, taxpayer-subsidized, massively-profitable energy company. With energy prices soaring and the Bush Administration’s backwards, feed-the-rich solutions failing, it’s hard to find anything but discouragement in today’s Christian Science Monitor report that – surprise of surprises! – energy prices in deregulated states rise faster than in regulated states. But, of course, deregulation is a little trickier to backpedal than tax policy when your approval rating starts to dip.

So maybe it turns out that giving massive energy conglomerates huge subsidies and legal exemptions doesn’t compel them to spontaneously lower their prices. Who would have guessed? But at least President Bush has found a sensible solution to our nation’s problems: namely, to get a head start on our next president’s task of undoing everything that Bush has done.

The Smashing Pumpkins return

The Smashing Pumpkins’ website has been updated, making official the band’s all-but-official reunion. No word yet on who exactly is going to be in this latest iteration of the Pumpkins, but Billy Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin are on board, and that’s all that matters. It could be D’Arcy and James Iha rounding out the group – unlikely though that may be – or it could be me and you; it wouldn’t make much difference. Other than this brief announcement, and a mailing list sign-up, the website offers absolutely no other information, and is basically telling us what we’ve already known for a few months. Still, I’m excited to see the old SP heart logo up on the screen. It feels more real now. Just knowing that somewhere someone is working on the next Pumpkins record is exciting. Here’s hoping they take it easy on the Pro-Tools…

Friends with Money

I saw Friends with Money last night and was pleasantly surprised. The film serves as a snapshot of a group of (mostly rich) friends in Los Angeles, the non-rich exception being the Jennifer Aniston’s also non-married Olivia. Olivia works as a maid because in her former job, as a teacher, she felt condescended to by her students. How she avoids this same fate as a maid is left unexplained, but it doesn’t really matter. There is plenty of preposterousness to this movie’s setup: for example, the typical questions about how someone who looks like Jennifer Aniston can end up as a penny-pinching, lonely, hopeless maid. But this is the movies, so let’s just accept it and move on. We go to the movies to entertain the possibility that there might exist some Jennifer Aniston-caliber diamond in the rough because, one, we don’t want to watch movies about, you know, ugly people, and two, we want to believe that we might one day meet someone like Jennifer Aniston who has somehow flown under the radar for the first thirty-odd years of her life and whose hotness has gone, inexplicably, unnoticed.

As for the story, not a whole lot happens in this movie. The married couples have their various married couple crises, and Olivia flits around trying to find a man and some sort of direction in her life, but she just can’t. There’s a minor subplot about some guy she used to date, whom she calls and hangs up on repeatedly, which doesn’t seem to make much sense or add anything to the movie, but it at least gives us a glimpse into her emotional state and potential screw looseness.

What makes the movie enjoyable is simply the quality of the writing and acting. The characters are all richly drawn and superbly acted, as one would expect from this cast. They all have flaws, and obstacles in their lives, and watching them manage these is quite entertaining. Their problems existed before the movie begins, and not much is necessarily resolved at the end. You get the impression that the movie could have started at any random point in their lives, run for two hours, and been equally entertaining. Despite their various flaws, it’s not hard to get invested in these characters, the end result being a movie that plays less like a movie and more like an extended episode of a good TV show. This could be seen as a flaw, I suppose, but if you want to spend 88 minutes with some engrossing characters, Friends with Money is a fine choice.

Tool, "Vicarious"

I’ve been listening to this song a lot lately, in anticipation of 10,000 Days’ May 2^nd release, and it is really growing on me. It opens with, essentially, the middle section from “Schism,” throws out a sufficiently hard-hitting 5/4 guitar riff, and culminates in the drum ending from “The Grudge.” It also, in its seven minutes, perfectly encapsulates the paradox that is Tool.

It’s easy to break down Tool songs and discover that they’re all assembled from the same basic components; a little time on a guitar tab website is all you need. To write your own Tool song, just tune your guitar to drop D, hammer away on the first few frets in some strange rhythm, and there you have it – a Tool riff! Then teach it to your friend, the bass player, and while he plays the riff, you can scribble some high, piercing, distorted guitar notes over the top of it; then come in with the riff yourself, along with the bass, kick on some extra distortion, and you’re well on your way to having your very own Tool song. Once you figure out a nice breakdown and hire a ridiculous drummer, you’ll be almost all the way there. But, the only problem is, your Tool song will suck. It will sound like some no-talent, junior high metal band who may as well be jumping up and down on their guitars instead of playing them. It will sound like you wrote a song by simply following the instructions I just laid out, and everyone will know it.

So one would understandably assume, then, that actual Tool songs suck as well; but they don’t. To the contrary, they are awesome. They are the sort of awesome that makes you run and grab a friend and proclaim, “Dude, check out how awesome this is!” And that is the paradox that is Tool. No band I can think of has done so much with so little. It helps that the singing and drumming is always amazing. (Although, Danny Carey has come a long way since Undertow.) But it’s hard to sit there, learning these riffs, and not imagine that your band could just as easily be Tool.

That Tool rarely deviates from their formula would seem to indicate some lack of talent, but I think instead that it indicates a wealth of talent. What other bands could get away with this? Not many. When U2 released How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, the consensus reaction was: “Hey, look, U2 rewrote All That You Can’t Leave Behind, but took out all the likeability.” When Tool releases a new album, though, we peel our faces off the concrete and ask, “What was that locomotive and how can I get onboard?”

Essentially, this is the spirit of rock and roll music. Much if it is imitative, almost none of it is very complicated, and yet it all seems fresh and new. When an album review mentions how so-and-so’s new single pinches its riff from this old song or that, it always makes me laugh. That new Weezer song doesn’t mimic a Cheap Trick song; it mimics thousands upon thousands of rock songs that have come before it. And it will itself be mimicked someday. Probably by Weezer. Probably on the very same album. The talent in rock and roll does not lie in writing original, complex music (although that is always nice), but in breathing life into the same old I-IV-V riff that Chuck Berry didn’t even invent.

And few bands do this as well as Tool. (And they don’t even use a lot of I-IV-V riffs; mostly it’s just I-II.)

So when 10,000 Days finally comes out, you will hear criticism that Tool songs all sound the same and that they just play the same riffs over and over. The source of this criticism, though, is not likely dissatisfaction with Tool’s music; rather, it is the feeling of being duped. I think a lot of Tool critics are just disappointed to analyze and deconstruct the songs and discover that the root elements are so basic and so recurring. Like pulling back the curtain to reveal that the wizard is really some fumbling old boob, it’s bound to cause a little disappointment. But, the trick is: the songs are great. If you at all like heavy rock music, it’s hard to listen to a Tool song and not a.) be impressed; b.) get pumped; and c.) want another. Tool does a very lot with a very little. And the key is the “lot.” That is what makes Tool so good. That is what makes their songs so great. And that is what makes the Tool song you just wrote so bad.