Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Glee Recap: The End Is An Afterthought

(By Lauren Hoffman, Vulture.com, May 25, 2012)

Oh, Glee. Don't get me wrong, I loved last week's episode. But I didn’t love it enough to forgive the fact that this week's episode had Mr. Schue wearing a vest and playing an acoustic guitar and singing "Forever Young" before the opening credits had even appeared.  The episode opens on a flashback to the pilot's "Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat" as the kids giggle through trying to re-create it. It's downright jarring to see how much the kids have changed — Chris Colfer said on Conan last summer that he's grown four inches since they filmed the pilot — and sweet to see all five of them together again. At the same time, it's odd to me that "Don't Stop Believing" wasn't mentioned or sung. Not to push for oversentimentality, but it's graduation, dammit.

Burt Hummel turning up to perform the "Single Ladies" dance as a graduation gift for Kurt was charming (maybe not QUITE as good as I'd dreamed it), but my favorite part of that sequence was imagining how exactly Burt might have gone about calling Tina and Brittany and asking them to show up as backup dancers without using the word sparkle. I've said before that the Kurt and Burt stuff works like few other elements of Glee, and I'm tempted to say that I'll miss it, but I have a feeling Mike O'Malley is going to show up just as much in future seasons. Kurt's good-bye song is perfectly chosen (Madonna's "I'll Remember") and lovely in his voice, but his outfit is depressingly understated. The Kurt Hummel I love would never sing a solo without a poncho or a brooch the size of a dinner plate.

Mercedes's locker is a mess of balloons because a "music producer" has "signed her as a backup singer on an indie label" based on the video of her singing that Sam posted on YouTube, and this is troubling both from a logical standpoint and because it means that even more teenagers are going to post pictures of themselves singing into their webcams online, and soon those videos are going to take up the entire Internet.

Gloria Estefan guest-stars as Santana's mom, for no other reason than she campaigned for it on Twitter and then Naya Rivera got onboard, but I'm willing to shelve my annoyance about stunt casting for the simple fact that she delivers the only sane piece of advice anyone has ever uttered on Glee about life after high school: "New York will still be there after you've earned your college degree." Brittany informs Santana's mom that she's staying in Lima to be a two-term senior class president — I loved the moment when Santana acts shocked about this and Brittany points out that with a 0.0 GPA, this was always what was going to happen. Santana says that maybe she'll just stay in Lima, too. This would be an easy way for the producers to keep Santana around next season, but if this is the case, I hope she gets a solid story line to go with it and isn't just someone for Brittany to say funny things to and smooch. Naya Rivera is criminally underutilized as it is.

The graduating seniors sing "You Get What You Give" to the New Directions kids, and it's perfectly adorable and fun, but it’s also a bone-chilling look at who New Directions has left for next year. I would be totally fine with it if Blaine got all the solos next year, but I want him to have talented backup dancers! I kid, I kid, but I don't really look at those kids and see anyone that I can't wait to hear another solo from. The big unmentioned punch line of last week's body swap episode was that Tina singing a solo was nice, but nothing compared to watching Rachel sing a solo. (Please note that I have not gone soft; I still hate Rachel as a person.) Also, how is Sam Harris not graduating? I'd made peace with the fact that he was a male stripper in "On My Way" by assuming he'd already turned 18.

The underclassmen sing a lovely "In My Life," after which Quinn points out that everyone else is emotional, but that she doesn't feel that way. This is probably because she's a noted sociopath. Example: When she's helping Puck study for his finals, and he asks why she's bothering, since he's a loser, she responds, "You're my first." Attention, teens of America: You do not have to help someone study for finals just because you lose your virginity to them. Nonetheless, she kisses Puck to give him the magical power he needs to pass his geography final. Or something. A different idea would have been to help him review the material until he gained the mastery over it required to pass the test, but hey, whatever, cool. She does have a legitimately touching good-bye with Sue — it's a nice way of referencing the idea that these kids had high-school careers outside the confines of the choir room.
Puck passes geography just in time to perform Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days" as the commencement march (if more graduations were like that, I'd go), and while it's nice to see the guest stars who played Mike's parents and Quinn's mom return, it makes Rachel's dads' absence that much more glaring (Goldblum, we barely knew ye). Once the diplomas are handed out (and after Emma's gotten to say the three fourths of a line she's allotted this episode), Kurt, Finn, and Rachel meet in the choir room to open their college acceptance letters. Kurt and Finn are out; Rachel's in. There's 30 seconds' worth of Rachel's insistence on deferring all so we can wind up at the train station, where Finn breaks up with her, tells her he's joining the army (no word about what will become of Kurt), and puts her on a train to New York. That sounds far more violent than it actually is-  it's actually sweet enough and set to "Roots Before Wings." But the problem is that I just don't care all that much.

I came into this week's episode wondering where, exactly, Glee would go. Last week's nationals episode was almost a return to form; at the same time, it was an end point. No one has ever watched Glee to see the kids make it all the way to graduation — people watch to see them sing, and compete, and win. Once all that's finished, everything else is just an afterthought. There's not much point in sticking around to see character arcs resolved when those character arcs are new or flimsy or nonsensical or uninteresting.  Put another way: I was never really all that interested in what happened to these characters (I'd argue that there wasn't much to be interested in, since they were written more as caricatures than characters). I was interested in what happened to this team. And I got what I came for; they won. It's just that now I'm not sure there's anything left to root for.

Times-Picayune: R.I.P. The “Daily Newspaper”


(By Joel Achenbach, Washington Post, May 25, 2012)

The last few days I’ve been running around Pennsylvania, interviewing people, from big-shots to ordinary Shmoes, taking notes and asking a million questions, and am putting together what I hope will be a good story about real people in a real place. But in the back of my mind these days I always wonder if this go-there reporting concept makes any sense. Does it pencil out? Salary…two nights at the strangely expensive Hampton Inn … meals … snacks … pinball … the spa … driver … interpreter … fixer … fresh fruit and champagne delivered to the room ... the usual reporter-on-the-road costs, in other words. Is the cost worth it when the end result is just a little ol’ story in the paper?  Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay home and just, you know, Google it? Surely there’s a poll out there, online, and we could just tell you what people think based on that. Make a couple of phone calls. Done, and cheaply.  Said it before: You can’t Google your way to great journalism.

The numbers worry me. And this latest story about the New Orleans Times-Picayune worries me. The Times-Pic is famous for its Pulitzer-winning coverage of Hurricane Katrina, but it also did outstanding work on the BP oil spill two years ago. Staff writer David Hammer’s reporting was particularly essential to the rest of us following the story. Now we learn that the paper’s corporate owners have decided to cut back print publication to three days a week. We’re assured that the Times-Pic will still publish 24 hours a day online, but an analyst predicts a major cut in staffing, from about 150 to 100 employees in the newsroom. Several other company papers in the Deep South are also cutting back to three days a week.

There’s no simple solution to the collapse of the traditional newspaper business model. Everyone’s got to figure this thing out in their own way. But let’s not pretend that this isn’t a sad moment for New Orleans.  One of the great virtues of newspapers has always been the way they show up every day, reliably, and become a trusted part of people’s lives. People have rituals around their newspaper. Maybe you read the paper on your porch in the morning while listening to the birds. Maybe you line your bird cage with it. Whatever: It’s a fixture in daily life. It’s not supposed to be a fixture in Wednesday, Friday and Sunday life.

The online versions of these papers are still perfectly capable of publishing great journalism. But the platform is shrinking. Already there’s a shift away from desktop computers to mobile devices. How many journalists can be supported through devices that you hold in your hand? That’s not a rhetorical question: I’m really curious to know.  Sorry to repeat myself on this, but I like to read things that don’t beep at me and hector me and make me feel guilty because I’m not doing something else. Do you want to sit there on your porch reading your news on a device that is connected to every other news source in the world, and your email accounts, and your Twitter feed, and is burping with text msgs and voice msgs and any moment may actually RING with a phone call and a person who demands your attention?  No. Now hand me the sports section.




Monday, May 21, 2012

Robin Gibb

Robin Gibb 'Shows Flickers Of Life After Brother Sings To Him'
(The Telegraph website,  April 20, 2012)

Bee Gees singer Robin Gibb has shown “flickers of life” after his brother Barry sang to him to help wake him from his coma, it has been claimed.  His family continue to keep vigil at his bedside.  As his wife Dwina said music appeared to be helping. She said his brother had been singing to him, while his children played music to “try and bring him back to us”.

The Sun newspaper has reported a “source close to the 62-year-old music legend” as saying there have been hopeful signs of recovery but that he was “not out of the woods yet.”  The source said: “There were flickers of life from Robin. His eyes moved and there was an attempt at speech.”  The singer has been in hospital in Chelsea, west London, since he lost consciousness last week, after contracting pneumonia in his fight against cancer.  

His wife Dwina, who is at his bedside with their daughter Melissa, 37, and sons Spencer, 39, and Robin-John, 29, has thanked fans for all their support.  In an interview with Northern Irish publication the Impartial Reporter, she said: “Thousands of people are saying prayers every day.  “His brother Barry, his wife Linda and son Stephen came over from America. Barry was singing to him.”  She added she had taken inspiration from her husband’s latest work, a song to commemorate the Titanic called “Don’t Cry Alone” in which a fallen husband reassures his wife “he is only a whisper away”.  A statement on the singer's website RobinGibb.com said: "Sadly the reports are true that Robin has contracted pneumonia and is in a coma. We are all hoping and praying that he will pull through.”

Robin Gibb has enjoyed a musical career spanning six decades, from humble beginnings as part of a sibling trio in 1950s Manchester to his most recent classical venture, the requiem for The Titanic.  In the interim, he sang some of the 1960s and 1970s greatest hits, including Massachusetts, I've Gotta Get A Message To You, Lonely Days, How Can You Mend A Broken Heart, How Deep Is Your Love and Stayin' Alive. Gibb last performed on stage in February, supporting injured servicemen and women at the Coming Home charity concert held at the London Palladium.

He had been due to premier his classical work, The Titanic Requiem, this month with son Robin-John, but the event went ahead without him due to his poor health.  Gibb had surgery on his bowel 18 months ago for an unrelated condition, but a tumour was discovered and he was diagnosed with cancer of the colon and, subsequently, of the liver.  It had been thought his cancer was in remission as early as last month, but the latest deterioration in his health coincides with reports of a secondary tumour.  His twin brother and bandmate Maurice died from the same bowel condition that initially led doctors to operate on Robin.

Gibb's band the Bee Gees will be best remembered for their contribution to the soundtrack of 1977 film Saturday Night Fever, which turned disco music into a worldwide phenomenon and placed the distinctive look of the era's hairstyles and outfits into pop culture legend.



Robin Gibb Of Bee Gees Dies At 62
(By Elysa Gardner, USA TODAY, May 20, 2012)

One of the most beloved trios in pop history is now down to a single surviving member. Robin Gibb, 62, died Sunday of colorectal cancer — following twin brother Maurice, who died in 2003 after suffering a blocked intestine and cardiac arrest.  Robin Gibb, who had been hospitalized for pneumonia and had surgery to remove a growth from his colon, was central to the group's success both as a songwriter and a vocalist. He was the original lead singer, and his tangy, tremulous tenor and older brother Barry's deeper, breathier, falsetto-prone voice were constants as the Bee Gees traversed a wide range of musical styles.

Though the family act first gained attention in the '60s for Beatle-esque pop tunes, they moved into orchestral rock and then the soaring disco that made them superstars in the late '70s. Their contributions made 1977's Saturday Night Fever soundtrack a No. 1 album for 24 weeks, earning them chart-topping singles in Stayin' Alive, Night Fever and How Deep Is Your Love.  Gibb nodded to the Bee Gees' different phases and the shifting tastes of pop audiences in his solo career, which predated the band's commercial heyday and continued after his twin's death. In 1969, he had a No. 2 hit in the U.K. with the lush, pining Saved By the Bell. In 1983, the lithe, danceable Juliet became a fan favorite, while 20 years later Gibb incorporated a rap segment into Please, a minor hit in England.  He also collaborated with Barry Gibb in writing Woman in Love, a No. 1 single for Barbra Streisand in 1980. The brothers worked on hits for artists from Dionne Warwick (Heartbreaker) to Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers (Islands in the Stream).

The Bee Gees were inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1994 and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1997. In 2001, they released their final album, This Is Where I Came In. After Maurice died, the surviving brothers retired the name but had reconsidered in recent years. They appeared together at a 2006 concert in Florida and again on Dancing With the Stars in 2009 to promote a retrospective, The Ultimate Bee Gees.  This spring, Gibb made his classical album debut with Titanic Requiem, co-written with his son RJ. He was too sick to attend the work's world premiere April 10 in London.  In a 2001 Bee Gees interview with USA TODAY, Robin proved the impish wit of the group, quipping at one point, "We're comforted by the fact that most of our critics are dead. … We've outlived them."  Certainly, the music will do so.

Robin Gibb Dies: Former Bee Gees Member Helped Define ’70s Disco Subculture
(By Terence McArdle, Washington Post, May 21, 2012)

 Robin Gibb of the Bee Gees, a trio that helped define the disco subculture of the 1970s with such hits as “Stayin’ Alive,” “Night Fever” and “How Deep Is Your Love,” died May 20. He was 62.  His death was announced on his Web site. Mr. Gibb reportedly had cancer and pneumonia and had been hospitalized in London.  The Bee Gees — a play on the “Brothers Gibb” — were formed in 1958 with Mr. Gibb, his twin brother Maurice and their elder brother Barry. The group became one of the most successful pop entertainment acts of its era, winning multiple Grammy Awards, selling more than 110 million albums and putting 23 songs in the top 20 of Billboard’s Hot 100 charts from 1967 to 1979.

With a Beatles-influenced pop style, they had an initial run of success in Australia in the 1960s with songs that included “Spicks and Specks.” They later brought disco music into the pop mainstream and set fashion trends with their polyester suits, open collars and flowing hairstyles.  During their 1997 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Bee Gees were described as “pop’s ultimate chameleons” because of their work in several musical genres.  On recordings such as “New York Mining Disaster 1941” (1967), a song inspired by a Welsh mine cave-in, and “I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You” (1968), in which a convict awaits his execution, the Bee Gees combined somber, melodramatic storylines with lush orchestral accompaniments.

Mr. Gibb’s signature song, “I Started a Joke” (1969), dealt with the embarrassment of someone who has said something horribly wrong. The quavering vibrato in his voice helped underscore the song’s neurotic, self-conscious lyrics.  Other performers took notice of their songwriting. “To Love Somebody” (1967), co-written by Mr. Gibb and his brother Barry and originally intended for soul singer Otis Redding, became one of the era’s most recorded love ballads.  Although Redding died before he could record it, the song was covered by such performers as Janis Joplin, Tom Jones, Dusty Springfield and the Flying Burrito Brothers.  Disputes between Mr. Gibb and his brother Barry over who should sing lead culminated with Mr. Gibb’s departure from the group in 1969 to pursue a short-lived solo career. The other brothers split up shortly after the filming of a television special, “Cucumber Castle,” which aired in 1970.  “I think it was partly the fact that we’d always lived with our mother and father and we were just becoming adults and looking to be free of each other,” Mr. Gibb told Billboard magazine in 2001.  The group reemerged with a ballad reportedly inspired by their reconciliation, “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” (1971).

Within a few years, the Bee Gees found a new, highly profitable direction. Producer Arif Mardin pushed Barry Gibb to sing in a piercing, falsetto style — the group’s new trademark — with the song “Jive Talkin’ ” (1975), a breakthrough hit in the disco market. The soundtrack to the movie “Saturday Night Fever” (1977) followed and was estimated to have sold 40 million copies worldwide.  By the end of the decade, there was a critical and popular backlash against the Bee Gees — a result of their domination of the airwaves and a reaction against the disco subculture.  Their starring roles in a disastrous 1978 movie inspired by the Beatles’ album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” further alienated rock fans. Rock stations advertised Bee Gees-free days. A parody record by the Hee Bee Gee Bees was titled “Meaningless Songs (in Very High Voices).”

Turning their attention to songwriting and production, the Gibbs opened a Miami recording studio, Middle Ear, and produced successful recordings by their younger brother, Andy Gibb. They were prolific tunesmiths, penning songs for Barbra Streisand, Diana Ross, Dionne Warwick and Kenny Rogers throughout the 1980s.  The Bee Gees’s last top 10 hit was the single “One” in 1989. They released their last album, “This Is Where I Came In,” in 2001. That same year, the Bee Gees were knighted as Commanders of the British Empire.  

Robin Hugh Gibb was born Dec. 22, 1949, in Douglas, on the Isle of Man. His father, Hugh, led a dance band on ferry boats. His mother, Barbara, was the band’s singer. The family moved to Manchester, England, where Mr. Gibb and his two brothers made their debut at a movie theater.  With the addition of a couple of friends, the brothers formed a skiffle group, the Rattlesnakes. However, Mr. Gibb and his brother Barry were repeatedly in trouble with the police for truancy, break-ins and fire setting.  “One day I was walking home,” Maurice Gibb once said, “and all the billboards on the main street in Chorlton [their Manchester neighborhood] were blazing away, firemen and police running around everywhere. That was Robin, the family arsonist.” 

The family packed up for Australia in 1958 when the brothers were threatened with jail time.  Andy Gibb, who also had a successful singing career, died in 1988 of myocarditis. Maurice Gibb, Mr. Gibb’s twin, died in 2003 of a heart attack after surgery on an obstructed colon. Mr. Gibb’s cancer was disclosed shortly after he underwent the same procedure in 2011.  He struggled with substance abuse and said he was addicted to amphetamines for many years.  Mr. Gibb said in interviews that he and his wife, Dwina Murphy-Gibb, who has been described as an ordained druid priestess, believed in open marriage. In 2008, he had a daughter by his housekeeper, Claire Yang, according to British media reports.  His first marriage, to Molly Hullis, ended in divorce.  In addition to his wife and daughter, survivors include two children from his first marriage; a son from his second marriage; his mother; and his brother Barry.

  

Robin Gibb: Recommended Listening

(By Edna Gundersen, USA TODAY, May 20, 2012)

 Best known as one-third of the Bee Gees, Robin Gibb will be remembered most for the Australian brothers' 1977 soundtrack Saturday Night Fever, especially its defining disco-era hits Night Fever and Stayin' Alive. Check out these other choice cuts spotlighting Robin's vocal gifts.


Lead vocals on Bee Gees songs:

 •New York Mining Disaster 1941 (from Bee Gees' 1st, 1967)

•I Started a Joke (from Idea, 1968)

•Lamplight (from Odessa, 1969)

•Alone Again (from 2 Years On, 1970)

•Come on Over (from Main Course, 1975)

 •Love Me (from Children of the World, 1976)

•Bodyguard (from One, 1989)


Shared lead vocals on Bee Gees songs:

•How Can You Mend a Broken Heart (from Trafalgar, 1971)

•Run to Me (from To Whom It May Concern, 1972)

•Too Much Heaven (from Spirits Having Flown, 1979)

Solo career:

•Oh! Darling (from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band soundtrack, 1978)

•Juliet (from How Old Are You, 1983)

•Boys Do Fall In Love (from Secret Agent, 1984)

•Robot (from Secret Agent)

•Toys (from Walls Have Eyes, 1985)



Robin Gibb: A Bee Gees Voice Filled With More Than Just Disco
(By Randall Roberts, L.A. Times, May 21, 2012)

Their hits could fill an entire Saturday night, last until the first church bell rang on Sunday morning and provide a sweat-drenched workout on the dance floor that broke only for the slow numbers. Even more remarkable was that each classic gem of the Bee Gees, whose co-founder Robin Gibb died Sunday after a long battle with cancer, would be packed with feeling.  There’s “Jive Talkin’,” the group’s frenetic ode to a lying lover, which highlights a skeptical Gibb’s sweet tenor. “How Deep Is Your Love” finds Gibb, who co-founded the Bee Gees in 1958 with brothers Barry and Maurice (Robin’s fraternal twin), describing him and his lover “living in a world of fools breaking us down,” when they should really just leave them alone. That song alone was responsible for countless dark-corner slow dances.  The climax, of course, would hit with the first few notes of “Staying Alive” from “Saturday Night Fever,” the 1977 double-album soundtrack that made Robin and his brothers  international superstars and helped define disco — and the 1970s.

The song, with its heaving R&B rhythm, captured the spirit of 1977, when the dance music born in New York, Philadelphia and Miami was being translated by poppier groups such as the Bee Gees and dipping into the mainstream. Younger brother Robin’s midrange tone tethered Barry’s wild falsetto, and they combined to create one of most instantly recognizable vocal teams in pop music.  Studio 54’s cocaine-fueled evenings became “Today” show fodder, and the Bee Gees’ feathered hair a look half the planet strove for. “Night Fever,” “More Than a Woman,” “Nights on Broadway” and “You Should Be Dancing” all became songs that could pack the dance floor. 

But the group’s sound was more than just “disco.” There’s a misconception that the Bee Gees made their move into music with “Saturday Night Fever,” but it’s more accurate to say that disco became a name for the style of music the band had been migrating toward for half a decade.  Long before a white-suited John Travolta shuffle-stepped his way across a lighted dance floor, Robin, Barry and Maurice were experimenting with the R&B sounds coming out of the gay and straight discotheques in urban centers and combining them with rhythms so far removed from the group’s earlier hits that it might as well have been a different band. 

In a sense, it was different bands. After a successful career in the ’60s rising alongside the British Invasion acts and finding success, Robin left the Bee Gees late in the decade, a symptom of a sibling rivalry that would drive their energy for the rest of the 1970s and ’80s. He pursued a solo career, one that yielded the baroque pop gem “Robin’s Reign” in 1969.  He returned to the Bee Gees in 1970, but while many of their post-British Invasion contemporaries continued along predictable paths, following the Beatles’ lead in the late ’60s, then moving into harder rock or country rock, the Bee Gees in the early 1970s, under the guidance of influential British music impresario and film producer Robert Stigwood, dived into the dance-floor sounds being born in America. Recording at Criteria Studios in Miami, the band stitched complicated Caribbean rhythms — and cowbell — into its innate pop sensibilities and the soul and funk of Curtis Mayfield, the O’Jays, MFSB and James Brown.  It was this distillation that half a decade later resulted in “Saturday Night Fever,” the double album released in November 1977 that went on to generate at least 10 disco classics, sell more than 15 million albums and transform the entire pop landscape. Working with those joyous, exuberant harmonies in service of long, life-affirming grooves like on “You Should Be Dancing,” the trio became the voice of Saturday night.

That influence continues. No matter how hard critics and the rock establishment tried to kill disco, after the Bee Gees’ peak success — shattered by the debacle that was their film version of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” and too many cheesy Rod Stewart crossover songs — the music went back underground, rising from time to time as a reminder of its spirit. In 2012, the beat-driven genre is cited by artists as an influence just as often as punk rock, which supposedly “killed” disco.  It didn’t. The evidence lies within the grooves that Robin and his brothers created, as vital, life-affirming and human as ever.

 
Robin Gibb's Unconventional Family
(By Luchina Fisher, ABC-Go.com, April 19, 2012)

As Bee Gee Robin Gibb remains gravely ill in a coma, his devoted wife, Dwina Gibb, has remained steadfastly at his bedside.  The couple once avowed their open marriage -- he fathered a child with their former housekeeper and she openly stated her preference for women -- but their love and loyalty for one another is still apparent after 28 years.  "However absurd their relationship may appear, there's never any question that they are very, very bonded," writer and film professor David N. Meyer, who is writing an unauthorized biography on the Bee Gees, told ABCNews.com. "He has relied on her in a number of ways. She is no joke to him. Their love for one another is very tight."

"They are an example of a very modern family -- maybe a little too modern," Us Weekly's music editor Ian Drew told ABCNews.com. "They are both very artistic souls, very open-minded. They get each other and they get a kick out of each other."  Their lifestyle, though, has raised more than a few eyebrows -- most recently, in 2009, after Robin, 62, fathered a baby girl, Snow Robin Gibb, with their live-in housekeeper, Claire Yang, a woman nearly half his age.  Despite their unconventional marriage, Dwina Gibb, 59, an artist, writer and druid priestess, was said to have "hit the roof."

"When the truth came out, Dwina was furious. To say she hit the roof is an understatement. She felt betrayed," a friend was quoted telling the Sunday Mirror.  "It's very funny that she was upset," Meyer said. "Maybe it goes to the king splitting his estate."  Robin Gibb, whose estate is reportedly worth more than $140 million, and Dwina Gibb have one son, Robin-John Gibb, 29. Robin Gibb also has two older children -- a daughter, Melissa, 37, and a son, Spencer, 39, with his first wife, Molly Hullis.   

His 12-year marriage to Hullis, a secretary in former Bee Gees' manager Robert Stigwood's office, almost immediately fell victim to the rise of the Bee Gees.  "Almost as soon as they got married, Robin moved to America and they almost never saw each other," said Meyer, author of "The Bee Gees: The Biography," due out this fall. "She refused to bring the kids to live in America."  She also won custody of the children and, for many years, Robin Gibb did not see them.  "It was akin to bereavement," he told the UK newspaper The Telegraph in 2008. "I felt as though I was on the verge of madness."

Eventually, he reunited with his children when they were 12 and 10. By then, he had married Dwina Gibb, his second wife, whom he met through her cousin in 1980, when she was running a beanbag factory in London while trying to make it as an artist.  "I showed him my drawings," she is quoted saying in a 2006 article in the U.K.'s Daily Mail. "He asked me to come house-hunting with him and we scampered in and out of houses together, getting to know each other. We had a lot in common. We are both interested in history, mythology, old churches and buildings. We even share the same birthday."  Raised in Northern Ireland, Dwina Gibb has a lifelong interest in Irish history and mythology, according to her website, and has published two volumes of poetry and two novels. She's a devotee of many religions, including a Hindu sect called the Daughters of Brahma, whose members are meant to be celibate, and the order of the druids, an ancient pagan practice, for which she was ordained a patroness in the 1990s.

The couple live in the Biscayne Bay mansion once owned by President John F. Kennedy and a 100-acre Oxford, England, estate, where tapestries and tarot-card tiles adorn the walls of their 12th century converted monastery and the Gibbs built a druid place of worship.  The estate was also where Robin Gibb's younger brother, pop star Andy Gibb, spent his last days before he was rushed to a hospital, where he died of a heart ailment. And it was where Robin Gibb carried on an affair with the housekeeper, until his wife learned about the pregnancy.  Yang and her daughter now live in a converted barn not far from the estate and, Meyer said, Robin Gibb provides financial support.

Unlike Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver, who separated after news that he had fathered a son with their housekeeper became public, the Gibbs remain committed together -- in love. Since the birth of Snow Robin, they have also backed off from earlier statements they made about their infamous lifestyle.  In the 1990's, Robin famously told Howard Stern that he and his wife "like to cruise and we like to watch."  Amid talk about threesomes, he declared, "My wife is a lesbian and I love it." 

But in a 2010 interview with the Daily Mail, the couple disavowed their previous statements.  "My earlier life was kind of wild, interesting and experimental, but you go past the experimental stage and start living," Dwina Gibb said.  "You get older and other things are more important," Robin Gibb said, adding that he had never actually seen his wife "indulge in a bisexual lifestyle." 

"We actually have a very conservative relationship -- more so than the average couple. We don't drink or smoke. We're not partying all the time," said Robin Gibb, who has been sober and a vegan for decades. "Look, we're not stuffed shirts. We have a free relationship. We give each other time and space to pursue activities -- that doesn't mean other people."

Digital Blues: Critic Ann Hornaday Confronts A Future Without Celluloid

(By Ann Hornaday, Washington Post, May 18, 2012)

It’s not a bug, it’s a feature.”  That’s an oft-heard refrain in the computer world, where programmers routinely trot out “improvements” that users experience as irritations and glitches.  The phrase came to mind a few weeks ago during CinemaCon, a confab of movie exhibitors in Las Vegas where Warner Bros. showed them 10 minutes of Peter Jackson’s hotly anticipated adaptation of “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.” As reports filtered out of Caesars Palace, no one was talking about Elijah Wood’s Frodo or Martin Freeman’s Bilbo or how the action and meaning of J.R.R. Tolkien’s epic fantasy had translated to the screen. Rather, the blogs were agog with news about a new 3-D digital format Jackson used to photograph “The Hobbit,” at a souped-up 48 frames per second — twice as fast as the usual 24 frames per second of conventional film.

One exhibitor present reportedly compared the look to a behind-the-scenes featurette; Variety reporter Josh L. Dickey wrote that the new format lacked the “cinematic glow of industry-standard 24 fps.” Although computer-generated characters were a “distinct presence,” he continued, “human actors seemed overlit and amplified in a way that many compared to modern sports broadcasts . . . and daytime television.” 

But at least one film-lover in Vegas liked what he saw. The “Hobbit” footage, wrote online film columnist Jeffrey Wells on his Web site, Hollywood Elsewhere, was “like watching super high-def video, or without that filtered, painterly, brushstroke-y, looking-through-a-window feeling that feature films have delivered since forever.” The high frame rate, he continued, “removed the artistic scrim or membrane that separates the audience from the performers.”  In rhapsodizing about the heightened realism and sharpness of the “Hobbit” footage, Wells pointed out an aesthetic trend that, to many viewers raised on the grain and texture of film, looks like a bug is well on its way to becoming a feature.

Video initially presented a threat to film studios, before they learned to leverage it, both in production and as an added revenue stream. In time, it seemed as though video might even save the cinematic medium itself, financially and creatively. In the documentary “Hearts of Darkness,” Francis Ford Coppola famously predicted that one day “some little fat girl in Ohio is going to be the new Mozart and make a beautiful film” with a video recorder. “The so-called professionalism of movies will be destroyed forever,” Coppola enthused. “And it will really become an art form.”  Art form or not, videotape clearly held equal attraction for big-fish studios and tiny-minnow indies, for the same reason: It’s cheap and easy. Forget the fat girl in Ohio — it was the fat cats in Hollywood who saw video as one way to keep spiraling costs down. Once it was digitized — and video was supplanted by computer technology — its aesthetic potential increased exponentially.

Digital image capture started gaining crucial toeholds in the 1990s, when respected cinematographers and directors began to embrace it. It was no surprise that such early technological adopters as George Lucas and James Cameron began evangelizing for digital. But cineastes took more serious note when in 2000 the revered Roger Deakins pioneered the use of the digital intermediate process — whereby a film is finished in digital form before going out to theaters — on no less than the tea-soaked, Depression-era throwback “O Brother, Where Art Thou?.”  In 2007, David Fincher proved digitally recorded images could convey authentic period mood and intensity in his 1970s thriller “Zodiac”; that same year, “Paranormal Activity” digitized the video revolution that began eight years earlier with “The Blair Witch Project,” which ushered in a new era of “found footage” horror films, marked by blurry, blippy, buggy images that intentionally looked cadged on the fly rather than composed. In 2009, “Slumdog Millionaire” became the first film photographed entirely digitally to win a best cinematography Oscar, and “Avatar” changed the 3-D digital-image game forever.

But 2009 was also the year that Michael Mann — known as a bold visual stylist from his work on “Miami Vice” and “Heat” — released “Public Enemies,” about Depression-era gangster John Dillinger. Filmed on high-definition video, “Public Enemies” looked cheap and cheesy, especially in its nighttime action scenes, which possessed the wavy, floaty quality most often associated with daytime television. Mann’s stylized signature seemed to have given way to an anachronistic, pixelated sharpness that took on a smeary quaver when Dillinger and his men were in motion . A year later and several genres away, the romantic-action-comedy “Date Night” suffered from the same problem, with the antics of Tina Fey and Steve Carell often looking as though they had been filmed for a made-for-TV movie rather than a $50 million Hollywood production. If this was “lifelike” HD, give me painterly brush strokes — also known as depth, texture, warmth and translucence — any day.

Still, as disquieting as those misfires were, digital seemed to take a giant leap forward last year, when such films as “Drive,” “Melancholia,” Fincher’s “Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” and the Navy SEALs thriller “Act of Valor” found new saturation, expressiveness, range and precision in digital cinematography. Explaining how he achieved the bright palette and vivid lines in “Drive,” director Nicolas Winding Refn first mentioned getting a really good camera (in this case the Alexa, manufactured by nearly 100-year-old German camera company Arri) and hiring a great digital colorist, who can shape and deepen a film’s look by adjusting color just as lighting electricians contour shadow and light for the same purposes. “The grader is the new gaffer,” Refn quipped, referring to color and light technicians.)

Directors Scott Waugh and Mike “Mouse” McCoy used a Canon 5D digital camera to film “Act of Valor,” much of which was caught in real time on actual SEAL training maneuvers. But there’s some 35 millimeter film in “Act of Valor” as well, and the two were adamant that the video portions look just as rich and textured as the film stock. “Shane has a really good word for it, which is plastic,” Waugh said of cinematographer Shane Hurlbut, describing how video looks at its worst. McCoy added that they fitted the digital cameras with old Leica lenses, which added texture to the images. “They had this 1980s Leica glass that just had this subtlety to it,” he recalled. “All of a sudden we’d found the secret sauce.” When “Act of Valor” was in post-production, the filmmakers took care to turn any “noise” — a static-like pattern that’s a common artifact of filming on video — and into film grain. “It’ll be 35 [millimeter] to 5D in the same scene, and it’s seamless,” McCoy said.

Such directors as Refn, Fincher, Waugh and McCoy are proving that, like all expressive tools, digital is as good as the artists who use it. But even the advances of 2011 didn’t convince film’s high-profile holdouts. Shortly after showing his new film “Moonrise Kingdom” to the press at the Cannes Film Festival on Wednesday, Wes Anderson — who shot the coming-of-age love story in Technicolor, on 16 millimeter film — noted ruefully that this might be his last celluloid endeavor.  Anderson recalled being interviewed by a magazine that regularly publishes grids of what equipment various directors used on their upcoming projects, including the film format. “Every single one of them said HD except ours,” he said. “But I think in two years ours will have to say HD, too. I think this option is disappearing. . . . I don't know. Maybe there’s a great app that can make [digital] look like film, but in my opinion there’s really no substitute.” With Kodak — one of the chief purveyors of film stock — in bankruptcy and processors like Technicolor on the ropes, it’s unclear whether raw film stock will even be an option for much longer.

In December, Christopher Nolan — he of “Batman Begins,” “The Dark Knight” and “Inception” fame — convened some of Hollywood’s most high-profile directors to watch some advance footage of “The Dark Knight Rises.”  He then told them why he’d really called. “The message I wanted to put out there was that no one is taking anyone’s digital cameras away,” Nolan told DGA Quarterly, which covers the Directors Guild of America, in its spring issue. “But if we want film to continue as an option, and someone is working on a big studio movie with the resources and the power to insist [on] film, they should say so. I felt if I didn’t say anything, and then we started to lose that option, it would be a shame. When I look at a digitally acquired and projected image, it looks inferior against an original negative anamorphic print or an Imax one.” (Nolan is just one of many filmmakers who will be seen debating the digital-vs.-film issue in “Side by Side,” a documentary produced by Keanu Reeves that comes out this summer. But it should be noted that he wasn’t above including some snippets of HD video in “Inception.”)

Nolan, Anderson and many of their peers have recently spoken out about feeling pressured by studios to make their films digitally, which is part of a recent push to have every movie theater in the country — not just chains but independents — convert to digital projection. The expensive enterprise is by now almost complete; the average American filmgoer would be hard-pressed to see a movie projected on film today, even if it was originally made on celluloid. (Some predictions have 35 mm film disappearing almost entirely from theaters by 2015.)  On one hand, digital projection is good news, banishing forever the problem of prints that would tear and scratch just a few weeks into their runs, not to mention the scourge known as “under-lamping,” wherein theaters would save money by using low-watt light bulbs in their projectors, resulting in otherwise sparkling movies being reduced to vats of pea soup. (I was once with Oliver Stone before a screening of one of his films in Austin, and he fled the theater just as the lights went down. He knew what kind of visually compromised experience was coming, he explained, and he couldn’t bear to watch.)

But it turns out that digital projection doesn’t guarantee a pristine viewing experience — far from it. At the Maryland Film Festival this month, University of Wisconsin Cinematheque programming director Jim Healy recalled seeing the visually stunning “We Need To Talk About Kevin” on film; when he went back a second time, the theater was showing it on a high-definition Blu-ray disc (an increasingly common practice), but through a non-HD system. The result was dark, dingy and virtually unintelligible, and Healy left after a few minutes. “It just wasn’t the same film.” And don’t get him started on how many times he’s seen a 2-D movie projected on a screen meant for 3-D films, an all-too-common occurrence that results in yet more dark, dingy images.

The digitization of the theatrical experience — whereby audiences are basically watching a DVD on a really big screen — raises more troubling questions for Healy and his fellow exhibitors. “We’re now looking at generations of movie viewers who, if they’re going to cinemas at all, will see stuff digitally projected, and it won’t be too different from what they’re seeing at home,” he says. “That concerns me, because if there’s less and less of a difference, then what’s the reason to keep going out?”  And it’s not just a question of visiting the corner bijou to find fellowship at the altar of celluloid and sprocket holes. As the distinction between film and digitally captured images disappears, so does the notion of the cinematic medium itself. When big-screen movies are made to be seen on iPhones, and the next big holiday-season epic looks more like an NFL playoff game than a composition of discrete and expressive formal properties, our aesthetic expectations aren’t just evolving but eroding.  As the cinematographer John Bailey said to me last year, what’s at stake in these questions isn’t just the evolution of standards or generational tastes, but the very notion of cultural consensus over what the term “film” means. It’s the question of whether a bug should become a feature, and what might be irrevocably lost in the metamorphosis.


Thursday, May 17, 2012

Alexandria, Va., Tops Amazon Best-Read Cities List

Nice to know that I live in an area that enjoys reading books.  I'm a little worried about their statistical method though- has my Amazon addiction skewed the results?  Because I buy a lot of books.  If another list has the northern Virginia among the top music sales areas for the country, especially for actual CDs, then I know it because of me.


Alexandria, Va., Tops Amazon Best-Read Cities List
(Associated Press, May 15, 2012)

Alexandria, Va., is having a love affair with books.  The historic suburb outside of Washington, D.C., tops Amazon.com's list of best-read cities per capita over the past year, based on sales of books, newspapers and magazines. Romance novels are especially popular in Alexandria, according to the online retailer, which released the list Tuesday. Alexandria was immediately followed by several college towns: Cambridge, Mass.; Berkeley, Calif.; Ann Arbor, Mich.; and Boulder, Colo. Municipalities on the list all have populations of more than100,000.  Rounding out the top 10 were Miami, Fla.; Arlington, Va.; Gainesville, Fla.; Washington, D.C.; and Salt Lake City.
http://news.yahoo.com/alexandria-va-tops-amazon-best-read-cities-list-132035400.html

Chuck Brown’s Musical Impact: Deep Into Washington, And Beyond

(By Chris Richards, Washington Post, May 17, 2012)

All songs must end, but not when Chuck Brown played them.  He spent the early ’70s trying to make a name and a living, knocking out top-40 covers in District nightclubs and cabarets. One night, in an attempt to keep the dance floor from thinning out, he told his band to fill the dead air between songs with a beat. So his drummer kept the sticks moving. His percussionist kept slapping at the conga. His audience kept their heels on the parquet. His beat connected the songs.  Then, his songs connected the city.

A proud community formed around Brown’s music. He called it go-go because it wouldn’t stop. Day-Glo concert posters stapled to telephone poles in the ’80s promised 4 a.m. curfews, but Brown was happy to play his guitar past sunrise. His music endured through the dawn and through the decades, into the 21st century, but never too far outside of Washington, where he loomed so large.  “Chuck was like the Washington Monument,” says radio and television personality Donnie Simpson. “He was like Ben’s Chili Bowl. He was the big chair. He was all of that. Chuck Brown was Washington D.C. . . . People feel you when it’s genuine and Chuck was always that.”

He gave Chocolate City its own sound and made fans a part of it through call-and-response routines that would send them home hoarse. Night after night — at the Howard Theatre, at the Masonic Temple on U Street, at Kilimanjaro, at the Ebony Inn, at Pitts Red Carpet Lounge — they’d scream: “Wind me up, Chuck!” It was a plea. A prayer. An exaltation. He’d sing back in a rough, rumbling voice that was soaked in charisma.  “He was a symbol of D.C. manhood, back in the day, because of the authority that he spoke with,” says Darryl Brooks, a local promoter who worked with Brown across the decades. “He just spoke from a perspective that black men could understand.”

As go-go bloomed in the early ’80s, New York City musicians were using drum machines and turntables to mint a futuristic new sound called hip-hop. Down in Washington, Brown was sneaking Duke Ellington melodies into his urgent young music. He may have been pioneering a new funk dialect, but he kept one foot in tradition, refusing to let go of the blues licks he learned during his stay at Lorton Correctional Complex.

As the ’80s blurred into the ’90s, rap music became a global phenomenon, but go-go stayed staunchly local — and Washington anointed Brown as “the godfather.” Has American music ever produced a figure so singular? He was a man who could stop traffic in his city but could stroll down the sidewalks of the world unnoticed.  But Brown’s music would still bleed into pop music from time to time. A drum break from “Ashley’s Roachclip,” a song he released in 1974 with his band the Soul Searchers, was sampled by everyone from Ice Cube to the Geto Boys to Duran Duran. Elements of “Bustin’ Loose,” Brown’s definitive 1978 hit, were reincarnated in Nelly’s 2002 chart-topping rap single “Hot in Herre.”

Elsewhere, Brown’s musical influence was more intravenous. Competing funk bands admired him, and his sound spilled into jazz when Miles Davis snatched up Brown’s drummer in the late ’80s.  But in Washington’s go-go scene, he remained a giant who leaves no heir.

“I lost a musical mentor and very personal friend,” says “Big Tony” Fisher of go-go’s legendary Trouble Funk. “I don’t think I met anyone who made me laugh more than him and made me dance — made us dance — more than him.”  “He’s like a musical father to all of us,” says Andre “Whiteboy” Johnson, leader of veteran go-go troupe Rare Essence. “He obviously influenced generations of people — not just one — a few generations of musicians around here. I know what he wanted was to see the music get bigger and better, so that’s all we can do — just keep pushing forward and try to do him proud.”

In the ’90s, Brown expressed concern about the direction of go-go. He worried about his legacy and whether the sound would ever thrive outside of the District. But in his later years, he showed nothing but pride in his creation. As younger bands torqued his beat into more aggressive shapes, he was still quick to applaud them, grateful that go-go was still going.

The sound spanned generations, and so did Brown’s fan base. “Some people remember a Friday night in 1984. Some people remember a show from 2011,” says local R&B singer Raheem DeVaughn. “There are so many memories.” (DeVaughn also says Brown’s illness prevented the godfather from joining him and rap superstar Snoop Dogg in the studio two months ago.)

The music still courses through Washington. Even if you never dropped a bead of sweat at a Chuck Brown concert, you’ve heard his voice blasting from open car windows, at the ballpark, maybe even on a television commercial for the D.C. Lottery or Chips Ahoy.  There was a musicality to everything about the man — even his voice-mail message: “Thank you for calling, now here’s what you do/Leave your name and your number and I’ll get back to you/Have a niiiiiiiice day.”  He stretched the penultimate word out like it was music. Like it was another song that he didn’t want to end.
 
http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/chuck-browns-musical-impact-deep-into-washington-and-beyond/2012/05/16/gIQAUo6zUU_print.html 

Monday, May 14, 2012

Joss Whedon Picks His 'Buffy' Top 10

(By Lanford Beard, Entertainment Weekly, May 10, 2012)

It’s safe to say Joss Whedon fans are having a flippin’ fantastic week. The Avengers just made all the money, with a record-breaking $207.4 million domestic opening, and got the official greenlight for a sequel. Now, Buffy fans are getting insight into Whedon’s most cherished memories from the series with the announcement that Whedon’s 10 favorite episodes are airing as an all-day marathon on Logo May 19, starting at 10 a.m. ET.  For any serious Buffy fan, picking only 10 episodes would be impossible, so it’s fitting that the creator should whittle down the list. Check out Whedon’s picks.

Joss Whedon’s Buffy Top 10

“Prophecy Girl” (112)
Buffy proved herself beyond doubt in the season 1 finale when she closed the Hellmouth and dispatched the dreaded Master.

“Innocence” (214)
Just say no, kids. To sex with your vampire boyfriend. Buffy’s decision to give it up unlocked the evil in Angel and kick-started an amazing half of season 2…

 “Becoming Part II” (222)
…that was capped off by this (literally) soul-destroying episode in which Buffy sent Angel to Hell. As he was sucked into the void, Willow’s spell restored his humanity, but it was too late. The Slayer fled Sunnydale to the strains of “Full of Grace,” and so began the onslaught of Sarah McLachlan weepers that continue to haunt us via sad puppy eyes to this day. (Heightened the next hour when “Angel” played during Dawson’s Creek‘s season 1 finale.  Epic.)

“The Wish” (309)
The first appearance of Anya! And as a slutty, psychotic Willow! After seeing Xander and Willow kiss the episode before, Cordelia wishes Buffy had never come to Sunnydale. Obviously, this was a terrible, terrible idea.

“Doppelgangland” (316)
Obviously Whedon has a thing for vampy Willow. He wrote this episode specifically for her.

“Hush” (410)
The only one of Buffy’s eps to be nominated for a writing Emmy. And its most powerful moments featured barely a single word of dialogue. What did it have? Heart-snatching, voice-snatching ghouls called The Gentlemen and proof that the Scoobies didn’t need their snappy repartee to get down to business (though we were more than happy to have their one-liners back the next week).

“Restless” (422)
Whedon’s more experimental episodes, the season 4 finale skimped on the slaying in favor of surreality. Each of the main characters traveled through a dreamlike state that hinted at what was in store for season 5, most notably the introduction of Buffy’s suddenly-there sister Dawn.

“The Body” (516)
You’d think Buffy would be desensitized to death. Then it struck home. The shocking, non-violent death of Joyce Summer hit Buffy harder than anything else on the series. Paralyzed, she crumpled into a ball on the floor of their home. Heartbreaking.

“Once More With Feeling” (607)
I’ve got a theory, it was the bunnies that made this one of Whedon’s faves.

“Conversations with Dead People” (707)
Buffy, Dawn, and Willow are all visited by ghosts from their pasts… or are they? This real-time episode was a series first and got to the heart of Buffy’s deeply conflicted psychology in the final season.

I am certainly not going to argue with the man who created the Buffyverse. Each of these episodes deserves its place on this list. Happily, some of my favorite characters are featured, including Oz, Faith, and Spike… not to mention the hilariously inept nerd trifecta of Warren, Andrew, and Jonathan (Jonathan, was of course played by Danny Strong, who has become a big-deal writer of films like Recount and Game Change). Even more happily, the episodes are noticeably light on Dawn and Riley.  Here are a few others I would liked to have seen:

“Go Fish” (220)
Admittedly, this is a lightweight episode, especially in the context of Buffy’s battle with evil Angel, but seeing Xander’s surprisingly fit physique in a Speedo? Priceless.

“Graduation Day” (322)
Buffy enlisted all of Sunnydale to help her vanquish the town’s biggest baddie yet — its own mayor. The episode was also the last regular appearance of Angel, who headed to L.A. to fight evil — but never quite as awesomely as he did with Buffy.

“The Gift” (522)
Buffy sacrifices herself to save the world. Need I say more?

“Smashed” (609)
Back and utterly haunted by the happiness she saw on the other side, Buffy gives in to her attraction to Spike. As a building collapses around them, they have, passionate, darkness-filled sex for the first time.

“Grave” (622)
Willow gives into her rage after Tara’s death, nearly destroying the world in the process. Alyson Hannigan was outstanding.

So those are some of my favorites. What episodes are on your Buffy top 10, PopWatchers? What episodes should have been included on the list that weren’t?