Anticipation

I was all set to write a Blindspotting about Devo today, but I got like 20 percent of the way through Freedom of Choice before I decided I wasn't anywhere near engaged enough to finish it, and then I took a stab at a few other widely acknowledged classics before I finally figured out that I'm just not in the right headspace for musical discovery at the moment, probably for the same reason that a lot of you aren't in the mood for additional bullshit of any flavor. That being the case, I'm pivoting to a Cultural Consumption-style post instead — I had every intention of writing one of these last Thursday, but then life got in the way, as it seems to do on a regular basis lately. I think we'll be back to something resembling regular programming soon.

Listening: The best thing I've heard lately, by a wide margin, is the new Tyler, the Creator record, which I have resisted the urge to write about at length because I never feel like I have enough of what it takes to really dig into seriously excellent hip-hop. Anything I can say about why this album moves me — the eclectic production, the lyrical content — will end up making it sound like I'm casting aspersions on a lot of other modern hip-hop, and even if that's actually the case, my aspersions don't come from a perspective that's informed enough to really matter. Here's the bottom line in terms of what I can tell you about this album: It takes me on a sonic journey, which is what I want from any LP, and it also contains an array of statements that I find witty, moving, and/or trenchant, in no particular order of importance. I've never listened to another Tyler album, and the 16-year-old keeps telling me I need to repent; I pledge to take care of that sooner than later. In the meantime, CHROMAKOPIA ranks among the smartest, deepest, most consistently entertaining records I've had the pleasure of listening to all year.

Near the other end of that spectrum, albeit not necessarily in a "god, this sucks" kind of way, is the latest from Soccer Mommy. Dedicated readers may remember that I big-upped one of the pre-release tracks from this album in a New Music Friday post a little while ago. I stand by that decision, and I don't actively dislike the rest of this record — it's just that everything that's charming and addictively listenable about Soccer Mommy is totally present in that song, and you don't really need an entire album to gain a deeper understanding of what she's all about. What I'm saying is that Evergreen is essentially a one-speed album, and that one speed can start to feel a trifle dull after a bit. This is a great record to listen to if you're in the mood for something that starts out gauzy and pretty and resolutely mid-tempo and remains in that space until the closing strains of the final song; otherwise, you may find yourself itching to listen to a punk record after a few cuts. Again, this is not me shitting on Soccer Mommy; I'm just warning you that it's basically mood music, and I want you to go in informed and in the right mood.

Also somewhat samey, but at nowhere near the same extent, is the latest from Peach Pit. The 19-year-old is a HUGE Peach Pit fan, and Magpie is good enough to cut through his general tendency to turn up his nose at the new stuff and rock the OG entries in the catalog. I'm nowhere near as intense in my Peach Pit fanhood/enjoyment; unlike him, I could not tell you what each of these songs is supposed to be about. (Not gonna lie, though — like a good dad, I did a modicum of research, read some lyrics, read some interviews, et cetera.) Since this is just a blurb rather than a full-length review, I'm not going to get too deep into the sonic textures or extol the virtues of any particular track versus any other; instead, I'll just say Magpie is an extremely easy listen, especially if you're in the mood for a moderately colorful mid-tempo pop album. As I so often do here, I feel like I might be coming across as damning with faint praise by saying these things, and that absolutely isn't the intent. Putting together an album of songs that goes down easy is harder than it looks.

On a very different musical note, we've got the debut full-length from Ingmar Thomas' Revive Big Band, which pushes a bunch of my pleasure buttons by bringing a big, fat brass section to bear on a 16-track set of songs. Like a Tree It Grows has its ups and downs — for me personally, any cut with vocals is worse than any cut without them, just because I always end up wanting the singer to shut up and let this kickass band do its thing — but in general, I'm giving it a heartier endorsement than I feel compelled to offer most records of its ilk, many of which tend to rely on played-out standards or unnecessary gimmickry. Grows feels like that rarest of things: A 21st-century extension of deep, rich, storied musical roots. I'm extremely glad that this one floated across my transom.

Watching: Oh, all kinds of stuff. It's been a while! I'll run through these in no particular order, starting with Before, which is your prototypical streaming series insofar as it begins by posing a bunch of potentially wild narrative questions and then moving along at a deliberate and/or dawdling pace while featuring generally strong performances by a terrific cast, all delivered in extremely low light.

Billy Crystal stars as Eli, a sad widower who is half-heartedly maintaining his career as a successful child therapist while grappling with his grief following the suicide of his wife (Judith Light). Along comes a kid who scratches the shit out of his front door, then straight up lets himself in during the middle of the night — and then turns out to be the non-verbal emergency case that some adviser keeps trying to get him to take. Strong Sixth Sense vibes with this one, and it could all end up being a lot of pointless hooey, but as of Episode Two, I'm intrigued enough to keep watching. (Apple TV+)

Season Two of Shrinking might be trying harder than Season One, but it's still an extremely charming little sitcom in the Good Place/Ted Lasso mold, by which I mean it takes place in a world where people are generally good if they're given the opportunity to be so, and no problem is too big to tackle if we can just talk about it with someone else. I don't know if that's really the way life on Earth tends to work even under the best of circumstances, but it feels awfully nice to watch it happen, especially when you're watching it happen courtesy of a fantastic cast that includes Jason Segel, Harrison Ford, Wendie Malick, the delightful Jessica Williams, Christa Williams, and Ted McGinley. (Apple TV+)

Abbott Elementary has bucked recent trends by making people believe that the old-fashioned network sitcom — you know, the type of show that really just kinda wants to make you laugh, and includes 20-plus episodes per season — might not only still be with us, but may also still be able to thrive. The show's fourth season bucks historical trends by remaining just as consistently funny and addictively watchable as its predecessors, despite the fact that the Season Three finale answered the show's "will they or won't they" question by bringing the show's central couple together. I laugh out loud once per episode, and not just because my wife is a teacher. (ABC/Hulu)

I'm a big Always Sunny fan, but that doesn't mean I'm automatically going to enjoy everything the cast does as an extracurricular activity. (I still haven't watched any Welcome to Wrexham, for example. Yeah, yeah, I know.) After being only moderately entertained by Kaitlin Olson's The Mick, I went into High Potential with low expectations, which have been pleasantly surpassed on an episode-to-episode basis despite the fact that this is a deeply formulaic (albeit absurdly high-concept) procedural that has a tendency to get way too complicated in an effort to preserve each installment's central mystery until the final act. The basic gist is that Olson's character is so intelligent that she hasn't been able to hold down a steady job; when the show opens, she's working as a cleaning lady for the LAPD, and in the course of her duties one night, she realizes that the cops are looking completely in the wrong direction in a particular case. This leads to her being hired as a consultant, which in turn may lead to her figuring out what the hell happened to her first husband and the father of her oldest child. Like I said, it's formulaic and often preposterous, but the cast (which also includes Rescue Me vet Daniel Sunjata) is great and the end result is rarely less than charming. (ABC/Hulu)

I'm sad to say goodbye to What We Do in the Shadows, which has been one of television's most consistently excellent offerings during its run; that said, I think Season Six might be a good place to let the saga of these Staten Island vampires reach its natural conclusion. The show is still very funny, and I still love these characters, but there's the creeping sense that the writers may have told all the stories they can reasonably tell before stuff starts to really run in circles. (FX/Hulu)

I'm also very sad to say goodbye to Somebody Somewhere, which probably could have run a while longer if HBO/Max was still in its "quality TV" era instead of its "maximizing shareholder value" era. This is the type of series that will never reach more than a passionate niche audience, but we need those shows; not everything can, should, or will ever be The Big Bang Theory. Without a Season Four renewal on the horizon, the show's third and final batch of episodes begins with protagonist Sam (Bridget Everett) grappling with a series of fundamental changes occurring in the lives of her nearest and dearest, all while she alternates between feeling attached to the status quo and adrift in midlife ennui. It's a beautiful show, and every episode is packed with small moments that resonate — the type of small but brilliant gem that cable TV was made for. (HBO/Max)

I can't honestly recommend The Perfect Couple without reservations, because it's absolute trash; a beach read brought to life by a starry cast paid with mountains of streaming-service cash. The premise boils down to this: The night before a couple is scheduled to be married on the massive Nantucket estate where the groom's family has a summer home, someone is murdered, and the local cops spend the next eight to ten episodes untangling the mystery of who the hell did it and why. It's really the kind of thing that should star Hallmark Channel actors rather than folks like Nicole Kidman, Liev Schreiber, Eve Hewson, and a Fanning, but since it does star those folks, it feels somewhat elevated even as you're scoffing and rolling your eyes at the proceedings. I suppose it's spiritually the type of thing you should be watching during the summer; on the other hand, with the days growing shorter, darker, and colder, perhaps it's exactly the type of surf-and-sand escapism that will be appreciated more in the fall. (Netflix)

I generally don't trust Netflix any further than I can throw them (which is not far at all) when it comes to movies. There are exceptions to everything, however, and Rebel Ridge — starring Don Johnson as an asshole small-town sheriff who pisses off the wrong drifter — is solidly in that column. It isn't unlike anything else you've ever seen; if you read that plot description and felt like you probably knew where it would take you, you're probably right. That said, it also doesn't indulge its most predictable urges at any turn. If this had been made in the '90s, Van Damme would have played the drifter and it would have ended in a balls-out bloodbath; this is not that. It's smarter and more nuanced than you might expect, without sacrificing an ounce of sweaty tension. (Netflix)

Reading: I've read a couple of books recently, and I'm currently seriously enjoying a new one, but for the purposes of this particular column, I only want to focus on Negative Girl, the latest mystery courtesy of Sassy Friend of Jefitoblog Libby Cudmore. If you've read my novel, Langley Powell and the Society for the Defense of the Mundane, you may know Libby courtesy of the delightfully profane blurb she wrote for the book; if you're a Record Player Podcast listener, you may remember her from the time she guested and extolled the virtues of the Cherry Poppin' Daddies. If you're a discriminating reader, you may have read The Big Rewind, her previous novel — and if you fall into that latter camp, rest assured that Negative Girl, about a deeply sad and just as personal death investigated by a former rock star turned PI and his assistant, will not disappoint you in any way. I loved spending time with Martin Wade and Valerie; I hope I have the chance to do so again.

Elsewhere: I'm a podcastin' fool lately, and will remain so for the foreseeable future. This week, you can hear me on the latest Record Player, which finds us joined by author and historian Professor Louis Moore, as well as an episode of Fantasy, Lore & More, where I join host Meredith Kucsera to talk about Langley Powell and the Society for the Defense of the Mundane. More to come on that front. You can also, as always, find me writing weekly about the latest happenings on General Hospital via my regular column at Diagnosis Daytime.