DVD Review: Jeff Buckley - Grace

I often wonder what type of artist Jeff would have been had he lived. Would he have done a Dylan by sticking to his integrity? Would he have lived with a dash of eccentricity? Would he be ducking behind walls, and falling in love, wearing his heart on his sleeve? Would he have sold his beautiful downtown New York heartbreak to the corporate budget line? Or would he live in SoHo and jam in clubs despite all his Grammys?

Grace stands alone as the first and last officially finished and released album that Buckley had ever done before his death in 1997. The album itself is a pure gem. After almost 10 years of listening to this gorgeous and poignant work, it's a pleasure to celebrate this music with an anniversary edition packed with sensual outtakes and those hard to find, not seen in years music videos. I still get chills when I hear those haunting shivering guitar strings at the beginning of "Last Goodbye". Jeff was like a confused choir boy, with a voice like an angel and a fire in his belly that came through in a tidal wive of grief and longing. One minute he's singing in his sleep in "Mojo Pin", making a song sound like a sexual prayer, and then suddenly he bursts forth in a coital rythmn. "Grace", the title song laments the demise of purity and a fall from virtue. The cover of Leonard Cohen's "Halleluah" is haunting, cutting, it can send you on your knees. The longing and horny-ness of "Lover You Should have Come Over" melt into the religious "Corpus Christi" straight into the angry drive of "Eternal Love". You're left panting from exhaustion on the last track "Dream Brother". Did I leave out "Lilac Wine"? It's like velvet against your skin. "So Real"? It's like listening to a confession that turns into a burst of cathartic expression.

Who knows what kind of music Jeff would have made, or what kind of name he would have made for himself if he lived today. The fact is, we lost a wonderful, remarkable talent who had so much ahead. He left us with a refreshing sound and sensibility that other groups are trying to emulate today. Like Nick Drake before him - he was a quiet force, struck down too young. For those who know this album and don't understand the beauty, it's your loss. The re-master provides more depth to the sound and is a great tribute to its beauty. The technical quality is wonderful. For those who don't have the original album, or this special edition...get either one.

DVD Review: Jeff Buckley - Live in Chicago

I have never had the opportunity to see Jeff play live when he was alive. Although I've been and always will be captivated by his recorded material, I was slightly disappointed by this concert. Perhaps that's my fault. With all the gusto and drama of Buckley's voice, I imagined him along the lines of early Springsteen, where he would seamlessly weave story and song on stage to the point of performance art. It was interesting to see that Jeff's song breaks concentrated more on adjusting amp levels and guitar tuning than story telling or posturing. That's not a bad thing. Jeff jokes and spares with the audience in a down to earth way, inflicting more drama in his songs than in the moments in between them. Less can be more in this case because once's he slamming and crooning a song, you're mesmerized. Indeed, my disappointment was short lived.

The sound quality isn't as good as it could be. I had to turn up my speakers to get a concert-like sound. However, if you're a Jeff fan - this is an important performance to add to your collection. Since Jeff was only with us briefly, every precious moment captured on video or film is a treasure. I recommend this highly. Just don't expect the greatest sound, and look for the magic in the songs.

CD Review: Sufjan Stevens: Michigan

The beauty of Sufjan Stevens is not only the pastoral and gorgeous lush of this masterful album, it's his ability to impart his spiritual faith within each song, allowing listeners to universally relate. He weaves a heady collection of hook and verse, turn of the rythmn and avant guard jauntiness. The sadness of the trombone, the autumnal crisp sound of the banjo lend to the Americana of Michigan and the souls who are its backbone.

Each song melts into an intoxicating, haunting track of wonder, longing, sadness and God. You just have to listen and pay attention. Sufjan shows us this. He produces contemplative songs without preaching, without condenscending. This isn't "Christian Rock" - not at all. This is humanistic. Songs in this masterpiece evoke the daily grind and heartbreak of the heartland, the broken down factories, the husband who lost his wife and job, and how they all question their existance while languishing in the doldums of a dieing city. They long for the welcoming arms of the farm while hoping God shows mercy. The sound on "Michigan", the beat, the whisper of his voice, the harmonies by Megan Smith and the influence of the Danielson Family adds an eccentric punch to an album I can only describe as fascinating, thought provoking, dreamy and intoxicating. Apparently, he will be trying to write an album on each of the 50 states. I can't wait for the next 49.

CD Review: Sufjan Stevens: Seven Swans

Sufjan Stevens has a way of making a song sound like a prayer. His voice is almost a whisper, not forced, at ease, filled with a grace that is so touching, you want to pray with him. In this age of conservative religious righteousness, it's refreshing to listen to a talent who can share his tender thoughts about God without judging, without jingoism and without preaching. This is a spirituality that is personal and real. Stevens also creates an angelic sound out of all things - a banjo - that plucks and dances with a purity so stark, you'd think the angels traded in their harp and made that quirky country guitar the offical instrument of heaven. From the first track, the majestically and achingly beautiful, "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands" - until the last "Transfiguration", Sufyan's deep contemplation of God, his love of his faith, and even the temptations of the devil come into fold. It's a spiritual and intellectual voice that set's Sufyan apart from most artists out there. The songs are so gorgeous in melody and texture, that I tend to wake up in the middle of the night hearing them in my head. Although "Seven Swans" may not be as punchy, and epic as his last album "Greetings from Michigan...", it shows him to be a dynamic indie artist taking new directions, down a path that God has given him. We're lucky to walk down that path with him. This is just a beauty of an album.

Film Review: The Stepford Wives

I must preface this with a disclaimer. There are spoilers here in my commentary. But this film is so bad - that nothing could "spoil" it more than just plain watching it...

This film just plain stinks. It's a great cast, re-doing a classic thriller, for no reason at all. There are so many continuity errors in the context of the story that it's an embarrassment. There are so many unfinished elements that enable so many questions: Were these women disposed of and had robots made in their image, with a June Cleaver makeover? Or did they just have a chips in their brain? If so, then why did Bette's hand burn? Why did that other wife spit out cash? Why did Faith Hill send off sparks when she went kablooie during the Square Dance? Why did Nicole Kidman's character see her own robotic image if these women weren't robots? So, Walken was a robot? I though we were working with computer chips here. Most importantly, why didn't robo-dog get de-robotized when the gigg was up and turn back into a real dog, like the women did? Poor thing.

Holy Moly - this film is a mess. It's definitely a punch in the stomach regarding the role of gender in today's society. It shows men in a very bad light, and doesn't help women either. It's so patronizing to the fair sex it's silly. It also satirizes Conservatism big time. I'm no conversative, but please...could this film have more Hollywood liberalism? I want entertainment, not political commentary. This movie is inconsistant, amaturish, insulting, pandering, and that's just the first few scenes! I could go on....give me a dictionary - I need more words! What is so disappointing is that this could have been better. The story, if written well, could have used Walken, Close, Midler, Kidman and Broderick's talents to a satisfying end. This film is highly recommended viewing for those film students who want to know how NOT to make a movie. Also recommended for those who wish to view the equivelent of a train wreck - just for morbid curiosity.

The best part was the dog.

Book Review: The Tao of Maggie: The Sound of One Hound Barking

Drool is the sticky slobber of life...so goes our mistress of zen - our goddess of the couch.

Bill Stanton is back with another installment of the wonderfully elegant Miss Maggie, Basset extraordinaire. As a Basset Hound owner myself, the humorous and poetic photos of Maggie entertain and crackle with aspects of the comical hound so familiar in my household, and in the fur flecked, drool drizzled homes of others as well. (Just kidding, we Basset owners know the goodness of a rag at arms length). Whether Maggie is swimming, laying on the sofa or pondering the horizon, we find our little friend expounding philosphical quotations while contemplating the next meal, exploring her neighborhood, or preparing for the next snooze. Much like his first published pictorial on Maggie entitled "Maggie's Way", Stanton's keen eye for nuance of the Basset's personality shines through.

And on a side note: My Basset - Baldrick, and I had the pleasure of meeting Maggie and Bill Stanton a few years ago at a charity picnic to raise funds for a local Basset Rescue group. Maggie was charming and sweet, and Mr. Stanton was a pleasure. His love for Maggie is indeed strong, and flows gently from his camera's eye in "The Tao of Maggie", and in "Maggie's Way". If you buy one, the other or both, you'll find joy within each page.

CD Review: Bob Dylan "Blood on the Tracks"

When Bob Dylan was once asked how he felt about the success of "Blood on the Tracks", he replied (and I'm paraphrasing), "Why would people enjoy listening to me in so much pain?". For the beleaguered Dylan, this couldn't be farther from the truth. In "Tracks", we are not celebrating the hurt and anger felt by the failure of his marital union with Sara Lowndes. In fact, with every lyric and turn of chord, we are sharing a universal, human condition experienced by all mankind: loneliness and the devastation of a love lost.

Although overused in the description of "Tracks", the album is cathartic. It's as if the dissolution of his marriage unleashed a hoard of remembrances of past loves, like a picture book of pain. It begins in "Tangled up in Blue" - a sweeping reminiscence of fateful love and people touched by heartbreak, mirroring his own, who are swallowed by the miles and passage of time - to the finale, "Buckets of Rain", a bookend of wisdom, holding together a work of self revelation.

Indeed, the arrangements, perfected during the Minnesota sessions, with painful guitar turns and gentle sound pervade; yet, the album can be held in high esteem for its lyrical intensity alone. The elegant execution, clever phrase and sheer literature of each stanza present Dylan at his most honest, and perhaps his best. Each song has a scattering of wisdom that lends itself as solace or advice. "I've been in the dark too long. When something's not right, it's wrong", as written in "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go". Sung with a tear in his eye and a smile on his face, the words are stunning in their simplicity. The stinging wrath of "Idiot Wind" is a barreling freight train of emotion, "You'll never know the hurt I suffer, and all the pain I rise above. And they'll never know, the same about you, your holiness, or your kind of love, and it makes me feel so sorry." One can feel his fist shaking at a stream of faceless nemeses, unleashing a miasma of anger with himself, his sycophants, his estranged wife, and the world governed around him. With the lazy bluesy slide guitar of "Meet Me in the Morning", and western drama of "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts", the ache of "Simple Twist of Fate", "You're a Big Girl Now" or "Shelter From the Storm", no matter what rythmn or scenario Dylan has chosen, heartbreak and delusion foster the thread that lace each song. For every split up in the dark at night, for every image of flowing chestnut hair, the listener can relate to the blood shed on each track.

The concept that this album is Dylan's "best" is irrelevent. However, it is a masterpiece. It stands alone as a benchmark in a career of an artist who has produced many albums deemed "the best". However, "Blood on the Tracks" defines a chapter in this artist's life that can be described as an emotional crossroad. It should be listened to when the mood is right, and when one's personal pain is not on the surface. It exists as a reminder that we are all human, we are all infallible, and so is Bob Dylan.

CD Review: Sufjan Stevens: "Illinoise"

Sufjan Stevens' doesn't need hype to gain his place. He has a growing legion of fans who enjoy his work wholeheartedly, and are spreading the word based on his own musical merit. I am among them. I cling to Sufjan's breathless voice and stunning off- beat melodies, choirs, handclaps, banjo and guitar work that are natural, fun loving, tongue in cheek, and exquisite in prose. Stevens is a writer/ musician who advances into new depth of sound with his new release "Come on, Feel the Illionois", the luminous follow up to his last opus on an American state - 2003's "Greetings From Michigan".

Despite what a previous reviewer has strongly mentioned, Stevens' in not trying to impress, nor is he being precious or pretentious. As a writer of stories (as well as songs), he is using his artistic impressions by giving us tales of the city of "Broad Shoulders", and the lives that sprawl from its center. Whether it's the haunting, lilting piano chords that waft over "Concerning the UFO Sighting in Highland", to the chilling "John Wayne Gacy", Stevens weaves tales of mid-western pathos, lending texture to a multi-faceted America. Indeed, Christianity is used throughout these stories, not as self righteous preaching, but as a foundation for universal emotion. Sufjan uses his own faith intelligently, with open heart, liberal mind and lack of spiritual delusion. In the heart stopping "Casimir Pulaski Day", when the protagonist sings of a young girl he once loved in bible study, and the complications that arose when they innocently made love, we see him struggle with his devotion to Christ. It's a song sung in hindsight, after his love dies of cancer. "We pray over your body, but nothing ever happens." It is here where he breaks over his frustrations with the divinity, lamenting "He took my shoulders and He shook my face and He takes and He takes and He takes."

If there are any criticisms of this work, it's probably the length, clocking in at 74 minutes with 22 tracks (24 if you download from iTunes). Although the musical interlude's stoic drums and piano are used to change the dynamic between songs, they tend to linger, and seem in need of paring down. Yet, the lovely strings and flutes that flourish as transitions add color, even when hilarious songs like "Decatur", an ode to the stepmom, start up. Here, he stubbornly sings, "We did everything to hate her", and realizes, after some neat-o daytrips to which she's treated her stepkids, that she was one cool chick. The moving "Chicago", the catchy "Jacksonville" and the emotive "The Man of Metropolis Steals our Hearts" encapsulates the mid-western sensitivies and pride of the people, done with charming turns, interesting lyrics and selfless intent. The tunes can be quite infectious, and cause plenty of humming and singing when one least expects it. Yes, his titles are long, but they are a hoot! So, he's forgiven.

Listen to the majority on this board. The album "Illinois" is much like the spirit and personaltiy of mid-western folk. It is humble. It is hard working. It is beautiful. It is not trying to impress anyone. And it will be remembered for years to come as an ambitious, sensitive and humorous account of the state of Illinois.

Book Review: The Glass Castle

"My parents, Rose Mary and Rex Walls, and their wedding day - 1956".

There it is. A photo of a young couple, in love, flush with promise. The bride looking shy at the camera. The groom, square jawed and filled with good humor. It's stunning to think that this handsome, newly married couple, would live their lives in squalor, alcoholism and dreams. This picture is very much part of the story of Jeannette Walls and her family, as it sets the tone on the very first page of this wonderful, heartbreaking memoir.

Jeannette's sisters Lori, Maureen and brother Brian, endured a childhood that could have been torn out of the history pages citing the Great Depression. It's hard to believe that these were the 1960's and 1970's in America. Starvation, bad hygiene, and lack of personal safety was an everyday habit in the Walls home - or homes - since they moved from town to town. The kid's upbringing was almost literally, either sink or swim. Much like the wind blown Joshua Tree they saw by the side of the road during one of their family "skadaddles", the kids grew against the force, became tough, and learned survivial despite the adversities.

Both parents were incredibly bright and talented beings. Sadly, they had big schemes on which they could never follow through. Rex Walls was a mathematician who came from a squalor home in West Virginia, and Rose Mary was a prolific artist and teacher who was raised in an upper middle class family out west. What seemed to bond them was an adamant need to spurn the norms of society. This resulted in an inability to stay at the same job for long. They'd lose their homes, and inevitably shack up in their car or any broken down house they could find. This meant the children suffered. They'd constantly be uprooted, and taken out of school. With no money for everyday items, they'd find food and clothes in dumpsters. School children or other family members would abuse them, physically or sexually. Father, a raging drunk, drank up all the money they made. In one period of time, while living in a small home that could be described as a shack, the parents refused to lock their doors, which invited wanderers to come in and out during the night making the children open targets for various perversions.

All long range plans they devined would either die out or be scratched, such as the building of a glass castle in which Rex had drawn up meticulous architectual plans. The aforementioned ramshackled home they lived in came with a backyard where Rex and his kids began to dig a hole for the foundation of this little palace. Sadly, the job was left abandoned. More of a ditch than a foundation, it was ultimately turned into their own landfill when they didn't have tax money for municiple garbage removal. It's quite a metaphor for their lives - dreams left abandoned for garbage. Yet, despite all the trouble and strife, one theme remains consistant: their love for each other was strong. The family, kids especially, stood by each other through all the bad times.

The parents remained stubborn in clinging to poverty, deeming it poetic and noble, turning down any means of charity, even from their own children. For instance, when the kids had grown and found their way to Manhattan to start anew, the parents followed them, finding shelter in their cramped apartments. Despite the incessant pleas of their children to stay with them, they declined, opting to go it alone, ultimately setting up house in an abandoned building, embracing what we would call utter despair, as a one great big wonderful adventure.

The stories unfold with a pure voice, no judgement or bitterness clouds Walls' telling of her family. Each horrible, enraging moment is given a morsel of wonder, such as Rex gazing up at the stars one Christmas, and giving Jeanette the planet Venus as a present since monetary gifts were impossible. In such a remembrance, and many others told between the frighening scenes, Walls makes it clear that her folks were free souls who shared their love in strange ways.

This book will give you chills, and it will also make you think about homelessness and the unique stories these souls carry. Much praise should be given to Walls and her siblings, for having walked through fire, and coming out alive.

CD Review: Todd Mack -"Yonder The Big Blue Holler"

Todd Mack is one of those talents that have slogged the miles, played the boards, seen the bands come and go, and he's still standing, with guitar in hand, ready to kick some butt and take down names. "Yonder The Big Blue Holler" is a fun, countrified, rock and roll blend of musical stew that resembles Chinese Food - it fills you up, but in an hour, it leaves you wanting more. So, you'll be playing this one again and again. Those folks in the Berkshire Mountins, where Todd and his cadre of artists work, are lucky to have him nearby, where he produces local talent and hosts his own radio show "Off the Beat-N-Track" on on WKZE in Sharon, CT.

The album is an eclectic blend of down home country, drunken blues or rock and roll so hot, it could melt snow on your windshield.

There's a lot of love that went into this album. Come on, and share some. See that button that says "Add to Cart"? That's the stuff!

DVD Review: Come Together: A Night For John Lennon's Words and Music

During the weeks and months following the tragedy of September 11th, there was an intense need to pay tribute toward the good in humanity. We saw the world differently. We held our friends and neighbors close. We appreciated the everyday heros, firemen, police officers and EMT staff with a new intensity, and deservedly so. What better time to invoke the spirit and message of the peace loving John Lennon? And what better way to raise funds for the efforts? "Come Together: A Night for John Lennon's Words and Music" was produced at Radio City Music Hall in October 2001 to salve the wounds of New York.

The concert was a joyous and somber event, supported by good intentions; however, it seemed that many holes went unfilled by artists whose only connection with Lennon was that they were fans, or perhaps, friends of Yoko and Sean rather than John himself. This provided an emptiness that was palpable.

The lineup of musical artists seems like a cadre of the famous and the quasi-famous, all befriended by Sean and Yoko. Some were fine, some unremarkable. Nelly Furtado sang a limp and effected "Instant Karma" with Dave Stewart who, despite all his great work with Annie Lennox, was the most uninteresting Eurethmic to start with, and remains boring here. Craig David (who?) did a decent version of "Come Together" which turned into a hip hop rant. (What better way to show how a song is dated to the young generation than by turning it into a rap?) Shelby Lynn, known for showing the most of her belly in skimpy outfits during 2000 - 2001 while being lauded as the next EmmyLou (only to disappear), did a dreary "Mother". And Leelee Sobieski? What was she doing there other than just being (or about to be) Sean Lennon's girlfriend? Where were John's friends? Harry Nilssen? Elton John? David Bowie? Macca? Ringo? Most importantly - where was Julian? (Sadly, George Harrison was gravely ill at that time and would pass away a month later).

There were some great moments. Stone Temple Pilots kicked butt on "Revolution". Cyndi Lauper singing "Stawberry Fields Forever" at Strawberry Fields in Central Park was haunting and plain gorgeous. Dave Matthews did a moving, lilting "In My Life". Alanis was pretty damn good singing "Dear Prudence". "That Boy" crooned by Sean, Rufus Wainwright and, well - I guess a bandmate of the young Lennon - was hamonically tight and terrific. Even Rufus, a singer I find annoying vocally, knows how to sing "Across the Universe" better than anyone, other than Lennon himself. If only Moby stopped singing - it would have been perfection.

Kevin Spacey did a dramatic turn as presenter - along with Dustin Hoffman, Kevin Bacon and various New York based/born/bred actors. Although Spacey is a great singer, I cringed when he forged into "Mind Games". There was something beyond the realm of ego in that performance; however, the audience loved it, jumping to their feet in a wave of cheers - so what do I know? It was an emotional time, and therefore, a bit of over the top drama. Gushing was probably needed, and is perhaps forgiven even in hindsight.

The evening was interspersed with audio of John talking about his beliefs, and about peace, love. A heartbreaking clip reveals John explaining to the four year old Sean, the concept of age, and how you spend a full year being four or five, until one has a birthday. The tenderness of a father, explaning to his little boy the fundamentals of life stopped the show. That clip alone illustrates even further, the horror of John's passing, the despair and futility of violence and the irony of how such a peace loving icon died so horribly.

There are many moving moments; however, with the addition of John's own friends and more of his loved ones, the connections would have been more meaningful, and the meaning much more explosive. (For an example of a great tribute concert see "The Concert for George". Proceeds also went toward charity.)

Film Analysis: "American Beauty"

It's one thing to not like a film such as "American Beauty" because you enjoy more car chases and more explosions. It's quite another to deem a film as a pile of poo when clouded by one's own personal views of "morality". It tends to blind sight a film viewer from understanding the actual "moral" of the story. Despite some glaringly misguided and erroneous perceptions of "American Beauty" by some on this site, this film is a masterpiece in performance, cinematography and screenwriting. The storyline has been well documented here, so I will delve into other concepts this film. (Warning: Spoilers)

Lester Burnham said that he "felt like he was in a coma for the last 20 years and just woke up" after laying eyes on the luscious Angela Hayes. In fact, he awoke into another dream, dwelling in fantasies, reliving a rebellious youth, quitting his job, smoking joints and pumping iron as his fantasies of the rose pedaled Angela drives him. (And don't count out the meaning of those roses - they turn up everywhere). When he faces the realization of his fantasy by starting his seduction, he discovers that the dirty, naughty Angela is a frightened child, no different than his own Jane. He has now - finally - awoken from that coma. Just as he begins to conceive his blessings, tragedy steals them from him. In death, he sees the truth in his life: his lovely daughter Jane, his wonderful house and the memory of his carefree, happy wife laughing on an amusement park ride. In two gunshots Lester drifts in an afterlife limbo - viewing the world in which he once lived as the most sensuous, beauty he ever set eyes on. Just like Ricky Fitts (the only character who relished beauty in the world with a poetic longing) sees it in a plastic bag, dancing with the wind.

"American Beauty" is not a film about homosexuality. It is not a movie about morals. It is not a film about stereotyping military men, nor is it about pedophilia. This film is a look into the concept of the American Dream, and how it might not be what it seems. We fall into ruts. We have mid-life crises. Husbands and wives move in other directions and find contempt for each other. Teenagers can be moody and hate their parents, because 1) they are too self absorbed to notice them, or 2) they don't know how to communicate with them. People step out of bounds to move up in a career. Beauty queens are hiding more innocence than one would suspect. Some others live in a hypocritical world, hiding what they are, staying tightly wound, perceiving others to be what they are not, and spewing hatred over things that aren't true. In a nutshell, everyone in this movie is trying to be something they are not. In doing so, they are missing out on the blessings on what they already have, and the humans they are meant to be.

What stuck me most about "American Beauty" is not only the story we're experiencing on screen, but the story we won't see: the aftermath of Lester Burnham's demise. Who will be blamed for Lester's death? Will Carolyn? Ricky? Jane? Frank Fitts? What about Carolyn and the devastation over the loss of the husband whom she let slip through her fingers in moments of anger, neglect and put downs? What wreckage will be left in this family? How will they live with the memory of having given such careless thought to the life they once had and will never have again?

The Oscars this film has garnered speaks for itself. So, before one gripes about homosexual stereotypes and morality in this film, think about what you are not seeing. Put aside your political agenda, and look beyond what you find ugly or wrong and render the universal meaning of this film. The unsavory facets of a story are devices to make you THINK - no matter how offensive. That's what storytelling and film are about. Much like Captain Frank Fitts, you might dwell in misconceived notions that veer off the path of truth, thus missing out on the beauty of the story entirely. If you don't like it, Disney films are a good alternative.

DVD Review: Bobby Darin: Mack is Back

Bobby was a bit before my time. As a young child of the 70's I can remember the plethora of TV variety shows before the days of cable. However, I was only familiar with Darin by hearing "Splish Splash" during commercials tauting "The Best of the 50's" record compilations. So, it wasn't until his son Dodd Darin, produced a PBS special in 1998 on the life of his Dad that I understood the man and his talent. So, I'm rather new to this Darin fandom, and have made room in my indie/alt.rock/folkie/rock Gen X-er CD collection for a bit of Bobby D (gladly next to another favorite Bobby D - Mr. Dylan.)

This DVD of Bobby Darin's last TV performance (uncut) shows him during an era where polyester ruled. In fact, anyone from age 10 to 30 at that time ran for the hills at the sight of someone like Darin in his tux, bowtie and lavelier microphone. Back then, if it didn't have denim, long hair and looked like Robert Plant - forget it. Bobby looked corny in this taping, but please - the whole 1970's were cheezy, so don't blame him for glitzying it up. The only thing is - there was so much more to him that the glitz. Knowing this, it's good to be open minded to the dazzle of such a performance, and just let oneself go with the Bobby flow...comb over, frills and all in this DVD. It's the style of an era long gone, and worth watching.

I found this uncut variety show a hoot to watch. You see all the errors and banter that would be edited for air. Bobby was the ultimate showbiz performer with a spectacular voice, sweet face and a nice rear-end if I must say, but the performance does have some cringe inducing moments. The chatter is fun and the songs are cool. However, when you see him try to get down and be funky, he gives comedian and comedic musicians - from Paul Schaffer to Bill Murray - fodder for their Vegas-y, showbizzy parodies.

Still, he looks like he's having a blast. It's amazing how energetic and well he looked for a man who sadly had to run off stage to take a hit off an oxygen tank during live shows. I was disappointed that he did a bit too much vamping during a gorgeous song like "Beyond the Sea". I will say, his self deprecating humor and honesty with the audience was refreshing. Too bad he didn't shed the toupe and bowtie for a more down to earth version of himself in this show. And what a shame he died so soon after. It would be wonderful to have him around today.

This DVD has some nice special features of Bobby's various television appearances, film trailers and comedy sketches. So, there's more to feast on. Bobby deserves to be remembered, and although there are some moments that don't soar, it's worthwhile to hear those golden chops, and see that smiling face one last time.