Gorman Bechard's Blog, page 4

Slim Dunlap benefit at Parkway Theatre in MPLS on All Replacements Eve

Two weeks from tonight, on the eve of the national holiday to celebrate The Replacements (and their St. Paul gig)…we’re throwing a benefit for Slim Dunlap at the Parkway Theatre in Minneapolis, featuring a Scott D. Hudson podcast, two sets of Slim and Mats tunes from a bevy of amazing musicians moderated by Jon Clifford, and a completely different version of Color Me Obsessed, edited just for this night.  (I’m calling it “The Editing Room Floor Edition,” and it doesn’t so much tell the story of the Mats but instead is a collection of many smile-inducing tales, many of which never made it into the film.”)

Plus we will be raffling away tons of cool items all night, including a signed copy of Amanda Petrusich amazing new book on record collecting, a gorgeous Erica Bruce Mats still photo, signed CDs from Lydia Loveless, Matthew Ryan, and others, a signed copy of Jim Walsh‘s photographic history, a few dozen DVD’s from my distributor MVD, and so so so so much more…(yes, even some of my crap.)

And all profits are going to help cover Slim’s medical expenses. If you’re in the Twin Cities area…well, you know what you have to do! There will be many great surprises. This is the Mats party everyone will be talking about.

Facebook Event: https://www.facebook.com/events/719166908137828/

Tickets here: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/841675

Every Everything coming to DVD

Just making sure everyone knows that EVERY EVERYTHING: THE MUSIC, LIFE & TIMES OF GRANT HART will be released on DVD on August 12th. The DVD comes with a boatload of extra interviews with Grant Hart on the following 20 topics:

1. 2541

2. analog vs. digital recording

3. bare ass beach

4. funkytown

5. grant on songwriting, part one

6. grant on songwriting, part two

7. hipsters

8. influences

9. joan rivers

10. mpls vs. saint paul

11. music vs. art

12. rose garden

13. the baby song

14. the collage in real time

15. the hüsker dü logo

16. the loss of the record shop

17. the marx brothers

18. uncut tour of his house

19. what was saved from the fire

20. zen arcade

And yes, his hipster rant is as great as you think it might be!

Order your copy HERE

Lydia, oh, Lydia, oh, have you heard Lydia���

Everyone who reads this blog has to realize I���m a huge music fan. It���s one of the driving forces in my life. I���ve often said, I don���t believe in god, but I believe in The Replacements. Well, the same can be said of Archers of Loaf, or Patti Smith, or Wilco, or Lucinda Williams, or the Clash, Ida Maria, Neko Case, or even early Rod Stewart, and early Elvis Costello. The music released by these artists are my personal bibles, holy passages that somehow make me understand, and help me survive, and make it all worthwhile. I find solice, I find energy, I find life in these songs.

But why these bands? Sure, there���s something about the song writing. The play on words, the chord progressions, the blessed distortion on the guitars, the wrong notes at the right times. But the one thing all of the above have in common, the singer has a voice unlike any other.

I always compare every voice to Billie Holiday���s. And I think of hers as a fine piece of china. A cup, wise and fragile, with hairline cracks blanketing the surface, making you wonder if the glass will shatter if you touch it the wrong way. But its stronger than anyone can imagine, wise beyond its years. Its survived personal wars and heartbreak, 18-year-old Scotch and the cheapest ripple, piss and vinegar. It might not be the prettiest piece of glass on the shelf, but it���s the one you turn to time and again because its drenched with emotion, and every sip from it makes you feel.

That���s Paul Westerberg���s to me. Or Eric Bachman���s. Patti���s. Lucinda���s. Joe Strummer���s. Jeff Tweedy���s. They are all beautifully damaged pieces of china on my musical shelf. But while one can growl, and one can go blissfully out of tune, and another can go from a whisper to a scream, and another can fill a room with a note so perfectly balanced that Philippe Petit listens in awe, I���m not sure any combine all of the attributes like the young woman I am adding to my list.

I came to Lydia Loveless a little late in the game. I missed her first two albums, the EP, and even purchased her latest, the transcendent ���Somewhere Else��� a few months after its release on the suggestion of my friend Agatha Donkar. (On the day of its release I was flying to Missoula, Montana for a film festival. New Release Tuesday was not on my radar that week.)

I was immediately addicted. No, I want to go even farther than that. I became a crack whore for anything and everything Lydia Loveless. I bought every album, ordered the two blissful Record Store Day singles on ebay, then repurchased both the new album, and her previous ���Indestructible Machine��� on vinyl. And as my wonderfully patient wife Kristine will attest, I have played no other music since. No other new releases have even piqued my interest. In fact, all other new music seems to annoy me because, well, it���s not Lydia.

Now normally I get bored very quickly with music. It takes a lot for me to continue playing a new record for more than a week or so. Those albums that get long-term play are few and far between. Something on the record has to sink its claws into me. I want to hear something new every time I listen to a song. Decades later, ten thousand plays later, I still want to hear something new. That is the mark of great art. That is the mark of a masterpiece. And that is everything that Lydia Loveless sings.

Hers is a voice that can soar, that can break, that can swagger and scream, that can whisper and seduce, that can smirk and laugh out loud. She is the china cup from which Billie Holiday would want to drink.

The only thing left was for me to see her perform live.

Last night, in a small venue in Fairfield, Connecticut, Lydia opened for someone whom we did not even stay to see. She was accompanied only by her husband Ben Lamb on a standup bass. It was a seven song set. Thirty minutes. Pretty much what I expected, as she was the warm up. And honestly, I would have been there even if she were playing only one song.

Her voice has such confidence on record, I wondered how it would translate live. But from the first strum of her guitar, it was like we were in the hands of a southern punk rock preacher, who would cure us of the disease which has so sickened rock and roll. And once she opened her mouth, the demons were exorcised, and like a smirking pied piper she would sing to us everything we needed to hear, all the while taking us to the promised land we envisioned the first time we ever heard Westerberg and company.

Each of her songs took on new life, as if perhaps on this night she were singing for the friend she mentioned at the end of the set who had recently passed. Singing every line as if it were for the first time, as if she too were always finding new meaning in her words. New wonder. And when she pulled way back from the mic during ���Verlaine Shot Rimbaud��� and sang ���I just wanna be the one you love,��� I doubt anyone in that room would have denied her that request.

The highlight for me, if I could pick one, would have been ���Crazy,��� which I not only rank as one of the best five or so songs of this half-over decade, but as a song that rivals Patsy Cline���s classic of the same name. It kills me. And I���m not even sure I can put into words why. Perhaps it���s just that feeling when something touches us so completely and we can���t explain why, and the inability to explain makes us feel crazy. Sort of the way I feel about Lydia���s voice, I guess.

And to even call it a highlight sells short the unreleased song she closed the show with, a song dedicated to her friend who���d passed, and called ���High Life.��� She sang it alone. It was sad, it was beautiful, it made me smile. And I couldn���t help but think that wherever her friend is now, he quickly became the envy of those around him. Perhaps even god, listening for those few minutes thinking that damn when he got it right, he really got it right.

And no, nothing���s changed in that respect. I still don���t believe in god. But after last night I certainly, wholehearted, believe in Lydia Loveless.

Lydia, oh, Lydia, oh, have you heard Lydia…

Everyone who reads this blog has to realize I’m a huge music fan. It’s one of the driving forces in my life. I’ve often said, I don’t believe in god, but I believe in The Replacements. Well, the same can be said of Archers of Loaf, or Patti Smith, or Wilco, or Lucinda Williams, or the Clash, Ida Maria, Neko Case, or even early Rod Stewart, and early Elvis Costello. The music released by these artists are my personal bibles, holy passages that somehow make me understand, and help me survive, and make it all worthwhile. I find solice, I find energy, I find life in these songs.

But why these bands? Sure, there’s something about the song writing. The play on words, the chord progressions, the blessed distortion on the guitars, the wrong notes at the right times. But the one thing all of the above have in common, the singer has a voice unlike any other.

I always compare every voice to Billie Holiday’s. And I think of hers as a fine piece of china. A cup, wise and fragile, with hairline cracks blanketing the surface, making you wonder if the glass will shatter if you touch it the wrong way. But its stronger than anyone can imagine, wise beyond its years. Its survived personal wars and heartbreak, 18-year-old Scotch and the cheapest ripple, piss and vinegar. It might not be the prettiest piece of glass on the shelf, but it’s the one you turn to time and again because its drenched with emotion, and every sip from it makes you feel.

That’s Paul Westerberg’s to me. Or Eric Bachman’s. Patti’s. Lucinda’s. Joe Strummer’s. Jeff Tweedy’s. They are all beautifully damaged pieces of china on my musical shelf. But while one can growl, and one can go blissfully out of tune, and another can go from a whisper to a scream, and another can fill a room with a note so perfectly balanced that Philippe Petit listens in awe, I’m not sure any combine all of the attributes like the young woman I am adding to my list.

I came to Lydia Loveless a little late in the game. I missed her first two albums, the EP, and even purchased her latest, the transcendent “Somewhere Else” a few months after its release on the suggestion of my friend Agatha Donkar. (On the day of its release I was flying to Missoula, Montana for a film festival. New Release Tuesday was not on my radar that week.)

I was immediately addicted. No, I want to go even farther than that. I became a crack whore for anything and everything Lydia Loveless. I bought every album, ordered the two blissful Record Store Day singles on ebay, then repurchased both the new album, and her previous “Indestructible Machine” on vinyl. And as my wonderfully patient wife Kristine will attest, I have played no other music since. No other new releases have even piqued my interest. In fact, all other new music seems to annoy me because, well, it’s not Lydia.

Now normally I get bored very quickly with music. It takes a lot for me to continue playing a new record for more than a week or so. Those albums that get long-term play are few and far between. Something on the record has to sink its claws into me. I want to hear something new every time I listen to a song. Decades later, ten thousand plays later, I still want to hear something new. That is the mark of great art. That is the mark of a masterpiece. And that is everything that Lydia Loveless sings.

Hers is a voice that can soar, that can break, that can swagger and scream, that can whisper and seduce, that can smirk and laugh out loud. She is the china cup from which Billie Holiday would want to drink.

The only thing left was for me to see her perform live.

Last night, in a small venue in Fairfield, Connecticut, Lydia opened for someone whom we did not even stay to see. She was accompanied only by her husband Ben Lamb on a standup bass. It was a seven song set. Thirty minutes. Pretty much what I expected, as she was the warm up. And honestly, I would have been there even if she were playing only one song.

Her voice has such confidence on record, I wondered how it would translate live. But from the first strum of her guitar, it was like we were in the hands of a southern punk rock preacher, who would cure us of the disease which has so sickened rock and roll. And once she opened her mouth, the demons were exorcised, and like a smirking pied piper she would sing to us everything we needed to hear, all the while taking us to the promised land we envisioned the first time we ever heard Westerberg and company.

Each of her songs took on new life, as if perhaps on this night she were singing for the friend she mentioned at the end of the set who had recently passed. Singing every line as if it were for the first time, as if she too were always finding new meaning in her words. New wonder. And when she pulled way back from the mic during “Verlaine Shot Rimbaud” and sang “I just wanna be the one you love,” I doubt anyone in that room would have denied her that request.

The highlight for me, if I could pick one, would have been “Crazy,” which I not only rank as one of the best five or so songs of this half-over decade, but as a song that rivals Patsy Cline’s classic of the same name. It kills me. And I’m not even sure I can put into words why. Perhaps it’s just that feeling when something touches us so completely and we can’t explain why, and the inability to explain makes us feel crazy. Sort of the way I feel about Lydia’s voice, I guess.

And to even call it a highlight sells short the unreleased song she closed the show with, a song dedicated to her friend who’d passed, and called “High Life.” She sang it alone. It was sad, it was beautiful, it made me smile. And I couldn’t help but think that wherever her friend is now, he quickly became the envy of those around him. Perhaps even god, listening for those few minutes thinking that damn when he got it right, he really got it right.

And no, nothing’s changed in that respect. I still don’t believe in god. But after last night I certainly, wholehearted, believe in Lydia Loveless.

a music video for the theme song for BROKEN SIDE OF TIME

And you can buy the DVD with over 90 minutes of extras (including a featurette on how we made the film for $15K…it’s like a master class in no budget filmmaking) but clicking HERE.

Also, you can now pre-order my third rock documentary EVERY EVERYTHING: THE MUSIC, LIFE & TIMES OF GRANT HART by clicking HERE.

Love them DVD extras!

Those who know my viewing habits know I love DVD extras. If the movie speaks to me, I will devour those deleted scenes, commentaries, etc. Call me a movie geek. It’s a title I’ll wear proudly. (It’s why so many of the movies one my 100 films to watch list a few months back were Criterion releases. Criterion knows extras!)

Because of that, I like to make sure my own releases are loaded with extras. The Broken Side Of Time coming out on May 20th has 90 minutes of extras, including:

But even some extras fell to the cutting room floor. Here’s a little NSFW extra extra that did not make it onto the upcoming DVD release of BROKEN SIDE OF TIME…it’s goofy, and more safe for work than not.

And please order the DVD by clicking HERE.

The film that freed my soul…

Ten years ago Frank Loftus and I started a small independent film company. We named it What Were We Thinking Films because we thought that’s what we’d be thinking five years down the road.

My reason was simply that after the debacle that was “The Kiss” in Hollywood, I needed to know that I could either do a film, my way, and actually make it work, or to simply get this whole filmmaking thing out of my system and go back to writing books.

Not to speak for Frank, but I think he believed in me, and the ultimate goal was to eventually raise a few million and to finally turn my first novel “The Second Greatest Story Ever Told” into a film.

But first, we would “experiment,” work out the kinks if you will, with a smaller budget film. That film would become “You Are Alone.”

I love this film. It gave me faith in my abilities. And I truly believe it contains one of the greatest performances I’ve ever seen from a young actress via what Jessica Bohl does with the character of Daphne.

It’s always been available on DVD. And finally now I can say it’s also available for both rental and purchase on Vimeo’s On Demand site.

If you like that you’ve seen from me over the past ten years, and have never seen “You Are Alone,” then please watch the film that set me free, and really helped turn me into the story-teller I hope I am today. I think you’ll love it. And you will never see the ending coming.

Watch it HERE

Common Sense Crowd Sourcing for Filmmakers…or…a KickStarter campaign that Actually Works! – Part 2

MAKE A GREAT PITCH VIDEO

If you’re a filmmaker your pitch video had better damn well knock my socks off.  If it looks like crap, guess what, I’ll assume your film will as well.  If the sound is bad, I can only assume the sound on your feature will suck.  If it’s badly edited…well, you get the idea.

Show us why we should back your project.  Show us some brilliance.  Show us something that makes us laugh or breaks our heart.  If you’re uncomfortable in front of the camera, give us a trailer, or be self-deprecating and make fun of your nervousness.   Entertain us.

And show us your passion.  Why does this film need to be made?  Why are you the person to make it?  In a good pitch video you’re selling yourself as much as you are selling the idea.  They go hand-in-hand.  Your personality, your passion, your talent, your film.

If this is your second go at crowdsourcing, after a failed first campaign, perhaps make fun of your horrible first pitch video.  Laughs go a long way and the writing of your pitch video should represent the writing in your film.

Likewise the way its shot.  All you need is a window, sunlight, and a DSLR to get a gorgeous image.  I’ve done it countless times.  If you can’t, you shouldn’t be making a film.  Again, show us why you should be.  Show us an image that takes our breath away.

If you decide to go with a trailer, don’t give us a collection of title cards.  Tease us, again with brilliance.  You’re asking us to support your film, so you need to prove to us why we should.  There are hundreds of other films right now on KickStarter, why should yours get my hard earned support dollars?

And to my musician friends, I don’t want to watch your pitch video, hear you talk for four minutes, and then…nothing.  You’re a musician, stop talking, start playing.  I want to hear the music I’ll be backing.  Sure tell me why you need to make this record, but then give me a taste.

Search out the most funded campaigns and examine their videos.  See the passion and the talent on display.  Then look at film campaigns that raised little or even no backing (yes, there are some out there with not one backer), see everything wrong.  DO YOUR HOMEWORK!

This should all be a no brainer, but you’d be shocked at how many horrible pitch videos there are our there.

Common Sense Crowd Sourcing for Filmmakers…or…a KickStarter campaign that Actually Works! – Part 1

The world of independent filmmaking has changed.  No longer can a Sundance hopeful raise a few hundred thousand dollars from family, friends, their dentist, shoot for eighteen days with a crew of twenty, and hope to actually pay everyone back and actually see a check on the back end.  Those days are over.  DVD sales are down.  And the chance of your film receiving a theatrical release is about as good as you winning PowerBall.  Add to that the fact that almost everyone with a DSLR suddenly thinks they are filmmakers.  And it truly seems hopeless.

Unfortunately most of those DSLR-packing Spielberg-wannabes lack the skills involved to actually tell a story with that expensive Canon, let alone make it look good.  And most of the films that do get made will never be seen beyond a small circle of family, friends, students of their video production class, and of course the cast and crew involved.

The new model of independent filmmaking calls for much lower budgets and much smaller crews.  What used to cost $250 thousand should now be made for one tenth that budget.  The crew of twenty, cut down to four or five, or less.  A great film can still be made.  But it’s a lot more work.

And the fundraising.  Back when I began making films in the 80s, indie filmmakers would look for angel investors.  Supporters of the arts who had the cash to spare, and were looking more to help create something special, instead of for that quick profit.  Not our angels are online.  They are mostly strangers who believe in our ability, our story, or perhaps they just like our smile.  It doesn’t matter.  And instead of writing checks with five or six zeros to the left of the decimal point, they’re pitching in $25 or $50 at a shot through the various crowd-sourcing sites, KickStarter, IndieGoGo, or one of the upstarts.  They will provide you with the thousands needed to turn that story idea into reality.  And aside from their chosen rewards, a DVD, digital download, signed poster, producer credit in the film, you won’t ever have to pay them pack. And what profits you now make from selling your film will actually go into your pocket.

What a concept.  Making money off independent filmmaking.  It can be done, if you have the talent, the perseverance, and the personality.  And if you actually create a smart crowdsourcing campaign.

http://www.EveryEverything.com

I’ve run twenty-five successful campaigns on KickStarter…so far.  Over the next couple of weeks I’m going to post some helpful hints on how I do it.  And I’ll begin today with tip #1.

GOOD KARMA:

I check for new film projects on KickStarter every couple of days.  I want to not only know what the competition is, but see if there are any films I personally want to back.  Right off the bat, the biggest turn off, and one that will now stop me in my tracks from backing a project, is that the creator of the campaign has backed no other KickStarter campaigns.  Basically they want you to give them your money, but they are above having ever helped any other people in the same position.  It’s a case of spoiled-teenager gimme-gimme-gimme.  And they give nothing in return.  HUGE turnoff.  Makes you look like a jerk.  So, before you set up your campaign, learn everything about the site, study other campaigns, and give some love to a few that strike a chord in your filmmaking heart.  It’s good karma.  And good karma is something every filmmaker can never get enough of.

More in a few days…

The Best of 2013

It was a very good year.  A great year even.  Hell, The Replacements played their first shows in 22 years.  And from a rock & roll point of view, that should make it the best year in, well, 22 years.  That they took to the stage with the energy of an atomic bomb on pharmaceutical speed playing so many songs from that brilliant first album is perhaps just a bonus, though I prefer to think of it as fate.  That the rock gods were looking down and thought we needed a reminder of the chaos, the sputtering genius, the sheer power that rock could provide.  And they all looked at one another, and shrugged, the answer obvious, time for the Mats to play a few shows.

It was a year in which their first album, SORRY MA, FORGOT TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH, suddenly became this old fan’s favorite Replacements record.  Can’t explain it really.  Perhaps the seeds were planted when I started work on COLOR ME OBSESSED, A FILM ABOUT THE REPLACEMENTS, but those seeds sprouted and bloomed this year.   I love that record.  Played it more than any other this year.  Realized there wasn’t a bad track on it.  That is contained some of the most brilliant licks, sarcastic jabs, and all-out fuck-you rock & roll EVER recorded.  And ok, it’s 32 years after the fact, but better late than never.

But it was also a year in which other old punks blinded us with their brilliance.   Superchunk and Grant Hart put out two wildly different records in I HATE MUSIC and THE ARGUMENT, but both were vast in scope and timelessness, as if both artists had been holding back for all these years, and for some reason felt it were time to unleash the monsters they had munching on their souls.  These are the sort of albums that make you cry the first time you hear them.  They did me.  They are faith renewing.  Faith in the power of music to make your mind dance.

The young woman behind my favorite album from 2012 (and it still remains at the top of that list), Katie Crutchfield, returned with a very strong follow up in CERULEAN SALT.  And though it seemed to widen her fan base, it didn’t resonate with me the way AMERICAN WEEKEND did last year.  But to compare it to that masterpiece is selling the album short.  It’s a great record.  (NOTE: if any of you were turned off by the worst video of the year in COAST TO COAST, proof that still photographers rarely can make the jump to shooting images that move, Ms. Crutchfield more than made up for it in the video for MISERY OVER DISPUTE.)

David Bowie returned with a record that in parts took me back to being a 13-year-old and hearing ZIGGY STARDUST for the first time.  Was it a perfect record, no.  But a number of its songs were perfect, noisy in the way that only Tony Visconti could create in 1972.  And coming from Bowie with Visconti behind the boards, that’s enough.

Aubery Debauchery also returned after too many years with a mature (in the best sense of that word) collection of songs that seemed almost harshly reflective on her past.  She bared her soul and in turn broke my heart.  I love this woman’s voice.

With all the great alt-country female artists making waves this year, none shined brighter than Amanda Shires.  Her album was not a collection of a few “hits” and a lot of filler, but instead well-thought out record with one song being stronger than the next.  And the same can be said of Lorde.  Unlike the other pop queens, her album shined from the first note to the last.  ROYALS is not even the best track.

It was one of those years.  Great ALBUMS.  Not just random collections of songs.  Listen to ONCE I WAS AN EAGLE from Laura Marling or the rapturous return to form from Throwing Muses in PURGATORY / PARADISE (it was certainly a Milton inspired year) to the dangerous sexual anarchy of Sky Ferreira.  (And ok, while Miley Cyrus’ latest certainly doesn’t fall into the best album category, WRECKING BALL was the single that stuck in my head more than any other, and never once did I mind.  It’s a brilliant ballad.  Beautifully performed, and nicely under-produced for a “hit.”)

New rock was also alive in Potty Mouth and Speedy Ortiz.  Electric folk was injected with new life in Jake Bugg.  And some of the greatest musicians of recent memory came together to help a fallen guitar legend in SONG FOR SLIM.

And, oh yeah, The Replacements put out a 5-song EP for that same reason.  And they covered EVERYTHING’S COMING UP ROSES from the old musical GYPSY.  And really now, does it get any better than that?

My Best Albums of 2013 (in alphabetical order):

THE ARGUMENT – Grant Hart

CERULEAN SALT – Waxahatchee

DEATH OF A DREAM – Aubery Debauchery & The Broken Bones

DOWN FELL THE DOVES – Amanda Shires

HELL BENT – Potty Mouth

I HATE MUSIC – Superchunk

JAKE BUGG – Jake Bugg

LIVE AT THE CELLAR DOOR – Neil Young

MAJOR ARCANA – Speedy Ortiz

THE NEXT DAY – David Bowie

NIGHT TIME, MY TIME – Sky Ferreira

ONCE I WAS AN EAGLE – Laura Marling

PURE HEROINE – Lorde

PURGATORY / PARADISE – Throwing Muses

SONGS FOR SLIM – Various Artists

BEST EP:

SONGS FOR SLIM – The Replacements

SINGLE OF THE YEAR:

WRECKING BALL – Miley Cyrus

MUSIC VIDEOS OF THE YEAR:

69 – Ida Maria

MASTER HUNTER  – Laura Marling

BIGGEST JOKE OF THE YEAR

Critics who kiss Kanye West’s ass (learn there is a difference between a brilliant artist who takes chances, and a self-indulgent egomaniac who thinks he can fart into a can and it will sell a million copies because it carries his name).

BEST MOVIE:

NEBRASKA – a simple story with breathtaking performances told in resplendent black and white.  A masterpiece.

RUNNER UP:

FRANCES HA – a heart-breaking portrait of Greta Gerwig as a confused young woman.  A beautiful, subtle performance.  (And though it’s also in black and white, after watching the embarrassingly pretentious DVD extra about the film’s look, I might suggest that Sam Levy and company watch NEBRASKA so they can learn what black and white should really look like.)

BEST DOCUMENTARY:

BLACKFISH – a must-watch film about a different sort of animal abuse.  And it’s having an impact.  Kudos to every musician who’s cancelled shows at Sea World.

DVD OF THE YEAR:

STARLET – the poster child for what a great indie film should be.  Drew Hemingway is a revelation.  And the many extras are all worth watching.

BEST TV:

Unfortunately it was the year of shark jumping.  Lots and lot of shark jumping.

BOOK OF THE YEAR:

HYPERBOLE AND A HALF – Allie Brosh – if Kurt Vonnegut was a 20-something woman living in Bend, Oregon today this would have been his first book.  And I can’t give it higher praise than that.

FILM-RELATED BOOK OF THE YEAR:

TELL ME SOMETHING: ADVICE FROM DOCUMENTARY FILMMAKERS – a collection of short clippets of advise from the world’s greatest documentarians.  Think of it as Chicken Soup for the Filmmaker’s Soul.  But work reading by any and every artist, if only for Errol Morris’ wise words of wisdom: “When you go to people for advice, expect the worst.”