TALIB KWELI
Quality
*** 1/2

One thing that made Reflection Eternal (Talib’s first LP) such a refreshing break from the standard hip-POP routine was the solid production by Hi-Tek. A rapper/producer combination of this caliber had not been seen since Gangstarr. After observing the success and respect that Premier and Guru had collected over the past decade, one has to wonder: what would make someone want to change from that successful format? Quality is Kweli’s answer. This answer should only receive half credit, seeing as Kweli labels himself nothing more than an MC, and this album is trying to accomplish more than one MC can handle. The lack of continuity on the album is far more apparent when doing the habitual “scan” after picking the album up, then letting the album ride all the way through. Still, even after a thorough listening, one cannot help but wonder if Kweli took some kind of Greyhound tour of a bunch of East Coast studios, laid some rhymes down in each of them, then said, “Yo, this is some quality shit!” Because that, not counting the DJ Quik-produced “Put it in the Air,” is basically the sound and feel of the album. For better or worse, ten different producers on a 15-track album do nathan to lend to flow, something Talib is undeniably blessed with. Quality is not a bad album, nor is it a flawless piece of “quality.” What Quality is, is a very spirited effort by Kweli to branch out, without taking a good look at how far from the tree he has strayed. Still, there are some standout tracks that make nearly any imperfections on the album seem insignificant, for instance: “Guerilla Monsoon Rap,” “The Proud” (minus the chorus), “Get By” (minus the R&B), “Gun Music” (minus the beat)- ok, well…

NAS
The Lost Tapes
****

Every time you put this on, you will wonder, “How the hell could Nas have lost ‘Doorags’?” This first track does more than the rest could ever hope – it would be like Don McLean starting a concert with “American Pie” then playing music inspired by “American Pie” the rest of the night. After skipping the first track (author’s advice: save it for later) each song does an adequate job of building. Nas does what he should have done on Nastradamus: lyrically make sense. Songs like “Nothing Lasts Forever,” and “No Idea’s Original” make up for titles like “U Gotta Love It.” This is a rap album, period (something sorely missing today). The only problem seems to be that it is almost a Christian rap album, and this is a little too much “undercover hyping” for Nas’ upcoming LP Godson. That album pokes its head out throughout the album, making these “tapes” seems far from “lost,” rather “guided.” The overdone chorus on “Black Zombies” kills the song; “Poppa Was A Playa” suffers from the same syndrome – regardless Nas raps like only Nas can. The only question I would like to ask Nas is: “If you (and all of us) are God’s son (children), why are you acting like God is your big brother?” Still, the answer to the less lofty, and heavily debated question, “Can Nas still make a tight album?” is “Yes.”

Sven Barth can be reached at big_sven@hotmail.com.

If the Fox network debuted a show next season called “When Good Comedians Go Bad,” Rob Schneider would be the main character. Schneider, the writer and star of disposable comedies like Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo and The Animal, will release his new atrocity, The Hot Chick, on December 13.

Schneider has followed in the larger footsteps of his friend and fellow “Saturday Night Live” alum Adam Sandler by writing and starring in his own movie, Deuce Bigalow, in 1999. By this time, Sandler was an expert in the lowbrow comedy genre, releasing a string of highly profitable films starting with Billy Madison in 1995.

Schneider, in a press meeting with Life & Art at The Ritz Carlton in Key Biscayne, talked about his introduction to show business, and his evolution from stand-up to “SNL” to soggy semi-stardom. He indirectly credits Sandler, his “co-star” in several films, with his current movie career. Fledgling with supporting roles in early ’90s movies like Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, and, Demolition Man, Sandler gave him a lead role as a goofball male prostitute in Deuce Bigalow.

Even though hell didn’t freeze over, Deuce Bigalow was a box office hit. Schneider co-wrote the film, and immediately starred in and co-wrote a new comedy, The Animal – about a man who transforms into a half-animal. Going up against odds that would boggle John Nash, The Animal was a box office success as well, especially given its miniscule budget. Now, Schneider has decided to challenge all higher beings to a round of “American Gladiators” with his newest mishap, The Hot Chick.

The Hot Chick, which Schneider promoted by touring the country with co-writer/director Tom Brady and lead actress (the ever hot) Anna Faris, is the most moronic plot to date. A good-looking and popular high school girl wakes up one morning to find herself transformed into an ugly middle-aged man (enter Schneider). Here’s when the hilarity is supposed to ensue, but unfortunately the audience is left on a small island populated with blatantly annoying jokes. Even worse, not one stupid joke is in the spirit of Happy Gilmore’s excellent “You’re gonna die, clown!” scene. In case you didn’t find Sandler’s recent disappointments, Little Nicky and Mr. Deeds, awful enough, Schneider’s new film is much worse.

It is Friday morning and Schneider sits in a classy meeting room at the Ritz, looking tired and sleep-deprived, in a half undone pink-ish dress shirt. His unshaven face and scraggly hair are not merely symptoms of laziness, but instead a desperate sign that he needs a break. Based on his upcoming list of tour stops, he probably won’t be using a razor correctly anytime soon. According to his publicity crew, they had flown in from Philadelphia the night before, rushed to the UM screening of The Hot Chick and then were immediately brought to the Ritz for sleep. It is difficult to imagine Schneider passing up all-night SoBe clubbing and free drinks at the drop of a “You can do it!” for an early bedtime, and from the look of his reddish eyes, no one would have known anyway.

Deuce Bigalow was a tolerable effort for a first timer like Schneider. It was no Oscar nominee, but it fit snuggly into the Sandler genre. The Animal took a downhill turn, with a couple of salvageable laughs amidst the million-dollar idiocy. The Hot Chick, which Schneider insists is his best work, is surely his worst, or at least his least funny. There is no real specific aspect of the film that’s horrible; it’s a combination of many bad moments that make it pathetic.

In person, Schneider is funny and likable, genuinely struggling to fight his exhaustion to entertain us media folks. His funny quips about being a woman (“I felt like I was allowed in the house, but not in any of the interesting rooms.”) and his dead-on Christopher Walken impression were a few of the comedic highlights, and most of his answers were lengthy and in depth. Still, it felt like he had been answering these questions for years, which of course he has been.

One of the more interesting things to come out of the interview was Schneider’s apparent dislike of “SNL,” which gave him his big break in show business. He seemed to appreciate the exposure, recommending it to anyone, but emphasized his disgust with the politics of the whole thing. He said he had no desire to guest host, although he was due back in New York the next day for a special appearance on the show with Sandler, debuting the new “Chanukah Song.” It was surprising to hear that he doesn’t keep in touch with any of his former “SNL” coworkers, Sandler being the exception. Other Schneider shockers included his former use of method acting, his love of Mexican directors, and the fact that of all the people in Hollywood, the one he would most like to meet is director Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich).

One of Schneider’s good friends is Brady, a former writer for “The Simpsons,” “The Critic,” and Schneider’s short-lived TV show, “Men Behaving Badly.” This is Brady’s directing debut, and his second experience co-writing a movie with Schneider, after The Animal.

Brady was also on hand at the hotel, doing interviews alongside Faris. They both put a little more effort into their answers, and seemed more rested. Faris was transformed by her change in hair color, leaving her unattractive black-haired Scary Movie lead role behind for the cute blonde sidekick in The Hot Chick. Unfortunately, her hairdresser doesn’t give acting lessons, and her upchuck in serious moments from Scary Movie to The Hot Chick proves overwhelming. She doesn’t drag the movie down, and she’s great to look at, but her performance is poor.

The overall impression from the interviews and movie was that Brady and Schneider are talented people who have decided to borrow bad cinematic habits from Sandler. As Sandler’s flicks get worse, so do Schneider’s. For their next film, Schneider and Brady are contemplating a sequel to Deuce Bigalow. Hopefully they will realize that the stupid-meter is about to break. If Brady can channel his old “Simpsons” writing and Schneider can channel the Deuce Bigalow character one more time, the duo should make enough money for a swimming pool. Come on guys, “you can do it!”

Shawn Wines can be reached at shawnwines@aol.com.

Imagine if Socrates painted surrealism, Descartes picked up a drawing pad, and Nietzsche tried his (nihilistic) hand at sculpture. Well maybe the fusion of philosophy and art isn’t such a comfortable notion, yet Cuban artist Carlos Estevez consistently injects his artwork with a stimulating dose of the metaphysical. Estevez’ exhibit Circo Metafisico (Metaphysical Circus) headlines at the Diana Lowenstein Gallery in Miami.
A mock marionette stands quietly in the center of the room, a myriad number of strings lacing from the wooden block overhead to holes in a statue’s body. On the surrounding walls hang Estevez’ eerie, constellation-like creations, beckoning to the viewer like small, dark closets.
The universal element in Estevez’ work is the skeleton-like figures, done in white chalk lightly scratched over black paper. Spindly, anthropomorphic figures are connected with bolt-like white and red dots, giving an overall feeling of cosmic machinery. Occasionally, the artist jolts the darkness with an unexpected block of color in bright green, purple, or blue.
Seemingly making a parallel between the human race and the animal kingdom, Estevez tunnels through the ever-problematic condition of man and his instincts. In “El Arte de EngaOarse Mutuamente (The Art of Mutual Deception),” animal heads are placed on human bodies, the creatures holding masks of human faces in front of their own. Similarly, in “El Hombre y sus Circumstancias (Man and his Circumstances),” a lion tamer and the beast he subdues have been transposed. The lion’s head sits on the man’s body, its voracious jaw wrapped around the man’s head, which rests on a lion’s haunches.
Circo Metafisico also explores the dark underbelly of human nature, complementing the marionette theme of manipulation. In the startling “El Arte de Encantar (The Art of Enchantment),” a snake charmer lures a serpent that coils out from his own stomach. The sole subject of “El Marabarista (The Juggler)” is one of Estevez’ trademark skeletal figures, juggling tiny versions of himself.
Fortunately, the artist doesn’t confine his work solely to the tortured musings of the internal psyche. “El Individuo en la Historia,” in a nod to Cuba’s explosive political struggles, depicts a decorated military figure literally outweighing a group of common people on a scale. “Deporte Universal (Universal Sport),” a more lighthearted composition, shows two figures wrestling.
Most striking is “Les Risques de l’amour (The Risks of Love),” which stands out not only for its French title, but its implicit theme of romance, from which Estevez has until now shied away. In a well-worn, but still penetrating metaphor, a male and a female figure are pictured swinging on trapezes, in hopes that the other will catch them.
Whether you’re a self-proclaimed deep thinker or just taking Philosophy 101 to fulfill your humanities requirement, Carlos Estevez’s blend of art-philosophy is sure to stimulate your neurons. As Socrates mused, “life unexamined is life not worth living.”
Circo Metafisico runs through November 30th at Diana Lowenstein Fine Arts. Call 305-774-5969 for more info.

Jessica Misener can be reached at jessm02@yahoo.com

John Singleton is a hustler, but don’t knock him. He is also a notable director – if not for his films, then for the hunger he blings like Yoda’s wisdom. Sitting in a room in the upstairs of the UC, an hour and change before his talk at Gusman Concert Hall, he chows down on two turkey sandwiches with reserved concentration. Clearly beat from a day spent filming The Fast and the Furious 2, his mind is still revved on energy – plotting – as he looks up briefly from large bites to answer interview questions.

“The film is looking good, man. We’re on schedule, but we’re over budget. We’re spending a lot of money in Florida, more than some small countries make,” he says with a laugh.

This perseverance is a product of his upbringing in South Central, Los Angeles, a place he helped flesh out in the minds of viewers, especially white Americans, with his debut film, Boyz N the Hood, in 1991. He wrote and directed the film at the ripe age of 22/23, yanking its sobering tone and subject matter from his experiences and surroundings – a battle of the mind where drugs, crime, and violence distort and camouflage the paths a young black man can choose. To quote Cappadonna, Singleton “came to the fork in the road and went straight.” This strong willed decision led to Boyz and a nomination for Best Director, making him the youngest film maker to reap an Oscar nod – replacing Orson Welles.

“South Central is still the wild, wild West. The right of passage is dysfunctional. In certain cultures, the right of passage is, well you, get a car, or you join the football team, or a baseball team, run track. There, you know, you’re either a Blood, a Crip, an athlete, or you stay inside watching TV,” he says. “I didn’t want to grow up and be a musician, a rapper, or an athlete. I wanted to grow up and be like Steven Spielberg, which is my saving grace, it saved me.”

This affinity for Spielberg, and films like Jaws, Predator, and Terminator 2:Judgement Day, has dredged up confusion among certain fans, critics, and haters alike, who do not understand how/why a marquee black director can “keep it real” with socially reflective films like Higher Learning and Rosewood, and then jump ship into a sea of popcorn for a big budget action movie – a sequel to boot. People often make instinctive comparisons to the resume of another prominent black director, Spike Lee, when Singleton’s artistic mission statement is quite different.

“I didn’t want to be considered any one type of director. I went to film school at USC to make movies. For me to be able to make different types of movies, I have to make movies that are really commercial too,” he explains. “Action films keep what’s known as the “studio machine” going – so fine, I’ll flex an action film for a little while, then I’ll go back to doing dramas, comedies, whatever.”

Time will tell if he’ll return from the lucrative pastures roamed by Jerry Bruckheimer, but count on seeing hip hop stars in his films either way. A controversial preference that started when he cast Ice Cube in his first film (impressive in Boyz), it now includes Snoop Dogg (Baby Boy’s highlight), Busta Rhymes (distracting in Shaft), and Fabolous and Ludacris in this summer’s Furious sequel (wtf?). Samuel L. Jackson (ironically, Shaft in Shaft) issued a statement in July that ripped rapper-turned-actors, labeling their hire an “aberration” and sympathizing with actors committed to the craft, who lose roles “because of some actor who’s been created.”

“Sam’s right about that. They (rappers) should study the art. They should have respect for the art. Most people put musicians in films because it’s some kind of marketing ploy. I go for it in terms of character. I had Cube study with a coach, Ludacris studies with a coach too,” he defends. “Tyrese (star of Furious 2, singer) just has way more flavor than Vin Diesel. He’s younger, he’s hot, you know what I mean? Vin Diesel’s just like, “Yuh, yuh,” Tyrese is energy.”

While O.J. Simpson is damn lucky he had more evidence than this, Singleton offers valuably resonant proof when the conversation turns to his late friend, rapper Tupac Shakur. Tupac not only exhibited a comforting, yet kinetic chemistry with Janet Jackson in his 1993 fairweather film Poetic Justice, he also contemplated a role in 1995’s Higher Learning and the lead in last year’s Baby Boy. In fact, Singleton envisioned Tupac as Baby Boy a.k.a Jody, a man who personifies the masculine struggles/traps of life in the ‘hood contrasted with the search for maternal comfort from women and sex. Tupac’s death in 1996 ended hope that the role would prove cathartic and eye opening for an artist who was quoted in Vibe magazine as saying, “Everyone’s at war with different things…I’m at war with my own heart sometimes.”

Singleton labels a heavily debated article about Tupac’s death, published in the Los Angeles Times in September, “bullshit.” It proclaimed that the Notorious B.I.G. gave members of the Southside Crips the murder weapon and a $1million contract to slay Tupac.

“I think Tupac became the person that he wanted to become. He was a very confused kid. He worked at making everyone think he was the biggest, baddest cat around, but he was only like 5’9″, you know, a small dude, a pretty dude. You can only get shot so many times, and it’s a trip man. People don’t want to talk about that,” he confesses.

“This kid made himself into this image, it’s wasn’t that he was that person. He was conflicted. I’m about the only person who ever told Pac, ‘You should fuck music, you should just be an actor.’ The last time I saw him alive, he was shooting a video at Crenshaw Mall for ‘To Live and Die in L.A.’ I congratulated him, and his face was so…he went through a lot of shit.”

To relax, Singleton buys comic books every week. While this does not mean much to the average person, especially when he is privy to VIP rooms and Tyra Banks (a brief fling), he thanks his success for being able to do so. When he was growing up, discussions about “what tastes better: Boston baked beans or Lemonheads?” were interchangeable with dreams of a black Superman. Now he reads stacks of comics, and ponders helming flicks with comic book characters like Luke Cage, Sinbad, and Batman.

“Someone should make a true Batman. Do ‘Batman: The Dark Knight Returns’ from 1986, when the city’s going to pot, and he’s like 65 and popping those little pills just to keep going,” he says. “Now that you brought up Frank Miller (illustrator), I’m going to call up Universal and see if I can get ‘Sin City.’ It’d be a hard R though.”

Now 34, Singleton is clearly making moves and movies for himself. He is quick to admit that most people in Hollywood are sellouts, and attributes his longevity and stability in the business to “a little bit of luck, a little bit of hustle.”

Still residing in South Central, his office is also based there, on 43rd and Crenshaw. When he is not visiting/filming in Miami and partying at B.E.D, one can probably find him there – watching flicks with the doors open. He finds it a little disheartening that local kids never stop by for insight. Sometimes he wishes one would, but as he realized early on in South Central, life is what you make it.

Hunter Stephenson can be reached at Hurricaneaccent@hotmail.com.

Looking through the limelight
NYC rockers The Strokes paint “The Modern Age”

Somewhere in between the shimmering lights of Gotham City at night and the smoky, penumbral basement bars of Manhattan’s high-rises, Julian Casablancas, lead singer of buzz rock group The Strokes, notes down stories about life in the big, shiny metropolis and sifts it out through filtered vocals for the rest of the world to hear. Too many bands hatch from New York’s detonating cultural cocoon, but something about the place seems to foster this continuous artistic explosion.

“I like that it injects adrenaline and direction in people,” says drummer Fabrizio Moretti about the city. “Everyone’s got a goal, everyone’s a go-getter and everyone communally lives independently. Does that make any sense? It’s a very surreal, magical place and you can get tired of living there, but I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong. I guess that’s what comes out in our music.”

Unlike some rock groups deriving from destitute surroundings and trying to elude the cavernous ditch of their circumstances, The Strokes seemingly had it made it from the beginning-each member emanates from privileged backgrounds and they’re progenies of wealthy immigrants. Casablancas (whose father John is the founder of the prestigious Elite modeling agency), Moretti and Nick Valensi, one of the guitarists, all attended Manhattan’s Upper West Side Dwight private school, and-while listening to alternative bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam as well as older classics like the Beach Boys, the Beatles and seventies punk-the trio started playing together. Shunning the “cream of the crop” surrounding of clueless rich kids and Eminem wannabes listening to gangsta rap and righteously swearing that they’re gangsters themselves (even though they attend prep schools), Casablancas quit and Valensi left around tenth grade to pursue music. Moretti was left alone, dismayed because the other two were the only friends he had at Dwight.

Later on, they hooked up with bassist Nikolai Fraiture who was going to the Upper East Side’s prominent French school, Le Lyc