Watch out Stephen Colbert, Glenn Beck is gunning for your gig. I know a lot of people take the crazy like a toxic Fox News firebrand seriously. And I’m not suggesting he’s not a force to be reckoned with; I’m just saying the guy’s a comic genius.

Exuding a passion that falls somewhere between a latter day Jimmy Swaggert and Lonesome Rhodes, the fictional proselytizing media star immortalized by Andy Griffith in Elia Kazan’s classic 1957 film A Face in the Crowd, Beck is one of the most compelling characters to ever captivate a television audience. Of course he started on radio, first as a DJ is Connecticut and later as a syndicated talk host, one of Rush’s band of fright wing rabble rousers that have seized a powerful swath of radio real estate in recent years. But TV is the medium that truly captures Beck’s unique talents: his tears, melodramatic sobs, mock classroom struts, the kitsch visual aids including tote boards and an old fashioned blackboard always at the ready to showcase misspelled conspiracy theories.  And there are those great facial contortions that can take Beck’s doughy puss from sincere to crazed in seconds flat.

So what if he shed sponsors like a house filled with Persian cats following his misconstrued comment, “I think President Obama is a racist. He has a deep hatred of white people?” People who loathe him, people who worship him, were either enraged or emboldened by that statement. But I know different. Beck is a gifted satirist. His comedy is so sophisticated, even a savvy media maven may be fooled at first. But watch him for several consecutive nights, and you’ll be hooked on his nuanced comedy, too.

I’m sure Beck was filled with shock and awe to discover his frantic faux ravings helped oust former Green Jobs Czar Van Jones and get NEA Communications Director Yoshi Seargant demoted to a backroom giglet. He must have been flabbergasted to find thousands storm the Capitol last Saturday for his parody 9/12 protest rally. The fact that he was a no-show himself is proof of his comic intentions. He was surely amused to see hordes (the thousands he’d later comically call millions) show up with misspelled jibes and threats strewn across placards as per his secret double probation instructions.

Not since Soupy Sales got kids to swipe money out of their parents’ wallets and send it to him back in the ’60’s has a media personality so affected his audience. Okay, Jerry Falwell outed and nearly blacklisted Tinky Winky, the purple, purse-toting gay teletubbie back in the ’90’s, but the less said about that ugly incident the better.

I have friends who flat-out refuse to watch Beck, insisting their heads would spin uncontrollably and, wherever she is, poor Linda Blair would start spewing nostalgic pea soup. And I must admit–especially since I tend to catch the late night re-broadcast–as I drift into slumber, my dreams have become strange. In one, I am sharing a lunch of Chicken Kiev and Smirnoff vodka shots with Michelle Obama in the middle of Rockefeller Center while Karl Marx and Keith Olbermann wander about affixing hammers and sickles to every painting, statue and tourist.

If you’re not careful, Beck’s deadpan paranoia can creep into your waking life, too. I found myself roaming the aisles of Stop & Shop the other day, locating hidden symbols of propaganda everywhere I looked. I could have sworn the Trix cereal rabbit was luring kids into a life of prostitution (with kickbacks going to the embattled organizers at Acorn); anyone with a half a brain could see Froot Loops were clearly pushing a gay agenda; and who couldn’t see Copunt Chocula was ready to indoctrinate kids into the New Black Panther Party while openly encouraging necrophilia as an alternative lifestyle?

I became slightly hysterical (a state very similar to a little bit pregnant) when I discovered Russian dressing was on sale, a clear sign of a communist plot to clog American arteries as it was brimming with more fat, cholesterol and calories than the healthier and higher priced low-fat Ranch, which symbolizes the freedom of the American west.

Flushed with fever, I fell to my knees before a display of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda. the logo on the box surely signifies a socialist stampede against every kitchen and laundry room in America. Then I broke into a rash–a very RED rash–when it dawned on me: these people also make toothpaste. That’s right; there was a socialist, communist, fascist conspiracy to conquer every single American mouth! And all I could do was wait until five to turn on the TV and hear the comforting voice of that great American communicator, that true national treasure make sense of it all.

Okay, so maybe I overindulged a bit. Like with most things in life, a little Glenn Beck goes a long way. Moderation, my friend, moderation. But miss the grand Beck spectacle at your own peril, America. As the maestro of mind control would say, we have to grab the wheel of liberty before the paradigm shifts. And there’s nothing left to watch but Rachel Ray and shamwow infomercials.

Insomniacs will long for the good old days when infomercial diet Guru Susan Powter’s shrill plea to “Stop the insanity!” pulsated throughout the land.

For more commentary from Amy Beth, log onto: www.radiograffiti.blogspot.com

Tags: Glenn Beck.

Meryl Streep as Julia Child

Nora Ephron missed the gravy boat. Had she chopped off the Julie half of her new film Julie and Julia, while adding a little more spice to the Julia half, she could have cooked up a truly delicious bio-pic of celebrated chef Julia Child. And probably handed Meryl Streep her third long overdo Oscar in the process. Meryl may still get the nod as she magically transforms into the awkwardly lovable Child, embodying her every mannerism, her voice, her height.

Sharing a seat at Julia’s table in Paris in the early 1950’s, watching her eat up the food, the people, the romantic city itself is delectable. Unfortunately, our five star tour takes several jarring 2002 detours to Julie Powell’s drab apartment over a pizzeria in Queens. Julie (in another journeyman performance by Amy Adams) is a frustrated writer who escapes her dreary and draining bureaucratic job by preparing Julia’s classic recipes. Egged on by her adorable and saintly husband, she decides to finish 500 plus recipes in a a year’s time and blogs about it. She goes about her project with a great deal of zeal and a grating (and not in that yummy Pecorino Romano way) spoonful of kvetching. She complains to her hubby, her mother and her far more successful friends. The trouble is we’ve seen this sort of thing before. Hey, some of us have even lived it (well, maybe not the part about making all those recipes). The book upon which this half of the  film is based — which is supposed to be based on a true story–may be funny and heartfelt, but on the screen it doesn’t make for a very satisfying meal.

Every time Julie drops a duck breast or laments lassoing a live lobster, I yearn to return to Paris where Julia is dazzling her classmates at the Cordon Bleu while circumventing the snarky woman who runs the school, making demo dinners for her sweet hubby ( the always winning Stanley Tucci), or meeting the quirky characters who will become her cookbook collaborators.

The Julia Child story is filled with so many exotic flavors, so  many juicy details. Yet Ephron–hellbent on making a movie about the power of happy matrimony (she does offer a smattering of sweet and savory love scenes)–serves only an amuse bouche. We get a morsel here, a nibble there. Her husband is a diplomat, but we never know exactly what he does. He gets summoned back to Washington, where he’s subjected to a grilling from Sen. McCarthy’s henchman and in short order receives assignments to one unglamourous outpost after another. There is Julia’s contentious relationship with her staunch Republican father and an enjoyable visit from her sister (a nice turn by Jane Lynch). All of these ingredients could be more prominently featured, but there isn’t enough time. We have to, after all, get back to Queens where Julie is angsting over aspics and blubbering over burnt beuf bourginon.

I’m sure another filmmaker will be tempted to serve a five course, five star film–one that captures the richly textured layers of Julia Child’s fascinating life. Sad to say, Meryl Streep’s not apt to be in that one. Maybe Emma Thompson can sink her teeth into Julia. Or Joan Cusack. ( Sorry, Dan Aykroyd, you had your chance on Saturday Night Live). And the service could be faster than you think. Remember those two brilliant Truman Capote films  a few years ago? Capote–which came out first–garnered most of the attention and accolades, including an Oscar for Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  Toby Jones’ Infamous–lighter and more spot-on–was quickly relegated to DVD and certainly worth adding  to your NetFlix list.

If you want to indulge in a foodie movie that will make your mouth water for both the menu and characters, take a bite out of Big Night, the 1996 film about Italian immigrant brothers trying to make a go of the restaurant biz and preparing for a visit by crooner Louis Prima in 1950’s California. Come to think of it this one was co-scripted and co-directed by Stanley Tucci (and Campbell Scott), who also stars as one of the brothers. I sense a party game: 360 degrees (at 2 hours and 14 mins) of Stanley Tucci.

A wafer thin confection, Julie and Julia, is still worth the price of admission thanks to Meryl Streep’s scrumptious performance. Just don’t expect a cinematic feast. Instead you’ll enjoy a tasty snack. One that will leave you hungry for more. And less.

For more commnetary from Amy Beth Arkawy, check out: www.radiograffiti.blogspot.com

Tags: Amy Adams, Julie & Julia, Meryl Streep, Nora Ephron, Stanley Tucci.

-Last week the 2009 Teen Choice Awards hit the airwaves. As expected Britney Spears, the Jonas Brothers, and the cast of Twilight (who won 11 trophies) made those teenage girls on the barricade scream like crazy and of course MILEY CYRUS. I don’t understand why the majority of youth act like Miley Cyrus is Mother Theresa, like seriously? I even scold my niece for praising this girl too much, I mean tears in her eyes for Miley?? C’mon!!

So the show started and Robert Pattinson of Twilight accepted the trophies, the Jonas Brothers made the girls and gays scream, and then, there came the lady in short shorts and boots, singing in a very slutty way. “Is that Britney?” I asked myself, and a big O-M-G pops in my mind. It’s Miley Cyrus. No doubt she’s rockin’ the house but wait… is that an ice cream cart? Ooooo how cute!.. oh!! Miley went on the top and??? WHAT!!!!!! Is this really happening?? She was dancing on the pole on top of the ice cream cart?? Oh-no she didn’t! VERY INAPPROPRIATE!! Seriously, I’m over her. I don’t want my niece to watch her again and have an idea that being a stripper at the age of 16 is cool. I’m done with Cyrus. NEXT!!!

-Comedienne and reality star, Kathy Griffin attended The Teen Choice Awards hand-in-hand with her new toy-boy slash baby-daddy slash the Paris Hilton of Wasilla, Alaska: MR. LEVI JOHNSTON. Yup, the banger of Sarah Palin’s daughter, Bristol. The 19-year-old cutie and the queen of reality TV both posed for the camera and showed the youth audience the love and connection between them. Levi even planted a kiss on Kathy’s rosy botox-ed cheeks! Isn’t that COUGAR-iffic!! Love it!

- Speaking of being COUGAR-iffic. The Queen of Pop, Madonna celebrated her 51st birthday with her 22 year-old toy-boy Jesus Luz last Sunday. The Madonna clan celebrated at “my pals” (hehe) Domenico Dolce and Steffano Gabanna’s private villa in the luxury Italian resort town of Portofino. Cheers to Madonna! Happy Birthday Madge!

-A video of Channing Tatum strip dancing hit the world wide web, specifically in the You Tube arena, last week. Channing, who is starring in the new GI JOE movie, makes me and my sister so excited. He’s not just a good actor but also a sizzling good dancer as well. Shake that booty, hun!! Yea baby!!

Get your daily Martin Torres fix at: www.martinsphere.blogspot.com

Tags: Britney Spears, Channing Tatum, Domenico Dolce, GI JOE, Italy, Jesus Luz, Jonas Brothers, Kathy Griffin, Levi Johnston, Madonna, Martinsphere, Miley Cyrus, Portofino, Robert Pattinson, Steffano Gabanna, Teen Choice Awards, Twilight.

“You live and learn or you live and get dumb.”

–Lorrie Moore, “You’re Ugly, Too.”

Life. In all of its twisty excursions, what life brings to people is a plot that sometimes offers strange and unusual solutions. What one “sees” is what one never gets. And in Woody Allen’s latest and forty third directorial film, Whatever Works, the solutions it brings to its characters in this romantic comedy brings in some rather tepid results.

Filmed and shot in New York City–a slight departure (and now return) from Allen’s previous films shot in London (Scoop and Matchpoint) and Spain (Vicky Christina Barcelona–by far, one of his strongest works in recent years)–Whatever Works, as in most of Allen’s films, features an ensemble of famous and infamous actors on screen. In typical curmudgeon fashion, Larry David plays Boris Yellnikoff: a misanthropic and retired Columbia University professor of physics (not to mention, as he claims, a former Nobel Prize finalist) who escapes his failed marriage and affluent life and dives into the bohemian side of living in Greenwich Village. He finds solace with neighborhood buddies, buys groceries and dressed in a disheveled way and–despite Boris’ unabashed commentary–instructs youngsters on the art of chess playing. In fact, Boris enjoys his bleak life until he stumbles upon meeting Melodie (a young and clueless runaway from Mississippi played by Evan Rachel Wood) right outside his doorstep. After refusing to invite Melodie into his loft, Boris gives in and establishes a tender relationship in which he inevitably marries her.

What ensues throughout the film is a series of topsy-turvy and humorous circumstances: Melodie’s mother, Marietta (played by Patricia Clarkson), comes to Manhattan to search for her daughter, strangely accepts Melodie’s recent marriage, and falls into the claptrap of New York City life by transforming herself into a sexually voracious woman and artist; Marietta’s god-fearing ex-husband John (played by Ed Begley Jr.) also escapes to New York in hopes of rectifying his previous marriage and relationship with Melodie but, in turns, meets a local guy in a bar and becomes a closeted homosexual. As for Boris and Melodie’s marriage, the relationship ends after Melodie is clandestinely set-up (?) with a younger chap from Marietta in which, as it turns out, Boris unwillingly accepts.

The problem with Allen’s recent oeuvre is, although sarcastically presented, is that its subliminal commentary on Southern culture and manners seem slightly over-the-top and predictable. In reverse, Whatever Works also directly pokes fun at New York City culture: its self-righteous artists, its holier-than-thou egotism, and its bitter attitude towards outsiders. As one would gather in most Woody Allen films, Whatever Works operates on the same level viewers have seen in previous films: the kvetching shtick displayed from an atypical protagonist, the clueless femme who falls for the narcissistic protagonist, the self-reflexive filmmaking technique (i.e. characters talking directly to the viewer, etc). What the viewer receives in Whatever Works is that one must accept and deal with fate, chance, and, of course, life’s unexpected turns. Whatever Works must simply work. But, as a fan of Allen’s work, it simply does not.

In a recent interview with Teri Gross on NPR’s Fresh Air (which you can listen here), Allen initially wrote the screenplay during the 1970s and the leading role was intended for Tony Award winning actor Zero Mostel who passed away in 1977 (Mostel’s death coincided with the release of Allen’s seminal comedy Annie Hall). Forward to four decades later, Allen dusted off the screenplay and decided to give it one last shot. Despite the film’s irreverent yet truthful musings on life from Mr. David, Whatever Works, frankly, should have remain undisclosed.

Tags: Annie Hall, Comedy, Evan Rachel Wood, Film, Larry David, Matchpoint, Micheal McKean, New York, Patricia Clarkson, Scoop, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Woody Allen, Zero Mostel.

Ditto on the cover of Love magazine and inside T Magazine

Beth Ditto’s exhibitionist side, or some might say life has always been on display in concert (she is the lead singer for the band The Gossip). Spandex is her fabric of choice when performing and she is unabashedly a full figured woman. Recently though more than just her concert-goers are getting an eyeful. Ditto graces the cover of the new UK Condé Nast magazine Love with nothing more than a tulle pouf in sight. A week or so later she appeared on the last page of T, the New York Times’ style magazine in just her bra and underwear.

Both images are taken in a similar pose with a very apparent pin-up aesthetic, though neither show much of Ditto’s legs. Even inside Love, Ditto is posed laying down or with only large breasts aplomb. Is a full view of Ditto too much? Posed sideways, Ditto’s expanse just seems baby-fat-like and lovable; whereas onstage, Ditto’s immensity seems aggressive. People are used to seeing larger breasts and tummies; is seeing the entire body of a much larger woman in a magazine taboo? In complete view, Ditto might have seemed too elephantine; meanwhile by showing even a part of her, magazine editors can profess diversity. Thoughts?

Tags: Beth Ditto, concert, diversity, Love magazine, Music, New York Times, spandex, T Magazine, The Gossip.

The Duke Spirit

British band The Duke Spirit are returning stateside with only three shows including one New York appearance at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on Monday, February 16th. Their addictive mix of rock, soul, and blues is even better live as it is on record, mostly due to the band’s lead singer Liela Moss. Moss, who has been featured on such sites as Refinery29 for her style, commands an audience with her sinuous presence and a bewitchingly honeyed voice.

Tickets available through Ticketmaster

The Duke Spirit’s official site

Tags: blues, concert, Liela Moss, Live music, Music, rock, soul, The Duke Spirit.

Ask any Jamaican over the age of 65 and he or she will tell you that they don’t really listen to that Bob Marley guy. What they will explain to you is, he was a Rastafarian, which in their eyes is a poverty-stricken, illegal-drug-using, mountain-man-type who believes in a Zionist cult. Jamaicans of a certain generation do not appreciate that this underclass is now the spokesperson for their entire culture. And so the backlash of the hit movie Slumdog Millionaire has to contend with the same cultural dilemma. How do you appreciate the underbelly of the culture you pride, to be shown to the world?

Slumdog Millionaire is a great movie. You will laugh, you will want to cry, and if you don’t fall in love with at least one of the children in this movie, you have no soul. But to say it is a “feel good movie,” it is not. It is the story of three children in abject poverty whose lives are destined to intertwine. As the main character answers random questions on a trivial gameshow, the answers are played out, violently, in his life story. And even though it showcases the rise of Bombay to the present-day global city of Mumbai, it shows this transition through the eyes of the lowest class, in a culture with a caste system centuries old.

As excited as British director Danny Boyle was to open this movie in India, only 25% of movie theaters seats are occupied. Many prominent Indians are making a very public backlash against this movie. Advocates of Indian culture will explain under colonialism, Indians were referred to as “dogs” and to glorify a movie of the same title by a British director spits in their face. How well do you think “Ghetto Millionaire” by Steven Spielberg would go over in Harlem? Even Spielberg received harsh response from black critics for his portrayal of poor Southern African Americans in The Color Purple. Critics believed that a Jewish director could never tell the truest story of the Southern black experience. All of these negative reviews however, leave out the simple fact that these directors are simply telling a story and not attempting to write a history book.

You can’t help but predict that Danny Boyle was bound to be stepping on eggshells by visiting the slums of another country to cast child actors. But whether the people of India are willing to accept this attention or not, a little movie about a side of their culture that they would rather not discuss is going to take centerstage on Oscar night. I can’t say Indians should embrace this new found spotlight. They can only accept this as another step in their rise as a global powerhouse, underbelly and potential Oscar win included.

Tags: Bob Marley, Danny Boyle, India, Jamaica, Mumbai, Oscars, poverty, Slumdog Millionaire, Steven Spielberg, The Color Purple.

Brad Pitt in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, nominated for Best Actor

Start your weekend early with our Pop-Ed (Pop Education) edition. Thirteen Oscar nominations can’t be wrong. We’re off to see Benjamin Button. Here’s what you shouldn’t miss:

1/ Oscar nominations were announced today. Biggest snubs appear to be Leo DiCaprio in Revolutionary Road for Best Actor and The Dark Knight for Best Motion Picture. Heath Ledger has been nominated though and after his posthumous Golden Globe win, seems to have a pretty good shot. The Totam’s Best of 2008 movie pick WALL-E has been nominated for Best Animated Feature.

Selma Blair and Molly Shannon as Kath & Kim

2/ Kath & Kim, the modern day Ab Fab begins its new season tonight on NBC. Selma Blair’s tacky teeny outfits alone are worth tuning in for. We love this absurd clip from last season.

3/ Frank Rossitano, the trucker hat wearing, slob-savant played by Judah Freidlander on NBC’s 30 Rock has a blog. We love his post on the types of chicks he is looking for (with hilarious ’70s-era paintings to illustrate).

Moving past the Cosmo: The Sex and the City girls.

4/ It’s official. Sex and the City’s leading ladies are all in for the sequel. The Cosmopolitan may be long dead, but nothing can keep these gals out of the box office ($153 million and counting). We can’t wait for opening night again when girls of all ages will stampede the theaters in four-inch heels.

5/ The controversy over American Idol contestants’ prior music careers has always undermined the supposed amateur bent of the show. This season’s contestant Joanna Pacitti is no exception. With a career resume that reads similar to Britney’s (Broadway at 11, signed to a label by age 16), the now 24-year-old is certainly no newcomer to the music industry. In 2006, she released an album on Geffen and was dropped from the label after poor sales. Comeback kid already? American Idol proves once again it is the place to do it.

Tags: 30 Rock, American Idol, Brad Pitt, Heath Ledger, Joanna Pacitti, Judah Friedlander, Kath & Kim, Leo DiCaprio, Oscars, Selma Blair, sequel, Sex and the City.

Aileen Tat:
Be Kind, Rewind directed by Michel Gondry (New Line Cinema)

I have a weakness for lush, poetic cinematography, the kind found in Wong Kar Wai films, or last year’s No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood. By this rationale, Tarsem Singh’s The Fall should have headed my list for 2008. So why did I pick a movie whose plot and characters celebrate the crudest, most low-fi technologies available to the untrained amateur instead? Because Gondry’s Be Kind, Rewind is an entertaining reminder of the modest, playful innocence that feeds the creative instinct in all of us, and the powerful potential of this instinct to bring people and communities together. I felt genuine, unadulterated joy watching Jack Black and Mos Def make a homemade Ghostbusters, a happiness that stayed with me long after the movie was over. (PS readers: I’m not going to get a chance to see Slumdog Millionaire before this post goes live, so let’s just say I’m holding on to my right to change my vote on this one.)

Christopher Tota:
WALL-E directed by Andrew Stanton (Pixar Studios)

In a year in which no story was safe from politicizing, Pixar’s WALL-E was no exception. The film’s environmental message was attacked by writers from the Huffington Post for being too soft, while conservative writers such as Glenn Beck and bloggers on The National Review Online said that it was leftist propaganda. However, WALL-E on its surface is a simply beautifully animated science-fiction tale. The first half hour, where the two main characters and a tag-along cockroach explore a post consumer-induced apocalyptic wasteland, could be considered a silent film classic in its own right. Pixar, the studio that wrote the formula for computer-animated blockbuster successes, strayed from their award winning formula just enough to avoid making this movie Finding Nemo in Space, while still allowing their always endearing characters to steal the show. This was the first film that Pixar used a live-action speaking character. Although Fred Willard’s Shelby Forthright (the CEO of Buy ‘n Large Corp., the company responsible for both the planet poisoning waste and the failed global clean-up) plays a minor role, the addition of a live-action speaking human character acts as a foil of the two heroes of the story, WALL-E and EVA, who are non human, animated, and mostly silent. It is managing to get to the “humanity” of the title character that WALL-E achieves where most other blockbusters this year failed. In the end, when two animated robots hold hands, we actually believe we are watching a love story.

Joyce Lee:
Tropic Thunder directed by Ben Stiller (Dreamworks)

Ben Stiller’s best work always turns a comedic microscope on entirely self-absorbed professions: models in Zoolander and now actors in Tropic Thunder. Part parody and entirely satirical, most of the enjoyment of watching this film is imagining which real-life actor each character is based on. Ben Stiller’s action hero “Tugg Speedman” is a dead ringer for Tom Cruise. Ironically Mr. Cruise gets to shed his image conscious ego in playing a crude movie executive and almost steals the show. Robert Downey Jr. (seeming to parody himself) dons blackface to play a Method actor who goes to extreme lengths for the part. Brandon T. Jackson plays rapper Alpa Chino: the hip-hop artist with a serious acting career (think Ludacris). The beauty of this satire is that while the actors get to play actors in a movie about a movie, the audience is always invited in on the joke. The result is easily the funniest movie of the year.

Hillary Rocker:
The Dark Knight directed by Christopher Nolan (Warner Bros.)

There are few reasons I go to a theater. Reason number one: I need some bang for my buck. I need something big. I need tractor trailer flipping big, jumping off skyscrapers in China big, car chases that turn into motorcycle chases big. And with all that, I need the actors to act. If someone is saving the world, they better have a damn good reason. The Dark Knight satisfied these needs (and motorcycles that drive up walls!) all while connecting to the child in all of us that read the comics, watched the cartoon and was yearning for a more complex character to carry on our battle of good and evil.

The Dark Knight delivered by re-inventing the superhero genre, creating a hero emotionally at the mercy of his obsession to fight injustice and crime. The Batman of The Dark Knight is almost as psychotically devoted to good, as the Joker is psychotically devoted to evil. This characterization parallels our current wish, need and obsession of the almost impossible desire to change the world. We are faced with what seems like the almost psychotically evil behavior from terrorist, war-mongers like George W. Bush and the greed of Wall Street tyrants. The Dark Knight has encapsulated the past eight years in American society and it has given a glimpse of what the future might hold: a more intense and profound struggle of good versus evil. The times are heavier, and even our superheroes know it.

Tags: Andrew Stanton, Be Kind Rewind, Ben Stiller, Brandon T. Jackson, Christopher Nolan, Michel Gondry, Movies, Pixar, Robert Downey Jr., Tarsem Singh, The Dark Knight, Tom Cruise, Tropic Thunder, WALL-E, Wong Kar-Wai.

As the first installment of our Best of 2008 series, each of The Totam staffers gives our choice for Song of the Year:

Aileen Tat:

Miller Carr & The Shalants’ “Hey” (American Dust Records)

Passage Through Wilderness Vol. 2 is one of my favorite albums of the year, and the impressive musicianship of the Shalants is evident in their seamless blend of surf, psychedelia, and soul among other genres heard on the eleven tracks of their second release. I attended one of the band’s shows at Pianos last month at the recommendation of friends, and while original songs like “Katsu” and “The Deserter” caught my interest, “Hey” was the song that reeled me in completely. A short, sweet tune filled with flirtatious promise, “Hey”’s melody has the earnest pull of Roy Orbison’s “Falling”, or Elvis’ “Surrender”, the soaring grandiosity of their vocals replaced by the more contemporary, low-key allure of Carr’s singing. “Hey” had my inner romantic hooked, and the rest of the album did not disappoint.

Hillary Rocker:

Santogold Santogold (Downtown/Lizard King, Atlantic Records (UK))

It’s been a while since one could listen to pop music (excluding M.I.A. & Amy) and at the same time, not be ashamed of what’s playing in your iPod. I have personally had to turn the volume down on quite a few songs (seriously, you’re going to blast Beyoncé?). But with Santgold’s self-titled debut, Santi White has put out a great album of simply fun, cool songs with great beats to jam to, where ever you were the summer of ‘08. She has taken that black girl guilt (the one that forces you to try your best Mariah or Mary J.) and simply brushed her shoulders off. She’s also left all of that nonsense for the kids putting out albums who don’t know who they are yet and are still singing about their first loves. Santi let everyone know, black chicks rock too and made an album that has left record stores stumped as to where to categorize her music. Her debut moves effortlessly from 80s pop to electro-rock to hipster reggae all the while remaining true to her self. She’s simply one artist pushing things forward and with rumors of collaborations with everyone from Jay-Z to Spank Rock, lets hope ‘09 will be an even more dynamic year for Ms. White.

Joyce Lee:

Kanye West “Love Lockdown” (Roc-A-Fella Records)

The voice is a little off (and was way off when West performed the single on Saturday Night Live). However, the slightly geeky charm of the opening is due to the fact that West, who is known for his rapping abilities has chosen to use his singing voice and not perfect it. Nasal and warbled are not two adjectives that usually make a hit pop song, but the highly addictive tune is a sum of all its parts. Just when “Love Lockdown” begins to sound like a soft monotonous love song, massive, crashing drums rush the song into a distraught fever. West’s frustrations are the undertone when the percussion is the main event and the two switch off and on in each other’s suspenseful buildup. The best unperfect song of the year.

Christopher Tota:

Yael Naim “New Soul” (Atlantic)

This year the irony of the modern music industry is embodied in a song about spiritual matters by a virtually unknown bi-cultural international artist that became synonymous with American corporate commercialism and global high-powered advertising. Yael Naim, Israeli-French singer-songwriter, wrote “New Soul” after having a conversation with a good friend about reincarnation. In January of 2008, Steve Jobs personally picked the light and addictive song as the perfect soundtrack to introduce the Mac Air Book, Apple’s newest laptop. Naim had previously refused to allow the song to be used in a commercial to sell chocolate, but she said she gave her permission for the Mac Air Book because computers help to create music (I am sure Steve Jobs’ big check didn’t hurt either). Thanks to digital sales after the release of the commercial, the song “New Soul” shot to number #7 on the Billboard Music Charts, making Yael Naim the first Israeli artist to ever reach the Billboard Top Ten.

The self-titled album , Yael Naim, has many gems on it, including several which shine brighter than “New Soul” (“Paris,” Naim’s first song written in Hebrew is a lovely shade of reminiscent, and her cover of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” has a haunting depth and sexual soul that the former Mrs. Federline can only ask her producers about). However, “New Soul” is my song of the year because it epitomizes the completion of the computer and iPod takeover of the music industry. That the music marketplace has become instantaneous and truly global allows for an artist of Yael Naim’s talent and versatility to rise above the clatter, though the cost for consumers and the artist may be that we never get beyond the 30-second clip with an Apple logo on it.

Tags: Kanye West, Miller Carr, Music, Santogold, The Shallants, Yael Naim.