The Michigan Daily
Wednesday, January 9, 1991
Tune In Tomorrow...
dir. Jon Amiel
by Brent Edwards
ou have two days. In only two
0'ays, Tune In Tomorrow... will
eave Ann Arbor and you will have
missed an opportunity to see the
'funniest film since A Fish Called
-'Vanda. The film was released two
-4tionths ago but for some reason it
never made its way to Ann Arbor
;until now (the president of the dis-
&ibutor was probably Albanian -
-see below). And now, you have just
two days until you're stuck with
+witless farces like Three Men and a
Little Bitch again.
Set in 1951, Tune In Tomor-
.w.. takes place in the world of ra-
-io soap operas at a variety of levels.
Peter Falk plays the flamboyant and
vulgar scriptwriter Pedro Carmichael
who has just joined a sleepy radio
station in New Orleans. Hilariously
played over the top, Pedro takes over
the station, New Orleans and the
lives of the people around him.
Pedro continually rants about art
and reality - "When you're in a
shitstorm and it's coming down
hard, what do you reach for as an
umbrella? Art!"- but he is actually
a master at making the two interact.
In creating the outrageous situations
for his soap, he manipulates people
to recreate his plots and then steals
their dialogue for his show. In this
way, he makes life imitate art to cre-
, -te more art. Along the way, he also
creates quite a shitstorm.
The boundaries between reality
and art disappear almost immediately
'when a radio deejay interrupts his
show to read the opening credits of
the movie, including the credit for
his own role. Art becomes reality
* throughout the film as we are fre-
quently "shown" the soap opera as it
's being typed or read. Actors includ-
ing John Larroquette and Elizabeth
McGovern play the imaginary char-
acters with the high melodrama and
overacting necessary for their absurd
God Ween Satan: The Oneness
Be ye wary against the brothers,
Gene and Dean Ween. One shall
wield a guitar whilst the other shall
be carrying drums. They shalst try to
sound like Zeppelin, Hendrix, the
Violent Femmes and Prince, but
shalst fail miserably. They shalst
come from the East, from New Jer-
sey and will be signed to a major in-
dependent label. Beware the brothers
and The Oneness, for they are the
sixth sign of the coming apocalypse.
"Common Bitch": "Common
bitch/ Ma head itch/ Scratchit bitch/
Common bitch/ Common bitch/
Little girl/ Common bitch/ Wear
good stitch/ Fetch it bitch/ Common
bitch/ Common bitch/ Little girl/
Common bitch/ Papa's home/ No
shit/ Common bitch/ Common
bitch/ Little girl."
Be ye wary of words of stupidity
and misogyny. Guard ye well against
the lyrics that maketh no sense.
"Papa Zit": "Who's yo' papa?/
?apa zit/ Who's yo' mama?/ Papa
zit/ Lizen' to papa!/ Papa zit/ This is
the shit/ Chew tobacco/ Papa zit/
Two chewbaccas/ Papa zit/ Who's
yo' papa?/ Papa zit/ Where's yo'
mama?/ Papa zit/ This is the shit."
Guard thine ears against The
Oneness for it soundeth as if it were
recorded on a boom box in the
Ween's garage. And I pleadeth with
thou to be wary of the Daily's
drawer of free CD's from which this
jen was plucked.
"You Fucked Up:" "You fucked
up/ You bitch/ You really fucked up/
You fucked up/ You fuckin' nazi
whore/ You dicked me over/ But
now you'll pay/ You fucked up/
Guard ye well against The One-
ness and saveth thine money to buy
plenty of canned goods and bottled
-Richard S. Davis
"Wanna Be Dancin'/Buck-
The A-side of Terminator's first
solo effort espouses the same dance-
that Deee-Lite expounds on, only
with a greater accent on boasting and
the pleasures of the flesh. Once
you're out on the dance floor and the
"sweat is sizzlin' like bacon" and
"butt cheeks are jumpin"' it doesn't
matter if you're "Black, white or Ko-
rean." Unfortunately, the commit-
ment is in sloganeering only; Ter-
minator's rhythms couldn't jack the
most inveterate of beat-hypnotized
club goers. "Wanna Be Dancin""s
military omniscience doesn't invite
anyone inside of its music, it alien-
ates and intimidates, which is why
Public Enemy is as great as they are.
Which, in turn, brings us to why
you'd want to buy the 12" anyway
- Chuck's appearance on the flip
side, "Buck-Whylin."' Quite simply,
"Buck-Whylin"' is the "Bring the
Noise" for a younger generation of
new jacks raised on Bell Biv DeVoe
and a clandestine copy of As Nasty
as They Want to Be; that is, of
course, dependent on Black radio's
willingness to play it over the air.
Placed in a more revolutionary
context by Sister Souljah's exhorta-
tions to create a Black army than
"Bring the Noise," "Buck-Whylin"'
is hip-hop's definitive statement of
purpose. Based on an urgent sense of
community that characterizes all
African derived musics from
mbaqanga to gospel, Chuck acts as
the archetypal preacher leading his
congregation into a holy war of righ-
This holds true not just for P.E.
and related endeavors, but for
"Boogie Down, Stetsa, Ice T, Big
Daddy Kane, Sir Mix-a-lot, 2 Live
Crew and MC Lyte" as well because
Chuck, with Terminator's help, is
able to express the latent messages
and images that are buried underneath
rap's fragmented surface with a
The production, by Terminator
and Carl Ryder, hearkens back to
Yo! Bum Rush the Show and its
Rick Rubin influenced fusion of de-
humanized metallic power chords and
"jeep beats." The Assault Techni-
cian's rhythms are framed by a
frightening guitar drone that is remi-
niscent of "Sophisticated Bitch."
Meanwhile, Terminator's scratching
is a typically pithy statement of rage
at white ownership of African Amer-
ican cultural forms. When Termina-
tor drops the bass and treble, "the
place is in trouble" indeed.
Creatures That Time Forgot
Avoiding the Jack the Ripper fan-
tasies that most of their lysergic
garage punker compatriots and ances-
tors indulge in, the Fuzztones, with
groovee ditty titles like "Fabian's
Lips" and the presence of a girl (still
not woman though) guitar player,
put the genre's collective fetish with
bad orgasms aside and produce a
grungy straight-ahead four/four con-
cerned with reproducing the parame-
cium-like hallucinations and quasi-
mystical visions of a psilocy-
bin/peyote/ mescaline buzz; in other
words, great toonz to smoke clove
cigarettes and fuck furiously to (by).
Groovy, Laidback and Nasty
Hey, look! Look at the wagon
pass by. It goes "Boom, Crack,
Boom, Crack, Boom..." at 124 beats
per minute. Oh, and look who's on
it, New Order and.., and Madonna!
Look who's driving - Technotronic
- Aaaaaarrrggh! Oh look who's
trying to climb on it now -
Cabaret Voltaire. Can they make
it?... Can they make it?... Uhp!...
No. It looks like they've missed the
Don't get me wrong. I like house
music as much as the next person.
But I prefer my dance music to have
some kind of a bite to it. I want the
bass to pick me up off my seat, slap
me around and guide my feet closer
to the speakers. When I hear the first
few measures I want to feel com-
pelled to shove people out of my
See RECORDS, Page 7
Peter Falk, sans cigar and trenchcoat, with similar style to his most
famous role as Columbo sports a mighty fine toupe?!?
situations (even outdoing today's
soap actors), and their action coun-
terpoints that of Martin (Keanu
Reeves) and Julia (Barbara Hershey),
the people Pedro are manipulating.
Martin, a young and naive
newswriter at the radio station, falls
in love with his unpredictable Aunt
Julia when she comes to New Or-
leans for a visit. The aunt is earthy,
experienced and exudes sex with a
single look, which is probably why
Martin falls in love with her.
Reeves' disappearing Orleans accent
gets annoying at times, but Hershey
is endearing as the love-weary Aunt.
Although the film centers on their
developing relationship, it is Pedro's
behind-the-scene manipulations that
drive the film and Pedro himself who
provides the comedic highs.
Pedro's wit, quirks and fury are
extravagant. Pedro wields his insults
like Rambo does his Uzi. At the
forefront of his attack are Albanians
whom his soap characters make fre-
quent references to: "You're driving
like a stinking Albanian with crabs"
and "All Albanians are breast-fed un-
til the age of ten." This, of course,
infuriates the Albanian community
and creates lots of, as Pedro puts it,
With his role here and in Wings
of Desire two years ago, Peter Falk
is making his own surprising impact
in the movies without the help of
his trenchcoat and cigar (hopefully,
Hollywood won't take this as a rea-
son to make Columbo - The
Movie). In Tune In Tomorrow...,
Falk has created one of the most
memorable characters of the year and
you'd have to be a drooling Albanian
sadist not to enjoy him and this
TUNE IN TOMORROW... is being
shown at the Ann Arbor 1&2.
NIN gets way deep down in it
by Richard S. Davis
Nine Inch Nails
Dec. 31, 1990
New Years Eve seeing Nine Inch
Nails, oh boy, oh boy.
Geez, it's really cold out here. Is
Jsomeone's grandma checking I.D. or
"somethin'? Oh, nope, it looks like
some guys with muscles on their
muscles. They should really have
someone look at those.
Finally, inside. Yep, me, the
smoke and about a thousand black
leather biker jackets (including my
own). When is this puppy gonna
Mart anyway? My eyes are starting
10:15 p.m. and Die Warzau is
opening. These guys jam. Two
drummers = Beats, beats, beats.
They kind of sound like a hip-house
Nitzer Ebb. An excellent version of
"Strike to the Body." The lead singer
seems to be rightfully concerned
about the coming war, 'Do not reg-
ister for the draft... Involuntary con-
scription is unconstitutional!' Wow,
techno with a conscience, new for
11:20 p.m. and Nine Inch Nails
begins. "Terrible Lie." Good choice,
good choice. Sounds great, I just
wish that I could see the band. Oh
yeah, I almost forgot I'm in the
Latin Quarter, where they don't care
if there's light on the stage.
"Something I Can Never Have,"
"Ringfinger" - oh the angst, the
angst of it all. Trent is a man in
pain, but the crowd doesn't seem to
care. Hundreds of people jumping up
and down and all around.
12:07 p.m. (oh yeah, Happy
New Year). The crowd is really
whipped into a frenzy. Go Trent,
Go! The finale, "Head Like A Hole
(The Many Guitars Mix)". YIKE! 4
guitarists! Is his Aunt Betty going
to come out with a guitar next?
Overkill? Sure, but who cares? I'm
satisfied. I feel like I've just eaten a
12:20 p.m. and the house lights
are on. Only an hour long show. Oh
well, that was still the most intense
New Year's Eve I've ever had.
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