remembering michael jackson

At 25 I haven't experienced many deaths of people who could be considered iconic figures in my generation. The first time may have been in 2003 when Elliott Smith died. The previous year I had spent half a semester researching and writing a paper on Smith for my freshman writing course. I had spent months listening almost solely to his albums (no, I wasn't depressed) and had fallen in love with his songs, so I was devastated when I heard the news. It was one of those "I remember where I was when I heard..." moments. Paul Newman, one of my favorite actors and perhaps the most attractive man I've ever seen on screen, or Marlon Brando, were devastating to hear about, but though I loved them, their influence had settled before my time. Michael Jackson is the first public figure to pass away who really affected my generation and without whom my world, growing up and today, would be a different place.

As a small child, I knew little about pop culture--I was more concerned with Care Bears and My Little Ponies--but other than the Beatles, the other musician I knew about was Michael Jackson. I'm sure it was my mom who first introduced his music to our house, but it was my brother who kept it there. He was obsessed. In the late 80's or early 90's, before MJ's fall from grace, this was merely cute. Watching my five year old brother donning a white fedora and plastic wayfarer style sunglasses from some kid's bar mitzvah party and dancing to "Beat It" is one of the most entertaining memories from my childhood (so much so that I incorporated the story into the short film I made in college.)

Though I've certainly found it difficult to take MJ seriously in the past decade or so, his influence on the music industry, on MTV, and our culture in general, is undeniable. Without "Thriller" who knows where MTV would be today? There aren't many people in our history who could honestly take on the title of "King of Pop." His songs were so pervasive--there isn't anyone who doesn't know a Michael Jackson song. He singlehandedly changed our cultural path with his music and videos, and that is something to be respected and remembered for.

strange alchemy

Tinted Windows is not your typical indie band. When I first read about them, I thought it was a prank. The lineup confounded me. The band is a strange amalgamation of pop stars including Taylor Hanson from Hanson, James Iha from the Smashing Pumpkins, Bun E. Carlos of Cheap Trick, and Adam Schlesinger, from Fountains of Wayne and writer of some of the catchiest songs of the last couple decades (he wrote That Thing You Do!). While part of me is still shocked just by the existence of this super-group, in the month-or-so since their name starting popping up on music blogs after announcing their debut at SXSW, all evidence points to seriousness.

Their first song, “Kind of a Girl” surprised me–it’s highly constructed power-pop that sounds like something out of a late 90’s teen movie. Adam Schlesinger may be a mostly-unknown god of pop songs, but with a guitarist like James Iha thrown in the mix, having played in not only the Smashing Pumpkins but also the darker rock band, A Perfect Circle, I expected a more obscured vivacity, something a little more interesting or odd. The song is a little over sugared, even for Taylor Hanson, who is perhaps best known for woo-ing his 13 year old peers in 1997 with “Mmmbop,” (present company, admittedly, included.) But perhaps part of the gimmick in getting such a diverse group of musicians together is to exceed people’s expectations.

Regardless of expectations, “Kind of a Girl” is undeniably catchy and presents three minutes of sunny playfulness and fun during a time when many people could use a fun distraction. I haven't quite made up my mind about them yet, but I’m interested to hear what they put out next and hope to catch them when they play Mercury Lounge next month.

Whoa, Whoa...

The weather's getting warmer, we've set our clocks forward and this can only mean one thing: concert season will soon be upon us. It kicks off next week with SXSW in Austin, where a seemingly infinite stream of bands will play to those lucky enough to make it down to Texas. The list is overwhelming and I'm relying on coverage from websites like NPR and Fuel Friends to keep me up to date on the most exciting musical happenings.

Producing even more exciting news, Pitchfork announced the lineup for their Chicago festival this past Friday, which is perhaps, at least for me, the most appealing festival lineup I've seen so far. Amongst Friday's headliners are two of my favorite bands: Built to Spill and Yo La Tengo (!!!). Instead of having the bands present one of their classic albums in full, as they've done in the past, this year Pitchfork is allowing the concert-goers to vote for which songs they want each band to play. How dreamy. Neither Saturday or Sunday's lineups could possibly be a let down, even after those unbeatable bands. The National and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart play on Saturday followed by Grizzly Bear, the Walkmen, and Vivian Girls on Sunday.

I'm left pretend-arguing in my head about which day I'd choose to attend, if forced to pick. There isn't a single day that wouldn't guarantee a fantastic show, though if pressured enough I'd probably choose Saturday. I spent most of 2007 listening to the National's pristine album, Boxer, and I still haven't seen them in a venue that does them justice. And I love the new self-titled album by The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, a poppy and fun collection, evoking a sense of nostalgia for indie bands of the 90's without dripping of sentimentality. I can only imagine their shows must produce a good time.

While I sit in my apartment, reading and dreaming about these festivals, I can't be too sad. I know there will be plenty of shows to look forward to in New York this summer. It's all just beginning...

Rebekah Wants the Dancing Banana Back

I stole this from John Green's blog, and he apparently stole this from someone on facebook.

Though my name is slightly more uncommon than John Green , when Googled just my first name--nothing came of Googling Rebekah Berlin--I found some interesting results. A note: For the most part, I didn't skip over the more normal sounding results; it seems people named "Rebekah" are just strange.


Type your name into Google with the verb that comes after in the question. Answer with your favorites from the first page of google results. Have fun!

Q: Type in "[your name] needs" in the Google search.
A: "Rebekah needs to break out the work-out dates with Sven." (Oh, Sven...) "Rebekah needs more sleep and an earlier bedtime," (quite true) "Rebekah Needs To Tango."

Q: Type in "[your name] looks like" in Google search.
A: "Rebekah looks like…well, if you look at her face really quickly, she looks a hell of a lot like Kelly Clarkson of American Idol fame," "Rebekah looks like a real wild child that has no inhibitions about anything."

Q: Type in "[your name] wants" in Google search.
A: "Rebekah wants the dancing banana back," "Rebekah wants you to be an above-and-beyond person."

Q:Type in "[your name] does" in Google search.
A: "Rebekah does not usually have post-swim hair but does have glorious auburn hair she is too silly to show off." (I am not so silly and haven't had post-swim hair since high school.)

Q: Type in "[your name] hates" in Google search.
A: "Rebekah hates high school retail people with NO common sense!"

Q: Type in "[your name] asks" in Google search.
A: "Rebekah asks a question directed at no-one" (This I've done, on many occasions. I have a bad habit of talking to myself)

Q: Type in "[your name] likes " in Google search.
A: "Rebekah likes to compare her life to that of Laura Ingalls Wilder from Little House on the Prairie." "Rebekah likes to use grown-up words like "monetise" because she's going up to management soon and then Dominic can take over properly and get the editor's salary he richly deserves." (I prefer non-words like "irregardless".)

Q: Type in "[your name] eats " in Google search.
A: "Rebekah eats triscuits and rambles." (Probably, sometimes)

Q: Type in "[your name] wears " in Google search.
A: "Rebekah wears things that help boost her magical power." (Bet you didn't know that! Just kidding.)

Q: Type in "[your name] was arrested for" in Google Search.
A: "Rebekah was arrested for assault of her husband." (Not me. No husband.)

Q: Type in "[your name] loves" in Google Search.
A: "Rebekah loves being the life of the party." (Clearly.)

done with writer's block, and on to 2009!

December has taken me by surprise--out of nowhere, it seems, top ten lists have popped up on blogs and many of this year's movie nominations have been announced. This prompted me to attempt my own top ten lists, which proved more difficult than I would have assumed. The last few months have brought many downturns and a few ups, but the one theme that I noticed shining throughout the spectrum of events this year was a feeling of hope.

The most resplendent display of hope was in Barack Obama's presidential campaign and election. Though I don't know what the houses in most of the country looked like, in my Brooklyn neighborhood many windows were emblazoned with the Shepherd Fairey Obama posters, the word "HOPE" in all capitol letters singing out to all the passersby. Obama elicited this feeling of hopefulness by stating and re-stating our country's need for change with a vigor and track record that allowed us to believe in him. But this hopefulness was also reflected in other venues in various and sometimes subtle ways, many of which were probably in works long before Obama's presidential campaign or the current recession took over the nightly news programs.

My three favorite movies this year--"Wall-E," "Slumdog Millionaire," and "Milk"--could not be more different in subject matter or style, and I was surprised to find, while pondering the notion that there could be three movies I really loved in one year (something that hasn't happened since I was 14!) that the reason I loved each of these movies is the same. These three films evoke a sense of hope in each of the characters' attempts to make their worlds a better place to live.

"Wall-E," the little robot left to clean up the Earth, through a series of foibles and mishaps convinces what is left of the human race, grown complacent and fat circling through space on a giant cruise space-ship, to return to Earth and rebuild their society. His quest for treasures (our trash becomes his collection of prized possessions) and desire for companionship in a post-apocalyptic wasteland are so pure and heartfelt that it becomes difficult not to want to join him in his pursuits to search for beauty in a ruined world.

Though taken in a different direction, "Slumdog Millionaire," a movie about a boy from the slums of Mumbai who ends up a contestant on the Indian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire," could have been utterly depressing, it is instead, as the television commercials declare, "a celebration of life." The film depicts the extreme poverty and corruption in certain Indian neighborhoods, but it is the background and the means for Jamal Malik to answer the final 20,000,000 rupees question and find what he cherishes most, love.

Any movement struggling for rights and recognition requires an immense amount of hope, and "Milk," which focuses on Harvey Milk's struggles in the 1970's to be elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors as the first openly gay man elected to public office, is a perfect example. Perhaps the film creates an even stronger impact, serendipitously released at a particularly relevant time in light of the decision on Prop. 8 in California to ban gay marriage. Even if Milk's assassination in the end is disheartening, the following scene where the people of San Francisco radiate through the streets, holding candles lit in his memory, shows the effect Milk's efforts and vitality had on the community and their desire to keep his vision alive.

The characters in each of these films are full of life and love, and though my enthusiasm might border on sappy, they were not. Each time, I left the theater with a feeling that if these characters could find ways to make their worlds a better place, each one of us should be able to bring about something to make our real world better as well.

A real-life character whose music I have only recently fallen head-over-heels for is Justin Vernon, who goes by the moniker, Bon Iver. His debut album, "For Emma, Forever Ago," sat on my iPod for months with only a few listens, but in the last few weeks I've hardly listened to anything else. Songs with such tortured and heartbreaking lyrics might not seem hopeful, but the tale behind the album's composition creates a more layered and complex understanding. It's also difficult to find a compilation of such gorgeous songs totally depressing. From what I understand, fleeing a terrible romantic breakup, band breakup, and a bout of illness, Justin Vernon left his home in North Carolina for his father's remote cabin in Wisconsin, where, over a period of three months, he ended up writing the songs that became "For Emma..." His blatantly raw emotion becomes a catharsis, and a hope that in this endeavor, he will find himself in a better place (And considering how many top ten lists he's topped, I think he has.)

Perhaps I see hope reflected in the movies I've watched and the music I've listened to because I've spent my year hoping--hoping for a boy to like me back or for more responsibility at work. Comparing what actually happened this year to what I hoped would happen, I've learned that hope and positive thinking are only the first step. Hope sets things in motion, but properly executing tasks is necessary to get things accomplished. This was a year for hope, but 2009 needs to be a year for execution.

I finish this essay and this year in the home where I grew up, sitting in my room, the purple walls adorned with relics of my teenage past. As I stare up at the posters of Titanic, Good Will Hunting, and Shakespeare in Love, I realize that these are the three movies that ten and eleven years ago, I fell in love with and inspired me to pursue a certain path. The jump from hope to action is not easy or simple, and at this point in my own life, I haven't quite figured out which direction I am supposed to take. However, even if the circumstances are different now and more complicated than in high school, perhaps the means of getting to that next step is the same. All I know, is nothing is possible that without perseverance and a continued belief in hope. So I may not know the plot points ahead of me, but for now, I'll keep hoping.

On Fairytales and Michel Gondry

What's wrong with believing in fairytales? In my opinion, nothing. Fairytales are the life-blood of our society, or at least the part of society that encompasses the wishers and dreamers and artists, inventors, entrepreneurs, or basically anyone else who has any sort of ambition in life. They allow us, normal people, to believe that it's possible something great can happen, or more correctly, that we are capable of making something great happen. Michel Gondry is a filmmaker who creates realistic fairytales, fantastical stories about seemingly real people who end up, through some wacky happening finding something greater than themselves. He is also one of my favorites. As an avid Michel Gondry fan, I had been warned against possible disappointment in his latest film, "Be Kind, Rewind." But, as an avid Michel Gondry fan, I wanted to see it regardless of other's reviews, figuring that I would find something to like about it, which indeed turned out to be true. Though the story was lacking at times, and Jack Black's ridiculousness sometimes bordered on annoying, for the most part it was entertaining and endearing.

The tale of little video store struggling against the corporate conglomerate is nothing new, but this story changes quickly when the store's owner, Mr. Fletcher, leaves town for a couple of days to investigate ways to make his business more profitable and save his building from being condemned, and he leaves Mike in charge of the store. During a freak accident where Mike's friend Jerry tries to sabotage the local power plant (and the logistics of this are a bit confusing) he becomes magnetized, and when he shows up to the store the next day, accidentally erases all of the video tapes. In a moment of desperation and brilliance, Mike decides to film his own version of the movie Ghostbusters for an important customer. Their rationale--she'll never know, she's never seen the movie!--is completely unconvincing, as it is clearly Mike and Jerry filming themselves, but their growing excitement, and the artful movie-making montage, kept me watching. Their little shop becomes wildly successful, with townspeople lining up around the block, asking for their favorite movies to be "sweded," their term for those films they've re-made themselves. And then things become a bit muddled after this--the movie studios shut down Mike and Jerry's operation, which consequently means that Mr. Fletcher won't be able to come up with the money to bring his building up to code and it will soon be seized and demolished. The community is heartbroken, and so they help Mike and Jerry finish their one last film effort, a movie of their own about Fats Waller, a jazz musician and the town hero. A group of the film's main-players gather in the video store for one last screening while the demolition crew waits outside. When Mr. Fletcher hears a commotion outside and leaves the screening to see what's going on, he finds the entire town gathered outside, rapturously watching and cheering for the film.

They didn't succeed in saving their video store. They didn't even succeed in saving their building. Under most people's direction, Mike, Jerry, and Mr. Fletcher would have seemed like incredible failures, but somehow I found their (perhaps, overly) earnest pursuits and struggles endearing, which was, I assume, Mr. Gondry's purpose. Though in the end they didn't achieve what they set out to, what they did achieve was even greater, for it allowed them to realize their potential to do and create something more that they thought they were capable of. And for this reason mostly, even though there were so many other reasons to be disappointed in this movie, I couldn't help but kind of like it in the end.

California: Land of Opportunity and/or Inescapable Nostalgia

Perhaps the cliches are true and time and distance do make the heart grow fonder. Lately I've found myself missing California, the place I still call home, but haven't lived for six years. Upon graduating from high school, I fled San Diego and its surfer bums for the great city of New York to attend film school at NYU and flirt with the idealistic notions of making my dreams come true. Undeniably, I still love New York, but it's a city that will roughen anyone around the edges, and coupled with time and distance has allowed me a rosier colored cross country view.

The San Diego I travel back to now is almost identical to the one I left, but without the interference of clicky, snobbish high school kids. So, I guess, it is actually quite different--a much more pleasant and enjoyable place to be. And still when I drive down the freeway towards my home in the late afternoon, I feel a pang of desire to return to the music I liked and watch the television shows and movies I liked in high school, a link to the time when I was beginning to figure out my likes and dislikes and what I (think I) want to do with my life. Being in California, and driving in particular, is like a familiar smell--it brings back the feeling, though it may have become a bit muddled over the years, that the world is full of opportunity and I am capable of anything I put my mind to. The last few, post-graduation, years have proved a bit grating on my optimism, and though I'd still like to believe in these sentiments, it is becoming harder and harder to do so. Returning to San Diego, if only for a few days helps to remind me of this feeling of opportunity.

Example 1: Driving home with my friend Kathy after a pleasant dinner and a dessert so marvelous and decadent it warranted a photo shoot, we somehow came upon a discussion about how we both feel we are a bit behind the place where we would ideally like to be in our lives. Not exactly the most uplifting conversation, but, as the eternal optimist when it comes to other people's dreams, when doubting whether or not her dream of going to med-school is attainable, I bring up this idea to Kathy that with enough drive and determination she can achieve whatever it is she wants to do, and if going to med-school is her dream, then she'll make it happen. Apparently, I had brought this up in a similar conversation the last time I was home, and Kathy told me that this sentiment was one of the few things keeping her on her chosen path. When other people had suggested that perhaps she look into different professions within the health-care industry, she would think about my (unsubstantiated?) words of optimistic wisdom and decide to stay the course and continue her pursuits to become a doctor and work within the public health spectrum.

I was too tired at the time for it to really sink in, but for a few little words that have, for as long as I can remember, always been a part of my dialectic and that I choose to believe, because otherwise it would make all the thankless jobs I've worked utterly pointless, to mean something to someone else, gave me and my ideas and sentiments greater validation.

Example 2: My last evening at home before flying back to New York, I went to a barbeque at the house of old family friends with my parents. We arrived just in time to hear one of the guests telling a story about his daughter, who had just graduated from high school and whose dream of studying theater in college he did not seem to support. She hadn't gotten into NYU or a couple of other schools with reputable drama programs, and though I suppose it's a good thing to be realistic sometimes, I was rather appalled when he told us that "she was very talented, but just not that good." The optimistic me in my head retorted that, how can you know if you're good enough unless you try? He went on to inform us that she would be starting Northwestern in the fall. If she is an ounce more positive than her father, I think she'll be fine.

After that, we somehow segued to the topic of my schooling and where I am currently working. When I told him I work at a post-production house, he asked me where in San Diego it was, assuming I had returned home after college and that I probably still live with my parents. When I corrected him and told him that I live in New York, his face dropped. He looked at me flatly and asked how I can live in New York. I manage, I told him. I make it work. And then he went on to tell a story about his 30 year old niece who still needs financial help from her parents. His idiotic tales of defeat didn't bring me down--I had stopped taking him seriously ten minutes before.

The experience of leaving San Diego and returning to New York was a bit painful. As always, it was nice to be home--the dad-cooked meals, lack of worries keeping me up at night, consistently good weather--and the idea of coming back to work and responsibility wasn't something to look forward to. I try not to get upset about the petty irritants, the things that are less than the realization that I am "making it work." And though often just "making it work" doesn't seem like enough, as I was sitting on the subway recently listening to my excellent travel mix and reading my book, everything felt okay. Because perhaps one day if I keep "making it work" it will turn into something great.