A tribute to Linkin Park, a generational touchstone

The mounting number of greats the music world has lost, and in quick succession, in the last decade is unthinkable. In no particular order, and just to name a few: Stone Temple Pilots’ Scott Weiland, Prince, Michael Jackson, Chris Cornell. Just the other day, after the shock of Cornell’s suicide was beginning to wane on me, in walks my brother with another bombshell: “The Linkin Park singer died,” he said. At that moment, I instinctively turned my head and averted my eyes, staring expressionless into space in disbelief before I shook my head and compulsively Googled Linkin Park in search of the evidential headline: “Linkin Park Singer Chester Bennginton Dead, Commits Suicide By Hanging” read the link to TMZ’s post. Just two months prior on May 17, Cornell was in his native Detroit seemingly excited to be at “Rock City” for a show, as noted in what became his last tweet when mysteriously, he passed away the following day of the same cause. Likewise, Bennington – who passed away on what would have been Cornell’s 53^rd birthday – was too, in the midst of planned gigs. The band was set to play Mansfield, Massachusetts the following week to kick-off Linkin Park’s One More Light world tour, which has since been cancelled by the band in the throes of their devastation. The grief of such a tragedy reminds me of when Avenged Sevenfold lost their drummer, James Sullivan “The Rev,” in 2009 of a reported overdose. And, not to mention, Nirvana, when the group lost Kurt Cobain in 1994 from suicide.

While Bennington was characterized in recent years with his dark shaven head, gauges and winsome smile, the Bennington that will always stand out to me was in Linkin Park’s heyday circa 2000 when he first emerged onto the scene -- his hair bleached and wearing glasses occasionally. Looking back to my middle school days, the band was a generational touchstone to a group of coming-of-age kids that I was blessed to be a part of. It was Y2K when Linkin Park first gained commercial success with their debut smash “Hybrid Theory.” I first discovered them like I discovered most other rock music at that time – through my older brother. He had “Hybrid Theory” on CD as well as Alien Ant Farm and Eminem’s “The Marshall Mathers LP,” among others. We used to play them on a small, plug-in boom box that had a built-in radio, CD and cassette player that my parents gifted me for my 12^th birthday. I remember picking up “Hybrid Theory” and seeing the words “Linkin Park” in bold lettering. Even the name carried power. I didn’t really start getting into them until I was 14. Their music – whose lyrics oft-portrayed themes centered on self-defeat, insecurity, unresolved emotional pain and inadequacy – resonated with a generation of teenagers, a number of which compose today’s millennials, myself included. In fact, when I think about my high school days, I think about Linkin Park. The band, as well as other popular nu-metal acts of that time including System of a Down, Limp Bizkit and Korn – all too often shared the sentiment of motivation music for lots of angst-driven teens and a lot of athletes needing to get psyched up to train or compete in a sporting event. I remember being on the track team and hearing “In the End” and Mike Shinoda’s deftly delivered raps blaring from a fellow track runner’s headphones on the bus ride to a meet. The somber playing of the electronic keyboards of “Crawling” sounded as the clank the weights would make as football players dropped the chrome bar after a fierce few rounds of strenuous repetitions on the bench press. I remember the personal significance 2003’s “Breaking the Habit” meant to me and hearing Bennington rage about confusion and the urgent need for self-improvement against the juxtapositon of delivering dulcet vocals and throat-scratching screams. The song’s release was the same year Elliott Smith, an all-embracing indie rock hero and my favorite solo artist of all time, had taken his life.

On the day Bennington died, I did what I believe every fan of his did: played the music. It took me back to the good old days, which also sparked nostalgia of when Audioslave’s “Be Yourself” came out in 2005. I used to watch the music video on TV before heading to school, much like I did Linkin Park’s videos. It was one of my favorite songs as it stressed the importance of being true to you because, despite feelings of imagined inadequacy, why would you want to be anyone else? To quote Cobain: “wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you.” Bennington echoed this sentiment in “Numb” when he sang: “All I want to do is be more like me and be less like you.” I think this is a message we all have to heed because we are all beautiful, no matter our struggles. Eminem said it. Even Elliott Smith had a song called “Happiness.”

In a letter Bennington had addressed to Cornell after his passing which he shared on Twitter, he mentioned a few of his own personal thoughts about Cornell in particular, but are all too often a part of us all:

“… Your voice was joy and pain, anger and forgiveness, love and heartache, all wrapped up into one. I suppose that’s what we all are.”

'Purple Rain' adaptation falls in the Sahara Desert

Onstage before a crowd of wide-eyed, smiley fans, a local rock star positions a campo on his purple Fender and begins playing an infectious lick.

“I believe love can make you sick, crazy,” sings the phenom. “Make you lose your way…”

Dressed in purple garb and a cloth covering his face revealing only his soulful eyes, one could assume that given his long brown ring-adorned fingers and his swaying vigorously to the melody emanating from his left-handed guitar that this man is playing Prince. (Or maybe Hendrix?) But he’s neither. He’s Mdou Moctar – the young musical sensation who captured the hearts of locals in the Sahara Desert. While most recognize him from weddings, others know him as “the one from the cell phones,” as one fan remarks to another in the film. She’s referring to when Moctar’s spacey Auto-Tuned songs about peace and love went viral via the music trading networks of cell phones in Africa’s Sahel region in the late 2000s.

While paying homage to the late Prince in this fierce adaptation of Purple Rain – the 1984 classic which chronicled The Kid’s rise to fame – Moctar is not in the bustling mecca of Minneapolis playing with his band The Revolution. He’s in Agadez, Niger’s largest city with his band the Azawair group.

In Christopher Kirkley’s Akounak Tedalat Taha Tazoughai loosely translated into English as Rain the Color Blue with a Little Red In It, the Portland native and owner of label Sahel Sounds who relocated to West Africa after college, settled for this title given the lack of a word for “purple” in Tamasheq, the native language of the Tuareg – a quasi-nomadic Muslim people inhabiting the region.

Kirkley, who documents the music scenes in cities, said the idea for the film had potential as a “cultural product” which could resonate to local audiences. The film marks many firsts: Moctar’s first full-length movie role, Kirkley’s directorial debut and the first feature film in the universe all in the Tuareg language. While doing away with the nudity and violence typified in Purple Rain, the 75-minute film stays the course of Prince’s life story – from his escapism through music, to coping with family troubles and jealous competitors, hurdling romantic woes and, of course, his ultimate triumph as the one-and-only.

Below, I speak with Kirkley about the making of the movie.

LA: How long have you been wanting to do this film?

CK: The idea to make a “Purple Rain in the Sahara” had been kicking around for years. I spend a lot of time hanging out with bands, and documenting the music scenes in various cities and towns. The wedding circuit, where musicians are competing with one another for these lucrative contracts, is one of the most winner-take-all scenes. Being a musician in West Africa is not a hobby, but very much a profession, with lots of competition. The idea of a film was originally in jest, the fever dream of a Westerner trying to make sense of something foreign. But over the years I saw it had real potential as a way of showcasing this scene to a Western audience in a familiar context as well as creating a cultural product that could resonate with local audiences.

LA: What was the eureka moment when you decided to cast Mdou for the lead role?

CK: Of all the musicians I work with around the Sahel, Mdou stands out as a “larger than life” character. He is very much an artist – his life revolves around his music. But he also is a very funny guy with a sarcastic wit, and you really need a sense of humor to make low-budget film. His most Prince-like elements have to be his flashy style, particularly his way of playing guitar – lots of flourishes and dancing around.

LA: I read you gifted Mdou with a left-handed guitar. Was that one of the guitars he used in the film?

CK: Yes, he’s still playing the same guitar that I brought for him in 2012!

LA: What were your thoughts when you first heard Mdou play live? What was that like?

CK: The first time I saw Mdou in concert was at a small wedding in the countryside of rural Niger. When he started to get into his solos, he formed a crowd, with dancing spectators clapping and kicking up huge clouds of dust. The camera and light, supposed to illuminating the bride and groom, cut to him and his entourage. It was electric.

LA:  A year after the film’s release, Prince passed away. Where were you when you heard the news and how great was the affect on you knowing that you had just done an adaptation of the film?

CK: It came for all of us, at a very unexpected time. With regards to the film, I guess I was hoping that someday we could screen it for him, and that Prince and Mdou could meet.

LA: Do you know if Prince himself had seen the film? If not, what do you think he would have thought of it?

CK: I like to think he would enjoy it, and find the humor in some of our choices in adaptation.

LA:  As a micro-budget film, how proud are you of the way it turned out given this being your first time directing?

CK: I’m impressed that the film turned out at all. Shooting in Niger on any budget would be challenging, let alone doing it in our DIY approach. It’s certainly raised awareness of film production in Agadez and encouraged some would be filmmakers. We’ve already shot a second film with the same crew – a Tuareg “Spaghetti Western.” And a group of Agadez youth recently pitched me a remake of Titanic, shot in the Sahara.

LA: Do you plan on making any more music-related films?

CK: As long as I keep finding good music, there will always be a larger story to tell – and why not do it through fiction?

See the film at the Winter Film Awards Indie Film Festival in New York City on March 1 at the Cinema Village Theater 1, located at 22 E. 12th St.

D'Amato, Chapin among musicians in WhyHunger benefit

Jen Chapin performs at the Acoustic Cafe.

Jen Chapin, Anthony D’Amato, Joe D’Urso and KJ Denhert headlined a benefit concert staged in the gymnasium of a Park Ridge Catholic school Saturday night where the singer-songwriters rocked to raise money for the annual Hungerthon radio broadcast – WhyHunger’s largest program. Chapin’s late father, folk icon Harry Chapin, founded WhyHunger in 1975 with radio personality Bill Ayres with the goal to combat hunger and poverty by connecting people to nutritious food. D’Urso, who serves on the board of directors with Jen, wanted to bring the cause, which he holds close to his heart, to his hometown.

The musicians performed that evening in a songwriter’s circle playing their own original material. Chapin played songs off her latest album “Reckoning,” while folk-jazz singer Denhert played songs off her latest effort, “Destiny,” and ended the evening with a slow rendition of the Beatles’ 1965 classic “Help.”

Anthony D'Amato plays songs off "The Shipwreck from the Shore" 

D’Amato performed songs off his critically acclaimed new record, “The Shipwreck from the Shore,” which was released in September by New West Records, to which he was newly signed this year. D’Amato is currently on tour for the record, produced by Sam Kassirer with drums by Bon Iver’s Matt McCaughan. Though inspired by heartbreak, the New Yorker says the album, which he describes “folk ‘n’ roll,” is a positive one, and a collection of songs the singer says he’s most proud of. D’Amato and D’Urso will set out on Thanksgiving night for a European tour for the Light of Day Concert Series, which has featured Bruce Springsteen and raises funds for Parkinson’s Research. 

Watch a clip from Anthony D'Amato's live performance of "Ballad of the Undecided":

The magic behind Kurt Cobain's final photo session

"Kurt Cobain: The Last Session" was released Nov. 1

Jesse Frohman knew Kurt Cobain would be his Marilyn Monroe.
Looking back 21 years ago at what would be the late Nirvana frontman's last formal photo shoot, the internationally recognized photographer viewed the shoot with the iconic rocker as a “perfect storm.”

Seated before an intimate crowd of Nirvana fans and photography enthusiasts at New York City’s NeueHouse, a private workspace collective, on Nov. 18, Frohman – known for photographing many names in rock royalty as DD Ramone, Green Day, and Soundgarden – opened up to journalist Carlo McCormick about that day in August 1993, a shoot that Frohman expected would turn out badly, but panned out into a collection of iconic photographs celebrated nearly 20 years after Cobain’s April 5, 1994 passing from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Photos flashed behind the men, which are included in Frohman’s new book, “Kurt Cobain: The Last Session,” released by Thames and Hudson on Nov. 1. The illustration is a tribute to the legendary band that helped revolutionize a generation, and includes black-and-white and color photos of the group from the photo session, one of Cobain’s last interviews with punk historian Jon Savage, and an essay by pop culture expert Glenn O’Brien, who explores the band’s legacy and shares his personal story about being on a road trip in 1991 when he heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit” for the first time.

Frohman partnered with PledgeMusic in August to launch a pre-order campaign of the book where Nirvana fans can get access to the making of it and view some of the featured photos.

Jesse Frohman is interviewed by Carlo McCormick in NYC.

Going into the shoot -- photos from which accompanied an article in the London Observer at the time --  Frohman expected five hours with the group in different locations around Manhattan, which he was thinking Central Park. When he arrived to pick up the band at their hotel, he was informed, to his chagrin, by the band’s manager that he would have a mere half-hour with Nirvana at the hotel. Placed in a type of DIY situation, as McCormick inferred, Frohman made the best with what he was given, even the Pentax 67 camera he used to shoot the group (which he recalled not being not accustomed to) before heading off to an afternoon rehearsal before the band’s gig at Roseland Ballroom to promote their fourth studio album, “In Utero.”

“Every photographer has a bag of tricks,” said Frohman to the crowd, as photos from the shoot flashed behind the men from an overhead projector.

In a few of the photos, Cobain is clothed in patched jeans, a bomber hat, a leopard print garment that looked like it may have belonged to his wife, Courtney Love, (whom Frohman said had been at the hotel that day) and his signature white-framed sunglasses that Frohman said Cobain had refused to take off. Flashing back, Frohman said Cobain’s glasses were just as expressive as his eyes.

“I did not get a sense of suicide,” he recalled of Cobain on that day, “[but] a great deal of sadness.”

At the same time, however, Frohman said part of Cobain’s persona was that of a prankster.

“His energy makes that cinematic energy,” he told the audience. “[He had this] genius ability of making something meaningful [out of something] mundane.”

Frohman added that by not controlling the shoot too much, he let Cobain do his own thing using props, which included an Evian bottle, cigarettes, and even a pot, which Dave Grohl is seen playfully holding under Cobain’s rear in one of the photos while he stands aside Krist Novoselic.

“I let him do his ballet moves,” Froham said. “You have to let them express themselves or you’ll get a still life.”

In doing, so the photographer said there was a “moment of truth” between himself and Cobain, a nonverbal connection that yielded “hero portraits” he’s proud of.

“When you have a successful collaboration, you both get what you’re there for,” he said.

"Heaven Adores You," a heartfelt portrayal of Elliott Smith

Elliott Smith during an interview circa late '90s.

As an impassioned Elliott Smith enthusiast of the past five years, attending the Portland premiere of Nickolas Rossi’s bewitching portrayal of one of the best singer/songwriters of our time, aptly pegged, “Heaven AdoresYou,” was a must.

Rossi, who was in attendance at the Oct. 10 sold-out screening, which kicked off the 32^nd edition of the Reel Music Festival at the Whitsell Auditorium of the Portland Art Museum, told the crowd of at least 100 people that the film was a "love letter" to the metropolis and to the man who rose from local fame to a household name at the dawn of the alt-rock era of the mid-1990s. And that’s exactly what it is. Because when I left the screening, I was filled with more love for Smith than I had ever imagined.

During a post-screening Q&A, Rossi said the finished product exceeded his expectations of when he first started shooting the film. After viewing it, the film exceeded mine as well. Producer Kevin Moyer told Willamette Week that his goal was for fans to walk away with a greater understanding of who Smith was as a person. As a fan who had always wanted to feel close to him and know him, this film was what I needed to satiate that yearning for him.
Going into the film, I was admittedly very anxious. I thought I would leave the screening feeling one of two things: 1.) the void in my heart from Smith’s absence would be bandaged and I would be left with a sense of acceptance of his death. Or, 2.) I’d leave with it stretched and missing him even more. To my pleasant surprise, I walked away with a happy heart overflowing with even more love for Elliott Smith as I had imagined, because for the first time since discovering his music in 2009, I felt close to him.

Before the film started at 7 p.m. that evening, a co-ed cello ensemble took to the stage, which included Smith’s best friend and Heatmiser cofounder Neil Gust. The group played dulcet instrumentals of Smith’s songs spanning his nine-year solo career from his six studio albums, including “Needle in the Hay” and “Between the Bars.” The evening was a real celebration of Smith’s life two weeks before it would be 11 years since losing him.

Neil Gust, second left, plays Smith's song with a cello ensemble

There’s only so many Elliott Smith photos to marvel at in books or on the Internet and dozens of unreleased material on YouTube to listen to, so watching the film intimately portray rare concert footage and cherubic pictures of Smith as a baby and a young boy with his beautiful blonde locks circa late ‘70s, early ‘80s was a real treat. During his upbringing in Duncanville in Dallas, Texas, we see a musically inclined boy at the family piano who delves more into music-making when he moves to Portland in his adolescence and attends Lincoln High School where he met his future band mate, Tony Lash, and was then known as Steve, his birth name. (A plaque hangs on the wall in the present day quoting his “Waltz No. 2 (XO)” lyric: “I’m never going to know you now, but I’m going to love you anyhow.”) At this time in his life, we see Smith as a soft-spoken introvert who played in his high school band and eventually helped form alt-rock quartet Heatmiser before releasing a demo of solo material to Cavity Search, which would wind up on his 1994 indie-folk debut, Roman Candle. Insight into the person Smith was, as well as his troubled side stemming from reported childhood abuse is portrayed in candid interviews with Lash, longtime friend and owner of Jackpot! Recording Studio Larry Crane, Smith’s sister, Ashley Welch, his manager Margaret Mittleman, and Joanna Bolme, former partner and collaborator.

While the film provides some inkling into Smith’s depression, Rossi gracefully strays from centering the focus on it. Instead, he places it on the person Smith was: a humble man with an infectious sense of humor who loved music. Smith once said that songwriting reveals what it is to be a person, which was what Rossi did here with this film. Despite Smith’s rise to fame with his Academy Award nomination for “Miss Misery,” which landed along with other jams from Roman Candle in “Good Will Hunting,” stardom took a backseat to staying true to who he was.

What I took away from the film as a fan was that Smith was just a man with his guitar who took the trials of his life and turned them into breathtaking melodies and spine-tingling verse. Despite getting emotional towards the end of the film as it chronicled his relocation from Portland to New York and Los Angeles and into the making of what would be his last effort, From a Basement on the Hill and his death, my tears of sadness turned to that of joy when the film ended with Smith's song, “Happiness.” In this tune off Figure 8 he sings: "What I used to be will pass away and then you’ll see/ That all I want now is happiness for you and me.” There was a time in my life when I wished to let go of some trying time and I thought of that song. To hear the film end with that song was apropos, as was the title of the film which all made sense at that moment.

I think viewers will walk away feeling a strong sense of nostalgia, but closer to the man they never knew and grateful for everything he gave to the world. “Heaven Adores You” is further validation that his legacy lives on in his music and a celebration of Elliott Smith till the end.