The two hundred and sixty-third album: #263 Paul Simon - Paul Simon
It was weird to hear a song use "Queen of Corona" when it's nearly fifty years old. It's a weird turn of phrase in these times in a folk rock song that doesn't quite suit that mood, but also isn't miles away from it. It was an odd stand out line in an album that's well written, but also didn't have a standout hit for me. There's some good folk in here as we've expected from Paul Simon as a writer, but this doesn't hit me quite as well.
The two hundred and sixty-second album: #262 Nick Drake - Pink Moon
It's hard to shake the impression this album leaves on you, one of music as depression. It's not necessarily incredibly sad as much as it invokes that feeling of being tired, unable to move or do anything. The murmured vocals, the single guitar playing repetitively, bright spots like 'Know' are pretty rare. Even so, the album isn't a hard one to listen to, the tracks feeling more like a comfortable blanket than something pushing you away, weirdly a way to find some comfort in those feelings. It's a lovely album, but it feels like one you need to listen to on your own, without any distractions or sounds from anywhere else - it's a Thursday morning, I'm waiting for scripts to run, I don't have anything else to pay attention to, this feels like the perfect album to feel maudlin to.
The one hundred and fifty-seventh TV show: #561 Will & Grace
As much as it was revolutionary at the time, watching Will & Grace doesn't feel like that way. Will, the gay character, is living a normal life. He's gay, and that impacts parts of what happens, but isn't the over the top stereotype that's common on TV, nor a tortured soul as other dramas seem to have. It normalizes the gay life style in a comedy, which makes for comfortable viewing and a good way to have an occasional twist on the formula. There are a number of jokes that feel dated, but on the whole it feels loving enough that it works as a sitcom - even now feeling like a rarity to have gay characters just living their life, to the point where it felt like the revival still worked despite its internal problems.
The ninety-sixth comic: #10 Happy Hooligan
Oh man, formulaic doesn't seem to cover it with Happy Hooligan. Reading through a selection, I can summarize any comic's plot with "Happy tries to be helpful to someone, it backfires (usually by the person falling) and Happy gets arrested". The cops seem trigger happy, people are unreasonable, and the whole thing isn't very amusing from the start. Even ignoring 1900s racial stereotypes doesn't improve that one bit, although these days just reading that is a bit uncomfortable.
The crossover with the Katzenjammer Kids shows that this is what newspaper comics were at the time, a lot of visual slapstick and people getting hurt, but the repetition here doesn't feel like it pays off.
The one hundred and fourth classical recording: #182 Ludwig van Beethoven - String Quartets, op. 18
Having a work that covers over two hours of classical music can be a bit exhausting. That's not to say these aren't beautiful to listen to, but when listening for these entries, I do some work to form my opinion as I do. With six separate works, each with several movements, that means it needs a bit more time to fit together. These are some lovely works, suiting a more upbeat mood, and it's lovely to listen to even if I wouldn't listen to all of them in one go again.
The two hundred and sixty-first album: #261 Tim Buckley - Greetings from L.A.
I already know funk isn't quite my thing. Funk done by a white man, as much of a genius he might have been considered to be, works even less, as the abundance of sound and energy is replaced with a lonelier sound that doesn't work as well - a folk feel that doesn't work as well with the sound, a musically competent song that feels like it missed the beats it wants to hit. It's not unlistenable at all, but I just didn't get anything I wanted out of it.
The ninety-fifth comic: #415 Jeremiah
There's an appeal to a post apocalyptic setting - on one hand, you've got the back to the wilderness idea, working with your wits without all the technology we have these days. On the other hand, you can use modern conveniences when it suits, repurposing them when needed and still giving that familiar feel. It allows for a lot of different directions, regardless of the source of the apocalypse. While interesting, it feels like a world like that can need more exposition - who are the people, what are they doing, what are the rules that are present. Other settings come with that built in, but here you need more exposition on the world.
Jeremiah doesn't do that well. While the first story sets up Jeremiah and Kurdy, the two protagonists, well enough, outside those two I quickly got lost with what was going on. This is both in the stories, where it can jump from place to place quickly, resolving some things off screen, and having you fill in a few too many blanks to help, and between them, where side characters show up and disappear without much explanation. Sure, often it doesn't matter much, but it left me just about confused enough where, for example, the train carriage they camp in for a few episodes comes from.
The darker art doesn't help much with that, but the clues don't seem to be there in the writing. This might be a victim of the translation, where the albums seemed to be in order but might not be entirely, but it is so present in the stories as well that I don't think my reading exhaustion came only from that set up. So much happens on each page without as much of a guide that the explanations I would hope would follow never materialized.
There is something here, sure, but I think there's something in the story that just didn't give me enough to go on.