'Toy Story 5' Review

Pixar's best franchise is now five-for-five. For Screen International, I reviewed the delightful, moving Toy Story 5. 

Review: Patti LuPone, 'Matters of the Heart,' at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion

It was a few songs into her show Saturday night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion when Patti LuPone stopped her pianist and musical director, Joseph Thalken, in the middle of "Where Love Resides." Turning 77 in April, one of America's most celebrated and notorious divas then told the crowd two things I never would have expected: "I'm nervous" and, a bit later, "I'm human."

This is not the sort of admission you normally get from LuPone. As The New Yorker's Michael Schulman put it in a very entertaining profile of her last year, "LuPone is Broadway’s reigning grande dame, with a big voice and an even bigger mouth. She’s one of the city’s last living broads: brassy, belty, and profane, with the ferocity of a bullet train coming right at you." Part of the fun of seeing LuPone live, I assumed, would be watching her steamroll through the evening, flexing her vocal gift while letting us Los Angeles residents know how lucky we were to be in the presence of greatness. Vulnerability was a surprise.

I grew up consuming a steady diet of pop, rock and hip-hop, largely avoiding musical theater and the sort of vocalists who belt, croon or soar. As I got older, Into the Woods and Frank Sinatra became part of my musical lexicon, but I remain more drawn to songwriters than singers. It's not as if Sinatra (or countless others) can't make a song their own -- make you feel that, for example, no one else has sung "I'll Be Around" before they breathed it into life. But I'll always take a Bob Dylan over a Michael Bublé, no matter how many octaves he's mastered.

I say all that to acknowledge that I can't always appreciate superhuman vocal technique. When it comes to singing, I go for emotion, feel and character over firepower and pizzazz. But even I sensed early on in Saturday's performance that LuPone seemed a bit off, not as confident as I imagined she would be as she flubbed a line or two. So when she stopped the show and offered her mea culpa, it got a huge, warm response from the adoring crowd, but it also confirmed what even my unsophisticated eyes and ears suspected. It also seemed to unlock something for LuPone, allowing her to fully embrace the fragility of the songs she was there to sing. Which helps enormously when you're singing about love.

The show was part of LuPone's 25th anniversary tour for Matters of the Heart, a collection of tunes that cover Broadway numbers and pop songs, happy reveries and sad ballads, and all manners of love, from parental to carnal. For this tour, which features piano and a four-person string section, she has been sticking to many of the tracks from the original album while adding some new selections, including "God Only Knows" and "The Last Time I Saw Richard," which depending on your mood might be the greatest song Joni Mitchell has ever written. But there was also "Being Alive," one of Company's show-stoppers now enjoying new life among filmgoers as "that song Adam Driver sings in Marriage Story." In the Noah Baumbach Oscar-winner, Driver's divorcing dad delivers it with the pain and regret of someone who understands the lyrics' bereft sentiments in his bones. On Saturday night, LuPone sang it like it was an aging rock band's guaranteed crowd-pleaser before they come back for the encore, her high-octane voice all showy guitar solos and flagrant smashing of instruments. I longed to hear the Driver version again.

Not unlike many Broadway albums, Matters of the Heart is a pristine rendition of familiar songs that lacks the electric spontaneity of a live performance. Plus, the record doesn't contain the bits of commentary LuPone sprinkled in on occasion during the show, helping to lay out the night's thematic through-lines. Before singing Randy Newman's "Real Emotional Girl," she told the crowd about meeting the love of her life, husband Matthew Johnston, while making the 1987 TV movie LBJ: The Early Years. She mentioned their son, calling him her greatest achievement, and then worked her way through "Real Emotional Girl," Judy Collins' "My Father" and Fascinating Aïda's "Look Mummy, No Hands," three different perspectives on childhood and the process of looking back at those strangers we call our parents. The mini-suite ended with one of her new additions to the show, Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time," which in this context was less about romance and more about the lost and regained connections between a mother and a child. LuPone never flexed, never tried to better the originals. If she wasn't in top form vocally, which my friend (a big LuPone fan) noted, she did what my favorite singers do, which is embody the song as if it's the only truth they know.

As someone who's long adored Dylan and Newman, I've been accustomed to more dazzling singers interpret their material, usually adding polish to the vocals or arrangements so that the songs become more pleasing to a wider audience. Too often, unfortunately, the very human essence of the original song gets swept aside in the name of making the tune "better." The phenomenon occasionally reared its ugly head Saturday night, most disappointingly during LuPone's performance of "The Last Time I Saw Richard," Mitchell's pained memory of a friend lost along the way. In LuPone's hands, it turned into a bit of an acted monologue, a Broadway ballad that abandoned Mitchell's direct, piercing treatment. 

That said, my reaction to LuPone's interpretations definitely depended on my affinity (or lack thereof) for the originals. Two covers she performed while seated, her voice just above a whisper, practically demanding the audience lean forward to listen, were among the night's highlights. I consider "The Air That I Breathe" perfectly fine, and I had no previous knowledge of Beth Nielsen Chapman's "Sand and Water." LuPone latched onto both songs' emotional essence by pruning away their easy-listening tendencies to get at something real about, respectively, romantic contentment and the mourning of a dead spouse. And then, later in the show, she gender-flipped Dan Fogelberg's "Same Old Lang Syne" to fairly devastating effect. Much to the chagrin of my own parents, I've always considered the song sappy. Revisiting Fogelberg's version the following day, it hit harder than it ever had before. LuPone revealed the song's poignant chasm between present and past for me.

It must be both blessing and curse to have an incredible singing voice. At some point, age intercedes, diminishing your gift either incrementally or all at once. As Robert Christgau once wrote of Sinatra's 1993 Duets album, in which the Chairman of the Board struggled to prove he still had it, "He who lives by the larynx shall die by the larynx." I thought of that quote a few times Saturday night, despite LuPone remaining a far superior interpretive singer to most anyone who's ever walked the earth. Besides, I can roll with a diminished voice: Paul Simon's "A Quiet Celebration" tour from last year taught me that. If anything, the occasional lyrical lapse and false start only made LuPone's performance that much stronger and braver. 

LuPone doesn't like being called a diva. In last year's New Yorker profile, she said, “I know what I’m worth to a production. I know that I’m box-office. Don’t nickel-and-dime me before you put me onstage. Don’t treat me like a piece of shit. Because, at this point, if you don’t value me, why am I there?” To be sure, LuPone has had her share of jerk moments that go beyond "Oh, she's such a delightful diva." Still, I also am wary of that sexist term since "diva" tends to be applied to powerhouse female singers who don't suffer fools. 

Nonetheless, I was imagining Saturday's show to be a masterclass in grande-dame behavior, all of us mere mortals gladly paying our respects to a world-class vocalist stunning us with her instrument. Instead, I got a display of touching humanity that made songs like her evening-closing "Hello, Young Lovers" (from The King and I) and the 1940s' hit "My Best to You" feel like gentle prayers, to herself and us, to find love in a world growing darker by the day. I didn't write down what she said at the end of the night, but it was a plea that, despite the terrible country we're currently living in, that we remember that love is still a greater force than hate. It was a beautiful sentiment, almost as beautiful as these lines from "My Best to You" which she made hers:

So here's to you, may your dreams come true 
May old Father Time never be unkind 
And through the years, save your smiles and your tears 
They're just souvenirs, they'll make music in your heart

Remember this, each new day is a kiss 
Sent from up above with an angel's love 
So here's to you, may your skies be blue 
And your love blessed, that's my best to you 

Some of the best love songs have a brittleness to them, because they know that love is delicate, always at risk of breaking if not properly handled. But maybe that's not always true -- maybe love is strong enough to outlive all of life's hard things. Even a diva's nerves. 

(Photo by Jacob Earl.) 

Mousterpiece Melodies: Randy Newman and 'Toy Story'

Basically, I will take any opportunity afforded me to talk about Randy Newman. So I was delighted that the guys behind Mousterpiece Cinema brought the podcast back to do a deep dive into the original music featured in Disney movies ... and then asked me to be on for an in-depth conversation about Newman's Toy Story songs. Yup, we got into all four films, and the many covers you can find out there on the web. A total blast, and you can check it out down below.

Happy 30th Anniversary, 'Forrest Gump' Soundtrack

The blockbuster movie won Best Picture, but the accompanying album was also a sensation, going 12-times platinum. I wrote about the soundtrack's legacy here.

What "You've Got a Friend in Me" Means to Pixar

An up-and-coming animation company asked Randy Newman to write some music for its first feature film. The rest is history. For Cracked, I wrote about the legacy of his Toy Story songs.

Why Is Everyone Suddenly Talking About Phil Collins' 'Tarzan' Songs?

Folks, social media is a weird thing.

Dusty Springfield - "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore"

Fond as I am of "Son of a Preacher Man," it's so overplayed that I find myself reaching for other tracks off Dusty in Memphis. So let's go with this heartsick classic, written by Mr. Randy Newman.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Randy Newman in the Trump Era

The great Randy Newman has a new album out, Dark Matter. I haven't fully landed on how I feel about it, but my gut is telling me that it's merely decent, not amazing. But so what? For MEL, I talked about how this brilliant songwriter has become better known in recent decades for his Pixar soundtracks than for the fantastic, caustic character sketches of the 1970s. And yet, we see elements of those despicable individuals in the news all the time. Hope you enjoy.

Eels - "Gentlemen's Choice"

Eels have written a few songs that seem to pay homage to the part of E that adores Randy Newman: "Son of a Bitch," "I'm Going to Stop Pretending That I Didn't Break Your Heart." But "Gentlemen's Choice," off the new album The Cautionary Tales of Mark Oliver Everett, is a different sort of Newman homage. It feels like the sort of song Randy would write for a Pixar movie: sad-eyed, heart-tugging, completely sincere. In the film, a female vocalist with an indelible voice would make it pretty, but if Newman sang it himself, the song would be piercing in its vulnerability. (Especially these days when Newman's voice is little more than a croak.) That's what E brings to "Gentlemen's Choice." It's a minor but really, really affecting tune.



(I suppose here is where I should say, "Hey, you should buy my Eels biography. It's good.")

The Greats: Randy Newman

God bless Randy Newman. For my latest installment of "The Greats" for Paste, I turn my attention to the superb songwriter and film composer. How many folks can make a serious claim to being major artists in both movies and music? Not a bunch. Here's my essay.

Randy Newman - "I Want You to Hurt Like I Do"

Congratulations, Mr. Newman. You're the best.

My Top 20 Albums of the Last 40 Years

My beloved KEXP is celebrating its 40th anniversary by asking its listeners to pick their Top 20 albums of the last 40 years. In other words, what do people think are the best albums of the post-Beatles/Kind of Blue era? For the fun of it, I decided to vote and, like with my Sight & Sound ballot, I opted for quick, intuitive picks rather than laboring over my selections. In both cases, I feel like I got to something purer -- and, hopefully, more honest -- than if I had allowed second thoughts to cloud my process. KEXP didn't ask for these to be ranked, so I won't bother doing that here. Instead, they'll be listed alphabetically by album title, with a few stray observations where appropriate...

Appetite for Destruction, Guns N' Roses
Nothing any of these people have done since came close. 

Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan
Confirmation that I'm a sap at heart, Blood on the Tracks cuts me deeper than Dylan's '60s masterpieces. Opens with "Tangled Up in Blue," possibly his greatest song. Concludes with "Buckets of Rain," also possibly his greatest song. Such a magnificent album even the so-so "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" can't derail it.

Born in the U.S.A., Bruce Springsteen
I've been told that if I was from another generation, I'd understand that Born to Run is really Springsteen's best record. Maybe, maybe not.

Call Me, Al Green
Never-ending beauty.

Chutes Too Narrow, The Shins
More thoughts on this album here.

The Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd
I'm the furthest thing from a stoner or a concept-album fanatic. And yet I love this record.

Endtroducing..., DJ Shadow
For the record, he's made good albums after this one.

For the Roses, Joni Mitchell
Not a popular choice among Mitchell fans, who would probably cite Blue or Court and Spark. I prefer the challenging arrangements and thoughtful anxiety of For the Roses, which she put out in between the other two.

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, Sinead O'Connor
Lord, do I worry for the sanity of this talented woman.

Illmatic, Nas
I slept on Illmatic when it came out. I'm making up for it by playing the hell out of this album throughout my adult life.

In Utero, Nirvana
Why, yes, I am one of those guys who thinks this is the better Nirvana record. Just as catchy as Nevermind but even angrier and confused. Probably the greatest dealing-with-fame album ever.

It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Public Enemy
Friends have made convincing arguments about why Fear of a Black Planet is PE's true masterpiece. For now, I'm sticking with this one.

Marquee Moon, Television
I always swear I'm going to just listen to "See No Evil." And then I listen to the whole thing.

Never Mind the Bullocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols
The Clash have the greater legacy, but none of their albums is top-to-bottom as corrosive as Bullocks.

OK Computer, Radiohead
Remember when people claimed this was the '90s' answer to The Dark Side of the Moon? Wow, were they dumb.

Pretzel Logic, Steely Dan
My favorite band who don't have one indisputably perfect album. There's a Steely Dan record for every mood, but I went with Pretzel Logic because, when push came to shove, it's the one that called to me the most.

Ramones, Ramones
My biggest surprise in the Top 20, mostly because I don't listen to it all that much. But, c'mon, how can you argue with its bam-bam-bam-bam brilliance?

Rust Never Sleeps, Neil Young
In retrospect, should I have gone with After the Gold Rush? You know, maybe I should have. (Update: Ah, yes, After the Gold Rush came out in 1970, so it doesn't count.)

Sail Away, Randy Newman
12 Songs and Good Old Boys have their champions. Sail Away has less filler.

69 Love Songs, The Magnetic Fields
One day, I will get my wife to understand what a wonderful album this is.

randy newman - i love l.a.

Since I nominated Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." as the definitive Los Angeles song earlier this week, I thought I'd track down the video. Everything I said earlier about the song goes double for the video, plus it's part of that honorable subgenre of videos made in the early '80s by established artists whose attitude toward MTV seemed to be, "These video things are completely stupid, but screw it, if it'll get some stupid kids to buy our album, let's make one."

By the way, for those who haven't been to Los Angeles in a while, the Disneyland sign looks a little different now.

who wrote the definitive song about los angeles?

From an interview between Tom Waits and Beck:

Tom Waits: Not every town gets their song. Actually, Sinatra tried to do a song about Los Angeles. It was really lame. Really lame. It embarrassed the s*** out of me.

Beck Hansen: That was in the 80's right?

TW: "LA, You're a Lady." It was one of those lame, awful... Maybe it's the rhyme or the rhythm of the name Los Angeles.

BH: Yeah I don't think anyone has written a definitive LA song.

TW: Maybe it's the rhyme or the rhythm of the name Los Angeles.

BH: Yeah, I don't think you can...

TW: But Chicago or St Louis, such cool sounding names. New Orleans. So many songs about New Orleans.

Without thinking about it more than three seconds, I'd pick Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." The satire, the bad-'80s quality of the production -- it still feels absolutely right in its depiction of this town. But maybe I'm forgetting a better choice.

randy newman: a few words in defense of our country

This isn't top-notch Randy Newman -- it's not quite as cutting as his very best satirical songs -- but it'll do for the long weekend. The Supreme Court stuff is especially wonderful ... best Pluto joke ever?

randy newman's so-so new album

I love Randy Newman, but even he can make a mediocre record on occasion. Harps and Angels, his latest, has plenty of nice touches, but it's just not up to his high standards. I review it in Consumables, as well as discuss Keane's new single, the Hold Steady's recent L.A. show, and the documentary Stealing America: Vote by Vote.