Culture Blues

As pop culture aficionados, your friends at Culture Blues are not immune to the end-of-decade lists currently overwhelming the internet. As the new year begins, and we struggle to get going, please enjoy Listmania, where Culture Blues ranks their favorite shit in a bunch of different categories.

If you’re reading this – congratulations! You made it through another decade. These people didn’t.

In alphabetical order:

Aaliyah's music was extraordinary.  She was the darling of Timbaland and Missy Elliott, before Timbaland kind of "jumped the shark." Her death just a few weeks before 9/11 was random and shocking. For some odd reason, the post-celebrity-death mourning and praise was a lot less annoying this time, though, and I found myself getting in on it too. Maybe it's because "More Than a Woman" is a heavy contender for song of the decade, or maybe because she seemed like a genuinely good person. Either way, rest in peace, baby girl. (Bill)

Robert Altman is not just an inspiration for his incredible body of work (averaging almost one film a year from 1968 to 2006), nor for his "inventive" techniques (he didn't so much invent, but rather appropriated zooms and audio loops to pointed, memorable effect), nor for his singularity of style (ramshackle realism!) and theme (economy, death), nor for his grandiose Midwestern personality (imagine a loud-mouthed pot-smoking Col. Sanders), nor for his macabre but humanistic vision (though often grim, Altman's devotion to the complexity of the human animal is only called into question by dumb people), but for the fact that the man directed his breakthrough film when he was 45, and stuck around for over 30 years to thumb his nose in the face of the new wave of young pukes in Hollywood with his genuinely radical work, the uniformly excellent quality of which anyone who knows anything about anything should envy.  The man subsisted on the strength of his creations -- with his death came the falling of a magnanimous torch, born in the past by Jean Renoir and Ingmar Bergman.  Who is there to pick it up?  Where has Alan Rudolph gone? (Sven)

No other Latino rapper has achieved the same levels of critical acclaim, street cred and mainstream success as Big Pun. Nearly 10 years after his death, the man born Christopher Rios remains a revered figure in both the Latino and hip-hop communities. His wit and verbal dexterity made his extremely violent and sexually graphic lyrics palatable to a much wider audience than could be expected. He was charming and likable even when his balls were “banging off your hymen.” Pun’s use of hyperbole, parechesis and morbid humor made him a rare talent and the spiritual successor to Kool G Rap’s legacy. He was also capable of more personal, substantive lyrics. Pun’s epic debut album (70 minutes of largely classic material!) promised great things to come; a promise that unfortunately went largely unfulfilled. “The pain is great but only for a second/ It starts strong then lessens/ Just when you restin’ the Armageddon sets in.” (Jeremiah)

Have you ever wondered if you might have helped cause 9/11? You did, according to Jerry Falwell, if you’re any of the following: a pagan, an abortionist, a feminist, a gay, a member of the ACLU, or anyone that’s tried to “secularize” America. Please turn yourself in immediately. Falwell, easily #1 on our People We’d Like to Punch During the Rapture list, was widely known for the formation of the so-called Moral Majority (aka, the Psycho Minority) and his frequent appearances on BFF Pat Robertson’s 700 Club. During his smelly fart of a life, Falwell supported apartheid and discrimination, and fought the good fight against gay rights, Teletubbies, and the Jews. Most impressively, Falwell managed to father children despite his view of all reproductive organs as “icky”. While I find it morbid to celebrate anyone’s death I would just like to say, for the record, woohoo. As Christopher Hitchens said in a Slate editorial at the time of Falwell’s death:  “It’s a shame there’s no hell for him to go to.” (Jeff)

We all knew that the day would come when The Golden Girls would start dying. But that doesn't make it any less painful. Estelle Getty died in 2008 of Dementia with Lewy bodies. Her crowning achievement was her role as Sophia Petrillo, wisecracking mother to Bea Arthur's Dorothy Zbornak. Arthur herself died of cancer less than a year later. Bea Arthur was a legendary Broadway and television actress with a staggering list of credits. The Golden Girls was revolutionary comedy, and it seems that everyone I know was raised on it. We're unlikely to get another funny old lady show for a long time, but thank god for cable and for Estelle & Bea. (Bill)

Crikey! The animal-lover community wept as actual animals rejoiced in Fall 2006, when that guy who was eventually gonna get himself killed, also known as The Crocodile Hunter, found himself on the wrong end of a stingray’s barb. Steve Irwin’s hubris brought him fame, controversy, and ultimately death. In addition to his role as a conservationist and zoologist, Irwin brought a heightened level of verve to animal television. Some loved him for his environmental activism and expertise. Those are the same bullshitters who like NASCAR for the engine maintenance. It was his penchant for potential disaster—with crocs, snakes and other species that could bite his head off—that drew his audience and changed wildlife entertainment (speaking of NASCAR, here’s another legend who died doing what he loved). Irwin’s death also sparked division among stingrays. Some felt their reputation unjustly smeared by one rogue, barb-happy ray, especially after so many experts termed the accident freakish. Others lauded the celebrity ray who stood up and showed they should be left the fuck alone. (Zach)

There is a long list of music artists that have been taken away from us before their time. Even at the age of 50, Michael Jackson certainly has a spot on that list. There is so much to say about MJ’s life and the circumstances surrounding his death, it would be impossible to try and cover every angle. The one, all-applying fact here is that we did not fully appreciate Mike until he was gone. The day after his death, MJ had the top five selling albums on iTunes, and seven of the top 10. Radio stations everywhere stopped the hits to play his hits. Of course, as we reminisce on his life we are reminded of all the weird crap he was into (and looking back, there was a lot). For me though, his legacy will always be his music. I feel fairly confident saying that we will never again see a music artist that had MJ’s talent, charisma, and global popularity. (Jason)

Odd Couple, yes, blah, blah.  Twist Neil Simon's formula, tried and true, ever so slightly, and the bully-nebbish schtick that Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau developed alchemizes the gimmick, giving it heft and resonance in their best work together, the later films of Billy Wilder: The Fortune Cookie, The Front Page, and Buddy Buddy. These three films, made over the course of 15 years, are weird and wiry and frumpy and mean and warm, just like Lemmon and Matthau. Wilder's cynicism is incapable of trumping the combined life force of this duo, one of the greatest in cinema history. However, even apart, these two magnificent men are never less than impressive (Lemmon, we're overlooking your appearance in Brannagh's Hamlet). Matthau, with his gigantic, boorish front belying his heart of gold and Lemmon, with his weasely ticks and edginess slyly concealing a true master's intelligence. Most importantly, both demonstrated so well that Holy Grail of thespiatic talents: making it look easy. Gentlemen: you have been and will continue to be missed dearly. (Sven)

Born Lester William Polfuss. The inventor of the electric guitar. I could end my eulogy there and that would be enough. Without his invention there is NO modern rock music. People would still be strumming harps and shit.  Imagine trying to play “Welcome to the Jungle” on a fucking harp! What you don’t know about him is that he also invented many musical recording innovations, the most important being overdubbing and multi track recording. If not for these two inventions, hip-hop as we know it is different. Mega producers like P Diddy and Kanye West implement these techniques to get their distinctive sound.  Who would have thought that a white guy from Wisconsin would also be the father of hip-hop? (Editor’s note: Les Paul is not the father of hip hop). (Cheese)

“What are you counting ‘em for?” With these words, I became a Chris Penn fan for life. Travis Brickley, Chris Penn’s character in Best of the Best, mocks and bullies his teammates throughout most of the film, but in the climactic taekwondo competition he shows heart and his match is the turning point for the American team in terms of the score and their solidarity. When his match goes to a brick breaking competition, it’s clear that Brickley loses. As the official slowly bends down to check, Brickley can’t stand the humiliation and mutters “What are you counting ‘em for?” It’s the first time you feel sympathy for Brickley and there is something about his helplessness and the way he defies expectations that, for me, has come to sum up Penn’s career. A multi faceted actor who was typecast due to his size, overshadowed by his brother, and never given the recognition he deserved. (Jeremiah)

By the early millennium, the man who played the beloved Jack Tripper on Three’s Company had done a slew of guest spots on everything from Scrubs to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He was as much of a household name as any TV star has ever been. Perhaps more importantly, he was a family man with a life not marred by scandal, rampant drug addiction or controversy.  In short, he proved that a celebrity could be paternal, wholesome, and a homeboy all at the same time.  And then in 2003 (September 11th), he died of a heart attack. What’s worse (or more noble, depending on how you look at it), the show he was starring in at the time of his death, 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter, chose to address his death head-on in a somewhat awkward and sad—but admirable—meta blending of fact and fiction. It was a nice gesture, but just reminded us more of Ritter's absence and his gift for hearty comedy that will never be matched. (Burgman)

I started watching Meet the Press in college, waking up hungover on Sunday mornings to catch Tim Russert carefully dissect guest after guest. A few years later, when Russert suddenly died, it struck me not only as tragic for his family, but tragic for our country. Russert was the last hope for televised journalism. He was fair. He was well-researched. He asked meaningful questions and expected real answers. When he didn't get them, he pushed back, rarely letting some politician slither away under the cover of his talking points. He kept his own politics off the show and never pandered to the beliefs of his viewers. He succeeded everywhere that network and cable news have failed us. Russert was a real bonafide no bullshit journalist, and he also seemed like one of us, just a dude, but a dude in position to question power and make it count. I miss him. I don't watch Meet the Press anymore. But, I still root for the Buffalo Bills, just like Russert did. (Jeff)

No one has a voice like Nina Simone. Whether she was singing her own hits like "My Baby Just Cares for Me" and "Feeling Good" or singing covers like "To Love Somebody" and "Rich Girl," whether she was upbeat or sullen, she never sounded like anyone else. She was eccentric and legendarily moody, but her talent and passion were otherworldly. Her massive influence crosses all genres. Typing her name in on YouTube is a near-spiritual experience. If I come across a time machine, one of the first things I'll do is take in a Nina Simone show. (Bill)

Patrick Swayze's death was a tough one. Here was an icon of masculinity, a complete and total badass, wasting away on the glossy covers of shitty tabloid magazines. I'd like to say he went gracefully, but it's difficult to say any celebrity can go gracefully in this day and age. Instead, I prefer to remember the good times. Dancing with Chris Farley on SNL, daring Keanu Reeves to take his shot, and the time his ghost impaled that thug on a broken window. Swayze won't be coming back to make erotic pottery with us, but I can always turn on my DVD player and watch him rip out someone's throat. (Jeff)

Dave Thomas gave us so much. Junior bacon cheeseburgers. Frosties. Hundreds of tremendously awkward and unbelievably genuine TV commercials. Dave Thomas always just seemed like a cool dude. If you ask me, he was the only guy in the world of fast food you could trust. The King? Scary as hell. The clown? Kiddie diddler. The talking oven mitt? Totally preposterous. He also did cool stuff like obtain his GED in 1993 so that he wouldn’t appear as a bad influence to his many high school aged employees. Thanks for everything, Dave. Let the deliciousness of your square burgers forever be your legacy. (Jeff)

Regardless of circumstance, it takes a set of brass ones to join the military. But it takes serious sack to forego a multi-million dollar NFL contract to join the Army Rangers… in the middle of a war. Pat Tillman was loyal to a fault. The saddest part about his death was that his intense commitment to his country was betrayed. His death by friendly fire was quickly covered up; an elaborate lie spun to make his last moments brazen and heroic. The thing is, war is real. And death, friendly fire or not, is a certainty. The Pat Tillman incident once again exposed the ugly underbelly of our government, our “ignorance is bliss” mentality. What a shame for such an honorable person’s life to be so dishonored in death. (Jason)

Kurt Vonnegut was all I needed as a lonely teenager. He was a master of satire. For better or worse, his pessimism and wit pretty much shaped my world view. I haven't read every book he's written (there's a lot of em!), but the ones I have couldn't have come from anyone else. Slaughterhouse-Five's non-linear style shows how useless a traditional plot can really be. The final book released in his lifetime, Man Without a Country (a collection of essays), shows a man vehemently anti-war and anti-George Bush. It's a shame that he didn't live to see the 2008 election. (Bill)

And finally…

(Booming disembodied voice) Hi, Billy Mayes here for dying in the oughties! There really is quite a party going on up here in heaven, and all of the deceased luminaries are enjoying the revelry! We were warmed up by sidesplitting sets from George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Bernie Mac and Rodney Dangerfield. Once we managed to stop laughing, the energy REALLY picked up as Rick James, Ray Charles, and James Brown took the stage and tore it up! It isn't all about what's going on on-stage though; just look at the PACKED V.I.P. section: DJ AM is spinning beats that have kept Brittany Murphy, Anna Nicole and Patrick Swayze dancing the night away, while in the booths Ted Williams and Johnny Cash drink beer and tell hunting stories, Pat Morita and David Carradine swap techniques, and Heath Ledger, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman discuss acting. Lastly, in the more subdued lounge area, Pope John Paul II, The Queen Mom, Mr. Rogers, and Pavorotti drink tea and exchange pleasantries. The festivities are all building up to their SPECTACULAR crescendo where Michael Jackson will perform in a giant floating crystal sphere that Evil Knievel will jump over on his motorcycle! (Giovanny)

Tagged as: aaliyah, bea arthur, big pun, billy mays, chris penn, dave thomas, estelle getty, jack lemmon, jerry falwell, john ritter, kurt vonnegut, les paul, michael jackson, nina simone, pat tillman, patrick swayze, robert altman, steve irwin, tim russert, travis brickley, walter matthau