Gobbledygeek episode 190, “Keep the Nightlight On (feat. Kurtiss Hare),” is available for listening or download right here, and on iTunes here.
We here at Gobbledygeek are avowed fans of big-budget epics, be they superheroic or Tolkienesque. But independent film is an important part of any moviegoer’s diet, one many don’t have access to. Which is why Paul and AJ are thrilled to speak with Kurtiss Hare of the Nightlight Cinema, the new arthouse theater bringing indie film to Akron, OH. Kurtiss talks about the Nightlight’s origin, the incredible response to the project’s Kickstarter, and how he hopes the theater will grow. Plus, Paul gets an education from some Masters of Sex and AJ revisits the classics.
Next: in two days–that’s right, two days!–we stop picking fleas off each other long enough to discuss the latest in the modern reboot of the classic Apes franchise, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.
(Show notes for “Keep the Nightlight On.”)
I’ve often wondered about tribute acts. What’s it like to devote your life to recreating the sounds of another band? Don’t you ever want to play your own material? The tribute groups I’d seen before were Beatles acts, and though some of them were very impressive (I’ve seen Rain twice, and I’d like to see them again), they attempted to slavishly recreate everything about the band, which included adopting fake Liverpudlian accents and calling each other “John” or “Ringo.” Inevitably, a little something was lost in translation. As Lez Zeppelin took the stage at Musica here in Akron, Ohio, this past Saturday, I was curious to see how they would attempt to recreate the sound and fury of Led Zeppelin, especially since their gimmick is that–as their name implies–they’re an all-girl band.
Turns out, their gimmick isn’t so much a gimmick. From the moment they launched into a ferocious “Immigrant Song,” all of my questions seemed suddenly irrelevant. Lez Zeppelin rocks so hard that you don’t want to think about why they would perform the music of a decades-gone band; you just want to revel in the how. And how, indeed. Musica is a pretty small place, one that would seem more suited to opening act Thom Chacon, a Dylanesque singer-songwriter. Yet those close quarters played to the band’s strengths. I’m sure they can kick up quite a ruckus in a larger venue, but at Musica, the audience simply found itself dwarfed by sheer, glorious noise.
In the summer of 1976, 36 bombs went off in Cleveland. I’d heard this statistic somewhere before; it’s sort of hard not to when you’ve lived within driving distance of the city your whole life. But seeing that statistic placed in context is still pretty startling. As far as I know, Kill the Irishman is the first gangster movie set in Cleveland, and as such, it was pretty weird to watch tough guys from The Sopranos parading across the screen talking about places like Youngstown and Cuyahoga Falls. I kept thinking, “Don’t you mean the Bronx? Or something?”