Cheer Up, Sleepy Jean

I don’t remember if I’ve ever written here about my love for the Monkees. If I have, it’s been a long time since I’ve brought it up. It’s not that I’ve forgotten about them. They are on every playlist and I’m always happy for them to pop up in my shuffle. But they had a hipster revival a couple of years ago and I felt like their relevance was well covered by more prolific people.

But now Davy Jones has died. He is the first Monkee to go. To me, that feels significant (other than the obvious, “a man is dead” significance). The Monkees are definitely the first manufactured boy band. But they are also, in many ways, an alternative to the Beatles. I’m not saying they are BETTER than the Beatles, or even as good. But to me, they are more important. If I had to choose to listen to one over the other, I would choose the Monkees. Maybe it’s because I like a little whimsy in my psychedelic 60’s pop. Maybe it’s because it’s like listening to several great artists at once. Neil Diamond and Carol King each wrote some of the group’s biggest hits. Mike Nesmith eventually convinced the Powers That Be to let him write some songs, and what he came up with was some of their best work.

Mike was the most musically inclined. Peter was the weird one. Micky was the voice and Davy was the face. They were never as good alone as they were together.

It’s not exactly a John Lennon situation. 66 is young by today’s standards, but it’s not like he was in his prime or anything. Was he even recording? He’d be the last Monkee that I’d want to hear a solo album from. This is like Ringo dying first in terms of its impact on actual production of music. Personality-wise, it’s like losing George first.

Davy is dead. That means the Monkees are also dead. Even though they’ve been gone for a while, it really feels real now. From now on, whenever I hear their music, it will be a little sadder than it was before. There will be a ghost in the song.


Hotter with a Beard: James McAvoy Edition

I’ve been a little busy lately. Too busy to keep up with my favorite celebrity gossip blogs. So I haven’t noticed any actors letting their follicles hang out. Fortunately, my friend Ahe has picked up the slack. Today, she drew my attention to a young Scottish gentleman by the name of James McAvoy. This guy has been running around, mostly babyfaced, since 1995. I first noticed him in “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe”, when he wore a beard on his bottom half as the fawn, Mr. Tumnus.

Fawns are, by the far, the sexiest of the man/beast hybrids (whatwith their fancy-free lifestyles and perpetual boners). But despite his general Scottishness, human McAvoy did nothing for me. Even when he was pretending to be Patrick Stewart or giving it to Kiera Knightly in the library (with the candlestick) I remained unaffected. Part of it was his pathetic display of unkempt facial hair, which seemed to indicate that he could no more grow a beard than Mr. Bigglesworth or Orlando Bloom. But he was holding out on us! Observe:

This picture is from the film, “The Conspirator”.

We don’t know if he would ever elect to wear a beard in his normal, everyday life. But he should. He really should.

James McAvoy’s Beard, I salute you!