“If you aren’t playing in your own favorite band, then you shouldn’t be playing.”
I was in High School when the Seattle Grunge movement suddenly burst onto the scene in the early 90’s. While I liked all sorts of music while growing up, this marked a time when several grunge bands quickly became must listen, so much so I would ditch out during lunch to race over to Best Buy to buy the albums the day they were released. As the years passed by my favorites (Alice in Chains, Soundgarden and to a lesser extent Nirvana and Pearl Jam) all succumbed to tragedy or in fighting before inevitably breaking up. While those breakups were difficult to deal with as they seemed to be situations that could have been prevented, I was oblivious to what The Gits and their friends and fans had to go through in the same city and during the same time period.
Formed at a small Ohio college before making their way to Seattle, The Gits (bassist Matt Dresdner, drummer Steve Moriarty, guitarist Joe Spleen and lead singer Mia Zapata) were a close knit group that quickly became a major influence in the burgeoning Seattle music scene. Perhaps most responsible for this was their charismatic singer Zapata who when she wasn’t mentoring or influencing bands like 7 Year Bitch and Bikini Kill, she was making friends with seemingly everyone she met. And with her rich, bluesy vocals attached to the band’s dynamic punk sound, The Gits seemed destined for greatness.
Mia Zapata certainly doesn’t seem like much when you look at her. Her friends described her as looking like a chicken, and her singing voice was so deep and raspy that Anna remarked, “She sounds like a bar whore, not a punk singer.” when she first heard The Gits. Even Spleen’s priceless imitation of Zapata makes her sound like one of Marge Simpson’s sisters. Yet there is no denying it, when Zapata steps on stage she is electric.
But The Gits are far more then just a singer, they are a blending of unique talents that make the band far greater then the sum of its parts. The talent of the band is undeniable from the opening credits when they break into their first song. With each successive number the question “How the hell are they not famous?” is bound to run through your head again and again. If not for the horrific murder of Zapata, they most certainly would be.
Director Kerri O’Kane is careful in how she tells this tragic tale. The vast majority of the film is spent celebrating The Gits and especially the memories those have of Zapata. It is clear from the numerous people interviewed that this band was near and dear to their hearts, and rather then wallow in misery they, and thus the film, will exalt The Gits with what they did accomplish in their too short of an existence.
Helping accomplish this task is the wealth of photographs and video footage of the band that truly helps demonstrate what a unique and vibrant band The Gits were. They crack jokes with each other during their sets (Spleen is often seen attempting to make Zapata laugh while she is singing) and that playful nature infects the crowd even as the music is dragging them in the opposite direction. O’Kane has done a great job of splicing the various footage together, so during each song a whole range of live performances are showcased, further proving this band were fantastic performers every time they set foot on stage. It is an eye catching and vibrant way to present the band, and they more then deserve it.
But while it is clear that many of the subjects don’t want to talk about Zapata’s death, O’Kane finds a way to get them to open up and discuss that tragic night and the fallout that resulted from it. This is when the documentary steps out from the band’s shadow and begins to shine. As you hear about the outpouring of support that followed, as well as the frustration and confusion surrounding the lack of resolution and closure for everyone you witness a filmmaker deftly getting the most out of their subject matter. And as these friends, fans and family members discuss this unsolved crime, a conclusion no one expected finally appears and brings about a conclusion to this tale that is vexing in its random happenstance. It is not a perfect ending to this tale, but one that is desperately needed to remove the lingering questions and allow fans to now freely enjoy the music, and the memory, of The Gits.
Purchase this movie or any of the albums by The Gits at Amazon. You’ll thank me for it.
Anna and I had an interesting conversation about people’s taste in movie earlier this week. You see we have a mutual friend that has rather eclectic taste. She’ll swing from one end of the pendulum to the next with ease, investing time and money in enjoying dreck likeTwilight yet turn right around and revel in Let the Right One In. Oh sure she feels guilty by many of the things she watches (her music and reading taste tends to be just as “diverse”) she lessens that guilt by enjoying plenty of high brow fare.
Now I have taken the position that I don’t care if someone wallows in the occasional awful film, so long as they routinely balance that out with more challenging and inventive fare. I know I find that kind of see-sawing viewing habits is far more stimulating then continually watching all to often pretentious art films for hours on end.
Anna takes a slightly different approach in that there are only two kinds of films she enjoys. This includes the rare guilty pleasure (these typically involve demons or possession or demon possession) and films that she loves unconditionally. In between is a wide range of films that may or may not waste her time but certainly waste her money.
Anna isn’t typically a fan of most of the movies I pick out to watch. Since I tend to gravitate towards genre and exploitation films, which are prone to bouts of graphic violence and the occasional derogatory nudity, and she finds both stupider then stupid. It has gotten to the point that she simply assumes that any film that gravitates to the top of our queue is over populated with T&A and gore. So when Peeping Tom crept towards the coveted top spot she was noticeably leery. With such a salacious title, how could it not be a film that focused on gratuitous sex and nudity? But Peeping Tom had something far more disturbing in store for me.
Peeping Tom was something unlike anything audiences had ever seen when it was released. Focusing on a killer that used his daytime job as a photographer as a way to get closer to models, actresses and even the occasional streetwalker in order to kill them. Using a concealed razor sharp spike within the tripod of his camera, he slowly stalks his prey as they cower in fear, and just before he kills them he shows them something which serves to further fuel his murderous desires. But what was he showing them that causes them to be powerless with fear?
I’ve been slogging through genre films for much of the last month or so, thus I think it is high time that I try and find some culture. Unfortunately, my idea of culture is watching a movie considered so shameless when it was made that it effectively ended director Michael Powell’s career. What could possibly be so awful?
I’ve never really given much thought about what I would consider the perfect crime. I’m not exactly ambitious so it probably wouldn’t extend much further then trying to purchase comics for my collection without Anna’s knowledge. She watches the movies and the Wii games like a hawk after all, so if I want to buy something perfectly crappy without having to listen to her grumble to me about it comics are really my only legitimate avenue of deception. Hey, I already feel guilty about buying Spider-Man comics, I don’t need her adding to my own self-imposed lecture.
Now sure, I found the whole Brand New Day storyline interesting at first, as writing out Mary Jane was the kind of huge shakeup that might recover the comic from the truly terrible Civil War storylines I had previously suffered through. But the whole concept has quickly stagnated, resulting in what now appears as nothing more then a blatant attempt at erasing everything J Michael Straczynski had written over the length of his tenure.
Now I know JMS wasn’t exactly popular with the Marvel fanboys. I mean really, attempting to add more depth to a character that was over 40 years old was simply unacceptable. Marvel and its fans simply would rather have numerous Spider-Man books that follow a basic plot by numbers arc rather then suffer through something that might actually result in a new experience for both the character and the reader.
I was in High School when the Seattle Grunge movement suddenly burst onto the scene in the early 90’s. While I liked all sorts of music while growing up, this marked a time when several grunge bands quickly became must listen, so much so I would ditch out during lunch to race over to Best Buy to buy the albums the day they were released. As the years passed by my favorites (Alice in Chains, Soundgarden and to a lesser extent Nirvana and Pearl Jam) all succumbed to tragedy or in fighting before inevitably breaking up. While those breakups were difficult to deal with as they seemed to be situations that could have been prevented, I was oblivious to what The Gits and their friends and fans had to go through in the same city and during the same time period.
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