Perhaps no writer going these days demolishes the liberal scourge as well as Fred Reed. In this collection of essays from his website, Fred On Everything, this longtime reporter sheds light on the issues confronting America with his own brand of political incorrectness, or "truth" as it used to be called. Although this book does contain some entertaining personal anecdotes, Fred's at his best when he's taking on the conventional "wisdom" propagated by modern America's elites. In witty, down-home prose that's typically as hilarious as it is insightful, Fred dispenses a constant stream of facts and common sense, which is of course the perfect antidote to the drivel spouted by the parasites that inhabit the fringes of our society. Although I'm far younger than Fred and I don't know any America other than the one we live in right now, he does write very convincingly of a culture in decline and the actors who are bringing it down. "The Cultural Vandals Come to Roost," along with Thomas Sowell's classic "Barbarians Inside the Gates," is probably the perfect description of the state America finds itself in these days. Fred hands out plenty of other indictments, as well. He's certainly got some easy targets, ranging from feminists to race hucksters to grief therapists to welfare queens. Fred takes them all on, with the kind of colorful and straightforward writing you won't find in your local newspaper. Want to hear the truth about what we call democracy in this country, and why it doesn't work? Pick up this book. Voting, and why you shouldn't do it? It's right here. Why our schools and universities are such a mess? Fred knows, and he writes about it so clearly that you'll know too. Have you ever suspected that multiculturalism might be a bad idea? So has Fred, and his writing on the subject is the most intelligent and unbiased I've ever read. Basically, unless you insist upon being completely ignorant and deluded for your entire life (a state often glimpsed among those who vote for Democrats), then you owe to yourself to buy this book, and check out Fred's website the first chance you get. I've read some of these essays five times (or more), and they don't get old. I'm morally opposed to voting, but Fred Reed is one guy I wouldn't mind seeing in office.

"About Schmidt" is, simply put, a milestone in American cinema. Coming off "Election," which was quite possibly the funniest movie of all time, director Alexander Payne delivered another classic here, but one of a different stripe. With Jack Nicholson delivering a performance that's somehow both low-key and passionate, this character study relentlessly examines the darker side of human existence, plumbing the depths of despair and hopelessness. However, the central character isn't a serial killer, a sex offender, or some similar paragon of depravity. Instead, he's a quiet, 66-year-old newly retired actuary from Nebraska named Warren Schmidt. That's what really makes this movie so depressing: someday, maybe not too far off, any of us could wind up like this movie's antihero, retired, widowed, and feeling useless.

Alexander Payne's portrait of Midwestern suburban life is almost unrelentingly bleak, following its main character around and focusing on all the tiny indignities that steadily pile up on him. The relentlessly self-analytical Warren has examined his life in search of some higher purpose, and he's come up lacking. Looking back he can see only missed opportunities and pointless toil, and looking ahead he only glimpses loneliness and impending death. He has only two things left that give his life any semblance of meaning: his attempts to prevent his beloved daughter from marrying a mulleted, fu-manchued waterbed salesman named Randall; and Ndugu, the Tanzanian orphan whom he starts supporting financially early in the movie. Warren's letters to Ndugu serve as a perfect framing device, providing a window to the internal conflicts that roil beneath his quiet exterior.

Since the monstrous shadow of "Election" looms over this movie for its entire two hours, comparisons are all but inevitable, and I might as well make mine now. Both movies are allegorical tales set in white-bread Nebraska locales, but "Election" is a screwball comedy anchored by a serious plot, while "About Schmidt" is a dark tale of quiet desparation and self-reflection with some offbeat humor mixed in. It's a good thing there are some laughs here too, or I might have wound up trying to hang myself with my belt after I first saw the movie. Most of the humor to be found come from Dermot Mulroney's clueless Randall and, of course, Kathy Bates as Randall's mildly deranged motormouth of a mother. Bates practically steals the show during her limited screen time, as her character's sincerity, her brutal honesty, and above all her tendency to reveal excessive details provides a much-needed counterpoint to Nicholson's reserve and bitterness.

While I'll be the first to admit that "About Schmidt" isn't an easy movie to watch, it's not supposed to be. What makes this such a rewarding movie is the challenge of watching such a thoroughly unremarkable man for two hours, following along with his path through despair, self-discovery, and ultimately a measure of redemption. Sure, Warren Schmidt's just a retired geezer from Nebraska, but his sufferings are more universal than they may appear at first. Warren's experiences make for such fascinating viewing precisely because there are so many people like him out there.

With the exception of a few ignorant people, those who have listened to Candiria know that they're a uniquely brilliant band, and "What Doesn't Kill You Will Only Make You Stronger" offers plenty of this band's bizarre genius. But coming off their best album to date, the mighty "300 Percent Density," the guys from Brooklyn have made some major variations on their trademark hardcore-jazz-hip-hop-prog rock sound. Every Candiria album takes a while to get used to, what with their unconventional song structures and seemingly random genre-mixing, but their are some really big changes here to assimilate. None of their albums really sound alike, but to paraphrase George Orwell, this one is a bit more different than the others.

The first song, the "Dead Bury the Dead," certainly doesn't betray any signs of change. In the best Candiria tradition, it's an infectious headbanger filled with complex rhythms, furious drum blasts, and the almost inhumanly harsh vocals of Carley Coma. It's on the next track, "The Nameless," that the band throws a major curveball. What's that thing Carley's doing with his voice? Is that...no, it couldn't be...singing? On a Candiria album? Yes, it is, and it shows up again two songs later on "Remove Yourself" and two songs after that on "Down." It's not just the singing that struck me as out of place at first, either. These songs are all considerably more accessible than the typical Candiria fare, featuring simpler riffs, straight drumbeats, and even, you guessed it, verses and choruses instead of the "chapters" into which their songs are generally divided. At times they're even somewhat reminiscent of (eek!) nu-metal.

Now, much as I try to be open-minded, I'll admit that my initial reaction to the introduction of the mainstream elements described above was an intense desire to eject this CD from my stereo and put it in one of my cats' litterboxes. However, I listened, and listened, and listened, and after letting the album play through for three days straight, I found myself liking this "new" Candiria sound almost as much as the old one. For one thing, Carley's a damn good singer, and even on this album's more melodic offerings he does an excellent job of mixing up the singing with some harsher vocal intonations, apparently to ensure that Candiria's more ardent fans aren't completely turned off. Just as importantly, these songs still display the band's top-notch musicianship, and they're mighty catchy to boot. The anti-materialism anthem "Remove Yourself," especially, has the most captivating chorus I've heard in a while
(I actually think materialism gets a bad rap, but this isn't the place for a discussion of my sociopolitical views).

Besides, the singing doesn't pop up that often. Much of this album is vintage Candiria, meaning it's relentlessly original, eclectic, and extremely heavy. "Blood" and "1000 Points of Light" are prime examples of Candiria's brilliance, the former briefly interrupting its hardcore fury with a spacey atmospheric interlude; the latter achieving a fusion of metal and hip-hop elements that would embarrass bands like Limp Bizkit (come to think of it, they have a lot to be embarrassed about anyway). Perfectly synthesizing the old and the new, "I Am" alternates rampaging aggression in the verses with a sweeping melodic chorus for a brilliant dynamic effect; this may well be one of the best Candiria songs ever. And the anthemic "Vacant," led by Carley's in-your-face mantra of "I Will/Rise Strong/Your lies/Inconsistent," isn't far behind. Concluding the album is the jazz fusion piece "The Rutherford Experiment," which finds Candiria exploring even more new ground. Mixing searing guitars with trippy Moog synthesizer work, this instrumental should bend minds as easily as it bends genres.

In all, while I can't recommend this album quite as heartily as "300 Percent Density," it's still a more-than-worthy addition to the catalog of one of the best bands going these days. These guys could've made another "300 Percent Density" and I wouldn't have minded, but they deserve credit for trying something different and challening their fans a little. I would've liked at least one jazz song, but hey, you can't win them all. So if you don't like "What Doesn't Kill You..." at first, try, try again. The payoff will come eventually.

For those of us who weren't listening back when Suffocation was furst terrorizing the music world back in the first half of the 90's, "Souls To Deny" serves as a perfect comeback for a band that still leaves virtually all of its competition in the dust. Acting as though the whole nu-metal genre never happened, Suffocation have picked up right where they left off after a ten-year hiatus, beating us over the head once again with with their own brand of technical death-metal insanity. Much has changed in the metal world since "Pierced From Within" was released, what with bands like the Dillinger Escape Plan, Meshuggah, and Burnt by the Sun redefining just what it means to be extreme. No matter. Suffocation do an admirable job here of sticking to their roots, which is fine anyway since they were always far ahead of johhny death-metal in terms of both musicianship and songwriting prowess. Apparently, these guys are still one of the only death metal bands with any sense of dynamics. Shifting constantly to avoid monotony, the eight songs on here never waste a single moment whether they're blazing ahead at breakneck speed or utilizing slower tempos to really drive home their crushing heaviness. Leading the charge as before is vocalist Frank Mullen, whose guttural growling is still unmatched in both brutality and clarity. Holdover guitarist Terrance Hobbs is joined for this album by newcomer Guy Marchais, but if I hadn't looked at the liner notes I never would've known Doug Cerrito was gone. The new duo doesn't miss a beat, contributing the same combination of uber-complex riff structures and screaming solos as before. This isn't simple three-chord sludge here; you could listen for weeks straight and still pick up nuances that you may have missed before because you were too busy banging your head. And backing everything up is Mike Smith, whose drum performance is simply superhuman in its precision and intricacy. This guy *could* do a very nice job with nothing but blastbeats and double-bass work, but what I respect even more is the fact that he knows how to mix things up. Every time it even sounds as though there might be a lull in a song, he jumps in and keeps things moving with one of his insanely nimble fills. It all adds up to one of the most impressive musical assaults I've heard in a long time, and quite possibly the metal album of the year. Of course, the new Dillinger Escape Plan album comes out next week, so I may be speaking too soon.

After I bought this album and threw it in my car stereo, one thing quickly became clear: "The Eye of Every Storm" was not going to be a raging masterpiece on the level of "Times of Grace" or even "A Sun That Never Sets." Neurosis have never been content to follow the traditional "rules" of metal, but for this latest release they seem to have just fired the rulebook out the window. While Neurosis's previous albums were basically works of metallic ferociousness with some eerie minimalism mixed in, "The Eye of Every Storm" is an eerily minimal album with some metallic fury occasionally injected to provide a bit of catharsis. If you found the quieter moments to be the highlights of previous albums, then this one is tailor-made for you.

Even a look at the liner notes can give you a hint of what's in store. "Space"? "Atmospheres"? "Textures"? Samples? MOOG SYNTHESIZERS? On a Neurosis album? Yes, the blistering guitar-based assault of the old Neurosis is largely absent here. In addition, Steve von Till's throat-ripping scream has been almost entirely replaced by a husky, smoky baritone that might have you wondering when Neurosis decided to install Tom Waits as frontman. And while that's still Jason Roeder on drums, you shouldn't expect too much of the thunderous pounding that made John Bonham sound like a third-grader tapping pencils on a desk.

So, does all of this mean a kinder, gentler Neurosis, one that'll be touring with John Mayer next? Hardly. These guys are still more than happy to wallow in negativity and depression, and "The Eye of Every Storm" is every bit as darkly intense as previous albums. Yes, it's quieter, in many places much quieter, but Neurosis's brooding emotion hasn't disappeared; it's just evolved into a more subdued form. While I was initially disappointed that this album provided few opportunities for headbanging, my disappointment faded as I gradually discovered all the nuances and dynamics that are to be found here.

After a few listens, I was pleased to discover an album that was just as moving and powerful as its predecessors, if not as sonically overwhelming. On the eight songs here, Neurosis manage to cover more stylistic ground than most bands would even attempt in a whole career. Rarely have they mixed styles as well as they do on the musical roller coaster that is "No River to Take Me Home," a song that brings the same ear for mood and texture to metal that bands like Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor have brought to rock. The apocalyptic "Left To Wonder" is a creation of bottomless depth and symphonic sweep filled with twisted riffage and gut-wrenching vocals that would fit right in on one of the band's older albums. "Bridges" is Neurosis at their most bizarre, throwing out every convention you can think of as it incorporates piano, synthesizers, muted drumming, and moments of fuzzed-out guitar squall for some of the most brilliantly atmospheric work in this great band's catalog. And Neurosis's knack for jarring dynamics is still abundantly evident in "I Can See You" and the instrumental "Shelter," two pieces that start slowly and then kick into high gear for a searing heaviness that's all the more effective for the calm that preceded it.

While it can take some getting used to for fans of Neurosis's heavier material, "The Eye of Every Storm" is ultimately more than worth the effort. These guys still occupy their own little niche in the music world, composing multifaceted epics with an admirable disregard for what everyone else is doing. While I do miss the full frontal assault that made me want to seek shelter under my bed at times, "The Eye of Every Storm" stakes out fascinating new ground for a band that's clearly not content to rest on their laurels. As with most Neurosis material, this is a must-have album.

While I've read plenty of work by plenty of writers influencing my beliefs on one issue or another, Thomas Sowell's writing has had a much more profound influence on my thinking: it's changed the very way that I view the world around me. As America becomes more divided and less free, Thomas Sowell is one of the only places I can reliably turn for an interesting dissident voice. In this collection of remarkably succint and insightful essays, Sowell pokes at the foundations of the prevailing ideologies of the day until the whole house of cards comes tumbling down. Although he's typically assigned the simplistic label "conservative," Sowell's analyses go well beyond the tired, often irrelevant divide between the "left" and the "right." Sowell isn't trying to get elected or win any popularity contests, and he doesn't have an ideological axe to grind; he's just a guy with a great deal of respect for logic, truth, and the founding ideals of this country. Indeed, Sowell dispenses with the drivel spouted by politicians of both parties as he cuts through what he calls the "mush" that typically passes for informed debate these days. Sowell has written much about the self-satisfied "anointed" who hold so much power and shape so much of the debate in this country, and he launches a frontal assault in these essays against every bastion of their power. No one is spared from Sowell's disdain for our self-appointed betters: politicians, welfare statists, race hucksters, feminists, the media, the judiciary, and most of all the educational establishment that has sold generations of kids down the river in the name of feel-good "progressive" ideas. Although he typically writes with the utmost restraint, Sowell can be outrageous and sometimes even hilarious, as in this little nugget: "Liberals love to say things like, 'We're just asking everyone to pay their fair share'. But government is not about asking. It is about telling. The difference is fundamental. It is the difference between making love and being raped, between working for a living and being a slave." There are plenty more such penetrating insights to be found here, along with an avalanche of facts, to go along with Sowell's justified contempt at America's modern-day elites. If you read Thomas Sowell and you're not quickly converted to his way of thinking, well then, as someone once said, "You can't handle the truth!"

Since I live in Massachusetts, it took me awhile to hear about Larry Elder, so this book was actually my introduction to his beliefs. But man, what an introduction. "The Ten Things You Can't Say in America" is a systematic, all-out assault on the Marxist super-state that America is quickly becoming. Like Rush Limbaugh before him, Elder does have a bit of a tendency toward polemic and fuzzy generalization (he is a radio show host, after all), but his incendiary writing style is ideal for entertaining while it enlightens. With the relentless logic of the trained lawyer that he is, and drawing on sources ranging from Booker T. Washington to Milton Friedman to Chris Rock, Elder pokes holes in a series of leftist dogmas. Many of the themes laid out in Thomas Sowell's classic "The Vision of the Anointed" are echoed here, and Elder peppers his assaults on the liberal vision with plenty of personal anecdotes and hard facts that you won't find on the network news.

If there's one idea that's repeated throughout this book, it's the superiority of free markets to political measures in dealing with the "problems" faced in America today. Racism and sexism? Blacks and women don't need anti-discrimination laws, they just need to make it unprofitable to discriminate against them. Health care? If there's a crisis, it's because government regulation has distorted incentives and interfered with supply and demand. The Drug War? Government has created a drug problem out of thin air by creating a black market. Illegitimacy? It's our country's biggest problem, and the government has created it through a welfare state that subsidizes irresponsibility with the tax dollars of the responsible.

The political left has gotten away with this craziness, according to Elder, because they're firmly in control of the government and the media. As anyone who pays attention knows by now, the Republican and Democratic parties are virtually indistinguishable, with both sides willingly participating in the steady advance of socialism in America. Elder sarcastically (and hilariously) sums up the differences between the parties by noting that the Republicans want to take a pocketknife to a problem requiring a machete, while Democrats don't even think there's a problem. And of course, the media can be counted on to advance the big-government agenda every chance they get. The media's leftist bias has been noted over and over, but some of Elder's revelations are still surprising as he describes just how much the media tries to twist the national debate on issues ranging from the welfare state to race relations to gun control.

If there's any one chapter in this book that resonates most, it would have to the one with the attention-grabbing title "Gun Control Advocates-Good Guys With Blood on Their Hands." It's virtually impossible to get straight talk on this issue from the maintream media (as Elder painstakingly illustrates), but Elder presents an avalanche of facts to prove that government restrictions on gun ownership increase crime at the same time as they decrease freedom. And as he points out, those in favor of gun control have to get by a little thing known as the Second Amendment. Elder obviously gives our founding fathers a bit more credit than the political left does.

While "The Ten Things You Can't Say in America" is by no means a scholarly work, it's nonetheless very useful in drawing attention to the liberal fallacies that many people have come to take for granted. On every subject Elder addresses, he illuminates the underlying truth and strikes a convincing blow for freedom and honesty. Elder's treatment of the issues confronting America in the 21st century is wide-ranging, approachable, and eminently sensible. Let the debate begin.

On first listen, it would be pretty easy to write off Longwave as "just another indie band" or some similarly dismissive term. However, some time and patience will reveal a skilled and imaginative band that does an excellent job of taking the sounds of the past and putting their own stamp on them. These guys have certainly done their homework: led by the versatile and often explosive guitar work of Steve Schiltz (who doubles on vocals) and Shannon Ferguson, "The Strangest Things" displays elements of English post-punk, the arty cool of Sonic Youth, and even a bit of the shoegazer fuzz of My Bloody Valentine. The first two songs, "Wake Me When It's Over" and "Everywhere You Turn" charge ahead with the combination of gravity and grace that characterizes some of Sonic Youth's more straightforward work. Starting slow and quiet and then steadily gaining momentum and becoming more expansive, the genuinely pretty "Meet Me at the Bottom" could be an early Radiohead song without the British accent. The sweeping, shimmering instrumental closer "Day Sleeper," with its textured guitar interplay and occasional bursts of noise, even brings to mind Mogwai. And Longwave aren't above hitting you with a simple, catchy pop hook, as evidenced by the surprisingly endearing "Pool Song." Schiltz is an excellent vocalist, with a mature croon that's augmented by some sweet falsetto on "The Ghosts Around You" and "Exit." The rhythm section of Dave Marchese and Mike James also helps to elevate this band above the plain, bringing a rhythmic heft not often seen in their genre. Just witness their furious pounding in "All Sewn Up," or Mike's intricate beats on the title track and "Day Sleeper." If not for some lousy lyrics, and the brief dead spot created by the too-short "Can't Feel a Thing" and the too-wimpy "Tidal Wave," this album could be a certifiable classic. Instead, it's just an underappreciated recording that ranks among the top releases of last year.

In their still-brief career Mogwai have come to be regarded as leaders in the modern "post-rock" movement, and "Rock Action" provides convincing proof that the acclaim this band has received is more than justified. Although some of the songs here do contain lyrics, the musicians of Mogwai combine power and nuance so effortlessly that words are rarely needed. With three guitars intertwining shimmering tonalities while the drums march in lockstep behind them, Mogwai's songs are much more than mere mood pieces. They consistently reach for and attain stratospheric heights the likes of which most bands can scarcely dream of, brilliantly exploiting tension and dynamics to create oceanic sounscapes that are staggering in their psychotropic effects. The two centerpieces of the album, the epics "You Don't Know Jesus" and "Two Rights Make One Wrong," best exemplify Mogwai's skills and are easily among the most powerful songs I've heard lately. The former is a cold, stark, eerie tune that combines dense walls of guitar riffs with swirling sound effects for a scintillating head rush of a song; the latter a mountainous rush of noise whose fragile guitar picking and synth backing are highly reminiscent of Godspeed You! Black Emperor even without all the orchestral elements. The other, shorter pieces on "Rock Action" manage to impress as well, showing a band with ample range and sterling consistency. The opening "Sine Wave" is a study in contrasts, as waves of sound continually crash over pacific guitar strumming for a stunning dichotomy of calm and malevolence. "Take Me Somewhere Nice" and "Dial Revenge" are mesmerizing drones of instrumentation complemented by hushed vocals that fade perfectly into the mix. And the downtempo "Secret Pint" ends the album on a quiet note, sounding almost like a chamber piece as it introduces some piano into the mix. All throughout, Mogwai show signs of the relentless creativity and versatility that's continued to serve them well, up through their most recent classic "Happy Songs for Happy People." Both albums come highly recommended.

Coming out in 1990, "In Living Color" was a major rarity at the time: a show that held up political correctness, racial issues, and just about anything else for relentless mocking, it was a logical progression from the sketch comedy of "Saturday Night Live" that helped pave the way for increasingly daring shows like "South Park" and "Chappelle's Show." While there were a few kinks to be worked out in the first season, and many of the best recurring bits were still to come (think "Handi-Man"), these first 13 episodes hold up suprisingly well 14 years after their initial release. In fact, I get a lot more of the jokes now than I did when I was 11.

With a mostly black cast, the show was a real equal opportunity offender, but it was at its best when it mocked the failings and excesses of black culture, most notably in the consistently hilarious "Homeboy Shopping Network" and "Homey The Clown" sketches. These two recurring skits represented everything "In Living Color" was that other shows of the day weren't: courageous, subversive, and suprisingly insightful. While much shorter, the "Great Moments in Black History" series was another milestone in TV treatment of race issues, documenting the achievements of such unsung black heroes as the first black man on the moon, the inventor of the self-service gas station, and of course Don King. And while I didn't get it when it premiered back in 1990, I now see the "Wrath of Farrakhan" for the five minutes of brilliance that it is. Introducing Louis Farrakhan to crew of the Starship Enterprise, the sketch is a visionary combination of fish-out-of-water comedy, TV satire, and sociopolitical commentary.

Of course, the show wasn't all racial parody, as there was plenty of time devoted to plain old sublime silliness. Its satirical edge extended even farther, poking fun at lame music videos, the popular TV shows and movies of the day, and, naturally, Mike Tyson and Michael Jackson. Season one introduced us to the cartoonish bum Anton and his home-improvement show "This Old Box"; the homosexual caricatures of the "Men On" series; and the world's hardest-working Jamaican family, the Hedleys of "Hey Mon." And sprinkled throughout the episodes are some phony commercials that rival anything on "Saturday Night Live," including an especially funny spot for a feminine product called "Vortex" that's just a bit too absorbent.

Just as importantly, it was "In Living Color" that introduced the masses to the talents of Jim Carrey (known as James Carrey at the time). Furiously mugging his way through his sketches, Carrey's outrageous physical comedy gave us such unforgettable characters as the anrogynous bodybuilder Vera De Milo, a wildly gesticulating Captain Kirk, and an overly aggressive and insufficiently skilled Karate instructor. His "Fire Marshall Bill" days were still ahead of him, but Carrey made quite an impression here.

In sum, this opening season ranks right up there with the initial bows of such justly classic shows as "South Park" and "The Simpsons." Keenan Ivory Wayans had already demonstrated his comedic abilities with the side-splitting movie "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka," and "In Living Color" only continued his winning streak. "In Living Color" was one of those rare shows that managed to balance wit, creativity, and boldness for an approach that was both offensive and intelligent. Now bring on Season 2!