“Keep a close eye on me in the deep water / Fill my arms with the blame,” he moans. “Breathing ain’t that easy when you’re trying to keep the heat off you / Fill my lungs with your name.” This is powerful stuff, not the type of thin-willed folk you often hear from blues-based singer-songwriters just cutting their solo-career milk-teeth. Kilpatrick’s voice is a heartbroken vessel and it is uniquely matched with the mastery of his craft he displays.
On his Bandcamp page, Kilpatrick pays homage to the lyrics of Joan and The Rivers’ Eric Smith – that band, too, has a new release — and El Camino Sutra’s Keith Damron; his work fits alongside both well, taking the minute details and making them emblematic. And, while Kilpatrick’s work with garage-soul trio Failure Machine (I’m thinking mostly of Elko) is fairly amped-up and colorful, his work here is much smaller, more intimate, almost hushed. But nothing is lost in the translation.
There’s not a lot one can say about one-off, one-song singles but, if “Lungs” is any indication of his future solo efforts, take note now: you’re going to want to keep an eye on this guy.
The Lyric, former home to Broadway’s most expensive musical (the infamous Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark), now houses Broadway’s most expensive play. But Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, all two parts and six-ish hours of it, should be there for a more extended stay. My nine-year-old daughter and I recently made a day of it, and it lived up to its advanced billing, captivating even this Muggle-ish critic.
In layman terms, Cursed Child is to Harry Potter what Back to the Future Part II is to that franchise: a sequel, and a revisit. Two decades after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry (Jamie Parker, a history boy not long ago) and wife Ginny (Poppy Miller) have settled awkwardly into almost-midlife, he as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, and she editing the sports page at The Daily Prophet. Their second son, Albus (Sam Clemmett), if off to Hogwarts, as is Rose (Susan Heyward), the daughter of Ron Weasley (Paul Thornley) and Hermione Granger (Noma Dumezweni). To the surprise of all, Albus is “sorted” into the foreboding Slytherin House; even more surprising, Albus finds a bestie in the unlikely person of Scorpius Malfoy (Anthony Boyle), unlikely given Harry’s complicated history with his father, Draco (Alex Price). The family conflicts prod the new students to use the dangerous Time Turner to reverse one of the more traumatic events in Harry Potterdom–which inevitably creates new problems that could very well lead to the resurrection of the dread Lord Voldemort.
I share gossip with third parties. For example, if you give me any hint of how much money you make, and my internal algorithm concludes that it’s far more than what I make at my non-dream, far-from-a-career job, I’ll casually bring it up in conversation with our mutual friends. But if you never give me a hint and never talk about what you do for a living, I’ll tell those friends, “I bet he’s got a trust fund. Or he’s a drug dealer who doesn’t want to show off, but where’s the fun in that?”
Shortly after ABC dropped the hammer on the Roseanne revival, after Roseanne Barr’s offensive tweet concerning Valerie Jarrett (which I’m not adding here – If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m sure you can easily Google up some clarification), a prominent celebrity gossip site posted a picture of John Goodman, walking his dog and scowling.
Responsibility is more than owning up to a mistake after the fÆces have hit the fan. It is recognizing that you have certain powers at hand, and so you need to wield them wisely and carefully before incidents to keep them from happening. It’s not enough to, paraphrasing Jamie Foxx, “blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-Ambien.”
If you have the opportunity to watch this past season of Roseanne, which has now been rendered an incredibly difficult thing to do, focus on Goodman giving the performance of a lifetime. He had taken the character of Dan from loveable, occasionally goofy, hard-working Joe to one feeling the weight of the world on the original run. Now, he’s been able to fully explore how such a degradation of hope and, some might say naivete looks to someone fighting for a dream, only to see it spill out at his feet, the mythological Sisyphus still trying to push that stone up the mountain. Having conquered the empty nest syndrome and graduated to husband, he’s now thrust back into the role of dad (and grand-dad), the breadwinner, the one really thrown by the curve. Sisyphus is getting older, the stone’s getting heavier, and believing is harder than it used to be. 
It’s a performance and a character arc that was deserving of an Emmy nod, and very well could have achieved it, if it wasn’t for one reckless person’s lack of stewardship. That one person could have looked around and seen how remarkable things were, how fortunate, how blessed they were and just rode that wave of critical and public appreciation. That person could have done what so many do on a daily basis, keeping their garbage to themselves like adults, recognizing how good “the greater good” was doing, and then could have decided to explore this fantastic and rare opportunity to be with actors who are excelling in their craft and – oh, wait, got another fÆces-drop for all’a y’all. 
That can be a tough thing to accomplish in the very loose amalgamation known as the power-pop genre. Like its aggravated cousin, punk rock, power-pop can get by on its sound, and many artists have. Some have done very well by it, too, but beneath the sunny emotions, the good-time energy, and the snappy beat, some of the actual songwriting can be found lacking.
