On the December 3, 1965 joint release of "Day Tripper"/"We Can Work It Out" and Rubber Soul in Best Classic Bands. "'Day Tripper' has some overlap with the shiny, shouty, brass and balls of the album-opening 'Drive My Car,' but this is closer to a soul number than it is a cross between an R&B groover and preternatural guitar extravaganza." 

The footage from the "A Day in the Life" orchestral recording session. "The scene looks like a birthing ground for chaos. Cinéma vérité has become cinéma psychedelia, with touches of Cocteau, Cornell, and Brakhage. The footage flickers, the camera cutting constantly. A scrim of darkness blankets what we see, which only serves to make these people  – their exchanges, the way they regard each other, the looks – appear as if they’re part of a strobing nimbus of light. These are the goings-on of the other side of the looking glass."

From the inn to the page to the gibbet to the crypt to the woods to the backyard to the screen. "We have the sense that Irish horror is meant for the enclave. The small  group. Between neighbors. Kin. Tales are shared, which is rather  different than tales being broadcast. Irish horror cinema tends to maintain a similar insularity, while not barring any would-be audience member. A story unfolds in a corner of the pub, but we are welcome to  listen—or, in this case, watch."

1978's in-concert game-changer. "Ever watch a film and as you’re doing so you make a mental list of your favorite parts, changing the order as the movie goes along? Live and Dangerous is the in-concert LP version of that. What registers as a peak is quickly revealed to be but another high point which itself has another above it. A ceiling-less offering of hard rock grandeur."

Seeing may or may not make for believing. "It’s a lovely day, and there you are motoring with your lady on the way back to your laboratory, where you keep hunks of flesh alive, when you get into a nasty wreck that slices her head clean off. A decapitation, though, is actually much more favorable than a caving-in, considering what you do and where you were headed (yes!), so you scoop up your girlfriend’s gourd—being as she is still your girlfriend, because it’s not like anyone broke up with anyone here—and you resume your car ride  to the lab, where you bring her severed head back to life so that you may love some more."

Carnal horror-whimsy. "There’s virtually no negative space in any of these wide shots. An open castle door reveals another castle off in the distance, which causes us to wonder what the neighbors knew, or were they just caught up in their own fiefdom? An object as simple as a key comes as off distinctly priapic. When Blue Beard hands one to his blushing wife, he might as well be forking over a dildo for her to start working herself with posthaste."

The grand romantic sweep of "In My Life." "We pursue affection, but it’s crucial that we internally position ourselves to be able to let affection into our lives as well. Love isn’t merely the one-to-one relationship. There is love of place, love of the future one envisions, love of the experiences that a person has had. Love of who they are. Love of what they believe in trying to become. Love of art like 'In My Life.'”

From Best Classic Bands. "Cars were central to that first decade of rock and roll. You wowed your buddies and your girl with them. You loved your car, tinkered with your car, made loud noises with your car, lamented your car as if dealing with the loss of life when rainwater got under her hood. But what you didn’t do until 'Don’t Worry Baby' was realize how immature you’d been, and how you were holding yourself back, on account of your insecurity as it manifested itself in an example pertaining to your car. All of life is a challenge of growing up, regardless of our age. Here we have the first song—or at least the first song that played on American radio—to codify this inescapable truth."

From Bloodvine. "There’s an extended flashback scene, which is a gem of a film within a film. As with the sepia portion of The Wizard of Oz, the sequence looks as if a different creative team had done the design and shooting; and while this encased work isn’t a found film, it does presage the found film subgenre, except it is memory that declares, 'Action' and sets the cameras rolling."

Open up your heart (or have it be opened for you) to the likes of Le Corbeau, Let the Right One In, Spanish Dracula, and King Kong. "Horror fans are sharers. They love a movie, and they wish to help  someone else experience it as well. They share the love. Their love.  And, when you get down to it, is there a better thing that any of us can  do in this world?"

Stop blaming the refs. "We are a people for whom moaning—and citing victim status, including at the level of our sports fandom—is the norm. Nothing can happen because it simply happened or was the result of a bang-bang play or a basic human error."

Regarding the value of keeping things separate. "Compartmentalization stops us from numbering among our own enemies. We are less likely to cost ourselves from experiencing that which is useful and edifying, as well as people who can help us. But we need mental discipline, and we have to work at keeping our boxes separate. Don’t dump the contents of one into another."

On a heist-centered horror-thriller reimagining of A Christmas Carol. "Cushing evinces fear, and it wasn’t often that we saw him scared in the Hammer world, even if he was prying open a coffin to stake Dracula  through the heart. Turns out a frightened Cushing makes for a frightening Cushing."

January 1 and the important kind of time. "Don’t romanticize the first of the year. She’s going to break your heart, and likely with your help. If you are depending on her to help make you whole or to get to the gym or finally write your family-friendly book on how reading Tolstoy is fun, you’re going to contribute to the downfall of a relationship that never had a shot because you weren’t in it for the right reasons."

From Bloodvine. "There are stretches where you have no idea what you’re looking at, and as much as Silent Night, Bloody Night helped usher in the body-count festive carnage of Black Christmas, it bears a more apparent stylistic stamp on the likes of Skinamarink (2022). How low can the lo-fi go? The answer is pretty low. There’s hiss and hair all over this thing. You put the movie on in the background and it’s there with you, accompanying whatever you’re doing,  and every now and again, it provides a jolt."

On the finest episode of The Twilight Zone and how nostalgia will kill you. "I am only interested in anything insofar as it helps me move forward. With nostalgia comes a defeatist attitude. And vice versa. If nostalgia had a slogan, it would be 'The best has come and gone.' That’s not going to be good for you."

Let there be mirth. "Silent Night, Deadly Night features what has to be the most depressing holiday party in movie history: a five-person employee affair after the toy store closes that commences with the owner saying, “Time to get shit-faced!”—we’re not talking Fezziwig here—and gets worse (much worse) from there. But whether you’re the Grinch or Father Christmas himself, you are bound to adopt Billy’s one-word  catchphrase—'Naughty!'—as your own for the remainder of the holiday season anytime someone annoys you."

On a wondrous bauble. "For with the bauble, there is wonder. The bauble is different from that which we put atop the Christmas list, be it literal or figurative, all in caps, because that’s what we think we want the most. But the things we like best are often the things that find us, or that we discover because we are open, which is itself a great gift."

Festive slicing and dicing in Bloodvine. "Any time the phone rings in Black Christmas—and with each  subsequent ringing (and we’re not talking the bells on Christmas day)—we feel dread. This is a coarse film of paradoxical solemnity. The Christmas spirit is in consistent evidence (everything is suitably decked out, lights twinkle, trees are trimmed), but it’s as if we’re witnessing it from some remove rather than drinking directly from its wassail bowl."

In Bloodvine. "The film represents Browning at his most sensitive. Horror films of this vintage can have a certain arthritic creak to them, but The Devil-Doll is a spry offering. You want everyone to come out okay in the end. That they will is the longest of long shots in a horror movie, but the batting average is pretty high here, considering."

Exploring what the beloved Christmas special was also about. "If you’re going to create a Christmas-centric work that lasts, it has to be about more than Christmas, which is really what makes Christmas Christmas. Linus Van Pelt understood as much. So too did Ebenezer Scrooge, after he’d been visited by enough ghosts. And the same may be said about Rudolph and Hermey, the would-be outsiders who instead fostered community while still being true to their highly individualistic selves."

In Best Classic Bands. "Wild Honey is the band’s record—a kind of life’s soundtrack—for late autumn, when there’s still sunshine to be encountered amidst the fading color of the glade and the season’s final bees take a last turn or two outside the hive. It’s an album of dappled hues and the taking of various forms of stock—personal, professional, familial, fraternal. Musical, too."

Looking at a new documentary about the band's first US visit. "The Beatles had staying power, but there was never anything like this first visit. Remember: Their arc was protracted temporally. Seven years as recording artists. There are two highs of highs; co-summits, if you like, to the phenomenon that was the Beatles. February 1964, and the release of Sgt. Pepper in June 1967. The former rocked the culture; the latter cracked the zeitgeist."

Confessions of a former Nick Drake fraud and a consideration of an oft-misunderstood album. "And what I heard was the most uplifting music of my life. Music that was filled with life. A deathless spirit. Deathless beauty. Deathless vision. An unwavering life-force, despite—or perhaps because of—what its creator knew about life. I thought, 'This is a celebration, not a dirge. Like a miracle of humanness.'”

On 1960's The House in Marsh Road in Bloodvine. "This is a get-down-to-business ghost, but this is a get-down-to-business film, a rare example of kitchen-sink realism crossing with the supernatural. The ghost is very real, as is the depiction of alcoholism, infidelity, and what it means to be trapped in a marriage in different manners for different people."