2 & 20: Megalopolis, Spanglish, and Our Live Music Months
George Clanton, Spoon, Aly & AJ, Kim Gordon, Porter Robinson...they're all in here.

Typically, you’d be reading the latest installment of 3 & 30 right now. Every month, we each share one record, one film, and one other wild card cultural product beyond those categories we’ve been loving. (That’s the 3.) As for the 30, we both recently turned 30 and each made a list of our 30 favorite movies. We’ll be going through them all, one movie at a time.
Instead, it’s an abbreviated 2 & 20. First up, a film from each of us, along with live music wild cards that were big for us this month. Then, tomorrow we’ll really dive in at length on a movie that was pretty significant to us at age 20. Stay tuned for that.
Film of the month
Shawn: Spanglish (James L. Brooks, 2004)
Choose to ignore whichever roles or movies you must (maybe Eight Crazy Nights or “Mambuza Bongo Guy” in The Hot Chick): Adam Sandler was on an unbelievable tear from 2002-2004. Punch Drunk Love got its flowers at the time and 50 First Dates now stands among the best romantic comedies of its decade, but Sandler’s dramatic talents might have reached an early apex with Spanglish. His teaming with James L. Brooks, ever the humanist master, led to some of the strongest, most understated acting of his career as the prestigious chef John Clasky — a character so understated, he only appears for the first time 15 minutes into the movie. That’s because the true anchor of the film here is Paz Vega’s Flor, a single mother and Mexican immigrant who becomes the Claskys’ housekeeper. When she and her daughter Cristina move in at the Claskys’ summer vacation home, it throws both families off their equilibrium, as Brooks navigates these complex dynamics of class and assimilation with far greater care than critics at the time believed. Brooks brings his own quiet virtuosity as a filmmaker, whether it’s staging these eminently memorable moments, like Flor and John arguing through Cristina, who translates while mimicking her mother’s gestures, or the tight zooms on John’s face as his own marriage crumbles. Spanglish boasts a luxurious runtime, but is brisk and soulful enough to hardly even notice — I know, shocking from the guy who brought you Broadcast News.
Elliott: Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola, 2024)
“I’d rather feel a film before understanding it.” - Robert Bresson
“Check out this boner I got.” - Jon Voight in Megalopolis
As Francis Ford Coppola’s $120 million dollar self-financed film Megalopolis was in its final moments, tears were resting on my eyelids. It was a goofy ending to a pretty delusional film, but that didn’t matter. It was a silly delusion that I momentarily wanted to believe in because of the power of cinema. I wiped the water off my eyes as the credits rolled, and I noticed a man sitting in front of me, in hysterical laughter, turning to his buddy and doing a jerk-off motion with his hand, a motion I easily interpreted as “what a self–indulgent piece of shit.” The contrast of our responses perfectly sums up how people will experience Coppola’s long-awaited dream project.
Watching Megalopolis in an IMAX theater was spiritual. Spellbinding digital form paired with undoubtedly too many ideas thrown together to produce a singular cinematic experience, a film that both feels like it was cobbled together in a week, and also has been waiting to be realized for decades. It’s a movie about the near violent necessity for creativity, for a specific artist and for our world. The messiness of Megalopolis and complete abandon of traditional dialogue, pacing, performance and style only deepened my appreciation for its ethos and passion. I fight cynicism every day thinking about the future, and this completely outrageous, Shakespearean and postmodern fantasy put that to rest for a short while.
This hypnotic experience was also occasionally a frustrating one. Megalopolis is pretty hilarious and intentionally so (Aubrey Plaza as Wow Platinum for instance, role of the year), but there were pronounced laughs throughout the movie at moments of total sincerity and experimentation. The laughs read like “I’m not used to seeing this in a movie, so I’m going to laugh.” Fellow moviegoers were bashing it as we exited the theater, deeming it terrible and a waste of their and Coppola’s money. That’s fine. I don’t need nor want everybody to always agree with me on a film. No part of me is confused why somebody would hate it. But it was the authority in which they were speaking, the incuriosity of the questions that Coppola was (albeit, clumsily) posing that left me sad. It sounded like teachers grading an assignment rather people than wrestling with a work of art. And to me, proved the point of the movie. In the age of YouTube channels like CinemaSins that exist to feel superior to art, patience for films that are challenging and/or flawed is at an all-time low. The number of conversations about Megalopolis’ box office performance will probably outweigh discussions about the film itself. It’s an overwhelmingly ambitious movie that’s overflowing with style, and jolting with life when nearly all contemporary big budget pictures opt to play it stale and safe. What I encountered with Megalopolis was an adrenaline shot of humanity and ego, but most headlines will simply point to a lack of profit, something that Francis Ford Coppola couldn’t give two shits about. You just need to watch the movie to understand that.
Thankfully, I went with my best pal/brother-in-law Cody and he loved it too. We waited to escape the boisterous naysayers to converse about how thrilled and awestruck we were by it. How lucky we felt that it exists and will live on for us and others who fall under its spell.
Wild Card: Our months in live music
Shawn: Porter Robinson and Spoon (sold separately)
Porter Robinson at UPMC Events Center:
Porter Robinson’s “Musician” is a first-ballot best songs of the decade pick for me, and yet what I perceived to be a tepid response to his newer music (or outright derision, from some, to “Knock Yourself Out XD”) had me slow to checking it out. Dumb. Luckily, Robinson’s arena-ish tour came through town with cheap enough resale tickets to motivate me to get on his latest record SMILE :D, which has since thoroughly dominated my month of listening.
I sort of remember back when the 1975 were heating up in the I like it when you sleep… period, the light skeptics would be like: “well, if they cut this down by half it’d be pretty good.” They were wrong about the excess, but Porter Robinson’s SMILE :D comes fairly close to realizing that vision — and by extension, would rank among that band’s absolute best work. You feel their influence everywhere on his new tour, from the large scale billboard set design and illuminated skyline to the wicked tight full-band, ready to add the necessary heft to these sugary, maximalist electro-pop songs and punch up the funkier numbers. At one point, that billboard flashed a barrage of Pitchfork reviews (including for SMILE :D) during the lyrics in “Russian Roulette” about the infamous monkey piss Jet review. Those lyrics also trend more toward the self-referential and playful on this record, with some sharp observations on celebrity that don’t court pity. He isn’t quite the performance artist or wordsmith that Matty Healy’s worked toward, but something more sincere and life-affirming to the die-hards who are hanging on every last word. (The tween down in front of me, practically side stage was jumping out of his shoes for all of “Musician” — I get it.)
You fully understand why he’s a darling of the digicore kids like Jane Remover, through the pitch-shifting and refraction of unfashionable trends, especially in the last act of the show which reimagined his early EDM hits of Worlds as full-band anthems. So much of the text and subtext to Porter Robinson is about earnestly processing and questioning his own nostalgia, and he’s currently harnessing that to push his work forward in thrilling ways.
Spoon at the Roxian Theater:
I don’t know if we need every rabid pop stan to redirect their energy into sports, like I saw someone suggest recently, but there might be something instructive to thinking about your favorite band like a sports team. Sports are entertainment, entertainment is sports, after all — has anyone ever made a website about that?
Anyway, I’ve certainly caught my favorite sports team, the one and only Mets, on a bad night passing through town, so it’d only be fair to hold a band I’ve loved for half my life to a similar standard when they just don’t have it. That was Spoon back in 2022, battling technical difficulties and never quite rebounding on their co-headlining tour with Interpol. It sent me into a minor crisis of faith that began with my not loving Lucifer on the Sofa (and also, this hilarious image and post) — questioning if this current lineup isn’t for me (Rob Pope and Eric Harvey, gone but never forgotten), and broadly if I’d moved beyond the band a little bit. This beacon of consistency was, to me, suddenly not so consistent on both sides of the ball.
To take the sports analogy a step further: seeing live sports is often about the chance of witnessing something spectacular in person. A no-hitter, a walk-off homer. Spoon’s lately been peppering their typical setlists for the past few years with “Lines in the Suit” and “The Fitted Shirt,” two of the best songs from (to me) their best record, Girls Can Tell. Rarities on all counts, so much so that I bit the bullet and saw them with the greatest hesitation in my life for the seventh time.
Much like seeing your favorite team take the field, seeing them burst out to “Wild” was still invigorating. It’s a new standard, they’ve still got it, Britt Daniel — and his light, soulful gravel, wielding his guitar in these chainsaw bursts — is still among the best frontmen of his era. They then rolled through a barrage of hits (“My Mathematical Mind,” “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb,” “Me and the Bean”) that reminded me, oh, this band is just liable to play one of your favorite songs at any moment. The current lineup’s blown-out, more noodly impulses don’t help every song (“Inside Out” should be bare bones) but can feel like the final form of classics (“Small Stakes” has never been better). And then about halfway through the main set, the quieter drumbeat and shuffling riff of “Metal Detektor” hit my ears for the first time in a live setting. It’s one of their most beautiful songs, one of the most beautiful songs, and it felt like watching a guy hit for the cycle.
This band has the discography and breadth to inspire color-coded, obsessive setlist tracking like some of their indie rock peers later in their career. And I fully hope they keep expanding the range of the songbook at shows. Anyway, always see your favorite team live. Always see your favorite band live. They probably aren’t getting any younger, or better, and might just restore your faith.
Elliott: Bumbershoot 2024
It was my first Bumbershoot in 11 years. Last time I was a teenager and just a few weeks out from starting college. Notable acts I saw included Alt-J and MGMT (both pretty horrible) and The Joy Formidable (who absolutely rocked. remember the song Whirring?). Since then and since the pandemic, the annual Labor Day Seattle music festival has downsized after a four year hiatus in length (cut down from 3 days to 2) and in scale (the festival is exclusively outdoor stages within a small radius in Seattle Center now — no more huge name performers in Climate Pledge Arena, or as Stephen Malkmuks referred to it onstage, “Save The Polar Ice Caps Stadium or whatever it’s called.”)
I hit up both days of Bumbershoot this year with my buddy Tank. I’ve seen more concerts with my buddy Tank than anybody else in my life (he was there with me at Bumbershoot 2013). I’ll take you through day 1 and day 2.
Day 1
Our day began with Creed. But before I get to that, going to a music festival as somebody who just turned 30 means prioritizing endurance over fitting in as many acts as you can. I’m sure that many of the pre-2:30 pm acts were great. My buddy Tank and I will never know.
First up at 2:30 for us was George Clanton, who walked out to Creed’s “My Sacrifice.” Clanton released my favorite record of last year and also put on one of the best shows I saw in 2023. That show was in a club with a live drummer, and extravagant lights (friend of Even Better Eli Enis did a great job capturing a show on that tour here). For the Bumbershoot performance, gone were the lights, drummer, and darkness that comes from playing in an indoor club. It wasn’t as cinematic, but solo George in the blazing hot afternoon sun still brought insane and infectious energy. He’s a master stage banterer and rousing presence, throwing his body around in the crowd on both the opening and closing songs (You can see him push me at 39:27 here if you’d like. I’m wearing the hat with the bright blue bill cap.) My buddy Tank and I felt that his 40 minute set alone was worth the price of the day’s admission. He also threw out a towel that he was using to wipe his sweat and I caught it, and carried it around for the rest of the day. Yes, I have washed it.
Next up was a relaxing set from Hurray for the Riff Raff. They served as the perfect comedown from crazy George, and intermission before we transitioned into Freddie Gibbs. Gibbs is one of my favorite rappers of the last 10 years, a common opinion from dudes like me. His set was scheduled for 50 minutes and he was on stage for about 35, showing his face to the crowd fashionably late by 15 minutes. The DJ did his best to appease the increasingly restless audience by playing Outkast and Dr. Dre on the speakers. When Freddie finally took the stage, he was sporting a Japan Shohei Ohtani jersey and appeared high as a kite, exclaiming “what’s up Seattle” and “fuck the Police” over and over between each song. He looked like he didn’t know where he was, but it didn’t matter once the beat dropped. The dude is a beast at his craft, and rapped songs from Pinata and Alfredo flawlessly. We would’ve liked the full set, but man were we entertained and impressed with what we got.
Pavement at 10pm was the main event, but we had time to kill and legs that hurt. So my buddy Tank and I perused the vendors, got some grub, and took a much needed rest by the Seattle Center Fountain, waiting for the artist occupying the KEXP main stage to wrap up so we could get as close to the Pavement boys as possible. The artist playing the main stage before Pavement? That was Aly & AJ. Remember them? Remember the TV show Phil of the Future? I knew nothing of sisters’ music other than when they were teenage Disney Stars, so it seemed like an easy act to skip. Our backs were turned to the stage as we lounged by the fountain, but I kept looking at my buddy Tank and saying “wait, this like, actually sounds good.” Eventually I needed to get up and see for myself. And indeed, they were crushing it. It was a true case of “I’m sorry Aly & AJ, I was not really familiar with your game.” I looked up the setlist and the songs I liked the most haven’t even been released yet. So I followed them on Spotify and Instagram so that I’m informed as soon as they drop. Never in a million years did I think I’d be eagerly awaiting new music from Aly & AJ and be checking their social media for updates. Life is full of surprises.
(Thanks to YouTube user Taylor ConcertsVideos for posting this clip from the song I liked a lot. Check out that chorus at the 33 second mark!)
For years I figured Pavement was a band like Sonic Youth or R.E.M. — an all-time favorite indie group that I was born too late to see. But lo and behold I’ve seen them twice now in 2 years. In both cases they brought the goods, tackling classics and deep cuts and “Harness Your Hopes” — ya know, that b-side that blew up on TikTok. The teenagers screamed when they broke into that one. I don’t have much to say about seeing Pavement live again other than Malkmus absolutely shreds and they perform (and banter) like a bunch of best pals who genuinely love and like each other. Seeing “Grounded” into “Trigger Cut” into “The Hex” was earth shattering. What a special band.
Day 2
My buddy Tank and I showed up even later on Day 2 and saw less music. We timed it so we could be front row for my most anticipated set of the weekend, Kim motherfucking Gordon AKA the coolest person of all time. I blurbed about her staggering record earlier this year, and that same gobsmacking energy was captured in person. Two things were happening during the set. 1. My body was taking what I can only describe as pleasing blows from the thumping bass and noise coming out of the speakers above my ears and 2. I was pinching myself that I staring at Kim Gordon in the flesh. It’s possibly the most starstruck I’ve ever been. Just an all time music hero bringing her A game this deep into her career, backed by 3 musicians that all looked younger than me. It was like watching a god. A bucket list item crossed off.
Next up and the last acts of the festival (for us, we didn’t care about seeing James Blake) were Kurt Vile and Courtney Barnett. Not together, no. Barnett started 10 minutes after Vile concluded on a different stage, so with what was likely a 100% overlap in fanbase, it was a humorous sight watching the people run from the Vile stage over to the Barnett stage. Both are artists I really loved in college and have rarely listened to since. Seeing in 2024 them was like a reunion with some old friends, friends that remain damn good at performing music — Barnett in particular, you can understand why male record store employees everywhere love to recommend her albums (stay tuned on a post about that very topic at a future date). Throughout the Barnett show there was chatter in the crowd about if and when Vile would join her. Sure enough, the night concluded with them playing “Over Everything” from their joint album. They’re a natural pair — her a lefty, him a righty, their guitars symmetrical, the heads of their instruments looking like they’re going to kiss as they sing and strum next to one another. It was a warm and communal ending. We went home happy and sleepy.
Tickets are already on sale for next year. $100 for the full weekend blind. If you’re in the Northwest and reading this you should join me! I’m planning to go next year with my buddy. His name is Tank.