Looking ahead to some of my tentative choices, I realized the concoction known as OCTOBERFEAST was beginning to seem a bit unbalanced. Yes, by its very nature Halloween lends itself more to heavy metal and horror movies than anything else. However, I feel like part of my duty is to create a seasonal dish that satisfies the demands of a more well-rounded palate.

Therefore, today’s part of the 31-course meal takes us  to the world of hip-hop. I spent some time searching for a good lyrical anthem geared towards Halloween but didn’t manage to find anything too amazing. (Note: If you know of a solid rap song explicitly about the holiday, please let me know). Fortunately, I wracked my brain (almost to the point of mental instability) and managed to conjure up a candidate: Jay-Z’s Lucifer.

While groovier than any of the double-bass riddled songs I’m going to submit later this month, this Jay-Z track is definitely evil enough for OCTOBERFEAST. I mean, it’s titled Lucifer…as in Satan or the Devil. C’mon, you know what I’m talking about – the motherfucking Prince of Darkness! The antithesis of all that is holy and righteous! God’s arch-nemesis! If for nothing else, the title of this song warrants its inclusion.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that a bit of controversy erupted over the song. Being gullible and unwilling to do any critical thinking, there were some individuals who argued that if played backwards (as in, “Paul is Dead”) Lucifer contains satanic messages. This pastor tried to demonstrate that reversing the track reveals the subliminal messages “Murder Jesus” and “666.”

In reality, I wish that Jay-Z really took it upon himself to hide satanic messages in his music. That shit would be sick. Unfortunately, even the most cursory internet research unveils the fact that the audible “Murder Jesus” and “666″ is the product of DJ Dangermouse’s Jay-Z/Beatles remix known as the Grey Album.

Sorry to disappoint, Reverend Bunghole — Jay-Z isn’t in cahoots with the Devil.

Last but not least, the tune is damn catchy. The Black Album is one of my favorite rap albums and this is one of the standout tracks. I was unable to find a live video of the song, but found yet another ridiculous slideshow; this time, the song is set to an array of renderings of Lucifer himself.

So even if you don’t usually dabble in hip-hop, give this video a peek. And rest assured – there is plenty of heavy metal on the way.

I consider myself a fan of movies. Granted, I’m no expert and I never went to film school, but I consider myself to be a step above the slack-jawed assholes who eat up any mindless drivel the studios produce. I think that I’m somewhere in between — not quite a cinematic snob, but certainly not a mere casual viewer.

With that being said, it is with a hint of embarrassment that I make my confession. Up until last fall, when it was required for a class, I had never seen Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. I suppose part of my disinterest was rooted in the fact that I had (through top-ten lists and pop-cultural ubiquity) already viewed the shower scene and knew of the twist-ending. My justification for not watching Psycho was the assumption that although it was probably a decent movie, its reputation had probably been inflated over time.

I was wrong — way wrong. As I learned last autumn, Psycho is a truly terrifying film. Watching it in the darkened basement viewing room of my college, I frequently found myself looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was coming for me.

Unlike most modern horror flicks, Psycho is deftly built on suspense and an embracing of the unknown. The creepiness of the movie is not in masturbatory gore, but in waiting for an act of violence you just know is coming. And when it  comes it is fast, brutal, unrelenting, and unfocused — just as I imagine being stabbed to death would be.

Additionally, I also find Bernard Hermann’s score to be an integral part of Psycho. Lifting a paragraph from a presentation I gave, I like to make the argument that Psycho’s music represents the dueling components of Norman Bateman’s unstable conscious:

Another choice of the director that facilitates Psycho’s examination of conflicting mental subdivisions is the use of Bernard Herrman’s score. As evidenced in opening credits, Herrman’s score simultaneously makes use of beautiful, sweeping melodies and hauntingly harsh, accented, staccato notes. The two distinct musical accompaniments form Psycho’s theme as a whole, just as the conscious and unconscious are two parts of the same mind. With this in mind, it seems reasonable to suggest that a lack of melody from the film’s score signifies the absence of the conscious, and therefore an ascendancy of the unconscious. In essence, it is no coincidence that short, dissonant quarter notes with no melody complement the instances in which the conscious is most obviously overwhelmed by the unconscious.

Psycho is a rad movie. And even if you know the truth about Mrs. Bates or have seen the shower scene, you should check it out.

Now for your viewing pleasure — a decent fan-made trailer:

For this helping of OCTOBERFEAST, let’s play a round of Six Degrees of Separation:

1) Halloween is a night when kids and teens reign supreme.

2) Making the most of this single-night supremacy, many youths enjoy vandalism.

3) Perhaps the most popular act of Hallow’s Eve vandalism is that of smashing pumpkins.

4) The Smashing Pumpkins are an alt-rock group whose popularity peaked in the 1990’s.

5) The lead guitarist and singer for The Smashing Pumpkins is Billy Corgan.

6) In the mid 1980’s, Billy Corgan filmed himself trying to shred.

There we have it. I now present (mullet and all) a Billy Corgan guitar solo from nearly twenty five years ago.

Monsters are awesome.

Whether reading about them being chopped down in classics like Beowulf or watching them wreak havoc in new forays such as Cloverfield, there seems to be a timeless love affair with monsters. And my (admittedly limited) knowledge of world culture tells me this isn’t just an American lust — Puerto Rico houses the chupacabra, Egypt touts the mummy, and Japan…well, everyone knows about Japan’s contribution.

While I love watching monsters do their whole loathe/kill/destroy humanity thing, I find it a bit more enjoyable to watch them on their downtime. It’s like being a fan of a band — at a certain point, your respect for their work drives you  to become curious about their personal lives. This is nothing to be ashamed about.

Fortunately, with the 1960’s came The Munsters — a sitcom devoted to showing how monsters really behave.

In case you’ve never seen the show, the basic premise is as follows: a Frankenstein named Herman is in an interspecies marriage with a vampire named Lily. Somehow, these two have managed to procreate — resulting in their son Eddie, a werewolf. To appease his father-in-law’s racist skepticism of Frankensteins, Herman supports Grandpa by allowing him to shack up with them at the 1313 Mockingbird Lane residence. To top it all off, Lily’s superhot (somehow human) niece Marilyn lives with them too.

The Munsters helps us learn that monsters just regular people, uh, well, regular things like  you  and me.  Also, the show utilizes laugh-tracks and fast-motion, both of which are plus-signs in my rank book.

Oh, and don’t even bother waltzing in here with any arguments about The Addams Family even being a contender against The Munsters. One is a show about mythical beings living together and the other is about a bunch of damn freaks and perverts.

If I wanted to see that, I’d just eat dinner with my family.

I may be finally starting to lose my mind. For real. I’ve spent the early evening inside of a slightly metrosexual argyle sweater, listening to Led Zeppelin II and drinking beer. While I’m enjoying bathing in the autumn air pouring in from my open window, I’m starting to worry that I may start shouting out of it.

Luckily, I’ve made a promise to both Caffeine-Powered and myself to delivery a weekly beverage review, so any open condemnations of society will have to wait. It is time to talk about beer and nothing is more important than that!

This week, I repealed my declaration against seasonal brews. Still leaving the hay-themed pumpkin-flavored whatnots to others, I picked up a six pack of Gritty McDuff’s Halloween Ale. Yes — I am a sucker and the label with a decapitated head is what initially sold me. Fuck, we’re in the beginning of the goddamn OCTOBERFEAST and I can’t help but get excited by horror-themed promotions.

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Ghostbusters II is an absolute cinematic masterpiece. No other film provides quite a perfect blend of humor, science fiction, horror and (of course) Ernie Hudson. Thinking about it now, I realize that I have probably watched this movie from start to finish more than any other. The sequel to Ghostbusters is an important part of my life and I hope that it is for you as well.

But just in case it isn’t, I’ve decided to use OCTOBERFEAST to persuade you. A little known fact is Ghostbusters II features Bobby Brown’s On Our Own, known to critics and thespians everywhere as the all-time greatest song in a soundtrack. Yes, even before marrying & ruining Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown was doing fantastic things.

For your viewing pleasure…And to help you prepare for the impending invasion of ghouls and ghosts…

Bobby Brown’s On Our Own — set to a terrible slide show of still shots from Ghostbusters II:

Today is the first day of October, unofficially the sickest month of all. Although September and November try to represent, October is autumn. This is the month you use for apple-picking, seasonal beers, hayrides, frolics in pumpkin patches, and all that other good stuff. Living in New England, I get to see sick foliage every time I step outside. In a sense, life is good.

But most importantly, October is all about Halloween.

Question: Is there a better holiday?

Answer: No.

Christmas? Thanksgiving? Arbor Day? Fuck that. Halloween is a celebration of costumes, free candy, horror movies, vandalism, alcohol consumption, Satanism, and carved-out pumpkin-decapitations. At a concert a few years back, I heard Mikael Akerfeldt describe Halloween perfectly: “All Hallow’s Eve…Will you trick and treat? Or get drunk and fuck?”

In honor of Halloween and its preceding month, I am presenting Omega-Level’s First (and Last) Annual OCTOBERFEAST. Once a day, I am going to post a video that has a connection to either Halloween or October. Sometimes, the connection will be clear and solid. Other times, the connection will be tenuous at best (probably when I try to post after doing the Friday Brew Review). But at the very least, I’m helping you get into the holiday spirit.

So, without further adieu…

The goddamn Monster Mash:

Friday again — another week of possibility subtracted from my life, and thus another excuse to drink! Oh, how I love doing these Friday Brew Reviews.

Coming home from a high school football game, Mrs. Krueger and I took a detour at the liquor store. Trying my best to be a gentleman, I offered  that she  “pick out something to get yourself drunk off of.” Always one to party, she found a “raspberry beer — that sounds fun” and we were on our way.

I was halfway through the original brew I planned to feature when Mrs. Krueger finally opened up her choice for the evening. The fair lady took one sip, grimaced while choking it down, and asked to switch. Initially I laughed, but then remembered the promise I made to myself to be more chivalrous — you know, some straight-up King Arthur shit.

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The people at some website called Mania.com have just put out the second installment of an interview with Alan Moore, acclaimed writer of every fucking comic book taken seriously. So far, it is a really interesting read – checking out the perspectives of a man who has done more to alter the course of the comic book medium while simultaneously lambasting its industry.

While I’m not going to regurgitate the entire article, I am going to present one of my favorite excerpts. In this bit, Moore discusses the perversion that is comic book fandom’s loyalty to static, well-worn properties over the creators striving to do something unique and  challenge the limits of imagination.

I remember somebody in one of the fanzines over here saying, “Well, why don’t we just not buy any Marvel comics until they give Jack Kirby what he deserves.” I thought, “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll do that.” And, that was when I stopped buying Marvel comics. I think in the next issue of the fanzine, someone said, “Uh, yeah, but fans are never going to do that, are they?” And, as it turns out, he was right. But, they could’ve done it, if they’d really cared–not if they’d cared for the Hulk, but for the person who created the Hulk; not if they cared for Spider-Man, but if they’d cared for Steve Ditko. They could’ve protested, just once–even if that was only by not buying comics that were substandard or had got ugly practices with how their creators were handled. The whole of the industry, from top to bottom, does have a certain amount of responsibility for its decline.

This is the voice of a man who knows what is truly good for comics. People read Warren Ellis’ Do Anything  and discard it as half-baked philosophy. These same folks  write off The Dark Knight Strikes Again  as Frank Miller’s failed attempt to recapture greatness (anyone who’s read Eisner/Miller understands that FM was deliberately refuting his past work). And I’m sure that Alan Moore’s most recent comments will be shrugged off, explained away as the “semi-coherent musing of a fucked up snake-deity worshipping old man.”

Actually, that explanation isn’t wrong. But neither is Alan Moore.

Looking at October’s comic releases, I realized that with Justice League of America #38 comes a new creative team. While writer James Robinson and artist Mark Bagley are hardly strangers to the DC Universe (or the members of its most prominent team), it will still be interesting to see whether or not they can make their run on the title meaningful – for one reason or another, I feel like most creators lose sight of the importance of telling well-balanced, team-oriented stories when given the JLA-reins.

In fact, I haven’t consistently read Justice League of America since the conclusion of Brad Meltzer’s brilliant thirteen-issue relaunch of the series. Meltzer knew how to guide his artists through stories of epic confrontation while still maintaining a down-to-earth, personal tone. To me, this is what the “big team” books should be all about: putting iconic figures in over-the-top, the end is nigh scenarios in order to depict struggles to which the normal guy can relate.

So as I conjured up this mission statement for super-team titles, I tried to think of another example of team-done-right. Rifling through Caffeine Powered’s library, I eventually stumbled across JLA #61. Only vaguely remembering this issue, I had to reread it a couple of times before deciding that it is another exemplar.

This 2002 book is a perfect beginning to the collaboration between writer Joe Kelly and penciller Doug Mahnke. [While Kelly led JLA through its ninetieth issue and then disappeared from my radar, Mahnke has been blowing my mind as of late. Check out his work on Green Lantern if you get the chance]. Plot-wise, the self-contained JLA #61 takes the reader through a giant battle that involves monsters, Gods, Abra Kadabra and even sees Kyle Rayner dissecting five miles of seaboard with his fruity-ring. In short — the book succeeds in creating a problem that requires seven of the all-time greatest superheroes.

But where the issue really shines is in its highlighting of each teammate as a relatable human being (or Martian/Kryptonian/Goddess — but you get my point). From the primary battle the narrative flashes back to the two-minute warning, that time in which the JLA alert signal rings out its warning.

Instead of Superman, the reader sees Clark Kent eating dinner with his wife; Green Lantern is unadorned artist Kyle Rayner, struggling to pay for a cup of coffee; in place of the Flash is Wally West, hyperactive multi-tasker desperately looking for another minute in the day; Martian Manhunter’s constantly linked mind is observed in one of its rare states of unconscious meditation; fanatical Bruce Wayne makes business calls as he helps Diana prepare for perfection, and the typically zany Plastic Man soberly fields a phone call at his office.

Hell, even the King of Atlantis’ vacated throne is seen as the JLA discuss the recently-departed Aquaman. This issue bleeds personality and heart, thereby making these otherwise inhuman characters worthwhile emotional investments.

No, I don’t expect every team-based comic book to contain the sentiment of Touched by an Angel. Nor would I want it to. But, it is nice to think that throwing together the most marketable properties into one franchise isn’t always done in the name of producing inane pieces of visual masturbation.

Unless, of course, you could convince Frank Miller and Jim Lee to work together. Oh wait.

But I guess we’ll have to wait until October to see what Robinson and Bagley bring us.