Remembering Eddie Palmieri / Funk Innovator George Clinton

Support for this podcast and the following message come from Sierra Nevada Brewing Company, where pure ingredients and sustainable brewing meet a legacy of craft.

Share one with a friend today and taste for yourself.

Sierra Nevada, taste what matters.

Please drink responsibly.

This is Fresh Air.

I'm David Biancoole.

Eddie Palnieri, the pianist, band leader, and composer whose contributions to Afro-Caribbean music shaped the evolving genre for decades, died Wednesday.

He was 88 years old.

His first album, La Perfecta, is credited for launching the musical salsa movement when it came out in 1962.

My la pajanga,

Eddie Palmieri was born in New York City in 1936, the son of Puerto Rican immigrants who found work quickly, his mom as a seamstress and his dad as a radio and TV repairman.

When Eddie was five years old, his family moved to the South Bronx and opened up an ice cream parlor.

Eddie worked behind the counter as a soda jerk and also controlled the jukebox, which was stocked with hits by Tito Puente, Tito Rodriguez, and Machita.

He began taking piano lessons when he was eight and led his first band at 14.

In 1961, he borrowed $1,000 to pay for a month's rent on a nightclub in the Bronx, using it as a headquarters to experiment with various musical lineups for music he wanted to record.

He settled on what he called at the time his perfect formula, the band he called La Perfecta, consisting of a vocalist, a small rhythm section, trombone, wood flute, and Palmieri himself on piano.

Eddie Palmieri performed and recorded all his life.

He won multiple Grammys, including a Latin Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award and was recognized as a jazz master by the National Endowment for the Arts.

And there's there's a treat right around the corner for Eddie Palmieri fans.

The new Spike Lee film, Highest to Lowest, starring Denzel Washington, has a spectacular chase scene during a Puerto Rican Day celebration in the South Bronx.

It features Eddie Palmieri's salsa orchestra as the backdrop.

In 1994, Eddie Palmieri spoke with Terry Gross.

Eddie Palmiera, you were born in Spanish Harlem in 1936, and I think you were about seven when your family moved to the South Bronx.

Were the neighborhoods very similar or different?

Oh, well, they were different at that time.

The Hispanic movement was certainly into the El Barrio, what they call, and we moved there when I was five years old,

and by seven years old, I was already being accompanied by my brother playing piano.

He was nine years older than me and my brother passed away in 88, 60 years young.

But then when we moved to the Bronx then my father being a genius as far as being a radio and television repairman and plumber and everything you could think that had to do with manual labor.

He worked very, very hard all his life.

And my mother was a seamstress.

My mother arrived in New York in 1925.

My father arrived on the next ship a year later and by 1926 they married and by 27 my brother was born.

I was born in 36 when we arrived in the South Bronx.

It was just a beautiful, beautiful neighborhood and it was wonderful experiences.

No cars at all.

We were able to play stick ball and not worry about any cars in the street.

It was wonderful years that I remember in the South Bronx.

What did it mean to you to be Puerto Rican when you were growing up?

Were you very proud of being Puerto Rican or just

Were you just Puerto Rican and not didn't think about it very much one way or another?

No, no,

Always quite unique being Puerto Rican because of what I saw, the family

being so united.

When my relatives all came from Puerto Rico, my uncles on

my grandmother, for example, had an open house policy, you know, which meant that on Saturdays

you would see my grandmother going down to the Safeway AMP and doing the shopping.

And plus, he would stop at the liquor store and bring about, oh, six or eight bottles of different ryes and

rums, whatever, merely because my grandfather was also a professional gambler.

So on Saturday night, Friday night,

the card games would start and by midnight on Saturday, there was no liquor stores open and the only one that had the liquor was grandma and as she sold you a liquor, she would light up a cigar.

And then my grandfather was quite unique in playing, so he would clean up and they would have a house kitty.

And on Saturdays, all my uncles would get together and then they would take out the guitars and they would start to sing.

By 13, I was already playing drums with my uncle, Chino Gates, Isual Matropical, because I didn't want to play the piano anymore.

I wanted to become my brother's drummer.

Now, I know when you were growing up, your mother really wanted you to play piano, but you wanted to play drums.

Let's start with your mother wanting you to play piano.

Why was she so big on that?

Well, because she passed the depression here, and actually, in 1929, she was here already.

She arrived in 1925,

and

a lesson was 25 cents.

And the idea was you couldn't, you know, try to get the 25 cents.

With $1.25, they made a whole grocery shopping.

It's amazing what happened in the years of the Depression.

And because my brother was already playing piano, and he's nine years older than me, then my mother certainly insisted on me to play piano too.

And

I did.

And I couldn't thank her enough for that.

Now, when you were playing in your uncle's band, you were in your early teens.

What did you play in the band?

Oh, I played Timbales, and my uncle sang.

My other uncle played conga, and we had two guitars, a tress and a second guitar who sang, a trumpet, and the bass player, Nicolas.

When there wasn't enough money to pay the bass player, Nicolas, Nicolas was out.

Now, you studied classical music when you were young, right, on the piano?

Well, because of Miss Margaret Barnes, she was a classical concert player, and

by 11, I gave a recital at Carnegie Hall Recital Hall.

But all those years, from 11 to 12, I just just wanted to play drums.

So it hurt me from not really getting into the fundamentals of the instrument as I need to and I do now.

Did you resent having to play classical music?

No, no, I just didn't want to play the piano at all.

I mean, I wanted to play drums and you know, you have to be, you have to contemplate like what's going through my mind because I want to play stick ball in the street, you know, and the guys are calling me downstairs.

Come on, Eddie, come on, Daddy, you know, and I got to be playing scales, you know, and then trying to, you know, like cheat on my scales.

And my mother had an incredible ear.

I call her mama ear chops.

I mean, she could hear you, hey, you know, that don't sound right, you know, an extra 15 minutes, oh, and things like that.

And I was missing the game, and I was the first baseman, and then I had to become the manager because if I wasn't the manager, probably they won't let me play.

So when you were playing Tambalas in your uncle's band, what was the atmosphere?

Like you were, I don't know, 13 or 14 and you were playing in dance halls or yeah dance halls and up in the villas the villas is like the the the Borsch circuit, you know the catskills here.

Are you playing in the Borsch belt when you were 13 or 14?

No, no, but in the Spanish ones they were Spanish Borsch belts Yeah, they were owned by Spaniards at that time.

That was where they call them La Villas and So this is in the Catskill Mountains of New York where a lot of summer resorts are this platicle off Newburgh.

Uh-huh.

Yeah.

And I started working up there in 1950, 51.

You know, I mean, it's unbelievable.

So what was the atmosphere like?

What kind of people did you meet?

Well, I'll give you an idea.

When the first day I got there, I saw, I went to see the pool.

They told me they had a pool in this villa and I went to see the pool.

There was a cow drinking and one in the pool.

A cow?

Yeah.

What was a cow doing, drinking from the pool?

I don't know.

I didn't know her name was Elsie at that time, so I didn't, you know,

from Borton's milk.

The main thing is that that was the cows that gave you the milk.

For $35, you could stay a week at the Villa's room and board, and that fresh milk pitcher was there in the morning.

And then

my uncles and my grandfather would love to go up there because

they could gamble up there.

They could play cards all day long or dominoes.

And that was their world.

And my uncle was booked

as the music of the villas and I was part of that.

So that was the way we made a living.

Did you drink when you were young?

No, but my uncle certainly did.

And I always tried to grab a drink or so, you know, but it was difficult because all my aunts were there and they were tattletaling my mother.

Right.

He said, I said, my mother.

When you were young, you played with Tito Rodriguez.

What did you learn about showmanship and running a band?

Oh, I was just watching him.

He was the one.

He was the dandy.

He was the dandy because no one dressed like him.

How did he dress?

Oh, immaculately, man.

You know, so hip and he was so sharp, the orchestra old uniform because he was the best singer that we had here as far as a rumbero singer of an orchestra leader.

And he had the preparations to do it, and he just kept improving constantly because of the competitive edge, you know, that he always had with Mr.

Tito Puente.

If Tito Puente played vibes, Tito Rodriguez went to learn how to play vibes.

It was one of those things that there was something that just irked him, you know.

But when I was working with him from the year 58 to 60, I certainly learned a tremendous amount from Mr.

Tito Rodriguez, and may he rest in peace, but he knows that he's in my heart.

What did you wear in the band?

Oh, all different kinds of uniforms.

Sometimes we looked like waiters,

you know, and they would ask us for a drink and that, and, you know,

and I would give them my drink and take the, you know, take the tip or something like that.

The main thing is, oh, tuxedos, but we worked because with Tito at that time, he went to Vegas and we did Vegas and he had a show.

His wife was Japanese and she sang.

He had a Cuban dancer, Marta.

He was after that Desi Arnaz, Lucille Ball movement, since he knew Desi, and he knew Lucille Ball because his wife also came from one of those show cabarets.

But he was so sharp, you know, and he can dance.

And the thing was, he could sing.

noces

los avarás

que es uní a y nadamás

cuando tu lo lo tarás

me pergunto cuando y cuando

si me miras al pazar

miso hos de lo dirán

el tiktad

When did you feel ready to form your own band?

1960, after I left Tito Rodriguez, it took about a year.

And then by 1961, I started different forms of orchestra, but la Pelfecta started in late 1961, which was the orchestra then that stood together for seven, eight years.

And we

had two trombones, flute, wooden flute, timbales, conga, bass, singer, and I.

It was a total of eight.

Were trombones unusual for a Latin band?

At that time, yes, they called us like the sound of the roaring elephants.

So did when people compared your sound to elephants, was that in praise?

Oh, well, in praise and in annoyance.

You know, it was a combination of both because we were playing up in the Catskills for three summers with that orchestra.

And that's a really commercial

setting.

And the orchestra certainly didn't belong there, but we needed to be there because that was the way we would be able to maintain our status in the city by being away for the summer.

Like my chito would go to the Concord and Tito Puente would go to the President Hotel and Lake and Swant Lake or whatever.

And we landed up in Kutch's Country Club and then I landed up in Browns and then I landed up in eventually in 1965 in the Raleigh Hotel and that's where they called us the Roaring Elephants.

Now a lot of the hotels that you mentioned had primarily Jewish clientele vacationing there.

Right, that's why I told you before, sometimes the most was quite annoying.

So, were you used to seeing people who weren't Latin doing the cha-cha, the mambo, and everything?

And I wonder what you thought of their dances.

Oh, no, of course, because in the 50s, remember that the Jewish clientele was the clientele in the palladium on Wednesdays.

Oh, and what we saw was not only the Jewish clientele dancing to the most incredible dances that you can find, but you saw Marlon Brando there, you saw him playing bongos with Tito Puente.

I mean, you saw things in the 50s you wouldn't won't believe.

And then and then the Mambo with Tito Puente again and Tito Rodriguez and Machito.

These were great orchestras that the Jewish clientele followed.

On Friday and Saturday the palladium was more Hispanic and on Sunday it was definitely black.

We had four different days there that we had four different unique

ethnic groups coming to dance and they all danced superbly.

I want to play one of your classic recordings.

I want to play Puerto Rico.

Oh, I love it.

We just did that in Puerto Rico just now.

Did you?

Yes.

Well, let me play an early recording of it.

And this is my guest, Eddie Palmieri, his band.

He's featured, of course, on piano.

Isla lindo ibonita, con suza guarpendita.

Yo le cantuala is la de mien canto.

Is la lindo presciosa, sobre toda sadosa.

Yo mán penguen mimbente tu memodía.

Puento rico.

What stage were you at when you recorded that?

Oh, I was in quite an incredible stage, always with the economical pressures around you.

But I found myself in Puerto Rico walking on the beach and looking at that beautiful ocean.

And that's what the lyrics say.

Is la linda bonita con su aguas bendita, you know, beautiful island with your blessed waters surrounding you.

So that's a special album and a special year you play for me.

In Latin music, there's a lot of repetition that the piano plays.

I think, is that called mantuno?

That's exactly right.

It's a mantuno part, but it's called a guajero.

You'll hear like bomb, ping, bum, ping, bum, ping, bum, ping.

That would be the guajero that I'm using there, and I'll use that, the guajero behind

the percussionist.

Because the least amount of harmonic changes in Latin is where we get the highest degree of synchronization, which is what you're after.

We simplify the chord changes, and there we get what we call a masacote, which is the synchronization of the rhythm section and the piano and bass, so that we're featuring that soloist that is showcasing himself or that I'm showcasing on the record or in live, you know, live presentation to the public.

I want to play something from your new album, Palmas.

And you have a piece on here called Bolero Dos.

Right.

And it opens with an extended piano solo.

There's no rhythm behind you in this piano solo, which is very unusual in Latin music.

I mean, the rhythm never stops in Latin music.

Well, I've always done that since

the son of Latin music that won the first Grammy.

It's just piano alone.

Now, why do you go for that?

Oh,

I mentioned that before, is I love variations of a theme, and I know exactly what's going to come behind me, but it's such a beautiful melody that why not play with the piano first?

And there's never been a piano opening or intro that has annoyed or not brought in an audience.

So when you're in an audience that your rhythm can be complicated, it's wonderful to hear a piano first.

And we just,

you know, like I'll just sip it in, you you know, like by playing piano, and then all of a sudden then I'll go into my orchestra and it's been very, very well accepted and I love to do it.

And it's more pianistic.

So it helps me in my direction of getting to

know my instrument better and better.

Well, let's hear the beginning of Bolero Dos.

This is Eddie Palmieri on piano.

Well, we could hear you growl on that side.

I told you, I warned you.

How did you start growling like that?

Well, let me tell you what happened.

My first recording, you know,

we started to record years ago.

First recording, a leg rate.

And all of a sudden, I see the owner walking with the engineer, and he walks walks in and said, what's the baby goes?

What is that?

You know, and what is what?

And we start looking for something that nobody can, you know, what is what?

And we start looking.

Sure enough, we go back to recording and comes back.

What is that?

You know, and finally they found out it was me.

So then they didn't know what to do with me, either gag me or put some kind of a of the, yeah, they wanted to gag me, either that or put, you know, like cover the piano.

And they did everything with the piano until later on and the other recordings, different, you know, and

let it be that's the way he sounds and you know that's him let it go let it go what are you gonna do you know don't gag him and you probably choke him

were you were you aware of the fact that you growled before the interview not like

not like that you know it's really your proof is when you hear it back you say what is that

but it's just a you know that it's that that inner you know that spirit inside and uh it gives me like some kind of an ambience for myself when I play and and it helps and I just can't help it.

It's just me.

Eddie Palmieri, a pleasure to talk with you.

Thank you so much.

Thank you, my dear Terry, and I want to wish you the best in the city of brotherly love and now I have to talk to you with sisterly love.

Eddie Palmieri, speaking to Terry Gross in 1994.

The influential pianist, band leader, and composer died Wednesday at the age of 88.

After a break, we revisit George Clinton on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of his classic Mothership Connection album.

And I'll review the return of the Addams Family TV spin-off Wednesday.

I'm David Bean Cooley and this is Fresh Air.

This message comes from FX's Alien Earth.

From creator Noah Hawley and executive producer Ridley Scott comes the first television series inspired by the legendary alien film franchise.

A spaceship crash lands on Earth, bringing five unique and deadly species, more terrifying than anyone could have ever imagined.

And a technological advancement marks a new dawn in the race for immortality.

FX's Alien Earth.

All new Tuesdays on FX and Hulu.

This message comes from Charles Schwab.

When it comes to managing your wealth, Schwab gives you more choices, like full-service wealth management and advice when you need it.

You can also invest on your own and trade on Thinkorswim.

Visit schwab.com to learn more.

Support for this podcast and the following message come from Sutter Health.

Whether it's prenatal care or postmenopausal guidance, Sutter's team of OBGYNs, doctors, and nurses are dedicated to building long-term relationships for lifelong care.

With personalized care plans for every patient, it's their commitment to supporting every woman at every stage of her life.

Learn more at Sutterhealth.org.

Progressive makes it easy to see if you could save when you bundle your home and auto policies.

Try it at progressive.com.

Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and affiliates.

Potential savings will vary.

Not available in all states.

If funk began with James Brown, it was George Clinton who was responsible for many of the innovations in the funk music of the 1970s and 80s.

He brought electronics into his rhythm tracks and used a guitar sound inspired by acid rock.

Clinton created a funk empire which included the bands Parliament, Funkadelic, P-Funk, and the Brides of Funkenstein.

Parliament and Funkadelic had the same musicians, but Clinton presented his more polished material through Parliament.

Funkadelic was wild and improvisational and put on extravagant stage shows that incorporated science fiction plots and elaborate mythologies.

The musicians wore outlandish costumes and hairdos.

In his alter ego of Dr.

Funkenstein, Clinton sometimes made his stage entrance from a flying saucer.

50 years ago, Clinton's parliament released the now-classic album Mothership Connection.

Here's Give Up the Funk from that album, the band's first million-selling single.

the plane going down, it down there.

I'll be on the bump.

Give up the bump.

I'll be leaving the bump.

You gotta have them bump.

I'll be on the bump.

Give up the bump.

I'll be leaving the bump.

You gotta have the bump.

George Clinton and his partner.

We're going to listen back to Terry's 1989 interview with George Clinton.

Since then, he's released more than 30 albums, some under his own name.

He had a hit in 1983 with Atomic Dolphin.

And life

whenever they're walking the street,

you may compete.

Under

the dramatic society,

range your average

George Clinton, welcome to Fresh Air.

Yeah, I just got deep pleased and got the ticks off me.

I got my doggy bag, and I'm going to go get my raby shots and I'll be ready for him.

How you doing, baby?

Okay.

What got you back in the studio isn't on the road after five years?

Oh, I got tired of laying up being the old dog and not learning new tricks.

So I said, let me get back out there because, you know, when rap started getting heavy like it is now, I said, that's an old trick right there.

I can do that.

So here I am, back out here talking stuff.

Well, I want to play the first hit that you had back when your group was called The Parliaments.

Oh, my God.

You know, that was a big record in Detroit.

That record broke right here in Detroit.

I was back at the barbershop and giving up for a minute.

Well, here it is, George Clinton's first hit back from from 1967.

I just want to testify.

Friends, inquisitive friends, are asking me what's come over me.

A change,

there's been a change,

and it's all so plain to see.

Love just walking in on me,

and it's taken me by surprise.

Happy nesting round me,

you can see it in my eyes.

Now it was just a little while ago.

My life

was incomplete.

I was down

so dark on love.

Had to look up at my feet.

And don't you know that I just wanna testify what your love

has done for me?

Everybody sing,

wanna testify what your love

has done for me.

From 1967, that's George Clinton, the parliament.

It sounds good to hear that again.

Yeah, it sounds really good.

You were saying that

when that record was a hit, you were working for Joe Bett, the publishing company of Motown Records.

I once read you say that

there was a lot you didn't like about Motown.

You didn't like the idea of everybody in the group dressing alike and doing the same stuff.

Not that we didn't like it.

We loved it, but we just

couldn't see ourselves overcoming the temptations or the pips.

First of all, the temptation was from here, and the criteria for that, you know, at that time was height, you know, six feet.

Matter of fact, they all were six feet.

And we were like five, six, two, three.

You know, I mean, we was all over the place.

It wasn't uniform.

And the routines and things we had perfect.

And the suits, of course, we had perfect.

And the styles was perfect.

But there was no way to outdo the pips with the routine.

They were the best routining group that I've ever seen.

And the temptation had the perfect image.

Plus, this was home for them.

So it wasn't that we didn't like it.

It was just no way for us to overcome the competition within the company.

So we just threw the suit.

And plus it was hard to keep ties alike or shirts clean.

Anyway, that was the hardest part of all.

And so it was convenient when we realized that hippies and rock and roll and blues was the exact opposite of what we had been into all our life because we could do this having fun.

We'd wear the clothes bag as opposed to the suit.

We'd take the suit out and throw it down and cut holes in the clothes bag and put it on.

You know, and it became just a big joke at first.

But the music was always like very soulful, churchy, you know, like maggot-brained, psychedelic.

You know, nobody had seen black groups doing psychedelic.

They used to call us Temptations on Acid,

James Brown on Acid, you know, but it was, it always worked.

And so

we just, you know, changed our whole thing and went that way.

So it wasn't that we didn't like the routines and things.

It's just that it was convenient for us to go a different route.

How did you start moving from singing to also

producing and

doing these really far-out rhythm tracks.

I know you were always producing, you produced the Parliament's records, but it really became like a specialty of yours.

Well, after I realized that it was going to take more than one group to survive and make it, any one group could be stopped any kind of ways or just be stopped because they're not good enough.

So not only did it

Parliament Funkadeli,

We did Bootsy, you know, as an offshoot, the Brides, the Hornyhorns, everybody that was in the band.

So they gave me me a lot of different outlets because so many members in the band can write and would have liked to have their own group, but they didn't want the hassles.

And so I'm always continually cutting music and trying to keep another thing happening because when they say it's over with this planned obsolescent trip, you know, if you ain't got but that one record, you got a problem.

Well, you not only have a lot of different bands that you've created and produced, you also have different alter egos that you've performed under, like Dr.

Funkenstein.

Dr.

Funkenstein, Mr.

Wiggles, Sir Knows.

Would you you describe one of your alter egos for our listeners who haven't seen you perform?

Okay, well, Sir Nose, you know, I would never dance.

I shall never dance.

Nobody can make me dance.

I don't even make love.

That voice, you know, harmonized on it, made it real high.

But the voice was actually, I was imitating one of the guys that used to work in the barbershop, or used to come to the barbershop all the time.

He had, you know, all the girls liked him.

He was real cool, but as far as I was concerned, he was crazy.

But he was a fun dude and everybody liked him.

But most of the voice, I usually use a character out of the barbershop because, you know, the thing in the barbershop is to get up and tell lies.

When I saw Sugar Ray fight Joe Lewis in 27,

Richard Pryor always do it.

Those are the kind of things that always happen in barbershops.

And I found that they work good on record.

You know, like, make my funk the P-funk.

I want my funk uncut.

All of those are, you know, slang that's used like in the streets or in the barbershop.

And you find more of it in the barbershop than you do anywhere.

So a lot of the characters were based on people who I know their personality was penetrating when I did it.

Dr.

Funkenstein was like a FM disc jockey, W-E-F-U-N-K, We Funk, home of the extraterrestrial brothers, bringing you music to get yo together by.

And all of those things were like just different

places I know that was penetrating.

And I knew that the DJ was missing off a radio.

They had started doing the cartridge thing.

So the personalities that you used to hear on the radio, like, let me see, attention on radio station jocks.

You got to be serious, slamming on my box.

Because when I try my best to get into the decibels, up so high that my neighbors call the cops.

So when the thing gets to tweaking, you know the groove is peaking.

I mean, harder than a cinder block.

Okay, I know you know what I mean.

I keep a party tweaking on my record machine, you know.

And those kind of things, those kind of jocks is like missing off a radio now.

And, you know, and I figured, well, if I put this on Mothership Connection, it was the right thing at that time.

And it's what most rappers tell me now that they got, or they learned rapping from, the Mothership Connection album.

George Clinton recorded in 1989.

His now classic album, Mothership Connection, is 50 years old.

Clinton still is performing at the age of 84.

Coming up, I'll review season two of the Netflix series Wednesday based on the famous Charles Adams characters.

This is Fresh Air.

This message comes from BetterHelp.

With all the talk about mental health and wellness these days, it can feel like there's advice for everything.

But how do you know what actually works for you?

BetterHelp therapists have a 4.9 rating from 1.7 million client reviews.

So you're in good hands with their licensed therapists who can help figure out what's best for you.

Visit betterhelp.com/slash NPR for 10% off your first month.

Support for NPR and the following message come from GoodRX.

School's back, and so are the germs.

Thankfully, there's GoodRX.

With GoodRX, you can find big savings at the pharmacy all year round.

Compare prescription prices at over 70,000 pharmacies and instantly find discounts of up to 80%.

GoodRX is not insurance, but it may be Chacopay if you do have insurance.

Get simple, smart savings on back-to-school prescriptions at goodrx.com/slash fresh.

This is Fresh Air.

I'm TV critic David Biancoole.

In 2022, Netflix presented a new spin-off of the Addams family canon, focusing on the brooding, dark-haired daughter Wednesday.

Jenna Ortega starred, the creators of the Smallville TV series originated it, and Tim Burton directed four of the eight episodes.

Now, they've all reunited for season two, finally.

To many longtime fans of the Addams family, the ABC TV series from the mid-60s remains the most memorable incarnation of the Charles Adams cartoon characters.

Gomez and Morticia were a bizarre but passionate couple.

Their kids, Pugsley and Wednesday, were charmingly twisted.

And their friends and relatives, including Lurch the Butler, Uncle Fester, and the disembodied hand known as Thing, all added to the hilariously haunted household.

They're creepy and they're kooky, mysterious and spooky.

They're all together, ookie, the Adams family.

Their house is a museum when people come to see them.

They really are a scream, the Adams family.

Charles Adams, who had been drawing these oddball characters since the late 1930s for cartoons published in The New Yorker, worked with the producers of the TV series to define the Addams family.

He finally gave them names and also suggested some personality traits, essentially fleshing them out from two dimensions to three.

The actors helped too.

John Aston was an impish and roguish Gomez, and Carolyn Jones, with her long dark hair and form-fitting black dress, was the unlikeliest, but one of the most prominent TV sex symbols of the 60s.

But since then, there have been the successful Adams Family movies, which starred Raul Julia and Angelica Houston as Gomez and Morticia.

Those films were all but stolen by Christina Ricci as pigtailed morbid young Wednesday.

And in 2022, the Netflix spin-off called Wednesday arrived.

Gomez and Morticia were still around, now played by Louise Guzman and Catherine Zita-Jones, but their appearances were little more than cameos.

Instead, the weight of the narrative and the series fell to Jenna Ortega, the former child star from the Disney Channel's Stuck in the Middle.

And she killed it.

When she came out of her shell at a school party and performed a macabre dance solo, the internet went crazy, and Wednesday became a big hit.

So big, it's one of the most watched English-language Netflix series ever made, and already has been renewed for season three, even though season two has just begun.

And it's begun with a vengeance.

The show's popularity means that Wednesday has returned with even bigger ambitions.

Series creators Alfred Goff and Miles Miller are back as showrunners, and Tim Burton is directing another four episodes this season.

The three of them collaborated on Burton's recent cinematic Betelgeuse-Betelgeuse sequel, and they've loaded up their return to Wednesday with lots of new guest stars and characters.

Steve Bussemi shows up early, playing the enthusiastic new principal of Nevermore Academy, the boarding school to which Wednesday is returning after having saved it from destruction in season one.

Wednesday Adams!

Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho,

it is an honor to meet the savior of Nevermore.

Allow me to introduce myself, Barry Dewart, your new principal.

Would you like a sticker?

Only if you have one that says do not resuscitate.

There's that wicked tongue I've heard so much about.

I love it.

I love it, too.

Tim Burton channels both his own past quirkiness and the spirit of such Alfred Hitchcock classics as The Birds and Psycho.

The other directors match his game.

The writing veers from very funny to a little scary.

And other new cast members, besides Bussemi, include Joanna Lumley from Absolutely Fabulous as Mortish's Grandmother, Billy Piper from Doctor Who and Secret Diary of a Call Girl as Wednesday's new music teacher, and Christopher Lloyd as the school's head professor.

That's all he is, a living head floating in a glass jar.

In the new season's second half, launching in September, additional guest stars include Lady Gaka.

These eccentric new characters add to the roster of returning old ones, including Fred Armison as Uncle Fester, and Christina Ricci, embodying a different role than when she she played Wednesday on the big screen.

But watching the four new episodes available for preview, the greatest joy has been the expanded screen time and emphasis given to Catherine Zeta-Jones as Morticia.

The mother-daughter dynamic now is central to the story, with Morticia invited to live on campus as a school fundraiser.

and with a subplot that has to do with Wednesday experiencing the same crippling psychic visions that once haunted Morticia's sister, Ophelia.

Morticia wants to protect her daughter, but Wednesday is a rebel.

In this scene, they confront one another, Wednesday exits, and then Gomez enters.

You're a dove.

I'm a raven.

We're on different paths.

You said so yourself.

I've had experience with ravens.

Are you talking about your sister?

You've never been very forthcoming about Anne Ophelia.

You remind me a lot of her.

Especially as you've gotten older.

You don't need to worry about me, Mother.

You should be focused on Pugsley.

We both know being tall and male will only get him so far.

Besides, he's got the brains of a dung beetle and the ambition of a French bureaucrat.

What is it, Karida?

Wednesday is hiding things from me.

I will not let history repeat itself.

If Ophelia appears as part of the storyline in the future, I hope the producers of Wednesday will do what the original Adams Family TV series did.

On ABC, they gave the role to Carolyn Jones, who played both the blonde Ophelia and the raven-haired Morticia.

It'd be a delight to see Catherine Zita Jones as both sisters.

On Wednesday, this season, she's already become the best Morticia of them all.

And Jenna Ortega, likewise, is now the best Wednesday.

Season two of Wednesday premiered this week on Netflix.

Coming up, Justin Chang reviews two films revisiting old comedies, new versions of The Naked Gun and Freaky Friday.

This is Fresh Air.

This message comes from NPR sponsor, Capella University.

Sometimes it takes a different approach to pursue your goals.

Capella is an online university accredited by the Higher Learning Commission.

That means you can earn your degree from wherever you are and be confident your education is relevant, recognized, and respected.

A different future is closer than you think with Capella University.

Learn more about earning a relevant degree at capella.edu.

This message comes from Viking, committed to exploring the world and comfort.

Journey through the heart of Europe on an elegant Viking longship with thoughtful service, destination-focused dining, and cultural enrichment on board and on shore.

And every Viking voyage is all-inclusive with no children and no casinos.

Discover more at Viking.com.

This message comes from Visit St.

Pete, Clearwater, Florida, where 35 miles of white sand beaches meet arts and culture.

Visitors can explore the glassworks of the Chihuahua Collection, immerse themselves in exhibits at the Dali Museum, and discover over 500 public murals throughout the destination.

Learn more at visit spc.com.

Two new comedies, both inspired by earlier hit movies, are now playing in theaters.

The Naked Gun, starring Liam Neeson, is a reboot of the classic cop comedy franchise starring Leslie Nielsen.

And in Freakier Friday, Lindsey Lowen and Jamie Lee Curtis revisit their roles from the 2003 body swap fantasy Freaky Friday.

Our film critic, Justin Chang reviews them both.

Fewer and fewer mainstream comedies play in movie theaters these days, which is what I'd call a tragedy.

In the post-pandemic era, the studios, figuring that audiences will only buy tickets to blockbusters and horror movies, have largely relegated laughter to the realms of T V and streaming.

It's heartening, then, that The Naked Gun, a long-in-development reboot of the Leslie Nielsen-starring police squad spoofs of the late 80s and 90s, has made its way into theaters.

Even more heartening, the new movie recaptures more of its predecessor's spirit, the rapid-fire gags, the goofy slapstick, the non-sequitur silliness, than I would have thought possible.

It stars Liam Neeson, which, given how close that sounds to Leslie Nielsen, is funny in and of itself.

Neeson, who spent much of the past decade reinventing himself as an action star, here plays Lieutenant Frank Drebbin Jr.

And yes, he's the son of Nielsen's Lieutenant Frank Drebbin Sr.

Like his father, Drebbin Jr.

is a bumbling embarrassment who works for the LAPD's Elite Police Squad Division.

Along with his partner, Captain Ed Hawkin Jr., a very good Paul Walter Hauser, he's soon sucked into a cheerfully nonsensical plot involving a bank robbery, a dead body, and a sinister billionaire who owns an electric car company, played by Danny Houston.

It's not the only detail that winks at current headlines.

This Dreben has to wear a body camera, which mainly exists to set up an extended chili dog flatulence gag that I probably laughed at harder than I should have.

The movie was directed and co-written by Akiva Schaffer, of the comedy trio The Lonely Island.

He sticks pretty close to the original Naked Gun template, even when he's sending it up, as he does with a quick reference to O.J.

Simpson, a fixture of the three earlier films.

Pamela Anderson fills the Priscilla Presley role of Drebbin's love interest,

playing a crime novelist named Beth Davenport.

Anderson is terrific here, whether she's scatting up a storm in a nightclub, or gamely committing to some crude innuendo involving Neeson and a turkey baster.

And I haven't even mentioned the jealous killer snowman, who tries to derail Drebbin and Beth's budding romance.

Don't worry, I've spoiled nothing.

It has to be seen to be believed.

The Naked Gun isn't the only new LA set farce that tries to revive a durable comic property.

Sadly, Freakier Friday isn't nearly as successful.

Directed by Nisha Ganatra, it's a sequel to the superb 2003 Freaky Friday, itself a remake of the 1976 comedy of the same title.

In the 2003 film, Jamie Lee Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan played Tess and Anna Coleman, a therapist and her teenage daughter who magically swapped bodies and learned to love each other better as a result.

Both actors return in Freakier Friday.

While Curtis's Tess is still enjoying life as a therapist turned part-time podcaster, Lohan's Anna is a music manager.

and a single mom with a strong-willed teenage daughter of her own.

That's Harper, nicely played, by Julia Butters.

Their family is about to get bigger.

Anna is engaged to a dashing Brit named Eric, who has a teenage daughter, Lily, that's Sophia Hammonds, whom Harper can't stand.

It's an awfully convoluted setup, and that extends to the supernatural shenanigans.

For reasons too tortured to explain, Anna ends up trading places with her daughter Harper, while Tess swaps bodies with her future step-granddaughter, Lily.

The result is a lot of screaming chaos.

In this scene, the four leads look in the mirror and marvel at, and recoil from, their transformations.

What is happening to me?

Oh my gosh, I've died!

I killed myself!

She just has crevices all over her face!

Look at the crevices!

My hands look like doll hands.

My butt feels so high.

I think I just peed a little.

Oh,

my face feels so thirsty and dry.

My face is perfect.

My face looks like a Birkenbag that's been left out in the sun derot!

The brilliance of Freaky Friday lay in its two perfectly balanced leads.

Lohan, then in her teens, made a terrifically bossy mom type, while Curtis, reverting to her teens, gave one of the best, most inventive performances of her career.

But the second time isn't the charm in Freakier Friday.

Far from doubling the fun, having four out-of-body experiences, rather than two, simply muddles the comic impact.

Curtis, in particular, seems stuck in the one-note, over-the-top mode of everything everywhere all at once, and the agest jokes made at her expense get tiresome pretty fast.

Lohan, though, is another story.

It's poignant to see her return to Freaky Friday, one of the films that made her a young star before years of personal struggles sidelined her career.

She's lost none of her sharp-witted presence or comic timing, but there's something else at work here, too.

Because she's now playing a teenager trapped in a 39-year-old body, she gets to to both submit to and cheat the passage of time.

Lohan is wonderful to watch, even if you can't always say the same about the movie she's in.

Justin Chang is a film critic for The New Yorker.

He reviewed The Naked Gun and Freakier Friday.

On Monday's show, actor Daniel J.

Kim.

He first became known for his role on the hit TV series Lost.

He's now the star and executive producer of the new spy thriller TV series Butterfly.

Earlier this year, he received a Tony nomination for his role in the revival of the play Yellowface, becoming the first actor of Asian descent to be nominated in the category of lead actor in a play.

I hope you can join us.

To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air.

Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller.

Sam Brigger is our managing producer.

Our senior producer today is Roberta Sharac.

Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham, with additional engineering support by Joyce Lieberman, Julian Hertzfeld, and Deanna Martinez.

Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne-Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Teresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Challener, Susan Yacundi, Anna Bauman, and John Sheen.

Our digital media producer is Molly C.

V.

Nesper.

Hope Wilson is our consulting visual producer.

For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm David Bianco.

This message comes from NPR sponsor, Capella University.

Sometimes it takes a different approach to pursue your goals.

Capella is an online university accredited by the Higher Learning Commission.

That means you can earn your degree from wherever you are and be confident your education is relevant, recognized, and respected.

A different future is closer than you think with Capella University.

Learn more about earning a relevant degree at capella.edu.

This message comes from ShipBob.

For e-commerce brands, scaling from tens of millions to billions of dollars in sales, there's now ShipBob Plus, a growth-accelerating, outsourced fulfillment solution that's tailored to your ambitious goals.

Unlock discounted shipping rates, world-class SLAs, bespoke reporting, and direct access to specialized support teams at every level of operations, all while you leverage ShipBob's scale to save money and time.

Go to shipbob.com/slash plus for a free quote.

This message comes from DSW.

Where'd you get those shoes?

Easy, they're from DSW because DSW has the exact right shoes for whatever you're into right now.

You know, like the sneakers that make office hours feel like happy hour, the boots that turn grocery aisles into runways, and all the styles that show off the many sides of you.

From daydreamer to multitasker and everything in between, because you do it all in really great shoes.

Find a shoe for every you at your DSW store or dsw.com.