Breakfast at Sulimay’s

The opening credits of Breakfast at Sulimay’s have a nauseating, sort of dizzying effect on me. The pale colour-palette is like a rainbow drained of all its blood, while the jingle has a worryingly short lifespan. It provides a veritable timestamp of lo-fi editing, symptomatic of nineties programming, and yet it makes complete sense. Within this scenery, the concept is that three superannuated residents of Philadelphia review recent, canonical, and hyped music. However, when phrases such as the ‘least offensive’ are the most superlative employed, the generation gap is visibly strained. Yet, the brainchild of Marc Brodzik, and product of Woodshop Films, regularly departs from the unedifying, and steps into the perceptive, warming and genuine. The sight of octogenarians wilting and becoming teary-eyed to Bon Iver is not something you will often see.

This trio of geriatric musketeers do not fit well with our image of subversive revolutionaries, but they hold the greatest freedom. With no institutional allegiance, no expectations, nor fear of embarrassment, there is no retribution if they pan the latest Animal Collective album (‘It’s giving me a headache, the lyrics were repetitious; it was as bad as Rocket Man’ ). With a music industry of critics that are rather incestuous, Breakfast at Sulimays is an unexpected counterpoint, a challenge to the elite. All of which, stemming from a small back-room in a greasy spoon.

 

Equally as unforeseen is the reaction of our panel. Through inadvertently eavesdropping on these regulars at Sulimay’s, Brodzik discovered a dazzling wit in these individuals, and sought to apply their opinions to music. In Bill Able, Ann Bailey, and Joe Walker there is nuanced debate, yet insight does tend to wax and wane. Bill is perhaps the most traditional and dogmatic; he regularly protests to not understanding the music, often invoking claims it would fail in ‘Fishtown’ (Philadelphia’s local nickname). Ann is the most provocative member of the group with her trademark feisty ‘Fuck You’, exaggerated facial contortions, general outspokenness. Ann has tended to draw criticism from YouTube viewers, especially when discussing her own sexuality (see the cringeworthy Iggy Pop episode), with cantankerous consequences. With almost universal concurrence, Joe is the diamond in the rough. I often simultaneously worry about forceful gusts of wind, his heart, and whether he is experiencing dementia. But Joe always proves enlightening, whether it be his references to old jazz tunes, 50s poets, or his critiques of contemporary percussion. Like a barrel of whiskey, his thoughts matured finely with the years.. The dynamics between them is another interesting subplot to follow, notably in the more recent episodes, when Joe becomes stigmatised and caricatured for his eloquence and intelligence. The threesome conjure the image of a senile cerberus, with their heads tied by age, but not by opinion.

There are a vast number of episodes that have been aired by Scrapple TV, including the likes of Fuck Buttons, Beirut, LCD Soundsystem, Grizzly Bear (who were described by Joe as a ‘a college Glee Club doing a rock song’), Iggy Pop, Kanye West, Odd Future, Slayer, Animal Collective, and MGMT (Ann commenting on the video, ‘Some sick son of a bitch did that one’). Another classic episode saw dangerously high blood pressures, with Shakira’s She Wolf, where the men became transfixed, and Ann searingly jealous. Refreshingly though, Bill laments ‘If only she weighed a hundred pounds more’. The last of these episodes, however, screened on March 29th, alongside a Kickstarter campaign

which asked for money to continue funding the show, without which it could be discontinued. With their target unsuccessful, Breakfast at Sulimay’s future is uncertain.