Yes, the current hiphop scene. I can’t think of any creative artists in any field that are more inspiring right now than the best of our street hiphop (aka gangsta rap) lyricists and performers. Despite the popular misconception that hiphop hasn’t been the same since Biggie and Pac, the artists working the field today are every bit as good as they need to be, and I’m happy to mention a few of them here. These and several other new hiphop talents are putting out works for the ages, and you can hear the best of it on your car radio. You don’t even need satellite radio to pick up this stuff.

Take Mike Jones of Houston, a warm, funny street rider obsessed with wood grain steering wheels, candy paint, tippin’ on four vogues and drinking purple drink. Sometimes he goes off on the ho’s, other times he tells us — in several different songs — about how his grandmother gave him the advice that kicked off his music career. Jones’ thick-tongued delivery and self-deprecating humor (”I’m Mike Jones” — “Who?” — “Mike Jones”) recall the great Erick Sermon of EPMD; indeed, he is a much-needed Biz Markie for the age of Google and Iraq.

Busta Rhymes is hardly unknown in the hiphop world (where he is seen as a God) but he is not as widely known as he should be outside this universe, and I believe many responsible and mature adults would and could enjoy listening to his music if they gave it a chance. On a technical level, he may be the most skillful rapper of all time. His songs are often built around clever concepts, like last year’s “Touch It”, which features one of the strangest and best beats you’ve recently heard with verses by Mary J. Blige, Missy Elliot, Lloyd Banks, Papoose and Busta, each doing first 16 quiet bars, then 16 loud bars. This track is just the latest gem in a long and innovative career.

There are a lot of good hiphop tracks, but a great CD is a rare thing. “D-Block”, a CD/DVD released in 2006 by the indie Koch Records doesn’t have a single bad moment (well, maybe the DVD does, but the CD doesn’t). D-Block is Jadakiss, Styles P and Sheek Louch, plus a whole lot of friends. J-Hood turns in some of the best verses on this CD, but the free lyrical sample I’ll include here comes from a couple of shorties on the block, Don D and T. Y., from “Let it Go”. I love how they demand to win more Grammy awards than Mariah Carey for this song, when everybody knows that really just isn’t going to happen. Here they go, alternating lines …

I’m in my cell writing
(trying to get my cd hot)
they got me locked in
(till I get my TV spot)
my shit burn and sting
(like your weewee hot)
they want to give me fed time
(like Pee Wee got)
like a court case
(I got the Lamborghini drop)
if you a dusthead
(yeah, we got the heemi block)
we want more awards
(than Mimi got)
and if we don’t
(then we gotta let the nee-ne (9) pop)
nigga, talk shit I start licking a snub
(Don D and T. Y., more chrome than E-doub)
Go, go, we up in the club
(let a four-fif hollow your mug)
I got four burners like the back of your oven
(and we coming for y’all niggas like Harriet Tubman)
Fell back for a minute
(now it’s back to bubblin’)
Them niggas got fat
(now it’s back to grubbin’)
Yo, I’m in the hood, I demand a match
(Yo, D and T. Y. like Dwayne and Shaq)
When we drop shit?
(nigga, put a Grammy on it) …

That’s poetry, I say, and I say hiphop is alive and well in 2008.

If your answer to this question involves spring cleans, may queens or bustles in the hedgerow, then you might know and love Led Zeppelin’s “The Song Remains the Same” as much as I do. This classic movie and double album from 1976 has just been re-released in a worthwhile expanded edition that includes new restorations of “Black Dog”, “Since I’ve Been Loving You”, “Heartbreaker”, “Over the Hills and Far Away”, “Misty Mountain Hop”, “Celebration Day” and “The Ocean”.

“Song Remains the Same” is a concert recording assembled from three shows at New York City’s Madison Square Garden in July 1973, three years before the original album and movie were released. These were the final shows of Zeppelin’s blowout 1973 American tour, which might explain why singer Robert Plant and guitarist Jimmy Page seem exhausted at certain moments, or appear slightly bored by the more well-known songs (like “Stairway to Heaven”, which gets raggedy treatment).

But if the performers’ energy levels are crashing for these final shows, their group dynamics are flawless. The band was at its creative peak in the summer of 1973 (they had just released “Houses of the Holy” and were beginning to write songs for “Physical Graffiti”). Each of the four band members seem to be deeply attuned to each other’s signals, and more than anything else it’s for the bewitching music they produce together that “Song Remains the Same” should be enjoyed today.

It’s less likely to be enjoyed for the corny fantasy sequences that riddle the film, many of them involving machine guns, racing cars, tractors and old men with swords. One could easily fault this movie for being self-indulgent, and this is one reason the record album may be preferable to the film.

In both the film and the audio re-release, new songs like “The Ocean” and “Misty Mountain Hop” are most satisfying as objects of curiosity. Perhaps these tracks were left off the 1976 release because they are live renditions of tight studio arrangements that do not open themselves up easily for jamming. Another new song, “Over the Hills and Far Away”, suffers badly here when Jimmy Page picks the delicate opening notes with an uncharacteristically heavy hand.

But the newly complete version of “Heartbreaker” contains a blasting guitar break, while”Black Dog” (which was in the original movie but not the album) features an appealingly sly and slightly laid-back Robert Plant vocal. “Since I’ve Been Loving You”, a blisteringly emotional love song with powerful parts for lead guitar and thunderous drums, is one of the new highlights of the album (it was also previously only included in the film).

John Bonham’s drumming in “Since I’ve Been Loving You” is infinitely more interesting than his disappointing drum solo in “Moby Dick”, which famously goes nowhere and takes too long doing so. Bassist/keyboardist John Paul Jones is pleasant enough during his showpiece number, the Ray Manzarek-style keyboard saga “No Quarter”. But the greatest thing about John Paul Jones in “Song Remains the Same” is undoubtedly his page-boy haircut, which can be seen to great effect in several of the fantasy sequences in the film.

Jimmy Page is the real star of this show. His uncommonly creative approach to electric guitar is evident everywhere. Listen to the beginning of the ambitious title song, which unravels as a churning multi-tempo fusillade of choppy 12-string guitar chords. Jimmy Page plays this one on his double-neck guitar (12-string on top, 6-string below) not because this song requires both guitars but only so he can make a perfect segue from this song into the following one, a mellow “Rain Song”, which requires a 6-string. It’s that kind of attention to detail — the quiet segue must come off perfectly, even amidst the chaos of a Madison Square Garden concert — that has always characterized Led Zeppelin’s music.

The hot metal core of “Song Remains The Same”, of course, is the 29:18 minute epic “Dazed and Confused”. The song draws you in with a snaky descending bassline that pauses portentously after each note, accented by a tight high-hat hit from John Bonham and quavery harmonics from Jimmy Page. This beguiling beginning starts to morph into a Conrad-esque journey of sound about 75 seconds into the track, as Page coaxes a primal wail, a canvas of pure electric signal, out of his Les Paul.

“Dazed and Confused” changes tempo about forty times, though I don’t think John Bonham ever plays the same beat twice. Jimmy Page plays his guitar with a violin bow (this is the move parodied by Christopher Guest as Nigel Tufnel, who played guitar with a violin in “This is Spinal Tap”). By the song’s thirteenth minute Jimmy Page’s guitar is moaning, tapping, searching, falling, skidding. Robert Plant and Jimmy Page find long notes and explore them together, allowing the sounds to echo and burst into palpitating waves. It slows down, winds around, gets lost, and then at the sixteenth minute it all reawakens, springs back to life and starts dancing. At twenty minutes, a firecracker goes off during a Robert Plant wail and he pretends he was shot. Finally, the rolling drums are heard in the distance, like a triumphant herd of charging buffalo.

Somehow, it all has drama. Somehow, at 29 minutes and 18 seconds, it ends too soon. This extended live version of “Dazed and Confused” is a masterpiece of brutalist rock, a head-cleaning “noise epic” that stands with the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray” and the Plastic Ono Band’s “Don’t Worry Kyoko” as a monument to the power of pure primal noise.

“The Song Remains the Same” closes with Robert Plant channeling Elvis Presley and Jimmy Page romancing a theremin on an extended “Whole Lotta Love”. It’s excessive, and so is everything else about this record. Thirty years after its original release, the new additions to “The Song Remains the Same” don’t add up to a whole lot, but they may inspire many listeners to rediscover (or discover for the first time) a remarkable historic recording in a sparkling new release.

Surprise is what gives humor its convulsive power. Following philosopher and psychologist William James, we should seek to understand our emotions by examining their physical roots, and so to understand comedy, we must first understand laughter. A close analysis of the physical act of laughter shows how much it revolves around the tension and release of surprise. Say you’re sitting in a quiet classroom and a friend suddenly looks you in the face with crossed eyes, goofy smile and tongue sticking out, then quickly turns back and faces the teacher with a sober expression. The sudden contrast between the quiet, serious environment of the classroom and the weird goofiness of your friend’s “funny face” spikes your body into a paroxysm of tension and surprise, which is then involuntarily released by a spasmic exhalation of breath and a tingling rush of adrenelin.

But the funniest surprises are the ones that do not arrive suddenly but instead gather, that sneak up on you, that percolate impossibly over time. That’s how Leslie Nielsen’s signature performance in Naked Gun feels to many people, mainly because he plays a role of such bottomless and perfect contradiction. His sturdy build, steady gaze, square features and deep manly voice could not be more ill-fitted to the dumb, childish, happy-go-lucky character he is playing.

This character is police detective Frank Drebbin, who towards the end of the movie dresses up as an umpire at a California Angels baseball game in order to protect the Queen of England from an assassin. The problem is, Drebbin neglected to prepare for the role of home plate umpire, and a look of panic comes over his face as he takes position behind the catcher and stares up at the stadium full of eager baseball fans, with no idea what to do.

The first pitch crosses the plate, and the entire stadium falls silent for a long tense moment until Drebbin extends his right hand and mumbles “Strike?”. The crowd cheers with appreciation, and we see Drebbin’s face change as he realizes they are applauding because he called a strike. The next pitch comes over the plate, and now suddenly Drebbin remembers how an umpire moves, and calls another strike with the confident jerky pumping motion of a seasoned ump. He then pauses the game to bow, elated, to the happy fans. The next pitch comes, and before it even crosses the plate he calls the strike, basks in the adulation and breaks into a spontaneous moondance for the cheering crowd.

You probably had to be there, but I was (and hopefully you were too, or you can be) and it was funny.

Another notable characteristic of this moment in Naked Gun is the utter levity: Frank Drebbin is in the middle of an important mission — in fact, this scene is the climax of the entire movie — and yet Drebbin completely forgets his purpose in dressing up as an umpire. He is so intoxicated by the crowd that he even forgets about the Queen, and totally fails to consider the fact that doing a moondance during the first inning might call attention to his clandestine identity. This lightheadedness is something to be admired.

In fact, Frank Drebbin’s misdirected purposelessness recalls that of a more commonly acclaimed master of comedy, Groucho Marx, whose characters in various Marx Brothers movies were often working on some elaborate scheme or plan, but could never be bothered to stick with the plan if there was fun to be had instead, or somebody to insult. Attempting to seduce the rich dame invariably played by Margaret Dumont, Groucho’s characters could never resist an opportunity to say the completely wrong things, and he would frequently look directly at the camera with an expression that says “Well, wouldn’t you?” before diving in.

In this sense, I’m also reminded of Bugs Bunny, who was clearly modeled after Groucho Marx (it surprises me that this fact hasn’t been remarked on more often, since so many of Bugs Bunny’s attitudes and moves can be traced directly back to Groucho — just watch Groucho’s “waiting for somebody?” entrance at his welcoming ceremony in Duck Soup, for instance, and remember howmany times Bugs Bunny has pulled off the same entrance trick). Like Groucho, Bugs will often go to great trouble to set up a deception, and then blow his cover because it’s too easy, and because he’s just too bored to care.

Surprise and levity, Leslie Nielsen and Groucho Marx and Bugs Bunny. This adds up, for me, to the essence of the comedic attitude in life.

Across the Universe is a Beatles pastiche, but somehow the talent of director Julie Taymor and the passage of thirty years has made this effort as delicious as 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was corny. It’s the story, set to well-chosen Beatles songs like “Girl”, “Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite”, “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” and “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, of a gang of hip young people in the 1960’s. There’s a Liverpool wanderer named Jude, an American girl-next-door named Lucy, her reckless big brother Max, a lesbian named Prudence, a singer named Sadie and a guitarist named JoJo. And that’s just the setup — you should see the delivery.

Julie Taymor is shameless, but in the best sense (her other acclaimed works include Broadway’s Lion King and the film Frida). As pure entertainment, as an extended high-end music video, this film is a knockout. It goes without saying that the theater burst into applause when it ended. What impressed me most about Taymor’s approach, though, was how openly she swiped one pop-culture reference after another and threw it into this film.

The theater/film references alone are too many to list: the downtown New York bohemian setting tips its hat to Rent; the two main male characters echo the two male leads of Hair, and just as in Hair, one of them gets drafted to Vietnam and the other doesn’t. An amazing sequence set to the great Beatles song “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” manages to recall the film versions of both Pink Floyd’s The Wall and, in a montage of flashing eyeballs and closing trap doors, The Who’s Tommy. But no movie rock-musicals get left out: even Grease is in here. Then there are the mashed-up Beatles movie references: the Blue Meanies show up as freaky blue creatures, and the Liverpool sequences at the beginning of Yellow Submarine are beautifully photographed in a realistic setting (a submarine propellor, of course, hangs overhead).

I could go on, and on. Timothy Leary and Neal Cassady and Ken Kesey show up (the bus is called “Beyond”, rather than “Further”). The singer and guitarist morph into versions of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, and they all do a concert on a roof. It helps a lot that the music is well-realized (and that the song selection reflects a true Beatles fan’s tastes), but in the end what I like most about this movie is its audacity.

It’s refreshing to see Julie Taymor sample so many cultural touchstones for her film so freely, so utterly without apology. In this way it reminds me of the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique, which is so dense with samples and references that fans are still annotating and analyzing it to this day. I don’t know if anyone will analyze Across the Universe twenty years from now. But I’m pretty sure anyone who sees it today will be glad they did.