1967 embodies rebellion, innovation

Although he has since matured into America's classiest movie star, at one time Paul Newman was the consummate onscreen rebel. With roles like Butch Cassidy, Newman defined American rebellion and individuality in the 1960s. His quintessential anti-heroic role was as the title character of 1967's "Cool Hand Luke." Sentenced to hard time in a Deep South prison camp for the dastardly crime of destroying parking meters, Luke Jackson sets out to be the one unbreakable inmate. Through two hours of film, Luke stoically suffers the repeated abuses of his jailers, earning the reluctant respect of his fellow prisoners and the audience in the process. The title character's growing camaraderie with Oscar-winner George Kennedy offers solace from the brutal reality of life in confinement. Luke's repeated escape attempts further illustrate his indestructible spirit. Unlike "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," "Cool Hand Luke" can be almost painful to watch. Jackson's quiet resistance subjects him only to more sadistic ploys from prison officials. Newman's natural magnetism only makes viewing the torture more difficult; his casting was ideal. Jackson's unflappable will to be free - and the captain's, played by Strother Martin, contrasting determination to shackle him, in reality and in mind - creates a tension that lingers long after the film is over. As the archetypal rebel in the ultimate conformist society, Luke is symbolic of much more than a petty criminal bent on escape. Anyone resisting societal expectations can relate to "Cool Hand Luke." Luke Jackson has been compared from everyone from Stokely Carmichael to Jesus Christ. Luke's polar opposite and archenemy, the sunglasses-wearing deputy, is representative of any form of repressive evil. For what is ultimately a multi-tiered allegory, "Cool Hand Luke" is remarkably well-accepted by the critics and the general public alike. A large reason for its universal appeal, the film is the source of some of the most memorable individual scenes and lines of any single movie in history, many of which have reappeared in pop culture since. Newman's 50-eggs-in-one-hour challenge was revolting enough to be reworked for Jackass in 2001. Strother Martin's famous warning, "What we got here is a failure to communicate," was introduced to a new generation when incorporated into Guns 'n' Roses' "Civil War" in 1991. Newman's symbolic assessment of a poker hand strikes at the rebel's motivation - "Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand," - and ties "Cool Hand Luke" into a neat package. The Velvet Underground is simultaneously one of the most ignored and influential bands of the last four decades. Despite the fact that countless bands list the Velvets as a primary influence, lead singer and guitarist Lou Reed is just as likely to be recognized for his weird collection of spoken-word renditions of Edgar Allen Poe than he is as the founder of one of rock's greatest bands. Despite a lack of mainstream popularity, 1967's "The Velvet Underground and Nico" showcases the best of the group's skills. Produced by artist Andy Warhol, this debut release contains both the pop melodies and dark explorations of drug culture that characterized the group's music. "The Velvets were just ahead of their time," said School of Music lecturer Sean McCullough. "Their sound questioned the basic assumptions about what music is in a way that the rock world had not yet seen. The lyrics were poetic. The music was raw." "Heroin" explores the limits of music as a medium in a way that few songs ever have. As the musical representation of a heroin trip, this classic anthem starts slow and builds up to an aggressive wall of noise, bludgeoning listeners in the process. The lyrics - "Heeeeerrrrrrrooooooiiin/Gonna be the death of me" - delved into drug culture with an explicit new sense of purpose. "I'm Waiting For the Man" is a drug-dealing tale of palpable desperation with a raw edginess better suited to an N.W.A. album than the psychedelic sounds of the Velvet's contemporaries. Lou Reed's heavy guitar creates a timeless intensity, while John Cale's electric viola adds a flavor of experimentation that made The Velvet Underground the musical pioneer it was. The Velvets' use of the wall of sound was groundbreaking in hard rock, and the embrace of Phil Spector's pop innovation separated it from any band before it. At the same time, The Velvet Underground was also brilliant in its pop melodies. With layered sounds that would impress the Beach Boys, the Velvets vocal harmonies on songs like "There She Goes Again" stood almost directly opposite to the anti-music intensity of "Heroin." This odd dichotomy is likely a reason for their lack of success - pop fans would be turned off by lyrics like "Stick a spike into my arm," while fans expecting gloom rock wouldn't quite no what to make of a bouncy number like "Sunday Morning." Critics and artists embraced the album in a way that fans never would. "The Velvet Underground and Nico" "reminded viewers of nothing so much as Berlin in the decadent '30s," wrote Los Angeles Magazine. When considering any of The Velvet Underground's albums, it is nearly impossible to avoid this sense of greater historical significance. The Velvet fingerprint is unmistakable in much of the experimental, innovative music released since, a fact not lost on the band itself. In the liner notes to 1970's "Loaded," the Velvet's influence is summarized thusly: "It's been said that only a few thousand people ever bought a Velvet Underground album, but every one of them formed a rock 'n' roll band." Today's musicians could do much worse than to emulate "Velvet Underground and Nico." 1967 is a year to remember.