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OCTOBER, 2004
ISSUE #6: THE LATE, GREAT BASSHEAD MEDIA
MUSIC
Amon Tobin - Solid Steel Presents: Amon Tobin Recorded Live (Ninja Tune, 2004)
When it comes to Solid Steel DJs, you can expect to hear more than just a DJ mix in which one song flows into the next until the CD ends. Each album is a lesson in sound, each containing multiple styles of music perfectly blended with strange samples and scratching. The next logical step in the series would be to surprise us all, and Amon Tobin does just that. One must take into consideration that this mix was not constructed in a studio, but on two turntables and the Final Scratch laptop program in front of a sweaty Australian audience. What does Tobin produce? Scary stuff. It’s dark, it’s hard, it’s relentless and it's mixed flawlessly. The beats switch between downtempo (you’ll notice that much of the work on here is his own) and breakneck drum n’ bass classics. Tobin isn’t playing what’s popular, but rather what he feels inspires his own music, or at least what fits perfectly alongside it. There are a few crazy Solid Steel mash-ups, but having Jurassic 5’s "Quality Control" replace the cut up vocals of Tobin’s "Verbal" is a treat, as is Dizzee Rascal rapping over Tobin’s "Proper Hoodidge," but most of the mix seems strangely dry. Though he is a talented DJ worthy of the Solid Steel name, this might gain a reputation as being the weakest effort in the series. But at least he had the balls to record it live.
-Jeremiah Turits
Badly Drawn Boy - One Plus One Is One (Twisted Nerve)
The instruments listed at the end of Badly Drawn Boy’s One Plus One Is One album booklet may give you an idea of what it sounds like: acoustic and electric guitars, piano, cello, celeste, clavinet, Wurlitzer Fun-Maker, drums, Hammond organ, Melotron, Fender Rhodes piano, glockenspiel, banjo, timpani, bells, "orchestral crash cymbal," tubular bells, gong, bass, cowbell, chimes, samples and effects, to name a few. But for an album employing a long list of musical toys, that crunchy-looking troubadour Damon Gough keeps it simple. Like his past albums, The Hour of Bewilderbeast and Have You Fed the Fish?, Gough still soothes with the thick, low English timbre of his voice, and he still constructs quality pop songs with the same songwriting mastery. Rather than throwing in humorous disco-inspired songs from previous releases (like "All Possibilities" from Fish), Gough keeps the album relatively structured and free from too many off-kilter embellishments. The beautiful string arrangements of "This Is That New Song" rival the thoughtful "Magic In the Air" from Bewilderbeast. And the finger-snapping wit of "Four Leaf Clover" could inspire the most aloof listener to consider clapping along. Though it's technically the Year of the Monkey, poppy piano ballad "Year of the Rat" alludes to a time which, according to The Handbook of Chinese Horoscopes by Theodora Lau, "free from explosive events and wars and with far less catastrophes...a congenial time that will find most of us socializing and enjoying ourselves." Gough's mistake was most likely intentional. On One Plus One Equals One he suggests that this is a time in which we could all use a bit of simple hope.
-Vanessa Schneider
Devendra Banhart - Nino Rojo (Young God, 2004)
Consisting of outtakes from the sessions that led to Rejoicing in the Hands, one of the most unexpected pleasures of the year, Nino Rojo ranks just under Sufjan Stevens’ Seven Swans in terms of building album cohesion from what might be perceived by fans as B-material. However, the uniformly excellent quality of this collection adds a new layer of mythology to Banhart's already enigmatic persona; the album’s best tracks suggest that his previous release was only the beginning of Banhart's reserve of stunning material. The playful “At the Hop,” complemented with a grainy 16mm-looking music video, is a deliberate folk singalong, and the surreal “Little Yellow Spider” is one of Banhart's strangest and most weirdly compelling songs to date. Much of this material would fit easily onto a remastered edition of Rejoicing, but that conclusion doesn't do Nino Rojo justice as a unique second great release from one of this year's most promising discoveries. This is certainly a great album for Banhart junkies in need of a quick fix, but in time, this album will almost certainly stand alongside Rejoicing as the collective breakthrough of one of the most consistent and riveting folk artists in independent music.
-David Moore
Bjork - Medulla (Elektra, 2004)
Bjork’s latest release has the potential to be written off as a gimmick: Medulla is almost entirely vocally derived, which might lend itself to novelty status. This disaster has been adverted, however, by one of music’s most creative minds. In fact, by focusing in on one particular idea Bjork has produced some of her best work since 1997's Homogenic. Most of the songs on Medulla are touchingly intimate, but the rich textures produced by the mass of voices on the album's most cohesive tracks are versatile: Bjork is not limited here to dreamy ballads and atmospheric lullabies from another planet. "Where is the Line" picks up where "Hunter" and "Army of Me" left off, but the results here are more difficult. The song's vocally approximated bass and dry percussion create a vulnerable atmosphere. Three songs are sung in Bjork's native Icelandic, and her closely mic'ed glottal stops and rolled R's are tender and affecting.
But for all its peaks, Medulla is not without its valleys. Individual guest vocalists, including Mike Patton, play a large role on their contributing tracks, but there are no duets on the level of Selmasongs’s "I’ve Seen it All" with Thom Yorke. The album's final tracks get a little tedious: "Midvikudage" is downright irritating, and sub-par closer "Triumph of the Heart" bobs along for four minutes before ending the album unremarkably. An album this dense doesn’t need a glorious ending, but these tracks don't seem worth the wait. Overall, these small flaws can’t outweigh Medulla’s numerous pleasures. With this record, she’s taken the final step from ambiguous but individualistic vocalist to one of the most definitive contemporary alternative singers.
-Phil Giampietro
Clann Zú – Black Coats & Bandages (G7 Welcoming Committee, 2004)
I didn’t know exactly what to expect from Black Coats & Bandages, the latest offering from the Australian/Irish outfit Clann Zú. Their last release, Rua, is an inventive blend of indie and groove rock, Irish folk, and electronica. Songs are laced with violin and guitar, combine natural with electronic sounds, and include both Irish and English lyrics. When I put Black Coats into my CD player and heard the simple, slow first song of sparse piano and vocals, I was caught a bit off guard. Recorded entirely in analog, Black Coats is an organic, sincere, raw, and dark album. Imagine Coldplay getting their hearts broken and reactively secluding themselves in a tiny town in Ireland in the depth of winter with a bottle of scotch. Their distinctive electric violin is substituted with piano in most cases, and gone is their coloring of electronica beats and sounds. Beautifully sad songs, such as "There Will Be No Morning Copy," "One Bedroom Apartment," and "An Deirdreadh Scéal," showcase Declan de Barra’s improved vocal strengths. The guitar work carries the melody where a violin typically would, noticeably strengthening the track. Though the majority of the album is downbeat, there are a few well-placed moments of full-on aggression. Black Coats & Bandages dwells on the potential emotion that can be aroused from songwriting and structure rather than attempt forced originality and eclecticism.
- Justin Talbott
Dillinger Escape Plan - Miss Machine
While listening to Miss Machine, the first full-length from the leading math core/metallic-jazz group in five years, I had an argument with my inner-“Metal Maniacs” reviewer. A minute into it he (for our purposes, I’ll call him SkullDust) claims, “This is fucking brutal. Brutal sonic mayhem.” I agreed. By the end of “Sunshine the Werewolf” SkullDust proclaims, “Dillinger has never been tighter. Tighter than a brutally virgin girl-place.” I nod, but question the appropriateness of his language. Where SkullDust and I begin to disagree is on the topic of new super-fan vocalist Greg Puciato. I explain to SkullDust that just because Puciato screams doesn’t make him an adequate front man for an outfit of such precise unpleasantness. His gratingly throaty bawls are often transparent and offer few memorable moments. Where he does show potential is in his spoken word segments, which resemble Mike Patton’s work in its uneasy menace lurking beneath the natural croon. But this dynamic is not released often in Miss Machine. The album displays the band’s greatest moment of musicianship desperately pleading to be an instrumental piece. SkullDust: “It grinds! It destroys! It brutally claims metallic supremacy!” Almost. No more fan contests to replace vocalists, please.
-Sean Frasier
The Helio Sequence - Love and Distance (Sub Pop, 2004)
On their new album, Love and Distance, The Helio Sequence blends indie guitar and funk drums with Postal Service-like ambient computer beeps. Sounds good right? Not quite. The problem here isn’t the band's formula, but rather their often annoying execution. On the third installment of Modest Mouse drummer Ben Weikel's side project, lyrics consist mostly of poppy trash ("everyone keeps talking like they’ve got the answers/ what was the question?") and songs, though starting off promisingly, quickly become silly and dismissible. The band's saving grace, however, is its barrage of Zelda II/ Tetris-esque sound effects which replace what may well have been string arrangements on the album. Love and Distance may well be the commercial future of rock music: The blending of computer and guitar to form catchy, melodic pop. The Sequence just haven’t quite nailed it yet.
-Zack Dinerstein
Interpol - Antics (Matador, 2004)
As trite a trope as discussing the sophomore slump is for any review of a second album, sometimes ignoring context is a much worse sin. Even so, comparing any music to something as vital as Interpol's debut Turn On the Bright Lights is a daunting prospect. With their 2001 debut, Interpol carved out a distinctive patch of turf from the then newly exploding New York City garage rock scene with a sound with the audacity to speak for a city's worth of alienation and make it a beautiful escape.
Thoroughly colored by the collecting pools of anticipatory drool, the follow up Antics is not an easy thumbs up or down by any means. The instruments, the arpeggios, the enunciation-- all are pretty consistent with the previous Interpol blueprint. Singer Paul Banks still keeps to the King's Amer-English on this one and rations out the crooning like the gold plate on a Chinatown wristwatch, although notably with a little more tonal range than before. Lead single "Slow Hands" showcases the formula with every channel sounding perfectly synced and controlled by an invisible helmsman. The guitars still pledge allegiance to the beat, looping and droning with a more distinct bass sound coming through, bass even taking over the driver's seat on "Evil".
The key difference lies in an apparent thinning of the atmosphere. This mix tones down the reverb across the board in favor of a cleaner sound that segregates each man's instrument. No longer the sound of a four-headed beast melting out of the walls of Northeast Babylon, the previously humid wash of sounds dissolves enough for a casual listener to pick each track out from the mix, the vocals freed from the tar pits and all the more precise for it. Lyrically, there's another shift of focus from broader observations on passion and decay to barbed threats and come-ons bound up in a narrower channel between two people. This tightened scope comes with something of a loss of intensity in its delivery. Banks is actually singing now, but he sings like he has something else on his mind.
The net effect is that this is an album of songs, not a soundscape. Whereas Turn On the Bright Lights was its own enclosed environment, Antics seems best suited to a pair of open-backed headphones worn while moving through the noise, the grit and the thick air that seems missing from this album's new formula. These are songs to fit into your life, not lives lived inside of songs. Treat it like a language instruction tape for your own glossed-up ennui, not really a place to go but something that gives you words for what you see when you get there.
-A.J. McGuire
Jet – Get Born (Elektra, 2003)
Jet’s debut Get Born feels like an album that I’ve owned for a long time and know and love well. In a way, it is. Jet's hit single "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" blatantly copies the infectious opening chords of Iggy Pop’s "Lust for Life" to an almost Vanilla Ice level of insult. But the song’s completely unoriginal beginning and general redundancy simultaneously makes the song strangely memorable, which basically describes the album in short. Most songs on Get Born are catchy, particularly opener "Last Chance," full of spirited "yeah"’s from lead singer Nic Cester’s crooning Australian voice. Many prosaic songs come off as so sincere that it’s hard not to get caught up in them. However, the repetition does get old on the clichéd "Roll Over D.J.," which has as much flavor as Wonderbread. But Jet's rock cribbing still works well for songs like "Get What You Need," when the band chants in unison, "She’s not there!" and "You’re gonna get what you need!" like a pep rally for the broken-hearted. The songs that aren’t full of blast-worthy machismo are sappy acoustic numbers. With the exception of "Come Around Here," the perfect song to put on an apology mix CD, these songs have the same failings as the others. They sound like they’ve come up on the "shuffle" option on my iTunes forever, familiar but not distinct.
-Stacey Coburn
Mouse on Mars – Radical Connector (Thrill Jockey, 2004)
It's been widely agreed that Mouse on Mars is one of the finest acts in electronic music, but their music has always been so goddamned weird that it's also pretty much guaranteed that they’ll never break into an SUV commercial. Radical Connector takes every odd little thing we’ve come to love about them and kicks it into disco mode. The results are somewhat perplexing. "Wipe That Sound," one of the album’s singles, is one of the catchiest electronic tracks I’ve heard in years; the song sounds like something you’d catch in a club, download later, and refuse to release until someone pried that iPod from your cold dead hands. And yet it's still Mouse on Mars, which neccessarily makes it one of the most fucked up dance tracks you’ll ever hear. Radical Connector makes me think that the group broke into Daft Punk’s studio and promptly tortured them. The album retains all of those wonderfully weird bleeps, blonks, and blasts of distortion Mouse on Mars is known for, but it’s surprisingly danceable and largely centered on lyrics. As the album progresses, the group's distinctive sound becomes more apparent, with vocals becoming increasingly cut up and washed with static. Still, the album ends on a pleasantly catchy note, with "Evoke an Object". The general verdict is that Radical Connector isn't as incredible as Mouse on Mars' earlier work, but certainly needs to be heard to be believed. These guys could definitely make catchy pop music if they wanted to…but what would be the fun in that?
- Jeremiah Turits
Neotropic – White Rabbits (Mush, 2004)
What’s that? A FEMALE making electronic music? Pardon my sarcasm, but that seems to be a common topic of conversation concerning Riz Maslen of Neoptropic. It should also be known that Neotropic, on occasion, makes some great fucking music. It’s not entirely electronic, catering equally to fans of jazz, post-rock and pretty much anyone who’s a sucker for generally pleasing melodies and complex arrangements of strings, guitars and glockenspiels. The album begins bouncing between light and dark sounds, settling on the latter with the introduction of "Magpies," an epic piece with haunting vocal arrangements that would give Massive Attack goose bumps. Neotropic does not favor any particular instrument on this album, bringing out everything at her disposal for the even more epic tracks that follow. On "Feelin' Remote," a crunchy filtered breakbeat clashes with beautiful string arrangements and bells at first, but a lone harmonica that echoes the feeling of being a wallflower makes it all come together. The album's concluding two songs bring back Maslen's lovely, melancholy voice through an array of filters. White Rabbits is a fine piece of work, and possibly one of the most pleasant surprises this year.
-Jeremiah Turits
The Orb - Bicycles and Tricycles (Sanctuary, 2004)
After a few years, it was finally time for my check up with Dr. Alex Paterson. He welcomed me into his office, levitating in a very Zen Buddha pose. I told him about my conundrum: The past work he had done, though life changing, wasn’t having the effect it once did. I asked if there were alternate treatments besides "chilling out." He smiled and beckoned me to an instrument covered with levers sitting in the corner of the room. He told me it would only take a minute and proceeded to insert a plug into my head. My mind, which once swirled with The Orb’s beautiful pads and unspeakable layers of sound, began to re-arrange itself. Rhythms began to focus their power; lyrics by MC Soom T appeared in my mind, her lyrics made me smile while Dr. Paterson continued further. I was then taken to new places in The Orb’s universe, "The Land of Green Ginger" and "Hell’s Kitchen," vast lands with playful keyboards, rich basses and heavy beats. More levers were pulled, tempos sped up, as I tapped my feet in 4/4 time. I thought the experiment was getting out of control. Then I heard past experiments in my brain being re-interpreted and upgraded to fit today’s hectic world of instant gratification. The experiment became lighter and slowed to a mixture of beautiful synthesized sounds that reminded me of earlier visits. I snapped back into reality and Dr. Paterson winked at me, offering a joint. I declined, as I had another appointment. As I walked out of his office, I looked at my watch, an hour had passed but he was right, it did seem like a minute.
-Jeremiah Turits
Radio 4 - Stealing of a Nation (Astralwerks, 2004)
Sometime between Radio 4's previous release, Gotham! and Stealing of a Nation, the already excellent dancepunk band decided to renounce their individuality in favor of being considered !!! Jr. With Stealing of a Nation, the band has finally decided to put the danceable aspect of their music to the forefront, with less than stellar results. The first single, "Party Crashers," tries way too hard to be a dance club anthem, ultimately seeming cheesy as hell with its thumping bass line and arbitrary, tacked-on piano interlude. Shit-tastic "(Give Me All Your) Money" sounds like shitty techno DJ material, with a refrain of "Ooo’s" that resembles a childish imitation of a train. As a whole, the album is ridiculous and almost embarrassing to listen to; unless, of course, your only musical requirement is something (anything) to shake your ass to.
- Adam Trabka
Wilco - A Ghost Is Born (Nonesuch, 2004)
Maybe it’s the same idea behind scheduling a class on sex or rock n’roll at 8 AM. A desirable class at an undesirable time to make sure only the most genuinely dedicated students, the kind who would rather learn than sleep, end up there. Such it is with many of the most complicated, compelling sound bits on Wilco’s newest release; you only get to hear them if you are the kind of listener who won’t make up her mind two minutes into a track, and skip ahead. You’ve got to wait—sometimes as long as six minutes, until everything you see in the lyric book has already been sung—you’ve got to earn it. It is the kind of listening that demands no less attention than you, on your back, staring at the ceiling, but rewards your dedication with the kind of musical coming-together most listeners don’t have the guts to hope for anymore.
Some have said A Ghost Is Born stands in stark contrast to the stripped-down acoustic feel of the Billy Bragg collaborations, or the simpler rock styling of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. What I hear is not so much a change as a new direction, a gradual building. Although containing the occasionally unsuccessful electronic loop (see the painfully repetitive first four minutes of "Spiders"), more frequent are hints of Wilco’s past, reborn and new. "Muzzle of Bees" is acoustic guitar picking opened up into a completely successful exclamation; "Hummingbird" gives us upbeat piano mixed with a remarkable string section, for something that feels a lot like Wilco but sounds somehow different.
Perhaps it’s not that Wilco want to keep us waiting, but that in the desire to expand their sound, it takes them several minutes to play their way out of the box in which the song begins. The album feels like a band jamming over and over, until their improvisation becomes something polished and beautiful without ever sounding staged. However it happened, A Ghost Is Born is a launching pad, a step up and away that promises dedicated composition from a band determined to continually change shape and meaning.
- Marissa Landrigan
Various Artists - Future Soundtrack for America (Barsuk, 2004)
My late-adolescent fantasies of revolution always seem to involve some really bitchin' bands in the ranks, marching with blaring guitars like a badass drum and fife corps while the people get busy taking back the power through force. In the 2004 campaign for regime change—strictly sit-down, email-forwarding, and blog-complaining affair—it looks like we'll have to settle for a mixtape financing an electorally sanctioned transfer of power from the GOP to the LEGORH (Less Evil Group Of Rich Honkies). Said mixtape can be procured with a dozen dollar contribution to a fund for progressive causes (see: liberal pinko terrorists in the defunct tongue of Foxish) and goes by the loving handle The Future Soundtrack for America. Let me now note for those who don't pick up hints too easy on their own: This falls under the category of ACTUALLY SPEND MONEY ON, DON'T JUST DOWNLOAD! Anyway, as if throwing money into the Pit of Good Intentions wasn't enough, the selection is pretty solid too.
Future Soundtrack for America backs up their party plank with an ample selection of candidates for high office. Right now I'm calling out high school student council tactics and putting up John and John of They Might Be Giants for the co-presidentship. Those nerdy little voices belting out "Tippicanoe and Tyler Too" over a marching beat like the Mandate of Heaven cashed in. As for the VP, it's gotta be a sleeper, the underutilized big name with the brains and talent that seals the deal. Two ideal candidates lurk right at the end of the album: Tom Waits' bleak letter from the front "Day After Tomorrow" and Elliot Smith's posthumous release "A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to be Free." Sonically, both come across a little sparse, but leave room for the weight of "in the life" reportage from inside the crushing deceptions of the New World Order at home and abroad.
The LP still has plenty of worthy tracks to round out all sorts of other governmental positions. Death Cab for Cutie's "This Temporary Life" soft-spoken approach cops the rhythm of your breath rate at rest and conjures up the kind of deep focus snapshots of a moment that is par for for what they do best. Sleater-Kinney and Ben Kweller kick out some speedy, satisfying anthems against the climate of fear, welcome shots of adrenaline to a somewhat subdued overall pace. Luckily, the standard fundraiser album injection of filler seems to be limited to just the Yeah Yeah Yeah's mid-fi and irritating live rendering of "Date With the Night."
A final note: The Future Soundtrack for America also comes packed in with The Future Dictionary of America, a McSweeneys joint filled with the sort of esoteric future nomenclature that would sit comfortably alongside a definition of "Vegetable Chair" as some sort of vaguely masturbatory procedure involving the forced impregnation of hostile men. I shit thee not.
-A.J. McGuire
Various Artists - The Late, Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered, Covered (Gammon, 2004)
Few artists are as unequivocally hallowed in the presitigious halls of lo-fi indie than Daniel Johnston, whose mental illness, childish sketch work, and mysterious personal life have often overshadowed his music. But in recent years, his output has far exceeded his audience's tendency toward gawking, and the outpouring of admiration on this compilation is a testament to his wide-ranging appeal as a songwriter. Artists as diverse as Beck, The Flaming Lips, Tom Waits, TV on the Radio, and Guster have all been affected by Johnston's generally naive, frequently harrowing works, and each has a unique form of homage. Psych-inclined groups like Mercury Rev and Sparklehorse take a wall-of-sound approach to underscore Johnston's fantastical imagery, neo-folk types like M. Ward and Vic Chestnutt take the Johnny Cash route of dressed down acoustic balladry, and the overambitious acts in the bunch are fascinatingly hit-or-miss. TV on the Radio all but decimate the sincerity of "Walking the Cow," but Tom Waits, Bright Eyes, and Clem Snide all make valuable contributions to their selected covers. The compilation's companion CD offers all of Johnston's originals, and combined, the collection's two discs may well help to introduce a truly inspirational songwriter and musician to a new generation of listeners.
-David Moore
FILM
Film Review: The Corporation (2004)
Film Review: Outfoxed (2004)
Documentary film seems to be experiencing a mainstream renaissance of sorts, and now is the perfect time to start judging this welcome plethora of documentaries on their own terms. The popularization of documentary can, in a superficial sense, serve as a long-awaited antidote to the vast wasteland of multiplex filler. But beyond the simple "breath of fresh air" aspect of the prospect of documentaries in multiplexes, these films must be held to the high standards of documentary theory, which is more complex than a simple analysis of "like" or "dislike." Documentaries carry great responsibility to not only engage their audiences, but promote awareness and, ultimately, enact positive social change.
Take, for example, two of the summer’s most anticipated post-F9/11 documentaries—The Corporation, a three-hour examination of the origins and modern manifestations of the corporation; and Outfoxed, an expose of the unabashedly partisan practices behind America’s #1 "fair and balanced" news network. Both films have, to some extent, ridden the coattails of Michael Moore’s success, but more importantly, both films indirectly benefit from the narrow level of discourse introduced into the sphere of American film criticism since the campaign to "de-documentarize" Farenheit 9/11 started early in the summer.
The Corporation assembles a surfeit of talking heads and archival footage to create an abstract portrait of the corporation as a metaphorical psychopath. In the film’s most inspired segments, the corporation entity is first defined as a living human in accordance with actual Supreme Court legislation guaranteeing corporations "human rights." Then, a logical personality diagnosis process reveals the deranged psychological nature of a "human" that shows no regard for the preservation of the environment, the treatment of animals, or the general wellbeing of other people.
Scholars, celebrities, and professors all help to create a complex and multi-faceted, though predominantly negative, portrait of "the corporation," and the longlasting effects of the film are largely disturbing. It’s difficult to fathom how someone might still drink milk from cows injected with bovine growth hormone, or shop at The Gap, without at least taking pause in light of the information conveyed in this film. The systematic abuses of many (if not most) of the world’s biggest corporations are painfully clear, and small steps suggested by the film—the consumption of free range and organic food products, boycotting, town hall lobbying, and, of course, voting—suggest that the struggle against the corporate monolith is not entirely futile, though a direct plan for social action is never outwardly presented.
Outfoxed is a comparably scathing indictment, but of a much easier target: Rupert Murdoch’s Fox News channel. Haphazardly edited and heavy-handed, the film will certainly stir up Fox-haters, but its effectiveness on the millions who constitute Fox’s loyal viewership is uncertain. The revelation that Fox News memos often read like conspiratorial right-wing mini-manifestos is alarming, as is some of the specific information regarding Murdoch’s ties to right-wing politicos. Still, most of the information presented in the film isn’t all that revealing, and truthfully seems more like a compilation of Fox News’ Greatest Hits for an already convinced liberal audience.
Interview footage with Jeremy Glick, the man who was invited onto "The O'Reilly Factor" after his father died in the 9/11 attacks, only to be deeply and personally insulted for not subscribing to O’Reilly’s transparent agenda, is both affecting and enraging, making a concise case for Fox's utter lack of tact, fairness, and decency. But few will likely be surprised by montages of the calculated "flip-flop" saturation, the maelstrom of partisan anectodal remarks (all based upon the common qualifier "some have said..."), and a humorous flurry of knee-jerk shut-downs from O’Reilly. None of this information can do much more than intensify the pre-existing anger of Murdoch’s detractors, which is kind of like stepping on someone’s foot after it’s already been flattened by a steamroller.
The most glaring weakness of Outfoxed is that no discernible plans for social action are outlined. Outfoxed’s obligatory stab at activist empowerment hinges on condescending—several talking heads relate vague stories of general protest in an attempt to incite audience members to action. But their suggested mode of protest is ineffective and vague; what good does it do to stand outside the FCC with a big sign? Particularly if we don’t even know what to write on it? Spreading the word of generalized discontent doesn’t enact change, particularly if that discontent has already reached a target audience. Only solid ideological platforms and grassroots activism can change broader broadcasting practices.
We have gotten to a point in the history of American cinema where powerful, effective documentaries might truly break through to normally apathetic multiplex audiences. What is needed now is a harnessing of this potential; films must be steered with specific, sound ideology in ways that will truly touch increasingly large audiences. Well-wishing sentiment and an undefined progressive drive for change will only destroy the momentum of documentary films in the multiplex. In times of great conflict, documentaries must not merely reflect the world around us; they must strive to change it.
-David Moore
Film Review: Garden State (2004)
Garden State opens with a dream sequence, as protagonist Andrew Largeman sits in an airplane doomed to crash. Despite all the chaos around him, Largeman is so removed and numb to his surroundings that his only action is to adjust the air speed of the fan above him. This is one of the most simple and effective introductions to a highly complicated character in recent memory. Andrew wakes from his dream to a phone message from his father, who informs him of the untimely death of his parapalegic mother. What follows is a journey of self-discovery that speaks clearly and candidly to the young American generation. Zack Braff, who wrote, directed, and stars, has constructed a masterpiece that touches all of our emotional and cultural bases—and with enough indie-cred name-dropping to keep it in check.
Braff’s accomplishment can best be seen in his introduction to Sam, Largeman’s wonderfully eccentric love interest, played with marked subtlety by Natalie Portman. She introduces herself in a neurologist’s waiting room (she is an epileptic) by starting a conversation over the life-altering capabilities of the Shin’s "New Slang." Before we even meet Sam, however, Braff introduces a host of dysfunctional figures from Largeman’s past; none of whom he has seen in the nine years since he left his hometown. The most important of these supporting figures is Mark (Peter Sarsgaard), the gravedigger in charge of burying Largeman’s mother, who is also his best friend. He provides the perfect foil for Largeman’s search for progress. He is fine with the turns his life has taken, as he feels that he is in control of his own destiny. He exemplifies and champions the idea of the unimpressive slacker. "I’m ok with being unimpressive; I sleep better" is a mantra for every high-school burnout. Despite his resourcefulness, he absolutely refuses to make any steps to change his lot in life.
Juxtaposed with Mark is Jesse, the 26 year-old millionaire who struck it rich by inventing and then selling the patent to "silent Velcro." Jesse stands in a position of paralyzing boredom. He is a millionaire, he is unemployed, and he has nothing to fill his days except drugs and the occasional firing straight into the air arrows on fire and trying to dodge them before they lodge themselves in his spine. These are the people Largeman left behind: one who has no ambitions and one who achieved all his ambitions are a shockingly young age. Neither one is better off than the other.
The element that truly gives Garden State its power is the soundtrack. Each song was hand-picked by Braff, while he was writing the script. When presenting the script to potential backers, he sent with it a mix CD containing all the music that would later become the soundtrack. He knew that the music was essential to the effect of the movie, and it was absolutely part-and-parcel with the script—you can never truly understand one without the other. Artists like Iron and Wine, Cary Brothers, and Frou Frou are just as integral to the deep message of the story as Natalie Portman or Peter Sarsgaard. The soundtrack is yet another element that will likely appeal to both hipsters and non-hipsters alike. As a whole, the film is so transcendent and universal in its expressed messages that dismissing its power is impossible.
-Josh Scollins
Film Review: Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (2004)
This most recent cinematic debauchery from Danny Leiner, director of 2000’s uncomfortably unforgettable Dude, Where’s My Car? wasn’t anticipated to be such a cult success. When previews hit theaters, those that planned to see Harold and Kumar were the same that laughed weakly at the obnoxious, sledgehammer stupidity of its predecessor, fighting valiantly to appreciate the few clever moments that barely salvaged an hour and a half of irritating comic entropy. Dude established Leiner as an unpretentious but boorish director, and had the summer not been so mired with disappointing films, it’s doubtful that Harold and Kumar would have received the audience it did.
Much to the surprise and delight of viewers, Leiner seems to have done some growing up in the last four years. Harold and Kumar, not unlike Dude, revels in the obscene and immature, but the modification of a few key elements makes Harold and Kumar a reasonably compelling and often hilarious epic tale of two horny guys and all the dumb stuff that happens to them one night. The story is simple: Harold, a meek investment banker of Oriental descent, and Kumar, his rowdy and unemployed roommate of Indian descent, get really high and embark on a tumultuous journey to that prince of east coast burger establishments, White Castle. Stops are made, cars are crashed, a lot of weed changes hands, and yes, there is one jail break and one hang glider. While Harold (John Cho) and Kumar (Kal Penn) have the night of their lives, they undergo a tour de force of personal growth, leading them to profound conclusions about self respect, ambition, and perseverance in what is really important.
The success of this film is largely attributable to its leading men. Harold and Kumar, unlike the shamelessly moronic duo of Leiner’s last film, aren’t stupid guys; instead, they embody two versions of the prototypical underdog. Thus, their mockable aspects are of a far more subtle variety, and writers Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg do a nice job of picking on them without infringing upon their likability in the least. A wise decision was made to allow the audience to laugh or cringe with Cho and Penn throughout, while the other characters provide all the bona fide lunacy, and this allows the movie to make fun of everybody, including numerous playings of the ethnicity card, and never cross into the inexcusably offensive. Cho plays the trodden-upon nice guy with heartwarming sympathy, and Penn’s apathetic genius smart-mouth, though a bit less believable, is equally effective. Both actors have decently sized legacies of miscellaneous little roles (Cho appeared in 2003’s American Wedding), and in their first major exposures within the realm of mainstream cinema, they couldn’t have balanced the endearing with the campy and moronic more expertly.
That said, it would be direly overstating to call this a brilliant comedy. Although the humor is a vast improvement upon Leiner’s earlier work, these jokes don’t offer anything new to the young-male-best-friends-have-adventures setup, and though consistently clever, are often pretty cheap. Perhaps the most quotable scene in the film involves two Brit babes comparing gastric noises (“Battleshits”) while the guys suppress their gag reflexes from their hiding place in a neighboring stall. This is classic grossout humor, in which it is difficult to be innovative without doing the absolute grossest thing yet, and Harold and Kumar doesn’t achieve such distinction in this category or in any other. One can chuckle and roll their eyes at the obvious CG and/or puppet usage during the sequences with the cheetah and the raccoon, but neither joke was really that funny. Despite the enjoyable performances of Cho and Penn, the audience is expected to bridge the gap between unusually normal characters and the predictably ridiculous antics expected of this sort of film, and when you think about it, the two don’t go together all that well.
The trick of this film, however, is that you don’t think about it, and it’s a pleasure to take the whole thing with a massive grain of salt. More so than the large gags, an abundant sprinkling of quirky dialogue keeps the energy going, and at the very least, one comes away with a few great new insults. While Harold and Kumar doesn’t bring Leiner much closer to a truly unforgettable niche in the history of comic cinema, he seems to be moving in the right direction.
-Becki Paterson
DVD Review: Warp Records: Warpvision
Warp Records has been putting out some truly wonderful music since 1989. If you've heard something that made your brain feel funny, chances are it probably came from Warp. From the classic acid house of LFO to braindance nut Aphex Twin to glitch-hopper Prefuse 73, Warp has always been pushing the boundaries of music by retaining quite an eclectic roster. Who knew that in the past 15 years the label has been consistently putting out amazing music videos as well? None of them may have made it to "TRL," ("Come to Daddy" was rated by "12 Angry Viewers" once) most likely because the images might have caused Carson Daly’s head explode. You may have seen the Chris Cunningham Director’s Choice DVD, and if so were probably permanently frightened by his videos for Warp’s finest, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, and Autechre. The videos on this retrospective compilation of videos range from stop-motion animation ("LFO" by LFO), to beautifully photographed, heavily stylized band performances ("Papercuts" by Broadcast and "Ghostlawns" by Anti-Pop Consortium), to a horribly distorted person who convulses and turns into a giant insect ("Gob Coitus" by Chris Clark).
There’s also plenty of fun material, such as Teletubby-like figures that dance around sporting the grimace of Richard D. James, grown men shooting a dead pig in front of a canvas, and, of course, the adventures of a Japanese girl and her faithful canine companion in a twisted home for disturbed children. Cunningham’s masterpieces are all here, but there are plenty of other talented filmmakers as well. Daniel Levi’s video for LFO’s "Freak" is Cunningham-esque, with Japanese school girls having a slow motion dance-off as destructive new school acid blares over their playground. Former Warp artist Jimi Tenor shares directing credits with Sökö Kaukoranta to conjure colorful visual experiences that perfectly match Tenor’s original sound. Jarvis Cocker (of Pulp fame), the choice director for Warp’s earliest videos, also impresses with his heavy use of stop motion that fits perfectly with machine music, which sounds almost primitive by today’s standards. The directors for Plaid’s videos are on target. Jean Luc Chansay's jaw-dropping "Eyen" is a strange animated look at reincarnation, while "Itsu" by Pleix brings you two wholesome Gap commercial teenagers who decide to build laser pistols and shoot at each other (Note: This version is a bonus not available on the commercial release, which replaces the aforementioned video with one involving pigs and mass murder in a corporate board room).
And if you want brainless, there’s a computer-generated cat getting freaky to Luke Vibert’s "I Love Acid" and the disconcerting video featuring Jamie Lidell shaving while screaming the lyrics to "The City." Most of the Warp videos included here are frequently humorous or experimental but always clever and intelligent, demonstrating a near-perfect combination of aural and visual art. Warpvision is proof that the music video can be a true art form, and we should expect that their newest artists will soon have some great videos on the way. Oh yeah, and fuck MTV for banning "Windowlicker."
-Jeremiah Turits
FEATURES
SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Ian MacKaye
Ian MacKaye, one of the key figures in the development of contemporary punk music, recently sat down with Basshead Media's Emily Gallagher for a chat about the state of punk (and, by extension, humanity) in the 21st century. MacKaye, a veteran of Fugazi and Minor Threat, toured with this summer with his band The Evens and Amy Farina of The Warmers, whose interview appears below.
B: In the past 25 years, what changes have you witnessed in punk and indie rock?
IM: You know, I get that question a lot, but it’s really difficult for me to answer it because there’s no static field—everything is changing always. So obviously, there are different people. Every year there are different people, there are different bands, there are different fashions, there are different reflections, there are different societies, there are different worlds. So it’s really hard for me [to say.] Obviously, if I compare and I say, well, when I first started seeing shows I was 17, now I’m 42, I mean, that’s a difference I guess. Also, in my mind, at that point (1979) there were three years of punk legacy behind. Now there’s a lot more to look at, so people can think of it…. I guess I think of punk as a thing that’s undefinable. I think it’s a free space—it’s not a style or a look, rather it’s an approach. It’s ever changing.
B: So the approach is ever changing?
IM: Well the idea is that it’s the counterculture. It’s the underground. Punk rock is always something that’s not for sale. Punk is always something that you can’t see on TV.
B: Even if someone is wearing a t-shirt that says "Punk" on it?
IM: Right! That’s different. There are always people that say to me, "well there’s this band that’s on a major label, and they’re a punk band." And I always say, "That’s not a punk band. There might be punks in the band, but it’s not a punk band. By their decision to go into that world, they have accepted something that is really counter punk. So I guess I feel that punk is always the rebirth, the regeneration. To every new kid that comes along, he or she is going to spur the punks. It can never die. It always lives, forever.
B: With the Evens, is this a sort of maturing thing do you feel, or is this a change in your perspective, or do you want to try something new?
IM: The Evens are the two of us, it’s a band, it’s the two of us making music together. 100% valid, it’s not a project or a side project, it’s just music. It’s what the two of us do together. So I guess in my mind, it’s not maturing. How can we be maturing when we’re brand new? It’s a birthing. Music lives on and on. I’ve been in other bands but so has Amy.
B: So you were mentioning during the show that you’ve let go of fear. Is there anything that still worries you?
IM: Not really. I mean I get nervous sometimes, when I’m driving. I saw a deer run into the freeway and that made me nervous. Obviously there are moments where I’m like, "WHOOOA!" that’s natural. But in terms of a perpetual or constant state of fear—no, absolutely not. I’m done being nervous. I’m certainly done being scared. In my mind, our lives are only so long—why spend it in fear? It’s crazy! I think there’s so much business, there’s an industry in fear right now. Shouldn’t someone be saying the opposite? Like, don’t be scared? Because it’s obviously not working to be scared.
B: So how did you and Amy meet?
IM: Amy came out to Washington to go to school in 1991 and she’s a musician, and she was in a band with my brother, The Warmers. I thought she was just great.
SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Amy Farina of The Warmers
B: How did you get involved with The Warmers?
AF: Years ago I played with this woman named Lois Massaeo, and she played guitar and sang and I played drums with her. We were looking for a bass player and I had a friend named Juan Carrere who was an excellent bass player. Juan joined up with us and the three of us played together and did some touring, and then Lois moved to the West Coast. Juan and I really wanted to keep playing together. We were friends with Alec MacKaye, Ian’s brother, and he hadn’t been playing but we were friends and fans of his—he’s a really incredible singer. He was interested in playing guitar, and we were talking one day and we decided to start playing together, which was The Warmers. It was a really incredible band to be in, and we were lucky enough to tour and cut some records and it was a really, really great experience. It’s funny because that was the band that I probably did the most touring with, and I really loved traveling with those two people. I got to know Ian over those years. We did some recording projects with him, and traveling with Ian now—it’s interesting to see the brothers' similarities on the road.
B: Like what?
AF: The things they like to eat. And they are both really good drivers. I think those kind of things are hereditary… tastes, and driving skills.
B: What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re on a tour other than playing?
AF: That’s an interesting question. There are so many things that I enjoy doing. I take great pleasure in finding good restaurants—I’m vegan and so is Ian. So in Ithaca we're like kids in a candy store at the organic market. Record stores, bookstores, good food, but mostly seeing friends and meeting people and being able to come to a place. The social aspect of traveling and touring is a really incredible experience. Every time I leave, the cool people that I’ve met amaze me. They are everywhere.
B: Are you ever sad to leave a place and the people you’ve met there, or is it more exhilarating?
AF: I’d say it’s more exhilarating. There are times when it’s hard to leave a place, but I’ve been really lucky to be able to return to places and keep in touch. You build such an incredible network of people who are interested in music and all of its accoutrements. So people tend to keep in touch. I live in Washington DC, and people are always in and out, so people come to visit.
B: Are you ever intimidated by Ian’s cult status?
AF: No. Definitely not.
ISSUE #6: THE LATE, GREAT BASSHEAD MEDIA
MUSIC
Amon Tobin - Solid Steel Presents: Amon Tobin Recorded Live (Ninja Tune, 2004)
When it comes to Solid Steel DJs, you can expect to hear more than just a DJ mix in which one song flows into the next until the CD ends. Each album is a lesson in sound, each containing multiple styles of music perfectly blended with strange samples and scratching. The next logical step in the series would be to surprise us all, and Amon Tobin does just that. One must take into consideration that this mix was not constructed in a studio, but on two turntables and the Final Scratch laptop program in front of a sweaty Australian audience. What does Tobin produce? Scary stuff. It’s dark, it’s hard, it’s relentless and it's mixed flawlessly. The beats switch between downtempo (you’ll notice that much of the work on here is his own) and breakneck drum n’ bass classics. Tobin isn’t playing what’s popular, but rather what he feels inspires his own music, or at least what fits perfectly alongside it. There are a few crazy Solid Steel mash-ups, but having Jurassic 5’s "Quality Control" replace the cut up vocals of Tobin’s "Verbal" is a treat, as is Dizzee Rascal rapping over Tobin’s "Proper Hoodidge," but most of the mix seems strangely dry. Though he is a talented DJ worthy of the Solid Steel name, this might gain a reputation as being the weakest effort in the series. But at least he had the balls to record it live.
-Jeremiah Turits
Badly Drawn Boy - One Plus One Is One (Twisted Nerve)
The instruments listed at the end of Badly Drawn Boy’s One Plus One Is One album booklet may give you an idea of what it sounds like: acoustic and electric guitars, piano, cello, celeste, clavinet, Wurlitzer Fun-Maker, drums, Hammond organ, Melotron, Fender Rhodes piano, glockenspiel, banjo, timpani, bells, "orchestral crash cymbal," tubular bells, gong, bass, cowbell, chimes, samples and effects, to name a few. But for an album employing a long list of musical toys, that crunchy-looking troubadour Damon Gough keeps it simple. Like his past albums, The Hour of Bewilderbeast and Have You Fed the Fish?, Gough still soothes with the thick, low English timbre of his voice, and he still constructs quality pop songs with the same songwriting mastery. Rather than throwing in humorous disco-inspired songs from previous releases (like "All Possibilities" from Fish), Gough keeps the album relatively structured and free from too many off-kilter embellishments. The beautiful string arrangements of "This Is That New Song" rival the thoughtful "Magic In the Air" from Bewilderbeast. And the finger-snapping wit of "Four Leaf Clover" could inspire the most aloof listener to consider clapping along. Though it's technically the Year of the Monkey, poppy piano ballad "Year of the Rat" alludes to a time which, according to The Handbook of Chinese Horoscopes by Theodora Lau, "free from explosive events and wars and with far less catastrophes...a congenial time that will find most of us socializing and enjoying ourselves." Gough's mistake was most likely intentional. On One Plus One Equals One he suggests that this is a time in which we could all use a bit of simple hope.
-Vanessa Schneider
Devendra Banhart - Nino Rojo (Young God, 2004)
Consisting of outtakes from the sessions that led to Rejoicing in the Hands, one of the most unexpected pleasures of the year, Nino Rojo ranks just under Sufjan Stevens’ Seven Swans in terms of building album cohesion from what might be perceived by fans as B-material. However, the uniformly excellent quality of this collection adds a new layer of mythology to Banhart's already enigmatic persona; the album’s best tracks suggest that his previous release was only the beginning of Banhart's reserve of stunning material. The playful “At the Hop,” complemented with a grainy 16mm-looking music video, is a deliberate folk singalong, and the surreal “Little Yellow Spider” is one of Banhart's strangest and most weirdly compelling songs to date. Much of this material would fit easily onto a remastered edition of Rejoicing, but that conclusion doesn't do Nino Rojo justice as a unique second great release from one of this year's most promising discoveries. This is certainly a great album for Banhart junkies in need of a quick fix, but in time, this album will almost certainly stand alongside Rejoicing as the collective breakthrough of one of the most consistent and riveting folk artists in independent music.
-David Moore
Bjork - Medulla (Elektra, 2004)
Bjork’s latest release has the potential to be written off as a gimmick: Medulla is almost entirely vocally derived, which might lend itself to novelty status. This disaster has been adverted, however, by one of music’s most creative minds. In fact, by focusing in on one particular idea Bjork has produced some of her best work since 1997's Homogenic. Most of the songs on Medulla are touchingly intimate, but the rich textures produced by the mass of voices on the album's most cohesive tracks are versatile: Bjork is not limited here to dreamy ballads and atmospheric lullabies from another planet. "Where is the Line" picks up where "Hunter" and "Army of Me" left off, but the results here are more difficult. The song's vocally approximated bass and dry percussion create a vulnerable atmosphere. Three songs are sung in Bjork's native Icelandic, and her closely mic'ed glottal stops and rolled R's are tender and affecting.
But for all its peaks, Medulla is not without its valleys. Individual guest vocalists, including Mike Patton, play a large role on their contributing tracks, but there are no duets on the level of Selmasongs’s "I’ve Seen it All" with Thom Yorke. The album's final tracks get a little tedious: "Midvikudage" is downright irritating, and sub-par closer "Triumph of the Heart" bobs along for four minutes before ending the album unremarkably. An album this dense doesn’t need a glorious ending, but these tracks don't seem worth the wait. Overall, these small flaws can’t outweigh Medulla’s numerous pleasures. With this record, she’s taken the final step from ambiguous but individualistic vocalist to one of the most definitive contemporary alternative singers.
-Phil Giampietro
Clann Zú – Black Coats & Bandages (G7 Welcoming Committee, 2004)
I didn’t know exactly what to expect from Black Coats & Bandages, the latest offering from the Australian/Irish outfit Clann Zú. Their last release, Rua, is an inventive blend of indie and groove rock, Irish folk, and electronica. Songs are laced with violin and guitar, combine natural with electronic sounds, and include both Irish and English lyrics. When I put Black Coats into my CD player and heard the simple, slow first song of sparse piano and vocals, I was caught a bit off guard. Recorded entirely in analog, Black Coats is an organic, sincere, raw, and dark album. Imagine Coldplay getting their hearts broken and reactively secluding themselves in a tiny town in Ireland in the depth of winter with a bottle of scotch. Their distinctive electric violin is substituted with piano in most cases, and gone is their coloring of electronica beats and sounds. Beautifully sad songs, such as "There Will Be No Morning Copy," "One Bedroom Apartment," and "An Deirdreadh Scéal," showcase Declan de Barra’s improved vocal strengths. The guitar work carries the melody where a violin typically would, noticeably strengthening the track. Though the majority of the album is downbeat, there are a few well-placed moments of full-on aggression. Black Coats & Bandages dwells on the potential emotion that can be aroused from songwriting and structure rather than attempt forced originality and eclecticism.
- Justin Talbott
Dillinger Escape Plan - Miss Machine
While listening to Miss Machine, the first full-length from the leading math core/metallic-jazz group in five years, I had an argument with my inner-“Metal Maniacs” reviewer. A minute into it he (for our purposes, I’ll call him SkullDust) claims, “This is fucking brutal. Brutal sonic mayhem.” I agreed. By the end of “Sunshine the Werewolf” SkullDust proclaims, “Dillinger has never been tighter. Tighter than a brutally virgin girl-place.” I nod, but question the appropriateness of his language. Where SkullDust and I begin to disagree is on the topic of new super-fan vocalist Greg Puciato. I explain to SkullDust that just because Puciato screams doesn’t make him an adequate front man for an outfit of such precise unpleasantness. His gratingly throaty bawls are often transparent and offer few memorable moments. Where he does show potential is in his spoken word segments, which resemble Mike Patton’s work in its uneasy menace lurking beneath the natural croon. But this dynamic is not released often in Miss Machine. The album displays the band’s greatest moment of musicianship desperately pleading to be an instrumental piece. SkullDust: “It grinds! It destroys! It brutally claims metallic supremacy!” Almost. No more fan contests to replace vocalists, please.
-Sean Frasier
The Helio Sequence - Love and Distance (Sub Pop, 2004)
On their new album, Love and Distance, The Helio Sequence blends indie guitar and funk drums with Postal Service-like ambient computer beeps. Sounds good right? Not quite. The problem here isn’t the band's formula, but rather their often annoying execution. On the third installment of Modest Mouse drummer Ben Weikel's side project, lyrics consist mostly of poppy trash ("everyone keeps talking like they’ve got the answers/ what was the question?") and songs, though starting off promisingly, quickly become silly and dismissible. The band's saving grace, however, is its barrage of Zelda II/ Tetris-esque sound effects which replace what may well have been string arrangements on the album. Love and Distance may well be the commercial future of rock music: The blending of computer and guitar to form catchy, melodic pop. The Sequence just haven’t quite nailed it yet.
-Zack Dinerstein
Interpol - Antics (Matador, 2004)
As trite a trope as discussing the sophomore slump is for any review of a second album, sometimes ignoring context is a much worse sin. Even so, comparing any music to something as vital as Interpol's debut Turn On the Bright Lights is a daunting prospect. With their 2001 debut, Interpol carved out a distinctive patch of turf from the then newly exploding New York City garage rock scene with a sound with the audacity to speak for a city's worth of alienation and make it a beautiful escape.
Thoroughly colored by the collecting pools of anticipatory drool, the follow up Antics is not an easy thumbs up or down by any means. The instruments, the arpeggios, the enunciation-- all are pretty consistent with the previous Interpol blueprint. Singer Paul Banks still keeps to the King's Amer-English on this one and rations out the crooning like the gold plate on a Chinatown wristwatch, although notably with a little more tonal range than before. Lead single "Slow Hands" showcases the formula with every channel sounding perfectly synced and controlled by an invisible helmsman. The guitars still pledge allegiance to the beat, looping and droning with a more distinct bass sound coming through, bass even taking over the driver's seat on "Evil".
The key difference lies in an apparent thinning of the atmosphere. This mix tones down the reverb across the board in favor of a cleaner sound that segregates each man's instrument. No longer the sound of a four-headed beast melting out of the walls of Northeast Babylon, the previously humid wash of sounds dissolves enough for a casual listener to pick each track out from the mix, the vocals freed from the tar pits and all the more precise for it. Lyrically, there's another shift of focus from broader observations on passion and decay to barbed threats and come-ons bound up in a narrower channel between two people. This tightened scope comes with something of a loss of intensity in its delivery. Banks is actually singing now, but he sings like he has something else on his mind.
The net effect is that this is an album of songs, not a soundscape. Whereas Turn On the Bright Lights was its own enclosed environment, Antics seems best suited to a pair of open-backed headphones worn while moving through the noise, the grit and the thick air that seems missing from this album's new formula. These are songs to fit into your life, not lives lived inside of songs. Treat it like a language instruction tape for your own glossed-up ennui, not really a place to go but something that gives you words for what you see when you get there.
-A.J. McGuire
Jet – Get Born (Elektra, 2003)
Jet’s debut Get Born feels like an album that I’ve owned for a long time and know and love well. In a way, it is. Jet's hit single "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" blatantly copies the infectious opening chords of Iggy Pop’s "Lust for Life" to an almost Vanilla Ice level of insult. But the song’s completely unoriginal beginning and general redundancy simultaneously makes the song strangely memorable, which basically describes the album in short. Most songs on Get Born are catchy, particularly opener "Last Chance," full of spirited "yeah"’s from lead singer Nic Cester’s crooning Australian voice. Many prosaic songs come off as so sincere that it’s hard not to get caught up in them. However, the repetition does get old on the clichéd "Roll Over D.J.," which has as much flavor as Wonderbread. But Jet's rock cribbing still works well for songs like "Get What You Need," when the band chants in unison, "She’s not there!" and "You’re gonna get what you need!" like a pep rally for the broken-hearted. The songs that aren’t full of blast-worthy machismo are sappy acoustic numbers. With the exception of "Come Around Here," the perfect song to put on an apology mix CD, these songs have the same failings as the others. They sound like they’ve come up on the "shuffle" option on my iTunes forever, familiar but not distinct.
-Stacey Coburn
Mouse on Mars – Radical Connector (Thrill Jockey, 2004)
It's been widely agreed that Mouse on Mars is one of the finest acts in electronic music, but their music has always been so goddamned weird that it's also pretty much guaranteed that they’ll never break into an SUV commercial. Radical Connector takes every odd little thing we’ve come to love about them and kicks it into disco mode. The results are somewhat perplexing. "Wipe That Sound," one of the album’s singles, is one of the catchiest electronic tracks I’ve heard in years; the song sounds like something you’d catch in a club, download later, and refuse to release until someone pried that iPod from your cold dead hands. And yet it's still Mouse on Mars, which neccessarily makes it one of the most fucked up dance tracks you’ll ever hear. Radical Connector makes me think that the group broke into Daft Punk’s studio and promptly tortured them. The album retains all of those wonderfully weird bleeps, blonks, and blasts of distortion Mouse on Mars is known for, but it’s surprisingly danceable and largely centered on lyrics. As the album progresses, the group's distinctive sound becomes more apparent, with vocals becoming increasingly cut up and washed with static. Still, the album ends on a pleasantly catchy note, with "Evoke an Object". The general verdict is that Radical Connector isn't as incredible as Mouse on Mars' earlier work, but certainly needs to be heard to be believed. These guys could definitely make catchy pop music if they wanted to…but what would be the fun in that?
- Jeremiah Turits
Neotropic – White Rabbits (Mush, 2004)
What’s that? A FEMALE making electronic music? Pardon my sarcasm, but that seems to be a common topic of conversation concerning Riz Maslen of Neoptropic. It should also be known that Neotropic, on occasion, makes some great fucking music. It’s not entirely electronic, catering equally to fans of jazz, post-rock and pretty much anyone who’s a sucker for generally pleasing melodies and complex arrangements of strings, guitars and glockenspiels. The album begins bouncing between light and dark sounds, settling on the latter with the introduction of "Magpies," an epic piece with haunting vocal arrangements that would give Massive Attack goose bumps. Neotropic does not favor any particular instrument on this album, bringing out everything at her disposal for the even more epic tracks that follow. On "Feelin' Remote," a crunchy filtered breakbeat clashes with beautiful string arrangements and bells at first, but a lone harmonica that echoes the feeling of being a wallflower makes it all come together. The album's concluding two songs bring back Maslen's lovely, melancholy voice through an array of filters. White Rabbits is a fine piece of work, and possibly one of the most pleasant surprises this year.
-Jeremiah Turits
The Orb - Bicycles and Tricycles (Sanctuary, 2004)
After a few years, it was finally time for my check up with Dr. Alex Paterson. He welcomed me into his office, levitating in a very Zen Buddha pose. I told him about my conundrum: The past work he had done, though life changing, wasn’t having the effect it once did. I asked if there were alternate treatments besides "chilling out." He smiled and beckoned me to an instrument covered with levers sitting in the corner of the room. He told me it would only take a minute and proceeded to insert a plug into my head. My mind, which once swirled with The Orb’s beautiful pads and unspeakable layers of sound, began to re-arrange itself. Rhythms began to focus their power; lyrics by MC Soom T appeared in my mind, her lyrics made me smile while Dr. Paterson continued further. I was then taken to new places in The Orb’s universe, "The Land of Green Ginger" and "Hell’s Kitchen," vast lands with playful keyboards, rich basses and heavy beats. More levers were pulled, tempos sped up, as I tapped my feet in 4/4 time. I thought the experiment was getting out of control. Then I heard past experiments in my brain being re-interpreted and upgraded to fit today’s hectic world of instant gratification. The experiment became lighter and slowed to a mixture of beautiful synthesized sounds that reminded me of earlier visits. I snapped back into reality and Dr. Paterson winked at me, offering a joint. I declined, as I had another appointment. As I walked out of his office, I looked at my watch, an hour had passed but he was right, it did seem like a minute.
-Jeremiah Turits
Radio 4 - Stealing of a Nation (Astralwerks, 2004)
Sometime between Radio 4's previous release, Gotham! and Stealing of a Nation, the already excellent dancepunk band decided to renounce their individuality in favor of being considered !!! Jr. With Stealing of a Nation, the band has finally decided to put the danceable aspect of their music to the forefront, with less than stellar results. The first single, "Party Crashers," tries way too hard to be a dance club anthem, ultimately seeming cheesy as hell with its thumping bass line and arbitrary, tacked-on piano interlude. Shit-tastic "(Give Me All Your) Money" sounds like shitty techno DJ material, with a refrain of "Ooo’s" that resembles a childish imitation of a train. As a whole, the album is ridiculous and almost embarrassing to listen to; unless, of course, your only musical requirement is something (anything) to shake your ass to.
- Adam Trabka
Wilco - A Ghost Is Born (Nonesuch, 2004)
Maybe it’s the same idea behind scheduling a class on sex or rock n’roll at 8 AM. A desirable class at an undesirable time to make sure only the most genuinely dedicated students, the kind who would rather learn than sleep, end up there. Such it is with many of the most complicated, compelling sound bits on Wilco’s newest release; you only get to hear them if you are the kind of listener who won’t make up her mind two minutes into a track, and skip ahead. You’ve got to wait—sometimes as long as six minutes, until everything you see in the lyric book has already been sung—you’ve got to earn it. It is the kind of listening that demands no less attention than you, on your back, staring at the ceiling, but rewards your dedication with the kind of musical coming-together most listeners don’t have the guts to hope for anymore.
Some have said A Ghost Is Born stands in stark contrast to the stripped-down acoustic feel of the Billy Bragg collaborations, or the simpler rock styling of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. What I hear is not so much a change as a new direction, a gradual building. Although containing the occasionally unsuccessful electronic loop (see the painfully repetitive first four minutes of "Spiders"), more frequent are hints of Wilco’s past, reborn and new. "Muzzle of Bees" is acoustic guitar picking opened up into a completely successful exclamation; "Hummingbird" gives us upbeat piano mixed with a remarkable string section, for something that feels a lot like Wilco but sounds somehow different.
Perhaps it’s not that Wilco want to keep us waiting, but that in the desire to expand their sound, it takes them several minutes to play their way out of the box in which the song begins. The album feels like a band jamming over and over, until their improvisation becomes something polished and beautiful without ever sounding staged. However it happened, A Ghost Is Born is a launching pad, a step up and away that promises dedicated composition from a band determined to continually change shape and meaning.
- Marissa Landrigan
Various Artists - Future Soundtrack for America (Barsuk, 2004)
My late-adolescent fantasies of revolution always seem to involve some really bitchin' bands in the ranks, marching with blaring guitars like a badass drum and fife corps while the people get busy taking back the power through force. In the 2004 campaign for regime change—strictly sit-down, email-forwarding, and blog-complaining affair—it looks like we'll have to settle for a mixtape financing an electorally sanctioned transfer of power from the GOP to the LEGORH (Less Evil Group Of Rich Honkies). Said mixtape can be procured with a dozen dollar contribution to a fund for progressive causes (see: liberal pinko terrorists in the defunct tongue of Foxish) and goes by the loving handle The Future Soundtrack for America. Let me now note for those who don't pick up hints too easy on their own: This falls under the category of ACTUALLY SPEND MONEY ON, DON'T JUST DOWNLOAD! Anyway, as if throwing money into the Pit of Good Intentions wasn't enough, the selection is pretty solid too.
Future Soundtrack for America backs up their party plank with an ample selection of candidates for high office. Right now I'm calling out high school student council tactics and putting up John and John of They Might Be Giants for the co-presidentship. Those nerdy little voices belting out "Tippicanoe and Tyler Too" over a marching beat like the Mandate of Heaven cashed in. As for the VP, it's gotta be a sleeper, the underutilized big name with the brains and talent that seals the deal. Two ideal candidates lurk right at the end of the album: Tom Waits' bleak letter from the front "Day After Tomorrow" and Elliot Smith's posthumous release "A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to be Free." Sonically, both come across a little sparse, but leave room for the weight of "in the life" reportage from inside the crushing deceptions of the New World Order at home and abroad.
The LP still has plenty of worthy tracks to round out all sorts of other governmental positions. Death Cab for Cutie's "This Temporary Life" soft-spoken approach cops the rhythm of your breath rate at rest and conjures up the kind of deep focus snapshots of a moment that is par for for what they do best. Sleater-Kinney and Ben Kweller kick out some speedy, satisfying anthems against the climate of fear, welcome shots of adrenaline to a somewhat subdued overall pace. Luckily, the standard fundraiser album injection of filler seems to be limited to just the Yeah Yeah Yeah's mid-fi and irritating live rendering of "Date With the Night."
A final note: The Future Soundtrack for America also comes packed in with The Future Dictionary of America, a McSweeneys joint filled with the sort of esoteric future nomenclature that would sit comfortably alongside a definition of "Vegetable Chair" as some sort of vaguely masturbatory procedure involving the forced impregnation of hostile men. I shit thee not.
-A.J. McGuire
Various Artists - The Late, Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered, Covered (Gammon, 2004)
Few artists are as unequivocally hallowed in the presitigious halls of lo-fi indie than Daniel Johnston, whose mental illness, childish sketch work, and mysterious personal life have often overshadowed his music. But in recent years, his output has far exceeded his audience's tendency toward gawking, and the outpouring of admiration on this compilation is a testament to his wide-ranging appeal as a songwriter. Artists as diverse as Beck, The Flaming Lips, Tom Waits, TV on the Radio, and Guster have all been affected by Johnston's generally naive, frequently harrowing works, and each has a unique form of homage. Psych-inclined groups like Mercury Rev and Sparklehorse take a wall-of-sound approach to underscore Johnston's fantastical imagery, neo-folk types like M. Ward and Vic Chestnutt take the Johnny Cash route of dressed down acoustic balladry, and the overambitious acts in the bunch are fascinatingly hit-or-miss. TV on the Radio all but decimate the sincerity of "Walking the Cow," but Tom Waits, Bright Eyes, and Clem Snide all make valuable contributions to their selected covers. The compilation's companion CD offers all of Johnston's originals, and combined, the collection's two discs may well help to introduce a truly inspirational songwriter and musician to a new generation of listeners.
-David Moore
FILM
Film Review: The Corporation (2004)
Film Review: Outfoxed (2004)
Documentary film seems to be experiencing a mainstream renaissance of sorts, and now is the perfect time to start judging this welcome plethora of documentaries on their own terms. The popularization of documentary can, in a superficial sense, serve as a long-awaited antidote to the vast wasteland of multiplex filler. But beyond the simple "breath of fresh air" aspect of the prospect of documentaries in multiplexes, these films must be held to the high standards of documentary theory, which is more complex than a simple analysis of "like" or "dislike." Documentaries carry great responsibility to not only engage their audiences, but promote awareness and, ultimately, enact positive social change.
Take, for example, two of the summer’s most anticipated post-F9/11 documentaries—The Corporation, a three-hour examination of the origins and modern manifestations of the corporation; and Outfoxed, an expose of the unabashedly partisan practices behind America’s #1 "fair and balanced" news network. Both films have, to some extent, ridden the coattails of Michael Moore’s success, but more importantly, both films indirectly benefit from the narrow level of discourse introduced into the sphere of American film criticism since the campaign to "de-documentarize" Farenheit 9/11 started early in the summer.
The Corporation assembles a surfeit of talking heads and archival footage to create an abstract portrait of the corporation as a metaphorical psychopath. In the film’s most inspired segments, the corporation entity is first defined as a living human in accordance with actual Supreme Court legislation guaranteeing corporations "human rights." Then, a logical personality diagnosis process reveals the deranged psychological nature of a "human" that shows no regard for the preservation of the environment, the treatment of animals, or the general wellbeing of other people.
Scholars, celebrities, and professors all help to create a complex and multi-faceted, though predominantly negative, portrait of "the corporation," and the longlasting effects of the film are largely disturbing. It’s difficult to fathom how someone might still drink milk from cows injected with bovine growth hormone, or shop at The Gap, without at least taking pause in light of the information conveyed in this film. The systematic abuses of many (if not most) of the world’s biggest corporations are painfully clear, and small steps suggested by the film—the consumption of free range and organic food products, boycotting, town hall lobbying, and, of course, voting—suggest that the struggle against the corporate monolith is not entirely futile, though a direct plan for social action is never outwardly presented.
Outfoxed is a comparably scathing indictment, but of a much easier target: Rupert Murdoch’s Fox News channel. Haphazardly edited and heavy-handed, the film will certainly stir up Fox-haters, but its effectiveness on the millions who constitute Fox’s loyal viewership is uncertain. The revelation that Fox News memos often read like conspiratorial right-wing mini-manifestos is alarming, as is some of the specific information regarding Murdoch’s ties to right-wing politicos. Still, most of the information presented in the film isn’t all that revealing, and truthfully seems more like a compilation of Fox News’ Greatest Hits for an already convinced liberal audience.
Interview footage with Jeremy Glick, the man who was invited onto "The O'Reilly Factor" after his father died in the 9/11 attacks, only to be deeply and personally insulted for not subscribing to O’Reilly’s transparent agenda, is both affecting and enraging, making a concise case for Fox's utter lack of tact, fairness, and decency. But few will likely be surprised by montages of the calculated "flip-flop" saturation, the maelstrom of partisan anectodal remarks (all based upon the common qualifier "some have said..."), and a humorous flurry of knee-jerk shut-downs from O’Reilly. None of this information can do much more than intensify the pre-existing anger of Murdoch’s detractors, which is kind of like stepping on someone’s foot after it’s already been flattened by a steamroller.
The most glaring weakness of Outfoxed is that no discernible plans for social action are outlined. Outfoxed’s obligatory stab at activist empowerment hinges on condescending—several talking heads relate vague stories of general protest in an attempt to incite audience members to action. But their suggested mode of protest is ineffective and vague; what good does it do to stand outside the FCC with a big sign? Particularly if we don’t even know what to write on it? Spreading the word of generalized discontent doesn’t enact change, particularly if that discontent has already reached a target audience. Only solid ideological platforms and grassroots activism can change broader broadcasting practices.
We have gotten to a point in the history of American cinema where powerful, effective documentaries might truly break through to normally apathetic multiplex audiences. What is needed now is a harnessing of this potential; films must be steered with specific, sound ideology in ways that will truly touch increasingly large audiences. Well-wishing sentiment and an undefined progressive drive for change will only destroy the momentum of documentary films in the multiplex. In times of great conflict, documentaries must not merely reflect the world around us; they must strive to change it.
-David Moore
Film Review: Garden State (2004)
Garden State opens with a dream sequence, as protagonist Andrew Largeman sits in an airplane doomed to crash. Despite all the chaos around him, Largeman is so removed and numb to his surroundings that his only action is to adjust the air speed of the fan above him. This is one of the most simple and effective introductions to a highly complicated character in recent memory. Andrew wakes from his dream to a phone message from his father, who informs him of the untimely death of his parapalegic mother. What follows is a journey of self-discovery that speaks clearly and candidly to the young American generation. Zack Braff, who wrote, directed, and stars, has constructed a masterpiece that touches all of our emotional and cultural bases—and with enough indie-cred name-dropping to keep it in check.
Braff’s accomplishment can best be seen in his introduction to Sam, Largeman’s wonderfully eccentric love interest, played with marked subtlety by Natalie Portman. She introduces herself in a neurologist’s waiting room (she is an epileptic) by starting a conversation over the life-altering capabilities of the Shin’s "New Slang." Before we even meet Sam, however, Braff introduces a host of dysfunctional figures from Largeman’s past; none of whom he has seen in the nine years since he left his hometown. The most important of these supporting figures is Mark (Peter Sarsgaard), the gravedigger in charge of burying Largeman’s mother, who is also his best friend. He provides the perfect foil for Largeman’s search for progress. He is fine with the turns his life has taken, as he feels that he is in control of his own destiny. He exemplifies and champions the idea of the unimpressive slacker. "I’m ok with being unimpressive; I sleep better" is a mantra for every high-school burnout. Despite his resourcefulness, he absolutely refuses to make any steps to change his lot in life.
Juxtaposed with Mark is Jesse, the 26 year-old millionaire who struck it rich by inventing and then selling the patent to "silent Velcro." Jesse stands in a position of paralyzing boredom. He is a millionaire, he is unemployed, and he has nothing to fill his days except drugs and the occasional firing straight into the air arrows on fire and trying to dodge them before they lodge themselves in his spine. These are the people Largeman left behind: one who has no ambitions and one who achieved all his ambitions are a shockingly young age. Neither one is better off than the other.
The element that truly gives Garden State its power is the soundtrack. Each song was hand-picked by Braff, while he was writing the script. When presenting the script to potential backers, he sent with it a mix CD containing all the music that would later become the soundtrack. He knew that the music was essential to the effect of the movie, and it was absolutely part-and-parcel with the script—you can never truly understand one without the other. Artists like Iron and Wine, Cary Brothers, and Frou Frou are just as integral to the deep message of the story as Natalie Portman or Peter Sarsgaard. The soundtrack is yet another element that will likely appeal to both hipsters and non-hipsters alike. As a whole, the film is so transcendent and universal in its expressed messages that dismissing its power is impossible.
-Josh Scollins
Film Review: Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (2004)
This most recent cinematic debauchery from Danny Leiner, director of 2000’s uncomfortably unforgettable Dude, Where’s My Car? wasn’t anticipated to be such a cult success. When previews hit theaters, those that planned to see Harold and Kumar were the same that laughed weakly at the obnoxious, sledgehammer stupidity of its predecessor, fighting valiantly to appreciate the few clever moments that barely salvaged an hour and a half of irritating comic entropy. Dude established Leiner as an unpretentious but boorish director, and had the summer not been so mired with disappointing films, it’s doubtful that Harold and Kumar would have received the audience it did.
Much to the surprise and delight of viewers, Leiner seems to have done some growing up in the last four years. Harold and Kumar, not unlike Dude, revels in the obscene and immature, but the modification of a few key elements makes Harold and Kumar a reasonably compelling and often hilarious epic tale of two horny guys and all the dumb stuff that happens to them one night. The story is simple: Harold, a meek investment banker of Oriental descent, and Kumar, his rowdy and unemployed roommate of Indian descent, get really high and embark on a tumultuous journey to that prince of east coast burger establishments, White Castle. Stops are made, cars are crashed, a lot of weed changes hands, and yes, there is one jail break and one hang glider. While Harold (John Cho) and Kumar (Kal Penn) have the night of their lives, they undergo a tour de force of personal growth, leading them to profound conclusions about self respect, ambition, and perseverance in what is really important.
The success of this film is largely attributable to its leading men. Harold and Kumar, unlike the shamelessly moronic duo of Leiner’s last film, aren’t stupid guys; instead, they embody two versions of the prototypical underdog. Thus, their mockable aspects are of a far more subtle variety, and writers Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg do a nice job of picking on them without infringing upon their likability in the least. A wise decision was made to allow the audience to laugh or cringe with Cho and Penn throughout, while the other characters provide all the bona fide lunacy, and this allows the movie to make fun of everybody, including numerous playings of the ethnicity card, and never cross into the inexcusably offensive. Cho plays the trodden-upon nice guy with heartwarming sympathy, and Penn’s apathetic genius smart-mouth, though a bit less believable, is equally effective. Both actors have decently sized legacies of miscellaneous little roles (Cho appeared in 2003’s American Wedding), and in their first major exposures within the realm of mainstream cinema, they couldn’t have balanced the endearing with the campy and moronic more expertly.
That said, it would be direly overstating to call this a brilliant comedy. Although the humor is a vast improvement upon Leiner’s earlier work, these jokes don’t offer anything new to the young-male-best-friends-have-adventures setup, and though consistently clever, are often pretty cheap. Perhaps the most quotable scene in the film involves two Brit babes comparing gastric noises (“Battleshits”) while the guys suppress their gag reflexes from their hiding place in a neighboring stall. This is classic grossout humor, in which it is difficult to be innovative without doing the absolute grossest thing yet, and Harold and Kumar doesn’t achieve such distinction in this category or in any other. One can chuckle and roll their eyes at the obvious CG and/or puppet usage during the sequences with the cheetah and the raccoon, but neither joke was really that funny. Despite the enjoyable performances of Cho and Penn, the audience is expected to bridge the gap between unusually normal characters and the predictably ridiculous antics expected of this sort of film, and when you think about it, the two don’t go together all that well.
The trick of this film, however, is that you don’t think about it, and it’s a pleasure to take the whole thing with a massive grain of salt. More so than the large gags, an abundant sprinkling of quirky dialogue keeps the energy going, and at the very least, one comes away with a few great new insults. While Harold and Kumar doesn’t bring Leiner much closer to a truly unforgettable niche in the history of comic cinema, he seems to be moving in the right direction.
-Becki Paterson
DVD Review: Warp Records: Warpvision
Warp Records has been putting out some truly wonderful music since 1989. If you've heard something that made your brain feel funny, chances are it probably came from Warp. From the classic acid house of LFO to braindance nut Aphex Twin to glitch-hopper Prefuse 73, Warp has always been pushing the boundaries of music by retaining quite an eclectic roster. Who knew that in the past 15 years the label has been consistently putting out amazing music videos as well? None of them may have made it to "TRL," ("Come to Daddy" was rated by "12 Angry Viewers" once) most likely because the images might have caused Carson Daly’s head explode. You may have seen the Chris Cunningham Director’s Choice DVD, and if so were probably permanently frightened by his videos for Warp’s finest, Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, and Autechre. The videos on this retrospective compilation of videos range from stop-motion animation ("LFO" by LFO), to beautifully photographed, heavily stylized band performances ("Papercuts" by Broadcast and "Ghostlawns" by Anti-Pop Consortium), to a horribly distorted person who convulses and turns into a giant insect ("Gob Coitus" by Chris Clark).
There’s also plenty of fun material, such as Teletubby-like figures that dance around sporting the grimace of Richard D. James, grown men shooting a dead pig in front of a canvas, and, of course, the adventures of a Japanese girl and her faithful canine companion in a twisted home for disturbed children. Cunningham’s masterpieces are all here, but there are plenty of other talented filmmakers as well. Daniel Levi’s video for LFO’s "Freak" is Cunningham-esque, with Japanese school girls having a slow motion dance-off as destructive new school acid blares over their playground. Former Warp artist Jimi Tenor shares directing credits with Sökö Kaukoranta to conjure colorful visual experiences that perfectly match Tenor’s original sound. Jarvis Cocker (of Pulp fame), the choice director for Warp’s earliest videos, also impresses with his heavy use of stop motion that fits perfectly with machine music, which sounds almost primitive by today’s standards. The directors for Plaid’s videos are on target. Jean Luc Chansay's jaw-dropping "Eyen" is a strange animated look at reincarnation, while "Itsu" by Pleix brings you two wholesome Gap commercial teenagers who decide to build laser pistols and shoot at each other (Note: This version is a bonus not available on the commercial release, which replaces the aforementioned video with one involving pigs and mass murder in a corporate board room).
And if you want brainless, there’s a computer-generated cat getting freaky to Luke Vibert’s "I Love Acid" and the disconcerting video featuring Jamie Lidell shaving while screaming the lyrics to "The City." Most of the Warp videos included here are frequently humorous or experimental but always clever and intelligent, demonstrating a near-perfect combination of aural and visual art. Warpvision is proof that the music video can be a true art form, and we should expect that their newest artists will soon have some great videos on the way. Oh yeah, and fuck MTV for banning "Windowlicker."
-Jeremiah Turits
FEATURES
SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Ian MacKaye
Ian MacKaye, one of the key figures in the development of contemporary punk music, recently sat down with Basshead Media's Emily Gallagher for a chat about the state of punk (and, by extension, humanity) in the 21st century. MacKaye, a veteran of Fugazi and Minor Threat, toured with this summer with his band The Evens and Amy Farina of The Warmers, whose interview appears below.
B: In the past 25 years, what changes have you witnessed in punk and indie rock?
IM: You know, I get that question a lot, but it’s really difficult for me to answer it because there’s no static field—everything is changing always. So obviously, there are different people. Every year there are different people, there are different bands, there are different fashions, there are different reflections, there are different societies, there are different worlds. So it’s really hard for me [to say.] Obviously, if I compare and I say, well, when I first started seeing shows I was 17, now I’m 42, I mean, that’s a difference I guess. Also, in my mind, at that point (1979) there were three years of punk legacy behind. Now there’s a lot more to look at, so people can think of it…. I guess I think of punk as a thing that’s undefinable. I think it’s a free space—it’s not a style or a look, rather it’s an approach. It’s ever changing.
B: So the approach is ever changing?
IM: Well the idea is that it’s the counterculture. It’s the underground. Punk rock is always something that’s not for sale. Punk is always something that you can’t see on TV.
B: Even if someone is wearing a t-shirt that says "Punk" on it?
IM: Right! That’s different. There are always people that say to me, "well there’s this band that’s on a major label, and they’re a punk band." And I always say, "That’s not a punk band. There might be punks in the band, but it’s not a punk band. By their decision to go into that world, they have accepted something that is really counter punk. So I guess I feel that punk is always the rebirth, the regeneration. To every new kid that comes along, he or she is going to spur the punks. It can never die. It always lives, forever.
B: With the Evens, is this a sort of maturing thing do you feel, or is this a change in your perspective, or do you want to try something new?
IM: The Evens are the two of us, it’s a band, it’s the two of us making music together. 100% valid, it’s not a project or a side project, it’s just music. It’s what the two of us do together. So I guess in my mind, it’s not maturing. How can we be maturing when we’re brand new? It’s a birthing. Music lives on and on. I’ve been in other bands but so has Amy.
B: So you were mentioning during the show that you’ve let go of fear. Is there anything that still worries you?
IM: Not really. I mean I get nervous sometimes, when I’m driving. I saw a deer run into the freeway and that made me nervous. Obviously there are moments where I’m like, "WHOOOA!" that’s natural. But in terms of a perpetual or constant state of fear—no, absolutely not. I’m done being nervous. I’m certainly done being scared. In my mind, our lives are only so long—why spend it in fear? It’s crazy! I think there’s so much business, there’s an industry in fear right now. Shouldn’t someone be saying the opposite? Like, don’t be scared? Because it’s obviously not working to be scared.
B: So how did you and Amy meet?
IM: Amy came out to Washington to go to school in 1991 and she’s a musician, and she was in a band with my brother, The Warmers. I thought she was just great.
SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Amy Farina of The Warmers
B: How did you get involved with The Warmers?
AF: Years ago I played with this woman named Lois Massaeo, and she played guitar and sang and I played drums with her. We were looking for a bass player and I had a friend named Juan Carrere who was an excellent bass player. Juan joined up with us and the three of us played together and did some touring, and then Lois moved to the West Coast. Juan and I really wanted to keep playing together. We were friends with Alec MacKaye, Ian’s brother, and he hadn’t been playing but we were friends and fans of his—he’s a really incredible singer. He was interested in playing guitar, and we were talking one day and we decided to start playing together, which was The Warmers. It was a really incredible band to be in, and we were lucky enough to tour and cut some records and it was a really, really great experience. It’s funny because that was the band that I probably did the most touring with, and I really loved traveling with those two people. I got to know Ian over those years. We did some recording projects with him, and traveling with Ian now—it’s interesting to see the brothers' similarities on the road.
B: Like what?
AF: The things they like to eat. And they are both really good drivers. I think those kind of things are hereditary… tastes, and driving skills.
B: What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re on a tour other than playing?
AF: That’s an interesting question. There are so many things that I enjoy doing. I take great pleasure in finding good restaurants—I’m vegan and so is Ian. So in Ithaca we're like kids in a candy store at the organic market. Record stores, bookstores, good food, but mostly seeing friends and meeting people and being able to come to a place. The social aspect of traveling and touring is a really incredible experience. Every time I leave, the cool people that I’ve met amaze me. They are everywhere.
B: Are you ever sad to leave a place and the people you’ve met there, or is it more exhilarating?
AF: I’d say it’s more exhilarating. There are times when it’s hard to leave a place, but I’ve been really lucky to be able to return to places and keep in touch. You build such an incredible network of people who are interested in music and all of its accoutrements. So people tend to keep in touch. I live in Washington DC, and people are always in and out, so people come to visit.
B: Are you ever intimidated by Ian’s cult status?
AF: No. Definitely not.
