Basshead Media Archives

2004-10-10T20:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2004-08-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

AUGUST, 2004
ISSUE #5: KUMITE

MUSIC

Ben Allison and Medicine Wheel - Buzz (Palmetto, 2004)

Although improvisation has always been a definitive aspect of jazz music, many musicians past and present hold composition to just as high a standard. The trends of jazz composition have changed from the full ensemble magic of Duke Ellington to the tighter, more cohesive style of combos like the six-member Medicine Wheel, headed by bassist Ben Allison. Buzz is about Allison’s style as a composer and arranger, rather than his talent as a young dynamite bassist. The result leaves a lot of freedom for the other members of his group, including a tenaciously supportive duo of Ted Nash and Michael Blake on reeds and the surprisingly musical drumming of Michael Sarin. Sarin single-handedly brings the interplay of Medicine Wheel's members to a higher level with his drum head-bending tricks on the energetic title cut. The disc leads with Allison's mostly upbeat originals and lets the latter half trail off into a more relaxing, late-night atmosphere. Overall the disc has a few refreshing twists and turns, but as tight as the ensemble work is, none of the solos (or the tunes themselves for that matter) are overwhelming enough to place this album on any avant-garde pedestals. Closing with a Beatles cover is usually certain death for many an album, but Allison makes a few saves in his spacey arrangement of “Across the Universe” via his clever orchestrations including tasteful bass trombone work from Clark Gayton. Other critics might expect something a bit more controversial from Mr. Allison, but I am more than content with his latest offering.

-Phil Giampietro

Belle and Sebastian - Books EP (Rough Trade, 2004)

It all starts off with the kind of synth and drums the likes of Kylie Minogue and Rob Zombie have been mining for years from that never-ending booty power source: the 70’s. Belle and Sebastian have always come off as a bit retro, moving between soft little guitar pop songs and synthetic ditties about dancing. Books tries to have it both ways, sandwiching a pair of those chronicle-of-a-quirky-relationship guitar songs between two versions of their would-be-a-rollerdisco-classic-if-only-people-would-start-rollerskating-again track “Your Cover’s Blown.” Somehow it seems therapeutic to have these fey Scotsmen out there nicking riffs from the likes of the Steve Miller Band, taking out their amp sound and giving the kids some headphone fodder to fight back against the nostalgic bilge-pump of classic rock that sprays out of malls, restaurants, and your parents. Oh, and this disc has got videos and stuff. The "Wrapped Up in Books" game is quite charming for all of you who’ve gone down on the 7th level of Tetris a few too many times and need a new puzzle fix. The visual stimuli will satisfy your craving for comely girls in glasses and pixie haircuts and/or balding men with guitars and falsetto harmony. Oh wait, that’s the band. Belle and Sebastian: they’re all about value.

-A.J. McGuire

Fiery Furnaces – Blueberry Boat (Rough Trade, 2004)

Few bands follow up critically lauded debuts with projects as ambitious as the Fiery Furnaces’ sophomore album Blueberry Boat. The album is a seventy-six minute odyssey through minimalist psych-pop, a style that improbably serves as a base for a series of lengthy rock operas and about six million musical ideas. Here’s the catch: none of these ideas are very compelling. The Fiery Furnaces will likely pull the wool over many eyes in the critical community by simply offering more stuff on record than any band this year—but that doesn’t make the music good, or even particularly listenable.

Perhaps a better route than the extended song format might have been a 40+ track album in the vein of the Minutemen’s classic Double Nickels on the Dime. A willfully fractured format might help to focus their attention deficit-influenced style of songwriting (which, when stretched to nearly ten-minute song lengths, serves as an acute musical representation of beating a dead horse). Simplistic carnival keyboard lines, “rollicking” piano (read: clumsy), pedestrian and repetitive melodies, and drumming that makes Meg White look like Keith Moon are the connecting threads here, and at points it is difficult not to utter that most dreaded sentiment of the Indie Philistine: learn how to play your instruments!

Part of the problem is that the Fiery Furnaces are selling self-conscious naiveté without adding anything to the formula. Whereas current purveyors of experimental pop like the Unicorns and Animal Collective use a certain amount of conscious “innocence” to structure music that transcends abstract concepts, the Fiery Furnaces revel in a group facade which, stripped to its essence, is often quite annoying. The self-aware corniness even pierces through to the band itself on “My Dog Was Lost But Now Is Found,” when the line “I went to the corner and asked the coroner” merits a rim shot. The song concludes with a groan-inducing punch line—the dog was “lost” because he hadn’t accepted Jesus as his personal savior. And that’s to say nothing of lines like “the pain in Spain falls mainly on me.” Still, for all of its failings, Blueberry Boat documents a band making music that truly sounds like little else in independent music.

-David Moore

I Am the World Trade Center - The Cover Up (Kindercore, 2004)

Electropop, electropop, electropop! Shut down the papermills, we’re DIGITAL, honeychile! Dead volcanos! Drugged pornstars with wads of greenbacks! Chaos theory-derived algorithms for clustered Furby supercomputers! Tang will replace the blood supply!

Naw, it’s not that kind of electropop. My sources indicate that Gary Numan is in a Bolivian cryofreeze and Atari Teenage Riot is too incomprehensible and possibly disbanded. So the usual suspects are all occupied, but hey, this is stuff you can dance to. That’s something, right? Maybe I’ve just soaked in too much synthesizer exhaust drifting out of disposable clothes shops in the mall, or chalk it up to listener apathy, but I can barely tell any of these songs apart. What I can tell you is that Amy Dyke’s voice performs competently for her role of girl singing heartbreak songs backed by happy sounding machines. She comes across like a mash-up of Sheryl Crow’s rhythmic delivery and the poppy warbling of any number of blonde Eurostar contestants. And hey, vocoder. Whee, vocoder. And covers of actual 80’s songs? Yeah, whee.

I really tried to like this here CD. I tried listening to it in different places, with different speaker setups, and during different moods. I'm talking some real scientific method stuff here. What it comes down to is IATWTC’s lack of innovation. Combining a finite set of sounds, words, and inflections that stay within the boundaries of music that would play in a particularly coked-up club in the mid-80s drops this disc into a serious case of rehash. In some circles, I imagine that sort of thing might be lauded and the reviewer would not be tempted to drop a reference to Ace of Base or Real McCoy. Thankfully, I don't have clever enough hair to be locked into one of those hipster circles. Go buy a New Order greatest hits comp instead.

-A.J. McGuire

Minus the Bear – They Make Beer Commercials Like This EP (Arena Rock Recording, 2004)

The latest EP by Minus the Bear opens up with a ludicrously danceable riff in “Fine + Two Points” that sounds like it comes straight out of a Megaman game. The amusingly-titled “Hey, Is That a Ninja Up There?” has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not that is, in fact, a ninja up there. The song presents a nice relaxing groove while the guitar lays out smooth hooks, building to a “rock out” bridge. This is textbook songwriting at its best, a standard followed by the other five songs on the EP. Unlike traditional rock albums, however, the vocals aren’t brought to the forefront of the mix. They sound buried within the music, emphasizing the whole of the song, rather than any singular aspect of it. And an active rhythm section and crystalline guitar riffs will melt the ears of anyone who cares about that sort of thing.

-Adam Trabka

Oceansize - Effloresce (Beggars Banquet, 2004)

From the high, fluttering electronic sounds at the start of the album, to the identical sounds with which it fades out, Effloresce is one of 2004's most interesting rock albums to date (well, 2003 in their native UK). Oceansize create their own brand of progressive space rock that may draw comparisons to Radiohead, Tool, or Mogwai, but always from a moderate distance. One of Oceansize's great accomplishments is that each song incorporates a different song structure and set of tone textures. The listener is not yet again plagued by the Intro-Verse-Chorus-Bridge-Chorus-Outro formula twelve times in a row. Some songs are within the three to four minute mark; some songs reach up to nine. Some incorporate electronic elements; some dabble in classic rock influences. The songs vary in emotion from track to track, yet all are connected and cohesive. Effloresce thus becomes a self-contained album, rather than a group of songs. Unlike the many lesser progressive nu-rock bands out there, Oceansize focuses on the quality of a part rather than a quantity of them. Songs like “One Day All This Could Be Yours” and “Women Who Love Men Who Do Drugs” spend time developing variances on one theme, instead of blasting through dozens of less thought-out riffs. Undoubtedly, this effort may be too self-indulgent for some, and songs like “You Wish” may be a little too close to potential fresh meat for being shortened and overplayed on modern rock radio. Effloresce is definitely worth checking out for anyone looking for over an hour’s worth of carefully prepared rock music.

-Justin Talbott

Orbital - The Blue Album (ATO, 2004)

I know you don’t want to hear it, but I can’t hide my love of Orbital. If it wasn’t for those Hartnoll brothers, I wouldn’t be listening to electronic music or writing any reviews for this here Basshead thing. Snivilisation and In Sides were my first exposure to REAL electronic music, not just clichéd samples of funk and hip-hop, which was the trend at the time. No one can deny the mark Orbital has left on electronic music and The Blue Album, their final album, puts a lump in my throat…partly because it could have been so much better.

Well, I didn’t exactly have high hopes in the first place, considering their last album, The Altogether, was a nearly unforgivable mess, but don’t worry—there is plenty of good material on this album, and any Orbital fan will dig it. Those thick analog synthesizers with Orbital’s oh-so-distinct sound are standard on nearly every song and reach near perfection midway through on “You Lot”, which builds dramatically (in true Orbital fashion) around a vocal sample preaching the inevitable annihilation of mankind. However, this song, like most others, lacks something. Everything sounds a little unfinished, missing that certain spark that made my heart pound and the hair stand up on the back of my neck on past efforts. Other tracks pay homage to the Hartnolls’ greatest influences: “Bath Time” is a whirlpool of synthesizers that sound straight from Carlos’ A Clockwork Orange score and “Acid Pants” is a super-polished acid exercise with guest vocals from Sparks, a favorite band of the brothers.

Though well done, the album is far too short and all of the pieces don’t seem to add up. The reason I loved Orbital in the first place was their ability to produce epic and fluid albums. In the end, though, the boys pump out “One Perfect Sunrise,” an uplifting dance tune that will put a giant smile on your face and remind you of 15 years of great music. Orbital was and will remain one of the genre’s greats, but for now, it’s time for the brothers to move on. It truly and sadly is the end of an era.

-Jeremiah Turits

Ulrich Schnauss – A Strangely Isolated Place (Domino, 2004)

Nostalgic revival-ry seems to be coming in telescoped waves these days. One might think that a “revival” of the early 90s phenomenon unceremoniously dubbed “shoegazer”—a genre that faded away less than a decade ago—is jumping the gun a bit. But Ulrich Schnauss, a rising underground star in Europe gaining stateside acclaim, makes an excellent case for the movement’s early reprisal. And considering VH1 seems to have skipped My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive in the premature ejaculation that is “I Love the 90s,” this may be the only decent homage we’ll get for a while. That isn’t to say the music on A Strangely Isolated Place, Schnauss’ second release, is entirely dependent on that of its progenitors. For one, Schnauss works exclusively in the realm of homemade laptop production (the music could be better described as “screengazer,” a phrase which I would love to have just made up, but has actually been coined for two years already), allowing him a kind of flexibility not available to Kevin Shields and company, whose expensive studio excursions essentially crippled their record label. Also, Schnauss’ sonic pallette is not based on ethereal guitar work, but something more inscrutable and atmospheric, somehow sounding modern in theory but often retro in practice—at times the album feels like a throwback to the ambient pioneers of the late 70s. His chilling soundscapes are expanded upon by Judith Beck’s fragile vocals and anchored by mechanical electronic rhythms, conjuring images of a dazzling, post-apocalyptic Ice Age comparable to the imagery of Sigur Ros. A Strangely Isolated Place is a shimmering, expansive work that touches bases with the best music of the early 90s and may help to propel “screengazer” beyond its relatively cult status to the large crop of budding music movements in the early 00’s.

-David Moore

Team Shadetek - Burnerism (Warp, 2004)

Like many, I’ve been wondering “Who the hell is Team Shadetek?” They’ve apparently been around the last five years, but they seem to have just materialized out of nowhere to revamp Warp’s stateside roster. We could spend all day comparing them to other Warp artists (*ahem refuse-Pay eventy-three-Say and oards-Bay of anada-Cay*), but, truth be told, theirs really is original stuff. The music is thick, funky and downright digital, as roaring basses and ear splitting tones compete for your attention over the static beats that will dance (or skip) circles through your head. The album’s opener, “Menthol,” is a glitchtastic funk exercise, digital and as harsh as a pack of Lucky Strikes, yet the mangled vocals accompanying a catchy melody make it as smooth as a pack of Kools. Poor cigarette analogies aside, this shit hurts at first, but becomes addicting like whoa. It’s easy to dismiss this album as glitch-hop layered so thick it becomes noise. Hell, one of your jackass friends might exclaim “hey, this CD is broken,” but if you listen closely, you’ll notice the density makes it a fresh and intelligent, yet danceable experience that ends way too soon. Does the Team know how to play? Well, if you are looking for harsh beats and chopped up vocal samples, you’ve got hundreds of acts to choose from, so why not root for the guys that give a triumphant middle finger to your inner ear AND put that shake back in your booty?

-Jeremiah Turits

Tree Wave - Cabana EP + (2004)

So I keep telling myself I’m going to build that MIDI theremin out of an old 486 and a hacked Nintendo power glove. But what with working two jobs and lacking the patience to really scour eBay or run through all those moldy 3.5” floppys for the software, it’s been slow going. Luckily there’s Tree Wave, carrying the burden for all us sinners, and making the world safe for Nerdocracy with their tricked-out Commodore 64 synths and percussive dot matrix printers. Yeah, you can call it a gimmick, but they back it up with some pretty smooth tunes—not quite full-on electropop, but more a pop translation of that humming core of the West’s information society. Lord knows “Morning Coffee Hymn” sets me straight in the morning for a day of cursing my dial-up connection and weaving through the forest of SUV’s on my daily downhill bike trip downtown. And the extras: there are some pretty snazzy videos, largely Atari-derived, and as a bonus for you DIYers, track seven contains machine code for a synthesizer program that you can dub onto a cassette and run on your own Commodore 64 datassette drive. Ahh, pure sweet geeky bliss.

-A.J. McGuire

The Unicorns - The Unicorns: 2014 EP (Suicide Squeeze, 2004)

The best way to learn something is through experience, no? Having just suffered a ruthless lecture about the history and nature of the EP (apparently, my distaste for the brevity of such a musical format and concern that the EP is merely Extra Pay for current, prominent musicians is a terribly blind and narrow-minded attitude), I forged ahead in my EP lesson and listened to the new Unicorns album I was supposed to review. And review it I shall. “2014” is an interesting twist on the Canadian trio’s usual brilliant, catchy, and unassumingly complex pop music/morbid message sound. Start with an infectious dancepop beat at the song’s core, throw in some environmentally conscious lyrics at the beginning, some “la la la”‘s at the end, and a constantly changing melody throughout, and you have a signature Unicorn auditory experience, in danceable form. However, I question the validity of this EP as such. It is a place-holder, no doubt; in a desperate attempt to let not the indie community forget its praise of the harbinger of innovative pop, the Unicorns concocted a single. The rest of the songs? Poor original, poor outtake, and poor demo (of “2014”), in that order. Compare this purpose and production to TV on the Radio’s exemplary Young Liars EP from 2003. TV on the Radio would most certainly be without their popularity and support had they not eased and teased indie listeners into their music with a cohesive and refreshingly soulful EP; it was a genuinely crucial step in getting heard. The Unicorns are using the EP format to their advantage as well, but they are starting from a higher diving board, flipping and twisting and seeking attention in a frantic and obnoxious way, with an immaturity that penetrates and debilitates The Unicorns: 2014.

-Emily Cooper

Yesterday's New Quintet – Stevie (Stones Throw, 2004)

Maybe I'm missing something here. First, let me say that there's no better man for Madlib to give tribute to with his “quintet” than Stevie Wonder, a true hero of the art of song. The majority of this disc saw the light of day in a very limited release two years earlier on what seemed to be the first of several volumes dedicated to Mr. Wonder. This new version, complete with some very cool artwork, the interludes are merged with previous tracks and the last track is changed to a very danceable rendition of “That Girl.” Background aside, this isn't a Herbie Hancock record—Madlib is no keyboard master and sets the bar low from the get-go. He (barely) noodles with the snippy melody of “Superstition” for just over three minutes before moving onto more interesting territory. Groove abounds in the deep bass and busy percussion, but, as always, Madlib's own personal touches are found—he hits each tune for a few minutes, provides a slick groove throughout, then moves on to something else. Thanks to his choice of inspiration the tunes themselves already have a fantastic sense of melody. Alternating with the standard hip-hop feel are a few cuts with Latin-influenced beats, from the quick samba on “Visions” to a summery and sweet delivery of “I Am Singing.” The diverse quality of the beats is certainly this record's secret weapon, as it is pretty difficult to merely cut up and alter a song by one of music's geniuses. In short, all Madlib has really done here is added some sick, jazz-influenced beats and dark atmosphere characteristic of his own style to the songs of Stevie Wonder. Oh wait. That sounds like a DJ remix record. Hmm. Guess I didn't miss anything after all.

-Phil Giampietro

FILM

Film Review: Metallica: Some Kind of Monster (2004)

Metallica has the distinction of being the rock band with which I have been familiar the longest—since age nine, when my step-brother turned me on to “Seek and Destroy,” a song which I have probably listened to more frequently than any other. Some Kind of Monster opens with cleverly assembled footage charting Metallica’s evolution through multiple performances of “Seek and Destroy” in a brilliantly edited sequence. The song chugs along year after year with the kind of awe-inspiring stability that has enabled the band their astounding longevity, despite drug problems, in-band fighting, and maintaining relevance amidst the exponential decay of cool that comes with getting old, filling stadiums, and cutting hair. This three-minute credit sequence sums up the band’s career—their humble beginnings, their rise to fame, their mutation into some kind of conglomerate (OK, “monster”)—far more succinctly than Metallica do themselves in the exhausting two and a half hours to follow.

I gave up on Metallica about where the movie begins. It is 2001, over three years after their releases Garage Inc., a double album of cover songs, and the bizarre symphony orchestra excursion S&M have redefined the phrase “treading water” in terms of the band’s career. They have stopped touring indefinitely after their bass player, Jason Newstead, left the band on less than spectacular terms. Oh yeah, and then there’s Dr. Phil (no, not that one), a $40,000 per month group psychiatrist who leaves helpful notes for the band about staying in their Zone.

What follows is perhaps the most pathetic depiction of a group of grown men ever committed to film. Lead singer James Hetfield is a shambling alcoholic so pigheaded that he actually misses his son’s first birthday party in order to kill a bear. After rehab, he demands four-hour recording sessions between noon and four, presumably so that he can have dinner with his family before roaring down California interstates in ridiculous custom-made vehicles (one is a dead ringer for Dick Dastardly’s car in Wacky Races). Drummer Lars Ulrich proves to be the belligerent cartoon he made himself out to be during the Napster fiasco, throwing more tantrums than a spoiled toddler and consistently bringing the level of discourse during group therapy down to New Age mud-flinging. Guitarist Kirk Hammett seems genuinely oblivious to the grotesque opulence and indulgence surrounding him—his only concessions to his multi-millionaire status seem to be expensive surfing gear and a quaint horse ranch on the West Coast. Compare this to Lars’s “precious collection” of artwork, which, as some kind of psychic catharsis, he impulsively rids himself of—making a multi-million dollar profit at auction. Watching Ulrich get rich and drunk simultaneously is a truly gut-wrenching affair.

“Gut-wrenching” also adequately describes Metallica’s recording process, which consists of weak and aimless jamming (a new technique to promote collaboration), the piddling out of mind-bogglingly stupid lyrics (“my lifestyle determines my deathstyle”), a healthy dose of Pro Tools tinkering, and enough petty fighting to embarrass Spinal Tap. And knowing that lyrics like “Did anything I’ve done make a difference” are actually about the moral dilemma of the group’s decision to hand over the screen names of Metallica fans using Napster for free downloads to the Powers That Be for punishment is particularly disconcerting.

Don’t let the obligatory “happy ending” reunion fool you; Metallica is a shining example of the pitfalls of unbridled capitalism. These are real men in their forties, with blossoming families and actual responsibilities as fathers, husbands, and citizens. Perhaps the most disturbing revelation in this fascinating mess is that the band members’ charity and philanthropy seem to be completely non-existent, which borders on criminal for human beings with so much wealth and so much free time on their hands.

Filmmakers Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, the creative team behind the landmark Paradise Lost documentaries, brutally bring the realities of mega-stardom to the screen perhaps more powerfully than in any other “rock” film yet made. They certainly had plenty of material to work with—most of the subjects depicted in the film are walking caricatures of themselves. Some Kind of Monster must have been an utterly agonizing piece of cake to create, and the results, grueling and infuriating, are unforgettable.

-David Moore

Film Review: Napoleon Dynamite (2004)

Everything I had previously heard regarding Napoleon Dynamite led me to believe I was going to enjoy the movie and cherish it for years to come. Everything I had previously heard was a filthy, disgusting lie on par with “There’s going to be a Lollapalooza tour this summer.” The movie presents characters that range from unlikable to loathsome to apathy-inducing, as well as a story that, well, there is no story. Instead, the viewer gets 85 minutes of alleged “jokes” strung together to show us how wacky life is in Napoleon Dynamite’s universe.

The hero of the movie, as you may have guessed, is one Napoleon Dynamite (Jon Header), named as such for no apparent reason other than it sounds ludicrous. If this movie has done anything successfully, it has created the most unlikable protagonist in recent film history. Napoleon is socially awkward to the point where you can’t feel sorry for him when he’s harassed and mocked by the “cool kids” of the film. Throughout the movie, he’s a squinty, obnoxious jerk who acts as though everyone is on his case, when for the most part they’re just trying to co-exist. Right from the start of the film Napoleon flips out on a kid on the school bus who innocently asks him what he plans his plans for the day are. Napoleon can’t even handle maintaining a decent relationship with a llama, at which he flings food for refusal to eat.

The other characters in the film don’t fare much better. There’s Napoleon’s Uncle Rico (Jon Gries), who we’re told is stuck in the 80s, which is an unexceptional trait considering that everyone else in the town is stuck in the 80s as well. Napoleon’s brother Kip (Aaron Ruell) is slightly more modern, spending his days “chatting with hot babes on the Internet.” In a remarkably unfunny sequence later in the film, we see the nerdy Kip dressed up as a thug by his Internet girlfriend LaFawnduh, played Shondrella Avery, who helpfully shows the world that black people are different from white people. If I wanted that kind of dreck I would’ve gone to see White Chicks.

The cast also features Tina Majorino of Waterworld fame as Napoleon’s friend and one of the few likable, if not completely forgettable, characters. Another character who is not entirely grating is Pedro (Efren Ramirez), the new student at school who is befriended by Napoleon. Pedro also serves as an excuse to include a low rider in the movie. This is funny because the film takes place in Idaho, and we all know there ain’t no low riders in Idaho.

That’s not to say the film is without its redeeming qualities. For every ten jokes that fall flat, there are one or two that hit their mark, such as a piñata effigy of a student council presidential candidate. However, such a low batting average is not nearly enough to keep the movie afloat.

-Adam Trabka

DVD Review: Songs from the Second Floor (2000)

A sensation at the 2000 Cannes film festival where it won the Jury Prize, Swedish filmmaker Roy Andersson’s Songs from the Second Floor is a stunning abstraction of corporate greed and class division. The film is a series of character (or perhaps caricature) sketches, unified by larger themes of loneliness and hopelessness in the context of the 21st century. Kalle is a middle class lawyer who has resorted to burning down his own business to avoid bankruptcy. Pelle is the vice president of an Enron-esque corporation in the process of outsourcing their entire work force. And in the margins are a magician who lives with the guilt of having almost actually sawed a man in half, the catatonic son of the lawyer who wrote poetry until he went insane, and a slick salesman attempting to unload a truck full of enormous Jesus figurines on unsuspecting and presumably untalented salesmen. These portraits alone are compelling enough, but the film transcends its label as a character study in light of the surrounding chaos constantly invading the corners of the frame. Legions of the undead—or perhaps the downtrodden masses on a collective coffee break—roam the streets aimlessly. Ghosts of persecuted Russian Jews from the WWII era haunt subway cars, and a secret society of aristocrats ritualistically murder young girls to maintain their prosperity. The film, bleak and spare in its depiction of this urban wasteland, takes on a nightmarish quality that emphasizes its concept over a clear reality, and strengthens its drive as a somber invective against capitalist opportunism in the post-Cold War West. Songs from the Second Floor is a mesmerizing deconstruction of traditional class structures, and, in its own strange way, is a touching commentary on the state of humanity in the new millennium.

-David Moore

FEATURES

SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Edward B. Gieda III of An Albatross

For anyone who missed out when they played Cornell this past May, here is another chance to get to know An Albatross, a band whose brief but stunning live show has been said to have evolved from an act of human violation to the status of psychedelic sermon. The latter came shining through in our recent and revelatory interview with Edward B. Gieda III (pictured left and upside-down), lead singer and Albatross front man. Gieda enlightened us with his passionate insights into live performance, audience participation, and KUMITE.

B: Who is the Lazer Viking and why should we devote our lives to him?

EBGIII: The Lazer Viking is a metaphorical being that is precisely this: THE UNBRIDLED HUMAN MIND. What I’d like to express to your readers is that the Lazer Viking is NOT a joke or something to be taken lightly. It is a call for maximum freak out, maximum fun, and total kumite...The Lazer Viking is a being concerned with hair farming, eating, and sleeping all day, and achieving the height of human potential.

B: Your music seems to bridge a divide between the indie music scene and the hardcore scene. What has been your experience within the indie and hardcore communities? Do the two communities tend to intersect?

EBGIII: Essentially, I tend to look at divisions between “musical communities” to be trivial nonsense that just complicates matters and dilutes art. Fuck boundaries—don’t wear a uniform! Once you truly learn to dig music, your record collection will resemble more of a mosaic than a genre-based library.

As far as bridging gaps and what not—it’s an unintended goal with this band that I incidentally embrace. We pull influences and ideas from all sorts of sources—some even from non-musical auditory experiences. The kids that come out to our shows, at least the ones that I’ve met and had conversations with, are kids that are ready to get turned on to music. They sympathize with Lazer Viking empowerment and have a fundamental understanding of what it truly means to be free.

B: Is there anything worth saying that can’t be said in a minute? Do you have any intention or desire to explore longer song formats?

EBGIII: Some things take years to adequately express, but most things I’ve come to understand should be understood in a measurement of heartbeats. The fundamental ideals behind An Albatross, The Lazer Viking, Kumites, etc. are ones that people either understand within minutes or they just turn off, and those people hate what we’re doing. We certainly don’t breed indifference—it’s either total attraction or repulsion.

As far as switching format, we’re not married to repeating ourselves indefinitely. I’m sure that the next record will remain similar to other AA releases, but I certainly hope to explore and push boundaries with upcoming releases.

B: Your performances have become perhaps the most important factor in getting your music recognized, and concerts often take on a kind of legendary status. Is it difficult to maintain the spontaneity and energy of your live performances with such a demanding schedule?

EBGIII: Yes, it is difficult. Playing 50 or 60 shows consecutively is physically and spiritually draining. However, I believe that the feasts we engage in every evening with our best friends around the country (i.e.: our shows, love-ins) create a certain synergism of energy. With this being said, there is never a lack of inspiration on my behalf—seeing kids reflecting that energy we are expelling is fodder for huge explosions. When I perform, it’s a mental orgasm.

The issue of touring is an important aspect of An Albatross. We maintain a pretty rigorous schedule. From May of 2003 to May of 2004, we spent nearly six months on the road, which is pretty decent. It is absolutely crucial to the formation of the band, because music, no matter how you look at it, is best experienced in a live scenario. It’s been happening since the dawn of civilization and continues to happen in bars, pubs, clubs, and basements across the world on a nightly basis. I am proud to be part of such a robust history of musicians bringing joy and thoughts of freedom to masses of people. It’s a perfect way to live.

B: Do you find it difficult to translate the energy of your live shows onto disc? Do you find the recording process restricting at all as compared to performing live?

EBGIII: In regards to your first question—yes, capturing that energy is nearly impossible—if it were a feasible feat, it would erode the need for people to gravitate towards live music. There is undoubtedly a beautiful sort of spirit that exists during live music performances. It’s an abstract reality that touches us all in the primordial jelly that exists in the centers of our brains. It’s what makes us human!

The answer to your second question is no. Often times I feel inspired to separate myself from the pressures of live performance and put a good amount of thought into precisely what I’d like to hear. My experience in the studio is similar to sitting down to make a painting. I find it very relaxing and enjoyable and it allows me to separate myself, to a certain degree, from my performing side to a more artistically—minded side.

B: You seem to have a devoted cult following—how have you gained your audience over time, and how would you describe your audience(s)?

EBGIII: The kids that come out to see us take The Manifesto of the Divine Children very seriously. I like to think that they’re kids very similar to myself—kids who grew up being involved with music to an immeasurable degree, love to cut loose, and dig the collective experience. I can also assume that they’re probably kids who’ve been fucked with by the robots and slaves in this country... They find a home in the love-in.

Gaining a group of friends around the world should be easy if you’re honest, loving, and sincerely want to express your art to the people around you. I believe that’s how we’ve developed our love cult.

B: What is the songwriting process like? Are songs written by the group as a whole, or based on riffs or lyrics? Is the band particularly prolific, and, if so, how do you decide which songs will be performed or recorded?

EBGIII: The songwriting process usually consists of Jay (bass) and Jake (guitar) working on riffs and creating demos for the rest of us to hear. Usually these demos will include two or three different instruments recorded on a four-track. The rest of us work out our parts over the song, or make some alterations (to varying degrees—sometimes the final product sounds nothing like the original demo versions). I usually sit down with a song after I’ve been coming up with vocal patterns for it and write the words in a trance.

Essentially we have about 20 minutes of combined material throughout our five-year existence. We don’t have much of a chance to write music since we’re touring so much, but we hope to change this in the near future. The compilation of the set list we usually play is an organic process. Sometimes songs just fizzle out and just don’t “feel right” any longer, so they’re stricken from the set.

B: When we reach the Lazer Eye, will we be frightened? Enlightened? Alone? Happy?

EBGIII: Enlightened. Swimming to the Lazer Eye is metaphorical for Astral Projection. We hope to gather a group of millions and levitate our new community from this horrendous place as an act of beauty to contrast the decay and hate of this world.

The Lazer Eye is the tearing apart, examination, and thorough understanding of the mind through certain processes, be they psychedelic undertakings, spiritual/meditative experiences, or completely getting off on great music.

B: What are your plans for the immediate future?

EBGIII: For the summer of 2004: write a new record, record in the fall, and boogie through 2005. In the meantime: sifting the like-minded out, bringing them together, and creating luv ‘n revolution through eternal kumites, mountain ascension, and beauty.

B: Can Marc Calderaro play tambourine next time you guys come around?

EBGIII: Absolutely! Just grab a tambourine or cowbell next time we get it on! No barriers! Band and audience = 1!

Check out An Albatross's website at www.analbatross.com, and head to the June issue of Basshead Archives for reviews of their full-length album, Eat Lightning, Shit Thunder and their 2003 EP, We Are the Lazer Viking. They will be touring consistently for the rest of eternity.

LIVE REVIEW: The Phantom Concert Series, Summer 2004

Even the most diehard concertgoers tend to miss a few shows now and then. But, as we all learned in high school, attendance isn't everything. Remember: if we believe we were there, we were there. Here, then, are a few fictional synopses of many of the amazing shows I did not actually see. Pardon my liberties.

Franz Ferdinand – Webster Hall, 6/17/04

Franz Ferdinand, one of the great breakthrough successes of the year, continued to surprise and amaze with a wildly unpredictable live show that played into the controversy surrounding their homoerotic love letter to the club scene, “Michael.”

Each member entered the stage dressed in leather S&M gear, which immediately divided the crowd and elicited as much cheering as heckling. Drummer Paul Thompson was the unofficial mascot of the night, donning a black thong, nipple clamps, and a red ball gag.

The stage was relatively unadorned, except for a giant projection screen that played a loop of experimental pornographic short films. The display was all but ignored, however, as the group created enough chemistry onstage to make the surrounding bells and whistles irrelevant.

“Take Me Out,” a popular fan favorite, was a definite highlight: the band extended the bridge between the opening rock verse and dance-friendly chorus so that bassist Bob Hardy and guitarist Nick McCarthy could have a few moments to furiously make out, igniting loud gasps and cheers from the audience, both for the sexy demonstration itself, as well as the musicians’ unbelievable dexterity—despite the intensity of their passionate display, Hardy and McCarthy never lost the beat.

Between other raucous live renditions of songs from their self-titled debut, lead singer Alex Kapranos whipped audience members in the front row (myself included) with a riding crop and even invited one lucky young man onstage for a prolonged spanking, which was carried out during the acoustic intro to “Jacqueline.”

Stage chatter was minimal, and Kapranos’ thick Scottish accent and frightening gimp mask made most of his banter all but indecipherable. It was all walk and cock, but no talk, from the hottest rock group of the year.

!!! – Bowery Ballroom, 6/18/04

Dancepunk trailblazers !!!—pronounced “chk chk chk”—largely disappointed audiences at the Bowery Ballroom, one of their final American stops before embarking on the European leg of their tour.

The mood was pretty well set for the night when outspoken lead singer Nic Offer made a plea for bipartisan unity during a time of war and devastation in the world community. An uncharacteristically somber Offer, sitting at the edge of the stage in a pre-show “rap session,” first rechristened the band “Love Love Love,” and then offered these words: “We’ve had our qualms in the past [with the current administration], but this is no time for divisiveness. The world is hurting right now, and it’s up to all of us to put our trust in places of power, so that a plan for peace can gradually emerge.”

After his speech, the rest of the band’s seven members took the stage, all wearing plain gray robes and holding long white candles that shone brilliantly on the darkened stage, as Offer led the room in a secular group prayer for the families of U.S. soldiers in Iraq. The other six members remained standing for the rest of the night as Offer sat center stage with an acoustic guitar and played some of his personal favorites, including songs by Cat Stevens, James Taylor, and, as a second encore, an especially spare and affecting rendition of the Polyphonic Spree’s “Days Like This Help Me Warm.”

The song climaxed at twelve minutes, with the remaining members of the audience (myself, my girlfriend, two homeless individuals seeking shelter from a sudden downpour, and a small group of diehard fans intent on dancing to whatever music was played) singing the chorus, “Love like this is warm” repeatedly along with Offer.

Afterward, the singer openly wept, said “thank you,” and quietly exited the stage as the final candle poetically burned out.

John Vanderslice and Pedro the Lion – The Knitting Factory, 6/21/04

John Vanderslice exhibited his trademark penchant for subtle practical jokes at New York’s famed Knitting Factory by failing to show up for the entire duration of his set. The forty-five minutes of frustrated silence that replaced his show were sporadically interrupted with cries of “this sucks” and “I want my money back.” Only a few enlightened Vanderslice fans smiled knowingly at one another and shook our heads, as if to say, “Oh, John, you incorrigible prankster, you’ve done it again!” Despite numerous requests, no tickets were refunded.

At 11, Pedro the Lion finally took the stage. Sole permanent member and lead singer David Bazan entered half-naked carrying a large makeshift cross, which he set at the front of the stage and stood behind throughout the show. Every so often an arm or leg would peek out from behind the massive wooden post, but for the most part, the singer remained entirely concealed. Unfortunately, the microphone was stationed in front of the cross, which meant that Bazan’s vocals were decidedly muted.

Between songs (which, without lyrics, couldn’t be readily identified), Bazan seemed to scourge himself with a miniature, homemade cat o' nine tails, though this is difficult to prove—a few audience members at the side of the stage were positive that they saw the singer whipping himself after what might have been “The Fleecing” from Achilles Heel.

The set was cut short when Bazan fell unconscious, presumably from the pain of scourging, and couldn’t be revived for another number. Murmuring amongst Pedro the Lion fans subsided when, as a final unexpected treat, the large wooden cross splintered in half, revealing none other than John Vanderslice, who had been hiding there the whole time. Vanderslice smiled, winked at the audience, and promptly left the club before it was completely destroyed by the restless crowd.

Sufjan Stevens – Pier 17, 7/01/04

Sufjan Stevens, known for memorable costuming and decoration in live performance, went all out for his free show at Pier 17 during the Fourth of July holiday weekend. With the wide area the venue provided, Stevens tried out a new pyrotechnic display, showering the stage (and, on occasion, the audience) with a constant barrage of sparks, dry ice, and smoke.

Stevens refused to play songs from his recent albums Greetings From Michigan and Seven Swans, claiming that both of the albums have “dated” at this point. We were instead treated to several selections from his highly anticipated second album in the “states” series, the upcoming Illinois, as well as a few preview tracks from the as of yet unrecorded Virgin Island Territories, due for release in August of 2009.

Tragedy briefly reared its ugly head during a performance of the first planned single from his next album, “Illa Noize,” the folk singer’s ill-advised foray into hard-edged rap metal. A member of Brooklyn Boy Scouts Troop 237, all of whom joined the stage to sing the chorus of the song (“We got illa noize/ We got killa noize/ We got thrills and bills/ No filla, boyz), burst into flames after wandering too close to the ubiquitous sparks. Stevens, elaborately costumed as the Sears tower, tackled the child to the ground and smothered the flames.

After a few more songs, Sufjan spent the better part of a half hour answering questions about his name—which, contrary to popular belief, is actually pronounced “Felix”—and wished everyone a happy Fourth.

Lollapalooza 2004, Day 2, 08/17/04, Randall's Island

After two long days of intensive rocking out to the likes of Modest Mouse, the Flaming Lips, and Broken Social Scene, the reformed Pixies take the stage, and, for the first time in the history of mankind, actually play “Freebird” when someone sarcastically requests it. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse descend unto the Earth, signaling the start of Armageddon and the end of humanity as we know it.

None are spared, save your humble concert reviewer, a prophet sent by God to a post-apocalyptic Earth to spread the word of Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips—who, as it turns out, really was Jesus after all.

That's all for the Summer 2004 Phantom Concert Series! Hope to catch you all at the next big show...for real this time!

-David Moore

2004-07-22T12:02:00.000-07:00

JULY, 2004, ISSUE #4:
THE AMERICA ISSUE

MUSIC

Arovane - Lilies (City Centre Offices, 2004)

I get it now. 2004 is the year in which so-called IDM artists have agreed to show the world that they are musicians. Uwe Zahn of Arovane is one more to add to the growing list of artists showing an increasingly human side to their recordings lately. Sadly, much of Zahn’s work has remained underneath the radar, not receiving the deserved recognition that similar artists like Autechre and Boards of Canada have achieved. Lilies is another subtle, refined work, with a sort of “East meets West” concept attached, as it commemorates a trip from Berlin to Japan and back. Whether this trip was business or pleasure is unknown, but the album never strays from being calm, melodic, and often melancholy. Zahn uses beautiful string and piano arrangements throughout the album, while electronic sounds swirl around the accompaniment. Keyboard parts burst open and seem to wander away from the surrounding elements, finding their own clear empty spaces before being pulled back into their surroundings. The percussion ranges from sounding like Amber-era Autechre to hip-hop influenced music, complementing Zahn’s pleasant melodies. Japanese vocalist Kazumi helps complete the album’s sound, with Japanese and English vocals in “Pink Lilies” that are placed perfectly in the mix. The brevity of the album combined with a lack of variation between songs tarnishes the finished product just a little, but it remains one of those unique albums that can put a tear in your eye or a smile on your face.

-Jeremiah Turits

Beastie Boys - To the Five Boroughs (Capitol, 2004)

How far the mighty have fallen. In what can only be described as a complete and total embarrassment, the Beastie Boys have actually regressed both lyrically and musically to some hypothetical point in history between Licensed to Ill and Paul’s Boutique, where they were sent a letter from 2004 about the state of New York City. They quickly cobbled together their response: an album of gut-wrenchingly awful, half-baked political sentiment (the immortal lines “We’ve got a president we didn’t elect/The Kyoto treaty he decided to neglect” and “Maybe it’s time we impeach Tex/And the military muscle that he wants to flex” come from only one song); generally lukewarm, often oppressive and obnoxious beats; and, to top it all off, a milquetoast's “love letter” to New York (“An Open Letter to NYC”) that conveniently divides the city by five: not into boroughs, but racial groups. Yes, Asian, Middle Eastern, Latin, black and white people—you “make it happen,” whatever that is. Conspicuously absent is the sort of playfulness that has served as the group’s life support for over a decade. To the Five Boroughs documents a group far beyond its prime and its time. The Beastie Boys are so misguided in their attempts at political relevance (which an existing public image makes nearly impossible, even if they tried harder than this, which they easily could have), so painfully aware of their own obsolescence in the most rapidly evolving genre in popular music (you’ll notice there aren’t any guest MCs, despite uniformly weak but numerous battle rap “challenges”), so calculatedly oblivious to the past six years of pop evolution (not to mention the past fifteen), that listening to To the Five Boroughs is downright depressing. This is by far the worst album of the Beastie Boys’ career, and a chief contender for the biggest disappointment of 2004.

-David Moore

Black Dice - Creature Comforts (DFA Records, 2004)

What is there to say about Black Dice that has not already been said? On Creature Comforts, the group dishes out what you might expect from them: structural experiments based on simple guitar lines, robot noises, pedals, delays, computer effects, and the like. Black Dice throw in instrumental non-sequiturs that are not necessarily surprising—people anticipate the oddities at this point. This time around, however, their experiments are expressed in a calmer form. “Skeletons,” the longest track, builds on inside-out pitches that reverberate in your brain while their echoes quietly shift shapes as they fade. In “Treetops,” buzzes, reverb, shrill guitar lines, and siren-like distortion create friction with a delicate ambient keyboard and guitar. Creature Comforts barely hints at the unruly chaos and violence that the Black Dice is known for. The album is a disappointment in comparison to Beaches and Canyons, Black Dice’s debut release on the DFA label, which left the listener in awe of the intensity and depth found in no-wave experimentation. While I’m not criticizing Black Dice for trying a new approach from the exciting and beautiful Beaches and Canyons, by comparison Creature Comforts feels bland—clean, almost, which is rarely interesting, especially when it comes to “noise rock.” But it’s good to know that the adventurous and loud have their quiet sides.

-Emily Gallagher

The Chinese Stars - A Rare Sensation (Three One G, 2004)

The legacy of the late 90s post-punk revivalists has yet to truly crystallize, but the seeds of mythology have been planted. Brainiac, unwitting founders of the dancepunk genre, and Dismemberment Plan—far more witting founders, and a group whose lead singer has cited the former band as a key influence—deserve a lion’s share of credit for popularizing the recent wave of indie dance fever. But it is the thankless efforts of placeholder bands like the Chinese Stars that will ultimately secure the “new” new wave dance party a full page in indie history books, rather than a footnote. A Rare Sensation is the Chinese Stars’ homage to/perpetuation of the late 90s post-punk boom, and it is a fleeting, occasionally brilliant half-hour of jagged dance beats, cracked melodies, and the most self-consciously insipid lyrics this side of, well, Brainiac. Lead singer Eric Paul just barely skirts the line between sneering punk posturing and grating whine, sputtering out lines like “Baby, baby/My car’s on empty/And I’ve got bad weather in my bed” with enough sarcasm to avoid being taken seriously. Craig Kureck’s rigid, almost militaristic drumming (think Devo circa 1979) contrasts Richard Pelletier’s uniformly stellar, fluid funk basslines, providing an unshakeable rhythmic backbone and more than making up for Paul's occassionally irritating delivery. The Chinese Stars don’t have any great aspirations to be pioneers, or even leaders, of their brand of post-punk, which is actually one of the major charms of the album. They are the nameless soldiers in an army of musicians who, like Dismemberment Plan before them, are determined to get—and keep, which is really the important part—the indie masses off of their asses.

-David Moore

The Cure - The Cure (Geffen, 2004)

Take a look at the Cure’s back catalog sometime. The first thing you’ll notice is that more than half of their full length releases have been singles collections, hits albums, and live records. The second thing you’ll probably notice is that Robert Smith and company have put out their share of dud records that you most likely never knew existed. What’s left after all of this is a handful of the most exciting and important pop records ever recorded, a handful of records that are so good that they’ve kept The Cure on top for more than 25 years. The latest release from the godfathers of Goth fits securely into that handful of incredible albums. From the slow-rolling and bleeding opener to its 10-minute balls-out closer, this self-titled beauty dishes out track after track of guitar driven ear-candy. With all the synth-slinging indie bands rockin’ the scene today, it’s refreshing to hear an album more reminiscent of The Cure’s original, no-frills sound. Vocally, the album comes fully loaded with the standard issue sad boy wails and high-echo cries that sound almost as fresh as they did in ‘78. I feel like this trend of making no-bullshit comeback records is popping up all over the place. I also feel like I would have never seen The Cure follow a popular trend, and that I would have never been so excited about it when they did.

-Stephen Quinlan

Daedelus - A Gent Agent (Laboratory Instinct)

He’s an international man of mystery, a natural born assassin with a license to charm. Death and danger are his various breads and butters. This summer, join Daedelus in A Gent Agent, an action packed, roller coaster ride through a world of espionage and intrigue. In a world where sampling has become dangerous, one man dares to show off his love of music and ability to incorporate old styles into new forms. Forget Ninja Tune, forget DJ Shadow, forget 007, Daedelus is the man for the job. It’s lounge, it’s hip-hop, it’s electronic, it originated in what sounds like the 1940s and Daedelus is the only man with the courage to put it all together. Slicing, scratching, and chopping, Daedelus assaults your ears with full horn sections, upright basses and raga-infused breakbeats. He may be a talented musician and producer, but his secret weapon, aside from his boyish good looks, is his eclecticism. No guitar or drum loop is too obscure, no beat too fast, too slow, or too distorted. It’s an unexpected tour de force that keeps rival agents, as well as his loyal fans, guessing at every turn.

(Stepping out of character) Sure, the album is a gimmick, but hot damn, is it good. It’s Daedelus’ third release so far this year and possibly his best. Daedelus is making some seriously mind blowing music while still retaining a sense of humor.

-Jeremiah Turits

Local H - Whatever Happened to PJ Soles? (Studio E Records, 2004)

This is the third go around for Local H with Brian St. Clair on the drums, and his efforts have finally brought the band full circle. PJ Soles picks up perfectly from last year’s refreshingly awesome No Fun EP, where things started looking better and more progressive for the new duo after their slightly disappointing Here Comes the Zoo album. Finally, Scott Lucas is pissed off (again) and ready to tell you all about it, whether it be by screaming “You’re never gonna get it” over and over in the opening track, “Where are They Now?,” or ranting against what he clearly thinks is a very overrated state of California in “California Songs.” Just as the album title references one-time 70s movie starlet PJ Soles (of Stripes and Rock and Roll High School fame), Whatever Happened to PJ Soles? references the music of the 70s. The epic “Buffalo Trace” features musical effects that reek of 70s arena rock, as does “Dick Jones,” which brings an always classic “OMG HIS GUITAR IS TALKING!!” effusion to the listening table. The highlight of the album is the introspective “Mellowed,” in which Lucas looks back at his life thus far. It’s these subdued tracks on Local H releases that pleasantly surprise you the most. It dazes you, in a good way, to hear a smart, somber song of regret immediately following a song that sounds exactly as you expect it would with a title like “Heavy Metal Bakesale.”

-Adam Trabka

The Locust - Follow the Flock, Step in Shit EP (Three One G, 2004)

Does a three track album work? That depends on your preference of bug. The Locust’s new EP begins with a track called “Follow the Flock, Step in Shit.” This title may entertain a laugh, but the indecipherable growling, insect electronics, and 30 second ambulance horn will probably leave uninitiated hardcore listeners uneasy. The second track is a 29 second blitzkrieg called “Coffin Nails,” most likely for Gabe Serbian’s sharp, needle-like drumming. “Red” is mellow by Locust standards, drawing out the pulsing screams of Justin Pearson and leading into an eventual grinding attack of noise for about five seconds and ending with low-tone buzzing. Those feeling confused by the end of the album may never press play again, for it is hard to feel emotionally moved by the condensed, jumbled sound of the album. But for die-hard Locust-heads and two-steppers intrigued by the band’s insect costume gimmick, the EP will no doubt be a necessary addition to the collection.

-Vanessa Schneider

Pedro the Lion - Achilles Heel (Jade Tree, 2004)

“You don’t know who Pedro the Lion is?!” yelled my friend Andy. “No,” I replied defensively. “Should I?” Angry at my apparent lack of hip, I picked up their Progress EP and loved it. The brief taste shows David Bazan at his finest when armed only with an acoustic guitar, minimal drums and his signature low-level voice. After a couple harder-sounding albums (Control and It’s Hard to Find a Friend), Achilles Heel steps in the right direction toward a mellower sound (“I Do” and “The Poison” are nice soft tracks), but lacks any significant cohesion or inviting personality worthy enough to warrant $15. The lyrics lack depth and interest, and are complementary to the boring, structured sound provided by the band. It seems Bazan’s weakness is his inability to find a decent sound and stick with it. It’s been two years since Andy’s astounded question and the jury’s still out.

-Vanessa Schneider

Reverend Horton Heat - Revival (Yep Roc Records, 2004)

Reverend Horton Heat’s latest release may be the most aptly titled record of 2004. Calling much more on earlier releases than on newer ones (1991’s Smoke ‘em if You Got ‘em has a more resounding influence than 2002’s Lucky 7, for example), Revival has a subdued approach. Well, as subdued as Reverend Horton Heat can get. This semi-softening can be heard in the instrumental opener "The Happy Camper," a joyful mid-tempo romp, which sets the musical tone for the rest of the album: romping. Lyrically, Revival runs the gamut from serious to ridiculous. On one hand there’s “Indigo Friends,” which deals with the Reverend’s frustration with a friend’s heroin addiction. And on the other hand, there’s “Callin’ in Twisted,” which features the eternal struggle of calling in sick for work when you’re really just hung over and actually getting away with it. These kind of lyrical dynamics say a lot about the range and talent of Reverend Horton Heat. Whether you hear a song with a serious message or a song for a party, if it's coming from Reverend Horton Heat, you know it’s going to be good.

-Adam Trabka

Tomasz Stanko Quartet - Suspended Night (ECM, 2004)

On the surface, Suspended Night sounds a hell of a lot like the twin sister of 2002’s Soul of Things: soulful European chamber jazz variations played by a piano trio with a trumpet. I can’t help but admit that, although Soul of Things was one of 2002’s most brilliant jazz albums, I was skeptical that Polish trumpeter/sorcerer Stanko would spend over an hour just treading two year-old water in the new Suspended Night. The album opens with a ballad, “Song for Sarah,” that seems to bring closure to Stanko’s last record without evoking any wisps of its memorable theme. With few exceptions, no similarities to Soul of Things are present in the Suspended Night variations. The ten cuts that follow are deceptively titled: what is being varied here is not the melody, but perhaps the style or tone of each piece. The result is more of the jazz equivalent to a set of classical character pieces from the Romantic or Modern periods. They are also much more advanced than their moodier counterpart and further emphasize the participation of each group member. As more chances are taken, Suspended Night begins to open up in a magical way. Overall, the tone of this work is agitated and intense, coming to a point where you can feel the creative sparks hot under the feet of each player. The teenaged members of the rhythm section easily create a level of interplay that feels natural and logical, all the while setting a colorful canvas for Stanko’s broad strokes. Suspended Night still exhibits the vast influence of the work of Miles Davis in a way that preserves his original style of playing, including his airy, blistering smears. What we have here is Tomasz Stanko’s next step forward with this highly musical group.

-Phil Giampietro

Craig Taborn - Junk Magic (Thirsty Ear, 2004)

Wow. If I had to put this album in a musical category, I would call it “neo-classical jazztronica nightmare” music. Hell, you could probably pull “jazz” out of that whole mess, because Junk Magic clearly fuses modern classical ideas with Craig Taborn’s unique electronic vision without making as much as a whistle stop at most jazz traditions. The results, shifting from improvisation to through-composed minimalism to break-beat programming, overshadow labelmate Matthew Shipp’s latest projects, simply because instead of calling in other musicians to throw in their two cents from outside of the jazz world, Taborn’s music is entirely his. Although the skills of The Bad Plus drummer David King are tapped for this session, the main credit for the beats in Junk Magic go to Taborn’s production. King’s playing is chewed up and spit out in intervals over the free-floating melodies to “Mystero.” Mat Maneri’s viola playing adds warmth and humanity to Taborn’s searing orchestrations throughout, although he is mainly featured in “Shining Through” with effects that make the dark string instrument sound as if it is submerged underwater. Whether the music seems almost neo-romantic in its drama or you hear the opening of “Bodies at Rest and in Motion” and think, “Gee, that sounds a lot like the third movement of Bartok’s 'Concerto for Orchestra,'" the classical elements of Junk Magic are hard to ignore. In my experiences, neo-classical and electronic music is a pair that I haven’t heard much of, and with a pinch of free improvisation, this disc becomes addictive. The only discrepancy with this effort from Taborn comes in the album’s opener and closer. When listening to the more repetitive, minimalist landscapes that can be redundant at times, the solution may be to simply turn the music up and get into it— the opening title cut spins a cyclic, goofy sax/viola vamp into background for a Herbie Hancock Sextant-era spacefunk work-out. How can you get down to spacefunk if you’re not going to listen to it loud anyhow? This is some pretty brilliant stuff that electronic music types need to check out.

-Phil Giampietro

They Might Be Giants - The Spine (Idlewild/Rounder, 2004)

They Might Be Giants’ tenth full-length album is surprising—surprising in that the group is staying original, and surprising in that their preview EP, Indestructible Object, didn’t come close to doing the new album justice. That said, The Spine isn’t groundbreaking, especially when compared with the mastery of the Giants’ earlier works. Each songwriter has lost a little something over the years, and I believe much of that comes from being tied to each other. The Johns (Linnell and Flansburgh, the only official members of the band) were never extremely compatible as collaborators, and this provided for a quirky versatility to their earlier albums, and abetted their rebellion against mainstream pop, or even mainstream alternative (what?). But with the evolution of the indie scene, there is nothing left for them to rebel against. The album's plodding moments, such as "Memo to Human Resources" and "The World Before Later On," are more than salvaged by the sublime "Museum of Idiots" as well as old live favorite "Thunderbird." "Experimental Film" is the token head-bobbing opener, and "Damn Good Times" provides one of the many chuckles inherent in TMBG's releases. Still, it appears that the Giants have run their musical course, and should use the excellent documentary Gigantic, a film chronicling the Johns’ effort together, as a culmination of their work. Given the quality of Linnell’s 1999 solo release State Songs along with his contributions to The Spine, I anxiously await the solo career of this extremely gifted lyricist and songwriter. But as far as They Might Be Giants goes, it is time for one of the paramount bands of the past twenty years to hang up the accordion, and leave their legacy, before it gets ugly.

-Ian Power

Venetian Snares - Huge Chrome Cylinder Box Unfolding (Planet-Mu, 2004)

Once upon a time, Autechre, Richard D. James, a rabid wolverine, and Charles Manson were locked in a room. Bombarded with radiation, the five merged into one form and out walked Aaron Funk. Having a reputation for making harsh but tongue-in-cheek music, as well has having been compared to other artists for too long, there is finally a serious Venetian Snares album that stands alone. Granted, Venetian Snares has never made the most accessible music, the usual description being something akin to Aphex Twin on every drug that makes your heart explode. Here, Aaron Funk shows us a new emotional side, while still having the balls to keep up his digital and downright evil extraterrestrial percussion. That percussion is now mixed with delicate melodies that bring a clever balance to each song (though things sometimes slip into what I imagine the apocalypse would sound like). “Bonivital” shows us a method to the madness, as it shifts between beauty and utter chaos. There’s even an ambient cut, “Aaron,” which abstains from any percussion whatsoever, opting for merely a wandering keyboard melody. Apparently, the album was originally titled Beauty, which is fair, but the new name couldn’t describe the album any better. It’s a morphed Pandora’s box unfolding before your ears: what’s released from the box may seem harsh at first, but it eventually becomes altogether pleasant. This album may be his best work yet, but knowing Venetian Snares, he’s already three months away from putting out something that will blow our minds even further.

-Jeremiah Turits

FILM

Film Review: Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004)

It’s frustrating that so many theatergoers insist that Fahrenheit 9/11, Michael Moore’s diatribe against the Bush administration and the Iraq war, is not a documentary. This is not because the assertion is false (although it is: the term “documentary” encompasses an array of films so diverse that to disqualify just about anything as definitively “not documentary” is, technically, not correct), but because for some reason, once a film manages to exclude itself from arbitrary genre classification, it is no longer worthy of analysis. In other words, Fahrenheit 9/11 is not a documentary, therefore it does not exist.

The stubbornness of this viewpoint is as perplexing as it is frustrating, because Moore’s film is as worthy of analysis as any film or media (falsely) purporting factual objectivity, which is ostensibly a requirement in this bizarre and uninformed definition of “documentary.” In fact, one of the highlights of Fahrenheit 9/11, much like Comedy Central’s “The Daily Show,” is that it actively questions the assumed objectivity of television and print news, which no one who faults this film’s credibility seems to deny as factual documents.

When Bush showed off his golf swing immediately after issuing a somber statement regarding international terrorism, it was only Moore (and “The Daily Show” before him) who chose to let the footage play out, rather than edit it the way Bush undoubtedly intended. And it was only Moore who had the bright idea of acquiring amateur footage of Bush nervously delaying his initial response to the 9/11 attacks by a full seven minutes due to his own inability to act decisively. It is Moore who dares to show graphic footage of the current war in Iraq, not censoring images of civilian and military casualties. This footage is essential to any “fair and balanced” critique of the Bush administration or the Iraq war (which Moore’s film professedly is not), and the fact that none of it has ever been shown to mass audiences only illuminates the extent of censorship and political bias within the United States press.

Moore’s use of archival television news footage as ammo against the media outlets themselves (and, more importantly, against the Bush administration) is a solid achievement, albeit a somewhat unimpressive one—half of his footage has already been showcased on “The Daily Show.” Also powerful is his interview footage with Lila Lipscomb, a Flint Michigan mother whose son was killed while on duty in Iraq. Where Moore fails is overselling points that don’t need the extra help, which in turn hurts his credibility. Why is it necessary, for example, to show a montage of Iraqi children prior to the American invasion happily running through playgrounds? His argument that the war was not justified is clarified with documented proof—namely false claims regarding WMD’s and no clear link between Saddam Hussein and Al Queda. Why undermine this solid argument with a portrait of pre-invasion Iraq as a suburban paradise?

Regardless, Moore’s arguments are incisive, compelling, and undeniably pertinent, and may have more of an effect on swing voters than pundits have suggested in mainstream news media outlets. Moore’s points are valid and his message is urgent. Like it or not, Fahrenheit 9/11 is one of the year’s most significant documentaries.

[Note: Judging from its title, the upcoming film Michael Moore Hates America, coming to theaters this summer, will probably go to great lengths to reverse this film’s already wide-ranging effects on American voters. I have a hunch that it won’t be nearly as successful, but in case you were wondering—and oh, how it pains me to say this—it will, in fact, qualify as “documentary.”]

-David Moore

DVD Review: Pennies From Heaven (1981)

With the recent mini-revival of the movie musical, it’s refreshing to see an early contemporary rethinking of the genre get its overdue re-release on DVD. Pennies From Heaven was generally considered to be a flop upon release—the film was too disturbing for musical lovers, too somber for fans of Steve Martin’s previous film, The Jerk, and it pretty much flew in the face of what anyone might have expected from what was perceived as a song-and-dance Steve Martin vehicle. The film takes place during the Depression, and centers on the life of Arthur Parker (Martin), a down-on-his-luck sheet music salesman and all-around schmuck who reaches a career and personal low point during an extra-marital affair with naïve schoolteacher Eileen (Bernadette Peters). The characters create elaborate musical fantasy worlds for themselves to escape from their frequently depressing realities. As the “real” story spirals into darkness and violence, the musical numbers become increasingly jarring and oddly affecting—especially a lively barroom number that signifies Eileen’s fall from grace, and showcases one of Christopher Walken’s greatest cameo performances. The slow underground success of Pennies From Heaven eventually helped the film carve a niche for strange, brooding, implacable Hollywood musicals to follow, culminating in the early 00’s successes of Dancer in the Dark, the film’s most direct descendent, and flashier popular favorites Moulin Rouge and Chicago.

-David Moore

FEATURES

SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu

Basshead mistress Emily Gallagher recently assaulted Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu with a barrage of random questions. He provided insights into his latest album, Fabulous Muscles (check out Emily's review of the album in our May issue), discussed his extensive and rigorous tours, and explained what the hell was up with that cat.

B: Many listeners and critics have a difficult time accepting your brutal honesty, sometimes labeling you “overdramatic.” How does that affect you as a performer, if at all? How does it make you feel about your audience and your work?

JS: It is totally in my best interest not to think about it. Once in a while when I do, I become very very self-conscious and begin to hold back or wonder if we are lame. It is always our goal to be open and honest, and the subjects that we make music about bring out reactions from me that are very intense. If people think they are "overdramatic" that is OK. We are trying to be honest with our feelings and that is what some people look for in music and what some people are turned off by. As far as how it makes me feel about our audience, well, I am very moved and touched that people are as supportive as they are. I hope we are doing something that adds to peoples lives.

B: At a recent live performance at Cornell, the audience seemed very serious and glum, and didn’t react much to the music. Does audience reaction (or lack thereof) ever affect your performance or kill your energy?

JS: It can. But it is also not the audience’s responsibility to react any way other than honestly. If they are feeling glum—and it is not a stretch to imagine that a lot of people who would come to a Xiu Xiu show might be feeling that way—then I would just hope that people be themselves. However, when there is a lot of talking during a show (and I know this is a little bit prima dona of me) it makes me insane. It is very hard to concentrate over an asshole’s cell phone conversation.

B: You’re a pretty intense performer. How do you maintain energy night after night for every song?

JS: Caffeine.

B: What do you do to unwind?

JS: Read in the car after the show by myself. It irritates my band mate, though.

B: Xiu Xiu's lineup has changed several times. Does collaboration have a large role in your songwriting process?

JS: It does lately. Our last record, Fabulous Muscles, I mostly did by myself, but the new record we are working on now is much more of a loose group effort.

B: How does having a “rotating” band affect the creativity or shape that the music takes?

JS: In different ways. Working with the same people makes the music very tight and greasy, but working with different people adds new sparks all the time. It can be a drag getting the feel together when we’re using new people a lot. But it can also be a drag getting bored of each other’s ideas when we’re using the same people. So usually I try a little of both. Sometimes it works and sometimes not.

B: What was the best thing that has happened to you on a tour?

JS: Hard to pick one thing. The best things are getting to play a lot of shows. Lately shows have been selling out more regularly, which is new and exciting for us, making friends and knowing that all over the world there are people that we look forward to seeing. Also seeing the world. Sometimes in the funniest and briefest ways, like spending five hours in Rome before leaving. Just getting the tiniest taste of something, or driving by Devil's Tower for 20 minutes. We have seen a lot of places, but only for a moment.

B: What is your favorite time period?

JS: Jurassic. (HA HA HA I AM SUCH A DICK!!!!!!)

B: Which authors, philosophers, poets or songwriters have inspired your music?

JS: Hmmmm...Junot Diaz, Dennis Cooper, the Swans, the Smiths, the visual art scene in L.A. from 1990 to the present, Jesus, Charles Bukowski , Sandra Cisneros, Miya Osaki, Rob Fisk, Vaginal Davis, This Song Is a Mess But So Am I, the book Grapes of Wrath, Ice Berg Slim, war photography and journalism, my dad, Cory McCulloch, Arvo Pärt, Otis Redding, Toru Takemitsu…I could go on forever.

B: Many of your songs are overtly political, such as “Support Our Troops, OH.” Do politics play a significant role in your music?

JS: Yes.

B: What topics have been particularly compelling to you lately?

JS: As far as songwriting? Feeling guilty has been really coming up a lot. I have not always been the best person, actually pretty cruel at times, and it is weighing heavily on me. Also, similar ideas to the subject of “Support Our Troops,” which is about the individual’s responsibility in war. I am trying really hard to write a song about my cat, trying and trying.

B: Do you sleep with the stuffed kitten on the Fabulous Muscles cover?

JS: Well, no. But until last year, I had been a preschool teacher for about ten years, and I used to take that cat with me to class everyday (the stuffed kitten is named Dr. Phil). There were two children in the class who were obsessed with Dr. Phil. They had a very very elaborate fantasy world constructed around her. It was fascinating, because otherwise they were not interested in fantasy type play. But for some reason, that kitten really resonated with them. One day, I did not bring it to see if they would try different play but they just asked me about her all day.

Xiu Xiu will be touring the United States (again) starting July 16th to promote Fabulous Muscles.

SPECIAL FEATURE: The Basshead Media AMERICA MEGAMIX

The Fourth of July has once again passed, but damned if the Basshead Media staff still doesn't have a hankering for some apple pie, an unquenched desire to sing the half of the National Anthem we can remember, and the somewhat disturbing urge to conquer a developing nation. The assignment to appease these most patriotic of yearnings was simple: pick a song that says AMERICA! AMERICA! AMERICA! And so we did. The result is the Basshead Media AMERICA MEGAMIX, compiled from suggestions by individual writers. Enjoy!

1. Ludacris - “Coming to America”

Ludacris' dirty south cover of this Neil Diamond classic shows us what America is really all about: Gunz, drugz, and getting Frito-layed...those Ellis Island shorties better check themselves.
-Jeremiah Turits

2. Ted Leo And The Pharmacists - "The Ballad Of The Sin Eater"

The simple story of an idealistic American leftist traveling the world and finding out that the rest of the world views America in a completely different way than we view ourselves. Leo expresses shock at being hated, but acknowledges the unfortunate guilt through association that all Americans share for America’s lesser moments. This is a strong reminder of the interconnected modern world and America’s place in it.
-Matt Corley

3. Randy Newman - "Political Science"

A completely hackneyed choice, but damn it, "Boom goes London, boom Paris/ More room for you and more room for me" is about as close to nirvana as we're going to get, cynical-assessment-of-U.S.-foreign-policy-wise. Randy Newman has the bonafide (foot)stamp of a true American permanently etched into his sardonic smirk, and if this song doesn't outlive Armageddon, well, we'll all be dead anyway.
-David Moore

4. Sage Francis - “Makeshift Patriot”

One of the most important social commentary songs of post-9/11 era. Gives hope that maybe one day I can give a crap about rap music.
-Josh Scollins

5. The Monkees - “Pleasant Valley Sunday”

After World War II, America had a common goal: to have lots and lots of babies in areas between the city and the countryside. This little idea was called the suburbs, and millions upon millions moved into cheap cookie-cutter housing where most have remained to this day. Today, countless young men and women dream of disowning adventure at 30 and moving into a predictable house with a predictable spouse, SUV, white picket fence, two children, and a cat or dog. So really, when you think of a song to represent America, what could be more appropriate than a band made up by a corporation singing about the joys of cutting lawns?
-Emily Gallagher

6. Beastie Boys - Suburban Life

-Emily Gallagher [Editor's note: No blurb written for this one, but Emily's runner-up "suburbia" pick sounded so good after the Monkees tune it was impossible to exclude.]

7. Desaparecidos - "The Happiest Place on Earth"

Yeah, sucks being a patriot who knows the score. Our boy Conor slurs out a pledge of allegiance to the country where the "bombs bursting in air" blind the homefront into a consumerist stupor and dismember a bunch of folks we'll never meet. A good reminder that being on top means that you're always standing on someone's neck.
-A.J. McGuire

8. Matmos - “Stars and Stripes Forever”

An American marching band standard made new again. It starts off sounding like a broken, glitchy version of the original, becoming a cacophony of different sounds to form the melody, only to fall again and be broken.
-Adam Trabka

9. Toby Keith - “Courtesy of the Red White and Blue”

I cannot think of a better song to describe our foreign policy. Toby shows us that these colors don't run, and tells us what we're going to do to those terrorists for what they did to Dale Earnhardt. Never forget!
-Jeremiah Turits

10. The Unicorns - “Tuff Luff”

Take a wild guess: who secretes leaders of secrecy? In a time when American leaders are throwing blame around like it’s a hot potato, the sardonic “Tuff Luff” acutely captures the unruly politics practiced in America today. They may not live here, but the Canadian Unicorns have surely struck a chord in the hearts of socially/politically/economically progressive-minded American folks with their closing mantra: “SAVE US."
-Emily Cooper

11. Three Dog Night - "Summer in the City"
A chilling description of urban frustration and excess. "Everybody's walking half-dead, hotter than a match-head" so the "big cats are looking for a kitty"? Classic American distractionism, where urban tension doesn't exist if you're too busy dancing on rooftops.
-Sean Frasier

12. Black Flag - “Wasted”
Hey Keith Morris! Quick, sing about wasted youth, cyclical lower class struggle, and the drug problem hippies left in their idealistic wake. You have 51 seconds. Go!
-Steve Quinlan

13. The Mountain Goats - “The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton”
Finally, a song about one of the greatest American traditions: starting the greatest band to never leave it’s practice space. Hail Satan.
-Adam Trabka

14. Ween - The Shot Heard ‘Round The World

I chose this for simple reasons. On the face of it, The Fourth of July is about the rising of a young nation from the shackles of an old monarchy. It is the commemoration of the hard fought revolution of our forefathers and mothers, and I think it would be wrong to forget that amongst the turmoil of the current state of things. This song was originally an old "Schoolhouse Rock" number, but as we are an indie rock webzine and I don’t have the original version, I will be listening to Ween tell the story of Lexington, Concord, and their aftermath.
-Matt Corley

15. Propagandhi - "The Only Good Fascist Is a Very Dead Fascist"

Quote: "What exactly are the great historical accomplishments of 'your' race that make you proud to be white? Capitalism? Slavery? Genocide? Sitcoms? Guns? War? Pollution? Addiction? NAFTA? Thigh-Master? This is your fucking white-history, my 'friend.' So why don't we start making a history worth being proud of and start fighting the real fucking enemy: the white male capitalist supremacist." Enough said.
-Vanessa Schneider

16. Dead Kennedys - “Buzzbomb”
Vroooom Vroooom Vroooooooooom! Thirteen years after Biafra sings about doubling the speed limit in a gas guzzling road monster, it’s nice to see that SUV lovin’ Americans are still participating in one the country’s favorite pastimes. Man, are gas prices going down? There must be an election coming up or something...
-Steve Quinlan

17. Misinformed Manzerick - "(Jump Onboard) Super Patriot American Freak"
This is one of the song’s that appeared on www.protest-records.com during the run up to the current war in Iraq. Though I’ve never heard of the band before, and know nothing about them, they offer a poignant satire of the outpouring of nationalism disguised as patriotism encouraged by the Bush Administration and its war supporters. I include this because September 11th, the War on Terror, and the War in Iraq are bound to be the touchstones of a generation, my generation, and I believe it is important to recognize the dangerous fervor that can come from sudden tragedy, and how the citizen still needs to keep a level head in the decision-making process.
-Matt Corley

18. Pat Metheny Group - "Travels"

Pat Metheny's music has pushed barriers between jazz, rock, and his own style of American folk since he emerged in 1975 as one of the world's most versatile and talented guitar players. Metheny is one of the clearest improvisers around, and when I listen to the simple ballad "Travels," a strong feeling floods my heart. Since America has always been about "being alive" to me - being able to choose how we want to spend the time we are given here - this is the kind of music I simply exist for, and in a way it makes me proud to be in America.
-Phil Giampietro

[Editor's note: I believe Phil's choice is the only one completely devoid of sarcasm. Kudos! Now to get the taste of sincerity out of your mouth, we conclude with the editor's pick for Greatest Song of All Time Hands Down And Why Are You Even Disputing This...]

19. American Song-Poem - "Jimmy Carter Says Yes"

Can our government be honest? According to the poor schlub who wrote this hilariously misguided bit of blind patriotism, Jimmy Carter says “yes.” There is no musical phenomenon quite so American as the American Song Poem, a service from the 1960s through which the songwriting (un)inclined could submit song lyrics and a $200 check, and have a song written, performed and recorded for them. All of the glory with none of the work—it’s the American Way!
-David Moore

-Basshead Media Staff

ESSAY: "I Hate People Who Think Michael Moore Hates America: A Leftist's Attack on Liberals"

I’m sick of all of the politicians bashing Michael Moore. I’m sick of all of the media pundits going after him. I’m sick of my friends showing disgusted looks at the mention of his name, saying that anything that comes from his bristly mouth is sensationalism and bad for America. I’m sick of all of these people railing on the guy every time he makes a move.

I also hate it when Republicans do it.

This is not to say that the majority of criticism for Moore’s new documentary Fahrenheit 9/11 isn’t based in the right wing—it is. But Democrats and liberals alike are standing mute on this new form of politicking. Political strategists demand that the left (whoever they are) should “distance” themselves from Michael Moore. Others call him an ego-tripper and suggest that he dramatizes tragedy for the money. One of my good friends, a fellow bleeding-heart, with whom I’ve been criticizing the administration since the beginning, twists his face into a scowl and gives me an “I hate Michael Moore.”

Why? Where does this come from? He speculates no more than Kerry/Edwards 2004. He ridicules no more than Leno, Letterman, Stewart, or Mark Russell. And he has overcome more problems in his personal and professional life than most of the aristocrats in Congress, not to mention the media. No one seems to want to stop and ponder the question: is he right?

To analyze this, we can look at the Right’s reaction. Here are some nuggets*:

Bill O’Reilly: “Any skilled filmmaker could fashion a movie making any American look like a pinhead. Just get a bunch of video, some people who hate the guy, some factoids that may or may not be true, heat it up with sardonic rhetoric, and serve.”

Christopher Hitchens: “If Moore had been listened to… Iraq itself would still be the personal property of a psychopathic crime family, bargaining covertly with the slave state of North Korea for WMDs.”

Jason Clarke: “With Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore has created his most delusional piece of propaganda.”

O’Reilly, ironically enough, actually looks like the sane member of the group, even if he has managed to spout off a condensed description of his own TV show, which is the number one news commentary show on the number one news network in America. Hitchens tries to parlay the point of view that Moore is a lone nutcase with no support, despite the fact that the Iraq war drew the largest single-day protest in world history (a protest that President Bush referred to as a “focus group”). And Clarke labels Moore’s movie “propaganda,” while himself authoring a book entitled Michael Moore is a Big Fat Stupid White Man and founding a website called “Moore Lies.com.”

From Clarke’s credentials can be drawn the most interest. When the Right is dispatching books, websites, and movies (the upcoming Michael Moore Hates America) to attempt to shish-kabob Moore’s point along with his reputation, it is obvious that they see him as dangerous. And when they see someone like Moore as dangerous, they know he could take them down. And when the Right thinks someone like Moore can take them down, they know that even he doesn’t know the half of what’s been going on.

And Hitchens? The “psychopathic crime family” he refers to was backed by his beloved late President Reagan, the “WMDs” he talks about were never found, nor were programs ever found, and… ties with North Korea? What? Hitchens can’t even get straight what yarn he’s supposed to be spinning. He’s simply throwing out buzzwords and names that have been fired at the American public by our trusty serving government (and its trusty serving media) to induce fear and, subsequently, obedience. Well, Michael Moore is not slipping into obedience along with the rest of the “liberals” in this country. He’s not going to take the Bush administration lying down.

Where’s this liberal media I’ve been hearing so much about? I’ll concede that most of the entertainment media seems to shift towards the left—Stewart, Letterman, and Conan pull no punches on Bush’s White House. But even the ambassadors of comedy are attempting to skewer Moore. When Moore appeared on the Late Show, Letterman peppered him with questions about the purpose of Fahrenheit 9/11. In Entertainment Weekly, he was presented with such questions and statements as “This movie is an explicit political attack”*; in Time magazine, a surprisingly middle-of-the-road interview is followed by a scathing opinion piece by Andrew Sullivan in which he attacks both Moore and Mel Gibson as “poisonous to debate, to reason and to civility.”**

Perhaps the most revealing slip came on an interview with Hannah Storm on CBS’ "The Early Show." Storm suggests that Moore’s movie is nothing but “propaganda,” to which Moore deliciously replies, “Well, I consider CBS Evening News to be propaganda.” Storm, visibly taken aback, says “Hey, why don’t we talk about your movie.”*** The media, by attacking Moore, hope to cover up the very reason Moore was forced to make the film (yes, “forced”), and when he responds aptly, they change the subject again. From falsely projecting the 2000 election to playing victorious music over scenes of Baghdad exploding (perhaps the music is to cover up the screams), the media have done nothing but cheerlead for President Bush. Even the “liberal” New York Times employs two Op/Ed writers that do nothing but bash Kerry, and a third that does nothing but suck up to Bush. Of course Moore needed to make this movie!

And of course, his methods are not entirely defensible. Fahrenheit 9/11 contained a bit too much cutesy narration for my taste, and incensed Ray Bradbury by ripping off his title. These things could have been easily avoided, and they provided easy fuel for fire-breathing pundits. But Moore has said time and time again that every fact he states in the movie is 100% correct; for insurance he hired former chief of fact-checking for the New Yorker to comb the film for mistakes. And it seems to work. After four books, two TV series’, and four movies, Moore has received only two lawsuits, one of which was a privacy suit brought by the Oklahoma City bomber’s brother. Moore may not be balanced, but he’s damn fair.

So what are you afraid of, liberals? Michael Moore is out there fighting the good fight, and whether or not you agree with his methods, he is the only one doing it. He is the sole person in America that has been able to pierce the cellophane of mainstream media with his message. If Americans realize that he is on their side, there will be no reason to “distance” themselves.

The one thing Kerry has said about the Bush administration on this campaign that had a lick of accountability was off the record: “They’re the biggest bunch of crooks I’ve ever seen.” Yes, John, they are. A powerful message, and he didn’t even need Dick Cheney’s foul mouth to accentuate it. But Kerry does not practice what he preaches; he is the wishy-washiest candidate since Clinton. The left needs someone like Moore to be mad as hell; someone who won’t take it anymore!

While you sit back and complain about Moore, Moore is complaining about your lack of rights, and your lack of representation. So if you don’t like how he’s doing it, then do it your damn self.

www.michaelmoore.com

*Entertainment Weekly, 7/9/2004
**Time, 7/12/2004
***cbs.com, 7/8/2004

-Ian Power

2004-06-20T13:51:00.000-07:00

JUNE, 2004, ISSUE #3:
STRAPPING YOUNG MAG

MUSIC

!!!-Louden Up Now (Warp/Touch & Go, 2004)

!!! have realized the enormous potential of their “Me and Giuliani Down by the Schoolyard” single with a whole album full of comparably mind-melting material. For those unfamiliar with the group, imagine Talking Heads, Minutemen, The Cure, New Order, Outkast, Michael Jackson and numerous others had a big orgy and out popped these seven motherfuckers. Louden Up Now is political, tongue-in-cheek, funk, electronic, punk—and the list goes on. Hard-edged leftist tirade “Pardon My Freedom” has the power to both fill and clear the dance floor, while the epic two-part (plus remix) “Shitscheisemerde” is a prolonged foul-mouthed dance punk jam session that revitalizes a few underappreciated multilingual curses. And “Hello? Is This Thing On?” has one of the funkiest basslines we’ve ever heard. The end result is the perfect summer album, and perhaps the most complete vision of dance punk on record to date. Anyone who didn’t take the trend seriously up to this point should listen to !!! blow the lid off of a nascent revolution in popular music.

-David Moore and Jeremiah Turits

An Albatross- Eat Lightning, Shit Thunder (When Humans Attack, r. Bloodlink, 2004)

Remember that time digital grindcore was accessible? Well, I don't either, but An Albatross seems to. This sextet from Philadelphia tries its hardest to make all naysayers see that even though the songs are 45 seconds long, the words are indiscernible chicken scratch made vocal, and the music can easily become lost in a flow of white noise, you can still enjoy their music as an average indie-lovin’ American. Eat Lightning, Shit Thunder is full of catchy guitar and keyboard lines, drums and bass that switch between grooving and smashing, and vocals by Edward B. Gieda III that are typical grind fare, but mean a little something extra to those who have seen the band live. “You Can’t Take that Hod-Rod with You When You Leave” and “The Man Eating Pig of Madidi” are stand-out tracks that really make you want to dance like a zombie and shake your fingers in the air while watching someone stick a microphone in his pants and then lick it. Hopefully, An Albatross will soon learn the correct album length. This “LP” is a little less than 12 minutes long, and even though I couldn’t listen to 45 minutes worth of spastic, unadulterated synth-noise, I could certainly listen to 20. But until that time, we’ll have to just imagine that the circus-like “Uncle Funky Pants” is fifteen times longer than it actually is.

-Marc Calderaro

An Albatross- We Are the Lazer Viking EP (Ace Fu, 2004)

Usually, Coleridge’s albatross conjures dark connotations. Perhaps An Albatross seek to create a classic charm of irony in their heavy hardcore sound by contrasting their name to the obvious sense of humor apparent in their lyrics and song titles, like “Electric Suits and Cowboy Boots” (My Suit’s on fire yeah,/ Electric suits!/ Cowboy boots, yeah!); or “The Vitally Important Pelvic Thrust.” Unlike most EPs, We Are the Lazer Viking has 11 tracks totaling about eight minutes. Amazingly, the album is shorter than the somewhat comparable Flight of the Wounded Locust EP by the Locust. But where the Locust’s music directs a swarm of insects, An Albatross provide something more like the soundtrack to a video game. The climaxes in their 25-second songs work on “boss levels,” complementing a player’s anticipation to complete a stage. An Albatross even provide music when the “Would you like to continue?” option appears with a character’s death, as Jake Lisowski’s guitar turns into ambient bliss on the seventh track, “Wrgggggggvkyyyyyyy!!!” Perhaps the albatross does, in fact, translate into this eventual ruin. Or maybe there is no deep meaning at all, but just some Philly kids who played way too much Zelda while listening to Minor Threat. And finally, just before saving the Princess, they realized that Link, too, can bring the mosh.

-Vanessa Schneider

Animal Collective- Sung Tongs (Fat Cat, 2004)

Avey Tare and Panda Bear just wanna have fun—luckily, they’re also two of the most gifted rock deconstructionalists in the current slew of New York-based artists hell-bent on changing the sound of independent music. Sung Tongs often sounds like a field recording at an Animal Collective “inner child” therapy session, and at times (like on the gorgeous “The Softest Voice”) the music becomes almost entirely shapeless, eschewing traditional meter, melody and form for a more intangible, even profound form of experimentation. Of course, there are also a few blatantly ridiculous tracks, like “College,” a sarcastic chant decrying that most venerable of institutions. What is most exciting about groups like Animal Collective and Black Dice is the limitless potential of their experiments, due in part to their lack of a clear musical base. The Animal Collective hint at rock and folk without conforming to the genres' traditional parameters. They also suggest a kind of “neo-psycehdelia” that truly modernizes the sound of artists like Syd Barrett and Alexander Spence rather than merely quoting or affecting their music. Simply put, Sung Tongs is a brilliantly original work from a group whose innovations have opened a viable pathway for future rock and pop experimentation. Hopefully the Animal Collective will remain at the forefront of this foreseeable evolution without ever feeling the need to “grow up”—that is, after all, what makes the whole thing so damn fun in the first place.

-David Moore

Blonde Redhead- Misery is a Butterfly (4AD/Beggars, 2004)

The first time I listened to Blonde Redhead's new album, Misery is a Butterfly, I felt so lonely that I made a whoppingly expensive long distance call. The second time I listened to Misery is a Butterfly, I drank a few beers by myself, brushed my teeth, and went to bed at four in the afternoon. After multiple listens, all resulting in desperate and lonely ends, I might suggest that Blonde Redhead rename the album Misery is a Cocoon. The dark tones and consistently creepy vocals suggest BR as the guest artist at Miss Havisham's tea party. The refrain in “Melody” is “why did you kill that poor old man?” sung in a quiet little girl voice. Need I say more? Some of the tunes, like “Doll is Mine” and “Maddening Cloud,” are rhythmically upbeat, but they still leave the listener feeling downtrodden with lyrical and atmospheric gloom. With lush strings, lots of electric organ and swelling guitars, Misery is a Butterfly paints a beautiful picture, but one that is covered in cobwebs and is slowly decaying. The album may well put you in the mood to cry and mope, regardless of how you feel approaching the stereo—the kind of music perfect for those truly depressed individuals who find emo to be too frivolous.

-Emily Gallagher

David Byrne- Grown Backwards (Nonesuch, 2004)

The subject of David Byrne’s development as an artist has become immaterial; his legacy of bandleader, singer/songwriter, film composer, actor, writer, director, photographer, and designer is almost unparalleled in popular culture today. To critique Grown Backwards in terms of its contribution to Byrne’s development would be futile. Each album Byrne has produced in his prolific solo career has had a niche both in Byrne’s discography and in the music of the time.

Each song on his latest release is a world unto itself, but the album manages to maintain uniformity of purpose: Byrne’s trademark tongue-in-cheek, smile-on-face cynicism that, with the help of delightful textures and melodies, could make Chief Bromden chuckle. And, unlike recent efforts such as 2001’s Look Into the Eyeball, the album is carried by the consistency of each song, rather than marked by standouts.

Byrne once told himself that “The better a singer’s voice, the harder it is to believe what they’re saying. I use my false to an advantage.” His unparalleled timbre most assuredly provides a unique character to each song and each album; nonetheless he has certainly been working hard to improve his range in recent years. He reaches into the ozones of his baritone on operatic samples (“Au Fond du Temple Saint” is a lovely duet that pairs Byrne’s voice with the equally distinctive voice of Rufus Wainwright) with a confidence rarely displayed in the past. That said, while the album as a whole is a musical gem, nearly every track is mired with intonation problems. The title melody of “The Other Side of This Life” is at such odds with the string accompaniment that it is difficult to tell whether or not Byrne did this purposely.

Small faults notwithstanding, another beauty has been produced by one of the generation’s most treasured pop artists. Byrne displays proficiency in a myriad of musical styles, and shows no signs of slowing down in any of his many areas of talent.

-Ian Power

Matthew Dear- Backstroke (Spectral Sound, 2004)

Richie Hawtin once said that minimalism is “the fine balance between what is necessary and what isn’t necessary.” On Backstroke, his second release for the Spectral Sound label, Matthew Dear explores the realm of what is minimal. The result is a micro-house record doubling as a clever pop experiment that succeeds in walking a balance beam between minimal noise and overwhelming techno. Don’t expect crazy percussion or complex piano parts; this is straight up, four-on-the-floor micro-house. Dear proves that he has a true talent for perfectly building his tracks piece by piece, stressing the nature of the individual sounds over structure and melody. The album is focused from the beginning, with beautifully polished beats emerging from static and distorted voices on the opener, “Another.” He follows up with “Tide,” mixing chopped-up guitar and simplistic but oh-so-angst-ridden vocals over an array of click-filled beats. From there on it’s a mix of minimal beats and melodies with plenty of vocals (which become somewhat annoying on “I Know Houser”), proving that Dear definitely does not want to be another faceless laptop jockey. The album’s closer, “And in the Night,” is a dance floor-friendly anthem on the house tip that vanishes almost too soon. Dear’s debut, Leave Luck to Heaven, informed the techno world of big things to come. Backstroke further establishes his reputation, placing Dear on the same pedestal as micro-house/techno pioneers Ricardo Villalobos and Richie Hawtin.

-Jeremiah Turits

Stefon Harris and Blackout - Evolution (Blue Note, 2004)

Young percussionist Stefon Harris and his new quintet pull few punches on Evolution, their first release on the Blue Note label and Harris’s fourth as a leader. The band fits easily into a contemporary form of fusion, and right from the beginning vibraphone master Bobby Hutcherson’s influence on both Harris’s style and Blackout as a group can be clearly heard. Specifically, Hutcherson’s seminal album, Montara, seems to have been the model for Evolution, but Harris has still managed to create a project in his own vision, despite Hutcherson’s influence. As an improviser, Harris plays advanced lines that are focused and incredibly mature for a musician his age. Blackout’s rhythm section is key to Harris’ success—in particular, bassist Darryl Hall fuses hip-hop, R&B, and jazz elements together flawlessly without ever touching a bass guitar. Compositionally, this is Harris’ first masterpiece, the sound ranging between his “progressive smooth jazz” originals, a unique and sultry take on “Summertime,” and a few covers including an arrangement of Sting’s “Until” that sounds like it was pulled right out of Cirque du Soleil. It’s refreshing to hear Harris make good use of the marimba on this date, as the shimmering sound of the vibes tends to be the preferred instrument of “tuneful percussionists.” The wooden instrument sounds African, its earthy tones holding an important place in the compositions in which it is featured. Harris clearly has a deep understanding for the instrument. Although one should assume there would be accomplished work this high in quality from one of jazz’s leading young talents, Evolution is a surprising contender for one of the year’s best releases.

-Phil Giampietro

Lali Puna- Faking the Books (Morr Music, 2004)

On their latest release, Lali Puna demonstrate a subtle mastery of electronica-influenced rock—which, as a matter of clarification, is not the same as rock-influenced electronica. The distinction is crucial to truly appreciate Faking the Books, a collection of deceptively complex pop songs that eventually reveal deep musical and lyrical resonance. Lali Puna bring an electronica aesthetic to songs that are informed in their hooks and choruses by rock and pop music, rather than injecting tired experiments in electronic music with rock affectation. They contribute to the kind of machine-intensive evolution of pop music popularized by Kid A-era Radiohead and groups like the Notwist, whose vocalist, Markus Acher, worked with the group on a previous release. Lead singer Valerie Trebeljahr casts herself as a detached observer in a world of deception, corruption and isolation, even pointing out the predictability of such a society on the exceptional “B-Movie.” Her soft voice effortlessly melts into memorable guitar hooks and a backdrop of electronic noise. Lali Puna frequently employ dense electronic soundscapes, but their greatest gift is their ability to use pop structures as a foundation for challenging and rewarding music.

-David Moore

Les Savy Fav – Inches (French Kiss Records, 2004)

Compiling the band’s nine 7” singles over the course of their career, Les Savy Fav’s Inches is the culmination of an eight year project. The album starts with the most recent recordings and works its way back through time to recordings from 1996. During this journey, one can easily note how Les Savy Fav’s sound has evolved from raw tracks such as “Blackouts on Thursday” to the more streamlined and cleaner songs of their later career, like “Meet Me in the Dollar Bin.” That’s not to say there are drastic changes as the album progresses, but there is a definite fine-tuning of the band’s sound, which slowly evaporates as the record plays out. Its 18 tracks hold attention well, particularly “Hold on to Your Genre” (which features echo effects on Tim Harrington’s vocals that are reminiscent of Billy Idol’s “White Wedding”), “Reprobates Resume,” and “Our Coastal Hymn.” The album drags slightly with the six-minute spoken word track “Reformat (Dramatic Reading),” a three-act play chronicling the fate of a submarine, its crew and its captain. The song is interesting as an isolated track, but disruptive when listening to the album as a whole. The album covers Les Savy Fav’s evolution as a band quite nicely, albeit in reverse, and will definitely serve as a nice introductory album to the band for new listeners. As an added bonus, the first pressing of Inches includes a DVD, which is filled with all sorts of goodies, including music videos for six of the tracks, live concert footage, photos of the band, and commentary on each track.

-Adam Trabka

Madvillain- Madvillainy (Stones Throw, 2004)

[Note: In the true Madvillain spirit of collaboration, we will post two contrasting reviews of Madvillainy. Is it an inspired gimmick, or did someone accidentally assign the review twice? You decide.]

TAKE 1:

Prominent underground MC and producer MF Doom had a distinguished year in 2003—his Viktor Vaughn album provided an outlet for him to reconfirm his title as leading literate mushmouth in underground rap, while his guest-laden and self-produced King Geedorah album showed a more focused concentration on elaborate RZA-meets-Phil Spector productions. Madvillainy is Doom’s much-anticipated collaboration with producer Madlib, and the results, unfortunately, don’t realize the lyrical or production potential suggested on Doom’s previous records. One major problem is that the Madvillain alias is simply a variation on, or perhaps combination of, Doom’s Viktor Vaughn and King Geedorah personas, but the character lacks distinction. Where Vaughn was a deflation of gangster stereotypes and Geedorah had an ample back history in film references, Madvillain embraces a less interesting, more aggressive posture without utilizing compelling enough samples to superficially “fill in” the personality. Madlib’s beats are certainly challenging, running the gamut from live accordion instrumentation to abstract electronic beats, but tracks like the instrumental “Sickfit” and “Do Not Fire” are minimal to the point of monotony. Highlights such as the woozy, beautiful “Accordion” (on which Doom briefly won my heart by namechecking both Joe Tex and Dick Dastardly) and the laid-back, soap opera organ-spiked “Curls” hint at the heights the album as a whole might have achieved, but overall Doom and Madlib do not convincingly develop a lyrical or musical theme that isn’t particularly strong to begin with. The album probably won’t completely disappoint those eagerly awaiting the collaboration, but one could reasonably expect more from two of the most talented figures in underground rap.

-David Moore

TAKE 2:

One of the most heavily anticipated hip-hop releases of the year turns out to be one of the year’s best albums in any genre. Madvillainy, the product of MF Doom and “beat conductor” Madlib’s Madvillain collaboration, dropped in March as an aural collage submerged in Madlib’s murky, jazz-influenced beats. By sampling old movies and other media to tie each of the 22 cuts into a supervillain theme, Madvillain has found a way to pull their cutting-edge hip-hop into a setting that suggests an era of radio dramas, or perhaps a comic book. The result of Madvillain’s efforts is a fluent masterpiece of unpredictable beats and rhymes, with smoky delivery from MF Doom. Doom’s lyrics sound spontaneous and add extra depth to each cut. Madlib’s beats specifically stand out, taking a large leap forward after the Shades of Blue project that some audiences received as being too tame. Drawing again from a wide musical background, Madlib assembles dense textures placed behind a thin indigo veil. The particularly laid-back delivery of MF Doom for this project is the perfect match for Madlib’s style and leaves the two with little reason to feature many extra guest appearances, a common pitfall for other artists (see the stellar The College Dropout by Kanye West, which, as amazing as it is, has too many guests—did Jay-Z sound terrible to anyone else?). Madvillainy is a complete work of art, an essential album in this year’s new music releases.

-Phil Giampietro

Mekons- Honky Tonkin’ (Quarterstick, 1987, r. 2004)

The Mekons have been described as the founders of “pub rock,” a glorious musical tradition forged from punk music, boozy late-night singalongs and barroom fistfights. However, the political heft of the Mekons’ output has often been overshadowed by many of the acts that followed in their footsteps. On Honky Tonkin’, the Mekons’ third release after their pivotal Fear and Whiskey album, the band supplies a plethora of musical and literary influences in the form of citations in the liner notes, which include Melville, John Huston, Shelley and Hunter S. Thompson. The Mekons also further display their gift for concealing biting social and political commentary within rollicking pub-friendly melodies. Opener “I Can’t Find My Money” is a ruthless depiction of an aging drunken criminal begging to be arrested as some kind of penitence for his countless petty crimes, while “Sympathy for the Mekons” uses the band’s rise to fame as a preemptive parable about the imminent decay of celebrity. The Mekons are far from a one-note phenomenon, as the group’s prolific output and consistently insightful material surely demonstrate. Honky Tonkin’ is a potent reminder of the versatility and depth of a band and genre that have often been marginalized as components of the ultimate soundtrack for the binge drinker. The Mekons may have originated in a British pub, but their real goal was to get the downtrodden masses out of the barroom and into the streets.

-David Moore

Ratatat- Ratatat (XL Recordings, 2004)

You know, I really wanted to love this album. Evan Mast’s stripped down drum programming, Mike Stroud’s glorious guitar layering, the overall playfulness and originality of the record; it all drew me in faster than I could say “two-piece.” Unfortunately, the record gets old almost as fast. Ratatat create instrumental electronica/guitar compositions that draw heavily on Daft Punk-style dance and indie rock, but the resulting music doesn’t hold attention well over the course of an entire album. Repeat listens are hard where such an original texture is so overused. It sounds tragic to say that good songwriting can’t save a boring sound, but Ratatat proves it to be true. The duo is making fresh music with a lot of heart, but ultimately it all sounds the same, which is disappointing for such a promising concept.

-Stephen Quinlan

John Scofield - EnRoute (Verve, 2004)

Fans of John Scofield’s recent adventures in funk may be surprised and even disappointed by EnRoute, a live date with two good friends, electric bassist Steve Swallow and drummer Bill Stewart. The trio plays almost 80 minutes of music in a tight ensemble that one may not guess is something of a pick-up group. Swallow and Stewart provide a strong backdrop for Scofield’s sinewy solo lines and dissonant improvisations, in which Scofield plays with plenty of direction and creativity. Stewart’s active drumming nicely complements Scofield’s playing, but, as always, Swallow’s style of bass playing focuses more on support and less on a conversational aspect to the music. At times there are subtle nuances that make his bass lines incredibly dense, and at others he seems to stick to boring vamps and predictable turn-arounds. The main problem that arises is Swallow’s dry style and its apparent lack of energy. When Scofield lets loose and goes head to head with Stewart in the closing minutes of “Toogs,” Swallow’s vamp drones on and on without matching his bandmates. The music the trio makes among all this is still quite good considering the diverse backgrounds of each player. And overall, Swallow’s time-keeping and sturdy support are the consistent glue for this ensemble, making this recording accessible to a rock audience that may enjoy EnRoute as an introduction to America’s music. As for the genre’s connoisseurs, time and effort will yield appreciation.

-Phil Giampietro

Sixtoo- Chewing Glass and Other Miracle Cures (Ninja Tune, 2004)

On Chewing Glass and Other Miracle Cures, Canadian hip-hop producer Sixtoo offers a successful resolution to the common struggle of electronic music producers trying to incorporate live instrumentation into their productions. In the liner notes, Sixtoo writes numerous times about the album being a learning experience in using live instruments with sampled beats and melodies. Though the album starts off rather unsure of itself, with Sixtoo sampling several different musical styles over multiple short, simple tracks, the pieces fall together when he gets on the mic for “Funny Sticks Reprise.” His angry lyrics preaching class revolution set the tone of the album, but he makes sure the words don’t overshadow the delicate organ playing, spectacular guitar work and evil, distorted bass-lines that follow. I could write extensively about the different instruments (a stylophone? OK…) and musicians used, and the incredible use of live drumming over sampled break-beats, but I wouldn’t want to ruin all the surprises. The album eventually explodes with confidence, with melodies becoming increasingly improvised. The guest performance from Damon Suzuki of Can fame completes the album; his improvised vocals in the heavily percussive epic “Storm Clouds & Silver Linings” change from ordinary to shrill to something scarily similar to Louis Armstrong. Somehow, it all works. If this album is merely a “learning experience,” as Sixtoo so humbly puts it, then we’d better brace ourselves for graduation.

-Jeremiah Turits

Sonic Youth- Sonic Nurse (Geffen, 2004)

If Sonic Youth’s last album, Murray Street, was, as Thurston Moore called it, the band’s classic rock record, then Sonic Nurse is definitely their pop masterpiece. Beautiful and accessible, this album takes the maturity of Murray Street and molds it into 10 hits. From Kim’s rocking opener “Pattern Recognition” all the way to the last track, Thurston’s “Peace Attack,” Sonic Nurse delivers lesson after lesson on how to get away with politically charged experimental music on a pop-rock record. If I’m making this sound as if Sonic Youth have turned into Maroon Five, don’t fret. These veterans haven’t abandoned any of the signature moves that have made them so magnificently hard to listen to for the past 20 years. Feedback slinks under entire songs, intros are just expansive enough, and despite the overall accessibility of the record, there is still a healthy amount of atonal riffing and speak-singing. Don’t expect something as dynamic as Washing Machine or Jet Set if you are already a fan. But if you aren’t listening to Sonic Youth yet, now is a good time to start.

-Stephen Quinlan

To Rococo Rot- Hotel Morgen (Domino, 2004)

To Rococo Rot is one of those bands that inhabit a weird area between post-rock and experimental electronic music (in a sense, they could be lumped in the same category as Tortoise). On Hotel Morgen, Rot opts to use simplified synthesizer and electronic percussion parts rather than complicated sampling and editing. The result is confusing, but that may be the intent of the album. The sound is not overly complex—far from it. But most songs just sort of hover and go nowhere. There is a fair share of pleasant guitar strumming mixed over thick analog synthesizers, but sometimes these parts are too obvious and intrusive. Other tracks sound like a lounge/rock take on micro-house. “Miss You” could even rock a dance floor or two, but the track is plopped in the middle of the album, and lacks the subtlety of the surrounding tracks. Midway through—with the exception of “Bologna,” a straight micro-house track—the album tapers off into either an ambient mess or a challenging collage of acoustic and electronic instruments, depending on how you look at these things. Hotel Morgen may not turn heads (it’s probably better suited as background music to a…nap…or something), but TRR’s past efforts have demonstrated their abilities as an electronic/acoustic group quite well, so a little further experimentation doesn’t hurt. Plus, their name’s a freakin’ palindrome. So give ‘em some credit.

-Jeremiah Turits

Two Lone Swordsmen- From the Double Gone Chapel (Warp, 2004)

The Warp Records world seems to be moving in two directions these days. In one direction we have the over-produced and glitched-out IDM goldenboys Scott Herran and Chris Clarke. Then we have a direction that is moving back to the roots of dance to pick up any of the pieces that the transition from manmade to machine-made music may have left behind. Two Lone Swordsmen are taking the latter route, moving back to all the music Andrew Weatherall, former Primal Scream producer and half of the duo, thinks needs to be found in 2004. Rockabilly, dub, and 80’s hybrid electonica all find a way into From the Double Gone Chapel, The Swordsmen’s hypnoptic new LP. Weatherall enlists fellow DJ Keith Tenniswood to do most of heavy lifting on guitar and bass, while numerous drummers step in for the kind of heart and soul sound only an acoustic drumset can provide. Weatherall’s taste as a writer, composer, and even vocalist is near perfect. Every track churns and flows with subtlety and soul, never distracting or over-stepping. From sexy to scary, rythmic and rocking, Two Lone Swordsmen have created a balance of electronic and organic music that is fragile and delicate, while somehow coming across as rocksteady and sure-footed.

-Stephen Quinlan

Wagon Christ- Sorry I Make You Lush (Ninja Tune, 2004)

Did someone ask for a disco party…with robots AND damned dirty apes? Luke Vibert doesn’t hide anything—he likes sci-fi movies, he likes the seventies, and he loves acid. He may be the busiest man in electronic music, with at least five different projects, but that’s not going to stop him from putting out another Wagon Christ record. This album, his third in the past year, is, in true Vibert fashion, far from innovative but fun as hell. You can expect what you’ve heard before: sampled breakbeats, cheesy vintage keyboards and guitars, loads of acid from his trusty tb-303, and now Star Wars and Planet of the Apes samples. Though every song follows a similar formula, some remain so silly that they beg repeat listens. A cowbell, a salsa whistle, dogs barking and C-3P0 in the same song? A duet between a banjo and 303? It may sound ridiculous (it is ridiculous), but at least you can tell Vibert had fun making these tracks. He often jokes with the listener, but songs like the lengthy “Sci-fi Staircase” prove that Vibert can bust out serious jams, while hovering between disco, acid and instrumental hip-hop. There may be a lack of variation between songs and the album ends up sounding like Vibert spent the last year being exposed to only sci-fi movies and his own records. But the man puts out enough material to fill the Death Star. He’s entitled to have fun once in a while.

-Jeremiah Turits

FILM:

Featured Review: S21: The Khmer Rouge Death Machine

In the years after the Vietnam War, the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia were responsible for the deaths of nearly two million Cambodian citizens, perpetrating one of the most atrocious and concentrated genocides in recorded history. Rithy Panh, a Cambodian documentarian, takes a hard, unflinching look at the event in his new film S-21: The Khmer Rouge Death Machine. Panh explores the activities of Khmer Rouge guards in the Tuol Sleng, also known as S-21, death camp in Cambodia, interviewing both guards and survivors to present a complex view of camp life and its enduring effects.

Panh’s most audacious maneuver is also a technique crucial to drawing substantial insight from this exploration: the filmmaker brings both guards and survivors back to the original site of the camps, and then records the guards—some of whom are only in their forties three decades after the atrocities—re-enacting their daily routines and methods of operation. It is almost painful to watch the guards so coolly and naturally relive their former duties. Panh’s tactics serve to open deep wounds that are often overlooked in a Western examination of the post-conflict aftermath of the Vietnam War.

The re-enactment method is only one key aspect of the film, however. Revelatory interviews with survivors of the camps contain moments of shattering insight into camp life, particularly from one survivor, Vann Nath, who has become a famous Cambodian painter. His expression of pain and anger through art is palpable in one sequence in which a painting of life in the camps is slowly photographed while he verbally describes his experiences.

In another bold move, Panh assembles all of his subjects, both survivors and former guards, in a round table discussion within the walls of the prison. The men discuss, somewhat aimlessly, their experiences, yearning for some answer as to how such a crime could ever be committed. There are few answers, of course, particularly from the former guards, who themselves were between the ages of 13 and 20 during their time in the Khmer Rouge.

The crimes perpetrated upon the Cambodian people by the Khmer Rouge remain unfathomable—and, to date, the crimes committed by the group are shamefully marginalized in analyses of post-conflict southern Asia and the peripheral ramifications of the Vietnam War. Rithy Panh has created an incisive, devastating historical document, one that is as valuable to a complete recorded history of the Khmer Rouge as it is to the history of contemporary documentary film.

-David Moore

Film Review: Coffee and Cigarettes

For the last twenty years, Jim Jarmusch compiled Coffee and Cigarettes, a film comprised of eleven vignettes centered on conversations over, um, coffee and cigarettes, using his rising fame within independent cinema to lure increasingly high-profile celebrities to the project. The result is a diverse series of insights into celebrity, friendship, aging, and the health hazards of a coffee and cigarette-intensive diet. The film is also an unparalleled hipster fantasy. Meetings between Tom Waits and Iggy Pop, the RZA, the GZA and Bill Murray, and the White Stripes and Nikola Tesla (sort of) are all fully realized mini-masterpieces in indie geek trivia.

The most successful segments invert pre-established power relationships between celebrities to a comedic, and at times even profound, effect. The segment between Waits and Pop, for example, puts Iggy in a position of the gushing fan to Waits’ detached persona. Cate Blanchett plays a dual role as her own jealous cousin and gives a performance reminiscent in its subtlety and authenticity of Nicolas Cage in Adaptation. Perhaps the most successful vignette is a meeting between Alfred Molina and 24 Hour Party People actor Steve Coogan. Molina, a veteran British actor living in L.A., attempts to ingratiate himself with the rising young star using a few genealogical findings (the two are distant cousins). The way the relationship between the two men plays out is a fascinating study of star ego deflation and awkward small talk.

Of course, the White Stripes bit and Bill Murray’s chance meeting with two Wu-Tang alums are predictably surreal, and if either scenario piques your interest, these scenes alone will be worth the price of admission. Coffee and Cigarettes guarantees a rabid cult following after its DVD release, as the film seems to be a DVD chapter-style collection of random inspired moments in the first place. If you do happen to catch it in the theater, though, be sure to down some bad coffee during the film—and, if at all possible, sneak a smoke or two. As the film proves, coffee and cigarettes can reasonably be categorized as performance enhancing drugs.

-David Moore

Film Review: Word Wars
DVD Review: Spellbound

In one of many charming scenes with somewhat disturbing undertones in Spellbound, last year’s hit spelling bee documentary, a young spelling bee contender casually describes how she all but memorized every word in the dictionary. Flash forward twenty years, and one can pick up on a few similarities in the “professional” Scrabble players in Word Wars, a documentary partially based upon Stefan Fatsis’ best-selling “Word Freaks” about the Scrabble tournament circuit. And yet there is something missing here, some strange undercurrent of optimistic promise and potential exhibited in the spelling bee contestants, which is not only not evident in the subjects of the latter film, but actually directly opposed by the Scrabble players. For the most part, the Scrabble tournament junkies of Word Wars are unemployed and unmotivated—except to play, and hopefully win, endless games of Scrabble.

The American obsession with individual words is a riveting subject, as interviewees in both films suggest. However, Spellbound presents a lighthearted, and perhaps shortsighted, exploration of this obsession. Documentarian Jeff Blitz followed eight students on their individual paths to the National Spelling Bee championship in Washington, D.C. Subjects range from all backgrounds and ethnicities, supporting an abstract “melting pot” theme that reinforces the idea of America as the hard-worker’s Land of Opportunity, regardless of race or class. The film is incredibly entertaining, and anyone who competed as a child (I remember dreading weekly piano competitions) will empathize with the agony and anxiety of the young contestants.

The film handles its subject with kid gloves, hinting at but never truly exposing the kind of vicarious obsession in the children’s parents that, when carefully examined, can resemble a subversive form of child abuse. At some point, the mere spelling of words becomes more of a trivial pursuit than an academic one, and the attention to minutiae displayed by children and parents alike presents deeper, more disturbing implications than the film explores. Still, the film serves as a fascinating and thoroughly enjoyable overview of the spelling bee subculture.

Eric Chaikan and Julian Petrillo’s Word Wars keeps a comparable distance from its subject by assembling a series of Scrabble tournaments—widely attended by “word freaks” in card table-laden hotel ballrooms across the country—into a primarily comedic and character-driven film. We meet diehard Scrabble players like “G.I.” Joel Sherman, who constantly chugs Maalox due to a gastro-intestinal disorder (or G.I., hence the nickname); Marlon Hill, an outspoken “pre-Mecca Malcolm” with scathing insights into American English, which he considers a stolen, “greedy” language; Matt Graham, a would-be stand-up comedian with a gambling addiction; and Joe Edley, returning champion and subscriber to a self-made hodgepodge of vaguely Eastern religious disciplines.

A description of the characters fairly well sets up the rest of the film—the four men compete in various Scrabble tournaments across the country, culminating in the national tournament in San Diego. What is lacking from the film is an in-depth exploration of the use of Scrabble to indulge an insatiable mania for words and competition, which is ultimately more interesting than the quirks of the individual players. The filmmakers are less forgiving of their subjects’ obsessions (at times subtly mocking them) than can be evidenced in Spellbound, but a comical polish hinders more substantial insight into the subject of obsession.

Both Spellbound and Word Wars represent surface-level starting points for a deeper examination of word obsession. Whether or not the children of Spellbound will grow up to fulfill their academic promise, or become “word freaks” with an unparalleled command of word trivia (but little else), is perhaps the subject of a future film.

-David Moore

DVD Review: In America

I saw one review of In America that contained the line, “I cried through at least 50% of the movie, and I'm a big macho dude!” This castrated critic also went on to write that anyone who didn’t like In America is heartless and cold-blooded and should be thrown from the top floor of the Empire State Building. After I saw it, I wanted to jump. In America is director Jim Sheridan’s attempted tribute to his dead brother, Frankie. I think Frankie is probably clawing at the inside of his casket a lá Dawn of the Dead after watching his brother cash in by patronizing his memory.

The film follows an Irish family moving to New York after the death of their son and brother, subtly named “Frankie,” and their subsequent endeavors to deal with his death. Sheridan has an uncanny knack for glossing over anything realistic in favor of the maudlin, sentimental, and blatantly metaphorical. Without any sense of the effort or difficulty that it would take for an immigrant family to establish themselves, in New York City of all places, it is impossible to fully appreciate what this family may be going through. In a sense, we get no setup, only the payoff.

In one such sequence, the family must move into the only apartment they can find, which is essentially a giant leak filled with vermin. Soon after the move, the apartment is magically transformed into an uber-hip pad. Maybe the family contacted NBC for some “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” action. Or maybe Frankie’s disembodied soul (whom one of the daughters seems to ask for favors pretty regularly) picked up his ghostly paintbrush and spiritual hammer and went to work.

If I seem angry, it’s probably because I felt conned after seeing the film. Instead of giving us a real family, with real problems, and real feelings and emotions, Sheridan delivers one Hallmark Moment after another. To be fair, the acting is phenomenal, especially by Djimon Hounsou as a tortured artist dying of AIDS, who lives downstairs of the family. But as compelling as Hounsou is, in the end he too is sucked into the black hole that Sheridan creates. The family has a new baby, born premature, that lays comatose in the hospital. In a truly cringe-inducing sequence, Hounsou’s character utters some incantation just before dying, and the baby wakes up, presumably because Hounsou exchanged his life. What the fuck?

On a personal level, watching In America was a Clockwork Orange-esque experience. I felt helplessly strapped down as Jim Sheridan forcibly extracted my emotions.

Frankie’s gotta be rolling over after this one.

-Kevin McInerney

DVD Review: Spartan

One of David Mamet’s most shocking and cynical thrillers left theaters as quietly as it arrived, but is now available on DVD for those who missed it in theaters, which is probably just about everyone. An elaborately tangled web of plot twists and all forms of cinematic rug-pulling, Spartan follows Secret Service agent Scott (Val Kilmer) through a crisis involving the kidnapping of the President’s daughter. Mamet’s patented razor-sharp dialogue is substituted with an exhilarating series of plot revelations that should keep jaws squarely on the floor at all times. Derek Luke and William H. Macy provide solid support, and Ed O’Neil (no Al Bundy jokes, please—the man has earned his respect) delivers one of his strongest film performances to date as a shadowy government figure intent on keeping the kidnapping under wraps. Just as the film begins to lose steam in its final fifteen minutes, a final surprise reveals a broader political context that is, to say the least, incredibly refreshing, especially during an era in Hollywood filmmaking decidedly lacking in political commentary. The film makes a great double feature with Mamet’s The Spanish Prisoner.

-David Moore

FEATURES:

SPECIAL FEATURE: Basshead Staff Picks #1

The Basshead Media staff members were forced at gun point to choose an album that they hold as a personal favorite. This includes guilty pleasures, overlooked gems and critically underappreciated albums.

Jerry Garcia and David Grisman- Not For Kids Only (Acoustic Disc, 1993)

Jerry Garcia was a musical father to millions, so it was only fitting for him and longtime bluegrass friend, David Grisman, to compose and record an album of children’s songs. Not For Kids Only is an album not often recognized for its quality or worth within the artists' body of work. The album allowed Garcia to get back to his bluegrass and banjo roots, again proving his skills as an acoustic player, rather than an amplified arena rocker. He recorded the album toward the end of his life, making “Freight Train” especially tear-provoking, as he sings about lying in his grave: “tell them all I’ve gone to sleep.” Fortunately, much of the album is full of humor and fun (“Teddy Bears’ Picnic,” and “There Ain’t No Bugs on Me”). The innocent charm is exhibited in a running a dialogue between the two men about what to wear in “Jenny Jenkins,” which also incites 50 year-olds to sing along. Most importantly, you can hear and feel Garcia and Grisman smiling during this recording. Children’s songs are inherently ageless, and their folk spin seals the album’s timelessness.

-Vanessa Schneider

Marvin Gaye- Let’s Get It On (Motown, 1971)

Serving as one of the most important recording artists to come out of the late sixties/early seventies, Marvin Gaye reached a spiritual, passionate pinnacle with What’s Going On?, often regarded as his finest work and one of the best albums to ever come from Motown music. And rightly so—the record has continued to inspire generations upon generations, overflowing with honest emotion and a central topic that still has relevance in America today. So what do you do after you’ve recorded a politically-charged masterpiece? Why, make an album about “doing it,” of course! Often overlooked next to WGO, Let's Get It On overflows with nearly as much brilliance, each cut perfectly crafted and charged with plenty of Gaye’s sexual energy. The results are tremendously tender and sensuous, from the lyrics to the music itself. What’s more is that this album is really about love—deep love that can only be satisfied with lots and lots of big time lovin’. Seriously, it’s good.

-Phil Giampietro

Local H– Pack Up the Cats (Island, 1998)

Without a doubt, Local H’s (the two-piece before two-pieces were cool) third full-length is my favorite album to have graced my stereo. A concept album chronicling the rise and fall of a small time rock band, Pack Up the Cats requires intent repeat listens. On the opening sound check-turned-song “All Right, (Oh, Yeah),” Lucas belts out frustrated, self-loathing lyrics as Daniels pounds the shit out of his drums (as he was wont to do prior to leaving the band before their next release). As the album progresses, things get a little more positive, in songs like “Hit the Skids: Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Rock.” The album emotionally peaks with “Fine and Good,” with the assurance that, shockingly, “everything is fine and good.” But the mood goes downhill from there, as Lucas listlessly croons about how hard it is to cope with newfound success on the somber acoustic track “Lead Pipe Cinch,” and recounts the horror of a bad performance on “All the Kids Are Right.” If Pack Up the Cats could have accomplished one thing, it might have proved Local H was unfairly pigeonholed as a one-hit wonder thanks to the moderate success of “Bound For the Floor”—commonly, and mistakenly, known as “That Copasetic Song.” But thanks to a corporate record label merger, which killed the album’s mainstream potential and may have led to the break-up of the original duo, we’ll never know if that would have happened.

-Adam Trabka

Mocean Worker- Home Movies From the Brain Forest (Consience, 1998)

It’s a “post-jungle” album by a jazz producer. No, it’s an electronic masterpiece on a punk label. Hell, call it what you will, but it’s like nothing else. Written, so I’m told, about his breakup with a girlfriend, Brain Forest bleeds with Adam Dorn’s sadness, anger and desperation, while also offering an outsider’s perspective on the jungle (perhaps why it’s been forgotten). Everything on this album is perfect: the percussion, the use of jazz, and the spoken word samples. Every song is emotional, with his cover of the classic “Summertime” being almost too sad to listen to. “What’s Wrong” and “Somanyangels” remain as two of my favorite songs. It’s sad to see he’s strayed so far from this sound.

-Jeremiah Turits

Prodigy- Experience (Elektra, 1992)

Before their type of club was cool, before ecstasy became trendy, before they resorted to hip-hop beats with controversial hooks (with lines like “smack my bitch up” and “we love Rohypnol”), before their explicit videos sold their songs (again, “Smack My Bitch Up”), before they sported reverse Mohawks and eyeliner, when electronica was just about dancing, Prodigy produced Experience: jungle and break-beats at their best, featuring piano, Bob Marley samples and a little bit of humor. This is the most danceable album of all time. Period.

-Kevin McInerney

Rockapella featuring Tito Puente, The Persuasions, Urban Blight, 3 Brave Woodsmen, Brian Dewan, and Eileen Ivers- Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (Fight Records, 1992)

Rockapella didn't have the benefit of recording during a time period when a cappella music was considered cool, an actuality proven by the fact that their main gig was the kid’s TV show for which this album was named. But regardless of their exposure, Rockapella was good, and they started a revolution in a cappella music that spawned thousands of groups on college campuses across the country. To listen to a nostalgic album from childhood is usually disappointing, but this record is as fun as it was when I was dancing on the couch at age five, and is a treat for ears of all persuasions. Unfortunately, the album is not only out of print, but the only CD copy I could find anywhere cost $60 on eBay, so the cassette I have remains a priceless artifact. It is also a great compilation that will go largely unnoticed in the world of music, despite magnificent performances by each of the artists listed above. Each and every song will have you dancing, and each is a nugget worth further analysis by aspiring songwriters. At first sight, and maybe even at first listen, it may be tough to take this album seriously. After all, it does feature Greg Lee on two tracks and has largely geographical subject matter. But whether or not it’s a Rockapella album, a “kid’s album,” or an album inspired by a PBS after-school game show, I can say with all seriousness that this album was a leading contributor to my early development as a musician.

-Carnival Matleuse

Stan Rogers- Fogarty’s Cove (Fogarty's Cove, 1976)

Stan Rogers’ life was as mystical as his music. Born in Ontario, he lived most of his life in Nova Scotia, around which this album is based (it is dedicated to “the people of Canada’s Atlantic Provinces”). He was a 6’4’’ tree-trunk of a man, with a voice rich in texture and tone. His early death occurred in Cincinnati in 1983, where he was consumed by fire as he rescued victims from a plane crash. Rarely does an album act as a simultaneous representation of a man, a heritage, a pastime, a nation, a time, and an entire style of music. Fogarty’s Cove accomplishes this in a mere dozen songs, in a mere 40 minutes. And its representation is not of the formulaic nature of, as an example, Kind of Blue to jazz; this disc contains the most tender, thoughtful, and passionate songs of the folk genre. A simple listen of Fogarty’s Cove will prove soothing, and a subsequent glance at the liner notes will prove shocking. Of the 12 songs steeped in tradition and resonating with the Canadian forest, 11 are Rogers originals, a testament to his unique ability to mimic and reproduce the historic in folk music. Each note strikes a vein with the roots of Canadians and Americans alike, and each melody is beautifully crafted and accentuated with Rogers’ one-of-a-kind oratory. A must-have for any serious collector of new world song-form.

-Ian Power

Self- Gizmodgery (Spongebath, 2000)

In 2000, Matt Mahaffey, the brainchild behind Self, successfully crafted a power-pop album constructed entirely from toys (including guitars and drums). As ingenious as the gimmick is, it’s the consistently stellar quality of Self’s material that truly distinguishes Gizmodgery as a singularly remarkable achievement. “Dead Man” is one of the greatest pop songs I’ve ever heard, period, while lead single “Trunk Fulla Amps,” appropriately explosive opener “I Am a Little Explosion,” and disco-pop danceathon “Pattycake” (which includes a direct homage to the “Ms. Lucy” rhyme) are also unforgettable. It’s a crime that Self has gone so unnoticed by the music community as a whole, even after being featured on the original Shrek soundtrack. Seek out the album at all costs, then kick back and relive your childhood with some power-pop you’ll carry to the grave.

-David Moore

Soundgarden- Down on the Upside (A&M, 1996)

Everyone pretends like they always had good taste, but any 20-year-olds telling you they were listing to Pavement and the Pixies in middle school are probably lying. I get aggravated when people my age say they hated early 90’s grunge rock, and I get especially down when I hear people crap on albums that I still listen to frequently. One particular grunge album I just can’t seem to shake is Soundgarden’s swan song, Down on the Upside. 16 tracks of intelligent metal riffs, nervous time signatures and spacey guitar tunings set it apart from all the other trash that was released in grunge’s last breath, but I think its the consistently high caliber songwriting and Cornell’s powerful tenor voice that keeps the album in my CD binder. It deprives and feeds, it shudders and screams. I never get tired of this horribly underrated record. Although I guess it doesn’t matter if grunge is currently underrrated. It’ll come back in style in six years anyway.

-Stephen Quinlan

LIVE REVIEW: “How Y’All Doin?! Fuck you!”: Reverend Horton Heat at Toad’s Place in New Haven, CT 06/01/2004

Reverend Horton Heat has been shredding his guitar and making riotously fun music for the past 15 years or so, the past 10 years of which I’ve been tangentially aware of him. When I was looking for shows to attend over the summer, I couldn’t resist dropping the five (six after convenience charges) dollars to go see the good Reverend at the self-proclaimed “legendary” Toad’s Place in New Haven, CT.

Toad’s Place is a club that holds roughly 750 or so, and can be accurately described as an intimate venue. At around 10:45, after the opening bands Mr. Airplane Man and the Detroit Cobras each played their sets, Reverend Horton Heat took the stage. First to appear on stage were drummer Scott Churilla and bassist Jimbo, who high-fived everyone in the front row as he ran to his position on stage like he was Hulk Hogan walking down to the ring back in the day. Dressed in a subdued red suit with powder blue, sequined flames, the Reverend was all business as the band launched into the instrumental “Big Sky,” bridging right into “Baddest of the Bad.” Leaning on one of the monitors in front of Reverend Horton Heat, I had a great view of his playing, and it was amazing watching his fingers deftly glide all over the fret board of his white Gretsch guitar as he busted out licks straight out of classic rockabilly and surf rock.

It wasn’t until about twenty minutes into the set when the band stopped to briefly thank everyone for coming and introduce some songs that would be on the upcoming album Revival, coming out on June 29th on Yep Roc Records. Prior to this break, the crowd was treated to some great showmanship from the Reverend and Jimbo, including Jimbo surfing on his upright bass during “I Can’t Surf,” and the pair fretting one another’s instrument while simultaneously playing their own.

Not only was the show great fun, it was also educational. For one, Bud Light is apparently the official beer of Texas, as the Reverend, with a specious look on his face, told the crowd. He defended the beer, saying, “All that matters in Texas is the cold part. Besides, you can drink like 18 of these things and not get fat…well, fatter.” The Reverend also informed the crowd that corn dogs were invented in Dallas (something Jimbo seemed very proud of), as he introduced the song “Loco Gringos Like a Party.” Another interesting thing learned in the course of the show was that an upright bass can support the weight of a full grown man playing guitar while standing on it.

The band had a great rapport with the crowd. All members seemed at ease on stage, and the Reverend was able to get laughs with ease as he defended the use of the word “y’all” (“I just can’t in good conscience look at a crowd filled with pretty girls and say, ‘I’d like to thank you guys for coming out.’ Y’all works much better”). He also encouraged the crowd to fight back against lazy bands who can’t come up with anything better to say between songs than “How y’all doin’?” by replying with a resounding “fuck you!”

For an hour and a half the band put on a great set, followed by a half an hour encores, taking breaks occasionally for a shot of Jaegermeister chased with Bud Light, or a drag off of a cigarette. Between these breaks, the band played crowd favorites like “Bales of Cocaine,” “Marijuana” (“Some songs have words. Some songs don’t,” the Reverend explained. “This song has one word”). They also played “Jimbo Song,” and an absolutely stellar cover of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues.” Reverend Horton Heat has as much fun live as he does on record, well worth the price of admission—and then some.

-Adam Trabka

2004-05-14T12:25:00.001-07:00

MAY, 2004, ISSUE #2:

SOPHOMORE LUMP

MUSIC

Devendra Banhart- Rejoicing in the Hands (Young God, 2004)

Whether or not Devendra Banhart is a part of the next big movement in folk music should eventually prove to be a non-issue—unfortunately, the folk community will probably not pay much attention to Devendra Banhart, and the indie community, touters of such a premonition, will surely not pay much attention to contemporary folk. But the connection between the indie and folk worlds is evident on Rejoicing in the Hands, Banhart’s latest release. What is most interesting about Banhart is not his lyrics, which, though far from dull, seem rather pedestrian. Nor is it the music, which is not groundbreaking, but certainly ear-catching, drawing on influences that range from Harry McClintock’s countryside plucking to the intricate textures of Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos. What the album accomplishes is an exercise in wedding voice and the guitar in extraordinary yet tangible, accessible ways. Banhart draws a parallel to many early 20th-century composers: where Villa-Lobos and Bartók roamed their respective countrysides gathering a bevy of folk songs to be contrived and perverted into a form of nouveau nationalistic art, Banhart successfully manipulates standard tunes of the American folk tradition into his nouveau folk music. Successful quoting of old-timey tunes, from “Froggy Went a Courtin’” to “Old Joe Clark” to “Baby Bumblebee,” gives the album a familiar feel. While the audience settles in, Banhart weaves a hammock between the trees of traditional folk and indie music, managing to avoid both pretension and monotony, which in itself is quite an achievement.

-Ian Power

Belle and Sebastian- Dear Catastrophe Waitress (Rough Trade, 2003)

I have set two modest restrictions for this review of Dear Catastrophe Waitress: 1) Do not use the phrase “chamber pop,” and 2) Do not compare the album to B&S’s landmark If You’re Feeling Sinister. OK, here we go. Belle and Sebastian have finally shed whatever baggage it was that led to a baffling string of increasingly lackluster releases, and the group displays a new musical direction more conducive to future growth than their previous three albums have suggested. Opener “Step Into My Office, Baby” sounds as playful as its title, a swinging rock number that only pauses for a lushly arranged choral section that sounds a bit like the group's characteristic chamber po—woops, almost slipped. Frontman Stuart Murdoch shows off his regained capacity for sweet, upbeat rock numbers that frequently rival the best tracks from—daggone it, can’t mention that one. Latest single “I’m a Cuckoo” is one of the sunniest songs Murdoch has written since “Me and the Major”...er, new-wavey “Stay Loose” is B&S’s most playful closer since “Judy and the Dream of Horses”...oh, hell...CHAMBER POPPERS PRODUCE THEIR BEST ALBUM SINCE SINISTER!

- David Moore

The Beta Band- Heroes to Zeros (Astralwerks, 2004)

theowlsq: whats up
benamegatron: d00d!
benamegatron: hoagland sent me the new Beta Band album
theowlsq: any good?
benamegatron: he said its like a party from the future.

And so it is. If you liked Hot Shots II or The Three E.P.’s you’ll probably like Heroes to Zeros as well. Unfortunately, that’s also the problem—the album doesn’t expand on the band’s established sound nearly enough. Heroes offers more of everything we’ve come to know and love about the Beta Band. The songs still groove. The lyrics are still simple and understated. I’m still having a “party from the future” every time I listen. Ultimately, the album is more of the same, which is kind of disappointing at this point. But don’t give up on them yet. If tracks like the spacey, out-of-tune singalong “Wonderful,” upbeat neo-psychedelia rock number “Out-Side,” and densely layered fuzzed-out seizure that is “Liquid Bird” are a peek into the Beta Band’s future, then I’m willing to wait until the next release to see what these limey d00dz can really do. Maybe if we’re lucky they'll do a concept album based on sampled dog barks.

-Stephen Quinlan

Destroyer- Your Blues (Merge, 2004)

There are, appropriately enough, six distinct stages that accompany Your Blues, Danny Bejar's sixth album under the Destroyer moniker.

1. Laughter: The album opens with the electric scream of synthesized choral "Ahhh's," followed by the words: "Oh Notorious Lightning, yes I had to ride you!" sung in the most pronounced Broadway syncopation possible with obvious Bowie intonation. Laughter ensues. Can he be serious? [Stage Duration: 5 seconds - 2 minutes]

2. Dislike: Soon enough, it becomes apparent that Daniel Bejar is quite serious, and it pisses you off. Are those synthesized trumpets? ...Wait a second, everything other than the guitar and his voice are synthesized! What the fuck?! This sounds like the music I made in Music Technology in high school! You think that your cheesy 0/1-encoded sounds are making some sort of a statement or something? [Stage Duration: 1 - 10 minutes]

3. Enjoyment: You start humming one or two of the songs to yourself. For me, this started at "It's Gonna Take An Airplane," which recalls 60s/70s bubble gum pop with a folk influence. A catchy (synth) clarinet line and (synth) handclaps—this song is infectious. You will listen to whichever song does this for you repeatedly. [Stage Duration: 10 - 20 minutes]

4. Appreciation: After being “opened up,” the "Ba dum, ba dum's" of "An Actor's Revenge" and the indiscernible synth of "New Ways of Living" can be considered in a new light...and pretty soon... [Stage Duration: 2 - 10 minutes]

5. Obsession: Every song will ring true. Every word will speak the truth that you only vaguely remember from the early days of your Elvis Costello infatuation; the truth of the harmonic sadness/optimism you heard during your first experience with Elliot Smith. You will remember why you loved songs on acoustic guitar rather than electric, but also why you loved the children of the MIDI generation. This is a glorious stage. [Stage Duration: 30 minutes - 2.5 weeks]

6. Transience: Sadly, ultimately you realize that, although wonderful, the concept is only appealing for a limited amount of time, and you probably won't think of this album first when you are feeling happy/sad/deranged/musical. It will gather dust on your shelf until you take it down to put "It's Gonna Take an Airplane" on yet another mix tape. [Stage Duration: Until you forget what the album was in the first place]

Many will love this album, many will hate it, and a good amount will accept it as an above-average singer/songwriter's best album since Streethawk: A Seduction.

-Marc Calderaro

Dios- Dios (StarTime, 2004)

Three months after releasing their promising Arboles EP, Dios, a rock quintet out of Hawthorne, CA, have finally released their intimate self-titled full-length. The band’s smooth beats and wistful floating guitar rhythms are refreshing during the recent surge of dance and screamo punk. Clear influences range from the sonic experimentation of Dark Side-era Pink Floyd to the Flaming Lips’ trademark trippiness, but Dios also displays more traditional pop/acoustic sensibilities, even paying direct homage to the Beach Boys on “Fifty Cents.” Other key tracks include the airy, alt-country “Birds,” and “The Uncertainty,” a mesmerizing song that places the wisps of a wind tunnel over a repetitive piano line and Kevin and Juan Morale’s cloudy vocals. Dios’ delicate debut holds up as a pleasantly low-key listen, perfect for late night car rides and warm summer evenings.

-Vanessa Schneider

DJ Signify- Sleep No More (Lex, 2004)

“Uh-oh, looks like we’ve got another DJ Shadow wannabe,” I thought, as Sleep No More began. Dark vocal samples, menacing beats, a brief but lovely string arrangement—not really anything new. After a more promising cut featuring Sage Francis and a brief instrumental intermission, it's Buck 65’s turn on the mic, and he quickly hits the album’s first home run with “Stranded.” The rapper, who guests on four tracks and is the true highlight of the album, exhibits his usual laid-back lyrical style, opting to take on the role of a shy, disturbed story-teller rather than a bombastic rhyme spitter. The peak of this collaboration culminates on “Winter’s Going,” which has Buck 65 telling a brooding tale of love once lost over a melancholy arrangement of acoustic guitar, horns and strings. The rest of the album fails to match this high point, with a few more instrumental tracks shifting the mood of the album before a final dose of gloom from Francis and 65. Signify manages to resuscitate some beaten-to-death trip-hop clichés, while at the same time creating beautiful instrumental arrangements. However, it is the help of his two very able MC’s that make this a most pleasant romp through nightmarish experimental hip-hop.

-Jeremiah Turits

El-P and the Blue Series Continuum - High Water (Thirsty Ear, 2004)

Visionary pianist Matthew Shipp and the folks at Thirsty Ear Records have been pushing the boundaries of genre with The Blue Series, a set of recordings that seeks to take musicians out of their "comfort zones" and create exciting and original jazz music. High Water proves to be one of the strongest efforts released in the series so far. Heading the project is rapper El-P, who does not rap on the album, but instead composed the music for the musicians to play and improvise around. The idea of jazz meets-hip hop has become a growing fad amongst various DJs nationwide, and yet El-P has managed to create one of the most concise representations of the possibilities this synthesis has to offer. The tracks are edited sparingly and flow well, mostly due to El-P's use of theme and variation: each melody is (or at least seems to be) a different angle on the melody to "When the Moon Was Blue." The music submerges listeners in a long, moody jam session, which comes full circle when the original tune is played and sung by El-P's father on the final track. El-P’s alluring sonic landscapes, combined with some fine ensemble playing, ultimately makes High Water a success, even if the album lacks the daring twists and turns that the Blue Series records are known for.

-Phil Giampietro

Funkstörung- Disconnected (!K7, 2004)

It’s been four years since the German duo Funkstörung released their glitch masterpiece, Appetite for Destruction. The two have since confessed to becoming bored with instrumental electronic music, spending the past few years producing and remixing other acts. Disconnected is the result of the time they’ve spent away from their own music, and the name of the album couldn’t be more accurate. The liner notes display a long list of guest musicians on guitar, bass, strings, horns, piano and drums, as well as five contributing vocalists. The presence of so many guests leaves one wondering what in the hell Funkstörung actually did on this album. Disconnected ends up sounding like a compilation of Funkstörung remixes. Many of the songs are centered on the vocals (the three instrumental tracks run about two minutes combined), which the duo has been known to handle well in the past. Their main vocalist, Enik, seems like an interesting choice at first, but by the end of the album sounds like the drunken male offspring of Björk and David Gray. Other vocalists include Lamb’s Lou Rhodes (who did her song as payment for Funkstörung’s impressive Lamb remix) and Massive Attack regular Sarah Jay. However, all of the vocalists pale in comparison to Tes, an MC who appears twice and helps to create fantastic glitch-hop akin to Prefuse 73. Funkstörung prove themselves worthy of at least one more shot at this type of music, from which they currently seem sort of, well, disconnected.

-Jeremiah Turits

Kid Spatula- Meast (Planet Mu, 2004)

From the first few notes of album opener “Housewife,” you can tell that Kid Spatula is not out to revolutionize electronic music, he’s out to shake some booty. The opening track, like many on the album, relies on cute, simple synth hooks, weird but relatively straightforward drumbeats and repetitious tongue-in-cheek vocal samples (“My body/My hot body/My body”). Kid Spatula is a side project of Mike Paradinas, who is better known for pumping out melodic IDM under the name µ-Ziq. At two full-length discs, Meast, a collection of his older work, is one of the longest albums Paradinas has put out. Absent is Paradinas’ up-tempo breakbeat sound we’ve come to love. Instead, he employs repetitive beats and melodies, settling for slower tempos and giving nods to numerous genres—he even throws in a harpsichord for good measure. Because these tracks were pulled from an era before jungle warped Paradinas’ geeky mind, Meast isn’t particularly groundbreaking. It may be slow at times, but if you’re looking for some melodic IDM (from an era when that description meant nothing), or just µ-Ziq-lite, then Meast may be what you’re looking for. Don’t believe me? I had Dave Moore listen to this in my car and he said it was cool. So there.

-Jeremiah Turits

Mclusky- The Difference Between Me and You Is That I'm Not On Fire (Beggars Too Pure, 2004)

Mclusky have released their third full length and follow up to the raucous Mclusky Do Dallas, which was also produced by rock production Jesus Steve Albini. Most of the songs feature the band’s distinctive crunchy guitars, pounding drums, and runtimes of under three minutes. Singer Andrew Falkous conveys a gloriously pissed-off attitude throughout the album, highlighted in the opening to "Icarus Shmicarus," on which he orders: "Get back in your hole and get bent, boy!" On “She Will Only Bring You Happiness,” Falkous delivers a classic double entendre, reminding himself to "be erect by half past ten," before bringing things to a close with the line "Our old singer is/a sex criminal." The chorus is repeated in a juvenile “Row Your Boat”-style round that achieves a joyous bastardization of childhood sanctity. Album highlight “Forget About Him, I'm Mint,” which instrumentally sounds like something out of a spaghetti western, deals with Falkous's preferred modes of transportation, including rickshaws and X-Wings. Mclusky provide the daily recommended allowance of deceptively clever cock rock. And they’re from Wales, which means you can tell other people you’re actually listening to world music.

-Adam Trabka

Mirah- C'mon Miracle (K, 2004)

To begin with, the writer must make a cliched confession. I am amongst those isolated bedroom listeners who have been foolish enough to believe that the voice of Mirah was once somehow crooning only for me. My moment of delusion came upon listening to her 2000 album You Think It’s Like This But Really It’s Like This, in the guise of a sweet kitchen table folk song called “Pollen.” In the passing years of intensive electric shock therapy, I’ve learned that I was wrong in that interpretation, and I was in fact, not her muse. On her fifth album, C’mon Miracle, Mirah intertwines broader global and political inspirations with her usual homemade heartpulse cooing. Once again, Mirah has created a powerful menagerie of tunes that glide through diverse feelings and musical styles in a cohesive manner. She quietly whispers her naked emotions into the listener’s ears in songs such as “Nobody Has To Stay” and “We’re Both So Sorry,” but a global sense of conscience is also evident on songs like the politically charged “Jerusalem” and the Latin bop-influenced “The Dogs Of B.A.” Overall, Mirah has delivered an arresting album that cements her as one of the most pertinent voices in contemporary music.

-Matt Corley

Mission of Burma- ONoffON (Matador, 2004)

Mission of Burma, inarguably one of the single most influential bands in the earliest history of indie rock, have released their sophomore album after a hiatus of twenty-two years. ONoffON is like some glorious time capsule from a parallel universe containing the follow-up that Mission of Burma might have produced in 1983 had a shoddy indie infrastructure, Roger Miller’s severe tinnitus, and Cruel, Cruel Fate never interfered. Opener “The Setup” allows for a quick bit of catching up, with an instantly memorable guitar riff leading to passionate, repetitive lyrics balanced precariously between personal and political, delivered as always with fiery intensity. Both “The Enthusiast” and “Nicotine Bomb” are surefire sing-along staples, while the brooding, bittersweet “Falling” is one of the group’s best ballads. ONoffON exudes “retro” alt-rock charm—in fact, it seems completely untouched by over two decades of indie rock evolution—but the band never consciously calls attention to the album’s inherent nostalgia. The feat is nothing short of awe-inspiring: Mission of Burma are officially ON again.

-David Moore

Múm- Summer Make Good (Fat Cat, 2004)

On Summer Make Good, Múm aims to evoke a children’s fairytale stripped down to its disturbing underlying essence, but the project comes across more like the star pupils of the Langley Schools covering Sigur Ros. One glaring flaw is the decision to push singer Kristin Anna Vlatysdottir’s vocals to the front of the mix. Rather than blending her breathy, obtrusively precious intonation into the band’s icy atmospherics, the spotlight is set squarely on her voice, underscoring an uncanny resemblance to a “Rugrats” character. The music here is not Múm’s most challenging, but it does serve as an effective continuation of their transformation from fascinatingly inaccessible post-rock to frustratingly inaccessible pop established on 2002’s Finally We Are No One. The band employs an appealing mix of understated IDM, chilling ambient textures and simple melodies to achieve a feeling of childish wonderment, but it’s difficult not to cringe whenever Vlatysdottir chimes in. Her vocals, aside from being fairly irritating on a visceral level, only elucidate lyrics that, when decipherable, aren’t particularly remarkable to begin with—lines like “I hope tonight you will touch my hair” (“The Ghosts You Draw on My Back”) would probably benefit from further concealment. It would seem that Múm’s surest path to making a compelling album statement is simply acknowledging their right to remain silent.

-David Moore

Of Montreal- Satanic Panic in the Attic (Polyvinyl, 2004)

Perhaps the greatest achievement of Of Montreal’s newest album, Satanic Panic in the Attic, is the band’s ability to use an array of electronic elements amongst their sunny pop instrumentation without drawing overt attention to it, or making it seem cheesy or dance-oriented. “Disconnect the Dots” opens the album with an effective synthesis of these two elements: an incline of preprogrammed drum beats, synth handclaps and electronic instrumentation build at a rapid pace and then burst into a lush vocal soundscape. Of Montreal moves delicately between happiness, melancholy and, on tracks like the beautiful “City Bird,” absolute tenderness. The narratives are well constructed, including typical stories of love and loss, but also stranger tales like “Chrissie Kiss the Corpse,” the story of a teenage necrophiliac. The album is impeccably arranged and produced, and, most importantly, it's a whole lot of fun. Fun seems to be very underrated these days.

-Emily Gallagher

RJD2- Since We Last Spoke (Def Jux, 2004)

Dear RJ,

Since we last spoke, you sent shivers up my spine with tracks like “The Horror” and introduced me to some of the funkiest beats and fiercest MCs I’ve heard in a long while. After releasing Dead Ringer, a spectacular breakthrough album, you could have sat back and safely repeated the success, producing experimental hip-hop and dark, melodic trip-hop, perhaps rivaling DJ Shadow as the king of the genre. You unpredictably chose a different path, utilizing complex dance floor arrangements rather than your characteristic hard-edged hip-hop beats. Unfortunately, the new sound quickly falls apart. Your production skills have certainly improved since your last effort, but that doesn’t make up for weak guitar and synth hooks and poor choices in vocalists. The album sounds like what might happen if Daft Punk decided to make a trip-hop album, but forgot to use their vocodors. Don’t get me wrong—the title track is kick-ass. If only you could have kept that intensity up for the whole album. By the fifth track, I was cringing at the sub-par vocals and gimmicky 1970s disco/funk sound. You’re still one of electronic music’s hottest producers, but your audience expects more because of it. I’m not saying you need to stick to a strict formula, but maybe this sound isn’t exactly your cup of tea. Your website is still pretty cool, though.

Love,

-Jeremiah Turits

Sharks and Minnows- The Cost of Living (Two Sheds, 2004)

Sharks and Minnows, an Atlanta band whose members proudly wear “generic indie rock” all over their bespectacled faces, create tossed-off angst pop that is so pleasantly non-confrontational one can’t help but grin at their courageous lack of courage. On The Cost of Living, S&M (chuckle) churn out a heap of easily digestible pop hooks and mildly apprehensive lyrics, keeping the dreaded “emo” description safely at bay with a tongue firmly planted in cheek. They sum themselves up succinctly on “Small Song,” on which they croon (presumably to a skinny would-be girlfriend who is WAY cooler than they are): “It’s just a small song/ And it won’t make you happy/ It won’t keep you warm.” They’re two-thirds correct, at least. But anyone who doesn’t smile a little at this stuff is probably dating that cool skinny girl and treating her like crap. Come on, darlin’, why not give S&M a chance?

-David Moore

They Might Be Giants- Indestructible Object EP

TMBG's new Indestructible Object EP, a preview of their forthcoming album The Spine, is the sound of my childhood coming back to bite me in the ass. Keep in mind that earlier this year when I finally realized that Lincoln is, in fact, better than Flood—a defining artifact of my early childhood—I pulled down the shades and wept to Ockeghem’s “Requiem.” The EP opens with “Am I Awake?”, an apprehensive cut with uncharacteristic electronic flourishes that at times sound suspiciously similar to the theme from “Top Gear” on Super Nintendo. The lyrics are irreverent enough to be recognized as John Linnell’s writing, but the song doesn’t really form into an overall point. Neither does “Au Contraire,” which is sucked into its own whirlpool of pop culture and historical name-dropping. “Memo to Human Resources” justifies my general apprehension toward John Flansburgh’s material, as it crosses the line of “poppy” that infected TMBG’s previous effort (excluding last year's children's album, No!), 2001’s Mink Car. The album ends with a cover of Brian Wilson’s “Caroline, No.” which, while enjoyable, is almost identical to the Beach Boys version, except that Flansburgh’s voice isn’t nearly as enticing as Wilson’s. Linnell would have been the better choice on this one. The EP’s highlights are few and far between, and sounds more like a band emulating TMBG than the real thing. Perhaps it’s unrealistic to expect a return to the brilliance of their early days, but I’m allowed to cling to a bit of childhood nostalgia, aren’t I?

-Ian Power

Tiamat- Prey (Century Media, 2004)

Tiamat’s newest album resembles a lion, dressed entirely in black, that has been de-clawed and de-fanged. All of the black metal menace is there, but the crunch of the music has been softened to a crackle. As previous albums have indicated, Tiamat have progressed into a more accessible hybrid of heavy metal and goth rock. Johan Edlund's Astral Sleep-era snarl has been replaced with a brooding croon reminiscent of Type O Negative’s Peter Steele and while the tales of nihilism and apocalypse continue, their musical accompaniment has slowed to the pace of a funeral march. This new radio-goth Tiamat stalks and occasionally stomps through their thirteen tracks with a confident, polished sound that blends into one solemn, rainy-day excursion into darkness, which at one hour nearly becomes interesting. While many of the bleak ballads crawl to their destination point, the album ends on a truly promising song, “The Pentagram.” Alesiter Crowley’s poem of the same title is placed behind a sludgy mixture of morose church bells, organ, and blues guitar, playing something similar to the "Law and Order" theme. The track’s seven and a half minutes are mesmerizing and will hopefully act as momentum into Tiamat's next album. Prey emerges as a stylish, radio-friendly translation of the band’s metallic sound that is too ordinary and monotonous to become a crossover success.

-Sean Frasier

John Vanderslice- Cellar Door (Barsuk, 2004)

John Vanderslice is a signpost of every significant trend and evolutionary strand of indie pop in the late 90’s and early 00’s: the lo-fi acoustic fuzz of the Elephant 6 collective and Neutral Milk Hotel, the Shins' 60s pop fetishizing, the lush arrangements of Belle and Sebastian, even the cheesy, playful synth affectation of the Unicorns. He also proves himself to be one of the best singer/songwriters on the current indie music scene on Cellar Door, his fourth and most fully realized album to date. Vanderslice differentiates himself from lesser kitchen-sink-style singer/songwriters by understanding that complex production is not a statement in and of itself. His lyrics evoke a continuous, fluid dialogue with elements from his own past, and the tone of his observations ranges from deprecating humor (“The morning she threw up/ My options were all laid out”) to astute deconstruction of childhood fallacies (“Sometimes a cowboy’s just a man in a cowboy suit”) to incisive, overt political commentary (“I’m a guard in Guantanemo/...the hoods come off and torture slowly begins”). Each song offers its own set of unique personal revelations that together initially seem as diverse and disparate as the music. But ultimately the album coalesces into a compelling portrait of an artist who remains completely in touch with his musical and personal past history while confidently pointing toward the future.

-David Moore

Patrick Wolf- Lycanthropy

Before you even listen to the music on this album, you will undoubtedly hear a lot of the mythology that surrounds the enigmatic Patrick Wolf—stories of Wolf playing viola in an orchestra at age 6, recording songs on a handmade theremin and stolen four-track at age 11. You will probably hear Wolf hastily described as the new (male) Bjork. A lot. The hype surrounding this kid is out of control, and an intense focus on his image has unfortunately pushed Wolf’s music to the background of his public persona. Wolf is a member of the recent crop of laptop popsters that have been practically falling from the sky since Ben Gibbard’s Postal Service teamed up with Clear Channel in an attempt to get “Such Greats Heights” stuck in the brains of every living radio listener in the country. His lyrics are melodramatic and often over-the-top, but Wolf is sincere when he cries out to sad little schoolboys everywhere. What ultimately separates Patrick Wolf from the rest of the laptoppers is his consistency. Every song is beautifully composed and immaculately sequenced. Lycanthropy is a unified album full of catchy, beautiful electronic pop songs, and surpasses recent releases like Postal Service’s Give Up and Bobby Birdman’s Born Free Forever. Whether or not Patrick Wolf will become the hottest thing since Skip-It based on his image alone is yet to be seen, but at least he has a solid album to back up the hype.

-Stephen Quinlan

Xiu Xiu- Fabulous Muscles (5 Rue Christine, 2004)

Fabulous Muscles combines new noise, electronics and classic instrumentation like guitar and squeezebox into catchy, beautiful and consistently fascinating melodies. Sometimes the material is a bit esoteric, but not as much as one might expect from Xiu Xiu frontman Jamie Stewart—who, I might mention, is way too cool for any of us. Still, it is difficult to accurately gauge the tone of the album. Granted, some of Stewart's songs are intentionally disturbing—for example, "Support Our Troops, Oh!" is a graphic anti-war protest. However, Stewart's cold demeanor becomes slightly comical when combined with bouncy tunes with titles like “Clowne Towne.” It is easy to laugh when Stewart says, “cremate me after you come on my lips,” but it is quite possible that he isn't kidding. That underlying tension is a major part of the appeal of the album overall—it is somewhat disturbing to bob your head to the precious beeps and doots of “Bunny Gamer” while the man singing it is pouring out all of the pain in his tortured soul. Fabulous Muscles is an incredible experience, punctuated with moments of excitement—like the climactic scream in “I Love the Valley, Oh!”—but driven primarily by the tension between Stewart’s intensely personal lyrical drive and his penchant for disquieting absurdism.

-Emily Gallagher

FILM

Film Review: Super Size Me (2004)

Documentarian Morgan Spurlock uses a fascinating spectacle to frame Super Size Me, his examination of the obesity epidemic in the United States—for one month, he will consume nothing but McDonalds fast food three times a day. Of course it is disturbing to watch Spurlock gain 30 pounds, destroy his liver, nearly triple his body fat and increase his cholesterol by 50 points, but the truly frightening revelations come in the form of simple statistics. Over 60% of Americans are overweight or obese, obesity is the second highest cause of preventable deaths in the U.S., and, perhaps most startlingly, McDonalds and the rest of the food industry have great influence in high places of power.

The film is commendable for presenting an issue that is often marginalized in mainstream media outlets (a recent lawsuit against McDonald’s was widely regarded as ridiculous, though the film goes to great lengths to show that there was some credibility to the claims). Still, the film is, at its core, merely performative; Spurlock often simply points and shakes his head in disappointment. At times, his filmmaking techniques blur certain ethical lines pertaining to how subjects are presented in the film: talking heads are cut off mid-sentence to form “punch lines,” serious health risks related to obesity are symbolized by grotesque cartoons, and, in perhaps the film's most unsettling sequence, footage of one subject’s stomach surgery, a necessary procedure to combat obesity and Type 2 diabetes, is juxtaposed with “The Blue Danube” to an inappropriately comedic effect.

One point that the film expresses clearly, however, is that obesity in the United States is truly an epidemic, and one that only worsens with every passing year. The film doesn’t really dig deep enough into the context that it establishes—the association between fast food chains, government programs and school lunches is a particularly compelling issue left only partially explored—but it does confront pertinent health issues that are far more invasive in everyday life than one might recognize on a conscious level. The film’s observations will probably resonate with anyone even moderately interested in health issues, and may help persuade those relatively uninformed about personal health issues not to make Mickey Dee’s a diet staple. It’s also a must-see for anyone who is curious as to exactly which part of the chicken constitutes a “McNugget.”

[Note: After Super Size Me became a sensation at this year's Sundance festival, McDonalds eliminated the "Super Size" option from their menus. They also introduced "Adult Meals," which contain a salad and a pedometer. With meat and dressing, the salads contain as many calories as a Big Mac.]

-David Moore

Film Review: The Battle of Algiers (1965, r. 2004)

In a French prison cell, 1960, Saadi Yacef, a leader of the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN), wrote the treatment for The Battle of Algiers on the back of an envelope. He placed the project in the hands of Italian writers Gillo Pontecorvo and Franco Solinas, who began their research on the French-Algerian conflict, which then was less than a decade old. Under Pontecorvo’s direction, the film was shot on location, moving between the French quarter and the narrow streets of the Cabash. Pontecorvo used chalk marks to orchestrate the movements of enormous crowds, filmed with such realism and guerilla-style authenticity that for clarification, the original U.S. distributor had to insert the disclaimer: “Not one foot of newsreel or documentary film has been used.” Banned in France in the year of its completion, The Battle of Algiers is only now receiving a mainstream theatrical release, but the film doesn’t suffer in the least for its age. In fact, the film ultimately provides a remarkably balanced perspective on terrorism, and combatting terrorism, that could not be more appropriate in any other time or to any other audience.

The film opens in a torture room. A small, bent Algerian man with huge burn marks on his ribs and terror in his eyes has just succumbed to the persuasion of paratroop leader Colonel Mathieu (based on actual military leader General Jacques Massu), played by Jean Martin. The paratroopers encourage him to drink, assure him that it will all be over soon, and give him a French uniform to wear. The man begins to wail, throwing himself against the window, and the men drag him back. They rush out into the byways of the Cabash, closing in upon the hideout of Ali la Pointe (Brahim Haggiag), the last FLN leader left free in the city.

From this chilling opening, the film goes on to provide the backstory for the confrontation without losing its pounding intensity for a second. Haggiag is a compelling force on the screen, but ultimately takes a slight backseat to the performances of Martin, Yacef (who appears as rebel leader El-hadi Jaffar, a character created from his own experiences). Many other minor characters are also compelling, such as the three Algerian women who, disguised as french socialites, slip unsuspected through the checkpoint, and plant bombs in the French quarter. The soundtrack, by Pontecorvo in collaboration with Ennio Morricone of spaghetti western score fame, is brutal, careful, and simple; the soundtrack subtly reinforces the action on the screen on a meditative level, often bringing the tension and import of the moment to a head.

Algiers has received a lot of praise for being an “objective” war movie; critics have gone so far as to say that it is not, in fact, a story of Algerian heroism throughout the battle at all, but rather a reflection upon the mutual sufferings of war. I didn’t find this to be entirely true. The film is undeniably biased towards the Algerian perspective; what is surprising is the choice to address the French sympathetically at all. This film was made by Algerians and their supporters only several years after the conflict occurred; it is the story of a repressed, imperialized nation attempting to regain its independence. One might expect the French, particularly Mathieu, to be portrayed as absolute monsters at this point in history, but they are not.

However, the brutal “join or die” tactics of the FLN do not go unacknowledged. Early in the film, Ali la Pointe shoots an old friend in cold blood to serve as a lesson to Algerians attempting to stay clear of the conflict. Multiple sequences demonstrate the tragedy of both sides’ losses and deaths, and the character of Mathieu is explored carefully, incorporating scenes wherein he contends with criticism of his methods of extracting information, and of his attempts at diplomatic arrests of FLN leaders. He is represented as an unflinching, rational man, absolutely committed to doing his job. His press conference pronouncement that in order to combat terrorism “you must accept all the consequences” carries unnerving weight, particularly in a contemporary context.

The film educates and empowers audiences through its dignified treatment of both sides of the conflict, and leaves an indelible impression with its overwhelming relevance to some of the most pertinent issues of our times. Effectively dropping its viewers into the shoes of grassroots combatants, but careful not to broadcast absolute righteousness on either part, The Battle of Algiers has been released at a time when its message is direly needed.

-Becki Paterson

Film Review: Hukkle (2004)

Somewhere in the Hungarian countryside, an old man with a rhythmic hiccup sits on a bench by a dirt road. The bench creaks slightly with each spasm. The man gazes blankly and peacefully forward, coexisting with the insects scurrying across the bench. A farmer herds an enormous pig up the road, its testicles swinging wildly in time with each step. A horsedrawn cart of large cans rattles clumsily past, the driver slumped over asleep. This is a quiet community, each human and animal living its own life, silently but amicably acknowledging eachother as they pass upon the road.

Directed by György Pálfi, Hukkle is a seventy-five minute masterpiece of inscrutably moving, intimately photographed (by cinematographer Gergley Pohárnok) vignettes. Pálfi proceeds to delve much deeper into the little secrets of this gentle setup. His human performers have fascinating faces and intense, understated chemistry. The non-human characters, including a ladybug, several enormous fish, an unfortunate cat and, of course, the incessantly plodding pig are equally compelling presences, and they ultimately serve as harbingers of the community’s dark, quiet unraveling.

Members of the community surreptitiously exchange mysterious white vials, labeled X. A humming old woman in black moves methodically and unexpectedly through the background. Animals die. People disappear from their established positions. The scarce dialogue in the film, with the exception of a contextually macabre wedding song in the final scene, is in unsubtitled Czech or Hungarian. To an American audience, the words register as nothing more than a quiet murmur, underlining the mounting, and eventually overwhelming, sense of impending doom for the community.

The only character seemingly immune to this spreading darkness is the old man on the bench. In one startling moment, a jet roars through the peaceful scene, the sole acknowledgment of the outside world within the film. As it passes, he stares at the sky in transcendent wonderment for a long, still moment. Then, higher and louder, the hiccup returns. One never doubts that he is safe from harm, timelessly hiccuping away in the still, dusty air.

-Becki Paterson

Film Review: Osama (2004)

A harrowing tale based on actual atrocities perpetrated by the Taliban in Afghanistan before the U.S. occupation. A young Afghan girl risks her life posing as a boy (her alias is “Osama”) so that she can work to support her mother and grandmother. She is forced into a Taliban training program with the other boys in her neighborhood. On its own, the film is incredibly moving and truly inspiring—especially considering the stifling environment in which it was made. Still, one can’t help but question why the film was given relatively wide release now, two years after U.S. occupation. There is no commentary on post-9/11 Afghanistan, and the film’s message, however heartfelt and evocatively conveyed, is untimely. A narrow focus on the past crimes of the Taliban detracts attention from the current state of Afghanistan, where Taliban forces regain more power with every passing day. Films like Osama should be given wide release in American theaters when the situations depicted are most pertinent (i.e. three years ago), not when name recognition will ensure the most business. How many foreign films relating urgent issues to large audiences have been released stateside before the U.S. government intervened? Perhaps we can expect The Wrath of Charles Taylor in 2006.

-David Moore

DVD Review: Gozu (2003)

Takashi Miike’s Yakuza Horror Theater presents:

“GOZU”

Cast of characters:

Takashi Miike............Film Director
Sakichi Sato.............Screenwriter
Sean Frasier..........Small American

Synopsis:

In the middle of a junkyard Stonehenge, surrounded by majestic formations of dilapidated Hyundai cadavers, Takashi Miike sits with a glass of milk. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. His eyes roll back into his head, the whites of his sockets reflecting the shine of hubcaps, rusted toasters, and soup ladles. He spits the milk out into the sand, and his eyes roll back down. He looks over to a young man with a black superhero costume. The young man is crying. Miike says in subtitles, “Sakichi Sato, try the milk. It is delicious.” Sato drinks the milk and nightmares flip his eyes backwards. Strange words, not only because they’re Japanese, leave his lips and Miike cackles as the words type themselves.

In a small restaurant Yakuza sit eating. They ignore the entrails of a small dog splattered on the window next to them. A naïve gunman with a reattached sexual appendage looks at his next target across the table. Even while eating noodles, it’s obvious his target is insane. And his best friend. And small dogs are spies for rival gangs.

The job is done. There’s a corpse with a neck snapped with vehicular precision in the backseat of the automobile. The target wants food. He is hungry. Sato awakes from his milk hallucinations and glances at Miike. He clears his throat. “Give me some more, and make it 2%. This stuff is wearing off.” The target walks out of a diner and approaches his car. The corpse is gone. A bovine monster roars as a glass of milk spills, the gunman looks around for an answer. It will take one hundred more minutes to find one.

A small American with a long chin sits in Takashi Miike’s Yakuza Horror Theater. He looks around him as the lights begin to dim. Two middle-aged hotel owners, a sister and a brother, chew and chew a mysterious food. She squeezes her left breast and fills a small bottle. Four bottles of milk rest at her feet. Two for five dollars. A man without pigment on one side of his face tries to sit closer to the small American, and puts his arm around his shoulder. He looks at the small American and scratches away the white make-up on his own face, “I’ll stay here with you if you’d like.” The small American raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure you lack pigment? That just looks like make-up.”

The crackle of the film roll spinning. The lights escape. The audience freezes. Miike sits with Sato in the back and they roll a pair of dice. A man and a woman approach each other on screen. Roll. Three. Screaming, adhesive horror. Several audience members are ashamed for being aroused. The small American blushes. Roll. Ten. A familiar monster emerges. Pop. A mummified woman. Roll. Seven. Miike screams and pulls a long, thin blade from his back pocket. He charges at the small American. The small American greets the blade with applause.

-Sean Frasier

Retrospective: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Then and Now (1974, 2003).

Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre is one of the great achievements in cinema history. It is often overlooked when people discuss great works of film, written off by most critics as a gratuitous, irredeemable amalgam of random scenes of horror and gore designed to make the viewer sick. True, the film is quite capable of inducing nausea (as it did to me upon my first viewing), but Texas is actually the Citizen Kane of its genre. It spawned a plethora of slasher and meat-films, each incorporating, but not necessarily paralleling, the aspects of Hooper’s style. These aspects have grown increasingly muddied over the years since the film was released, and today the original themes are all but lost.

The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre deals with much more than a group of young adults who find themselves on the wrong property being killed one by one. The film deals with femininity in a way that had been previously untapped. It builds on the theme of repressed sexuality leading to violence that Hitchcock explored in Psycho. It also addresses the margins of a culture and lifestyle dependent on developing technology and corporatization.

The original concerns itself with the portrayal of femininity in the powerlessness that Sally experiences at the hands of the men of Leatherface’s family. How she responds to being made the object and target of a group of men (i.e. the sexual innuendo that she hints at if they would choose to spare her life) is the product of our society’s objectification and superficial sexualization of the female gender. In the context of a sexualized film, she has no alternative but to offer her body. Hooper plays to these fallacies with the set up, but ultimately rejects them with the family’s refusal to play into her hints. He allows Sally a kind of empowerment through the escape.

Part of the reason for the family’s disinterest in rape and focus on arbitrary slaughter lies in their own sexuality. They are a family of regressed men—Leatherface in particular is stuck in a strange prepubescent stage (his body still jiggles with baby fat). Leatherface’s chainsaw and the Hitchhiker’s knife don’t serve as metaphors for their sexuality; these weapons ARE their sexuality. They are incapable of expressing themselves sexually and therefore their weapons function as extensions of their phalluses. Essentially, their need to kill arises from their inability to get it up. Texas Chainsaw Massacre is, in a way, a film about male sexual inadequacy.

At its core, though, Texas deals with a family displaced by machines. The technology at the new slaughterhouse has pushed Leatherface's family out of work and has irreparably damaged their lifestyle. What results is the chaos that a group of individuals experience when they’ve been marginalized and ultimately replaced. They’ve resorted to slaughter as a means of preserving their lifestyle.

It is easy to misread Texas as a simple movie about killing teens. The violence is the most easily recognizable factor of the film and it’s easy to get hung up on it (literally), thereby missing the deeper underlying issues. It is the misreading of the film that has led to an insurgence of teen slasher films that focus on the violence, and not necessarily on the film’s social context.

Man, did they fuck up the re-make. They lost the social commentary. They invented a harebrained plot twist about a kidnapped baby. And they’re apologists for Leatherface’s murderous ways (“My eczema is acting up, so I’ll think I’ll rip those kids apart with a chainsaw”). Yet, I’m still strangely entertained by it. I can’t put a finger on it, but damn it, I enjoy the re-make.

Maybe I’ve missed the point. Maybe the whole point of a slasher flick isn’t to comment on society, it’s to kill as many teenagers in creatively brutal ways within an hour and a half as possible. Maybe it’s simply supposed to be as gratuitous as possible. I mean, who sits down to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre for its portrayal of femininity, or sexuality, or technology?

I guess I just love to watch some kids getting skewered.

-Kevin McInerney

FEATURES

SPECIAL FEATURE: An Interview with Patrick Wolf

Basshead Media correspondent Stephen Quinlan recently interviewed 20-year-old singer/songwriter Patrick Wolf, whose latest album, Lycanthropy, is one of the most highly anticipated debuts of the year. Patrick Wolf gave Basshead Media exclusive insight into his music, his image and, of course, the inherent value of miniature animals.

Basshead: There is a lot of talk about your image as an artist. Is music the only factor in judging a given musician, or do image and music both define an artist's output?

Patrick Wolf: My image is integral to my music. The music I make, the way that I sing, the shoes and instruments I play are all completely idiosyncratic. Most people think that what I do is contrived in some way, but what I do is a complete honest communication of the person I am.

Definitely, we are living in a visual age. It's very hard for a musician just to be a musician. One almost has to become a spokesperson or salesman for your work. I find that the way I present myself always completely affects people’s opinions of my music. A lot of people are very simple. If they don’t like what they see, they wont even bother to open their ears.

B: It's been a while since someone has sung so sincerely and effectively to troubled youth. Is reaching the younger crowd your main goal as a lyricist?

PW: I’m not sure I am conscious of reaching out to any particular crowd. Lycanthropy was a record that has lyrical themes based on my experiences as a teenager, but I don't think many of the themes involved are particularly teenage. The theme of triumph over sorrow and disaster is a universal one that we encounter repeatedly from cradle to grave. I’m very happy to be reaching my generation. It seems we’re living in a bit of a drought of truth, honesty and passion right now.

B: Your music is sincere, but still accessible in a pop music sense. Would you consider yourself a pop musician?

PW: Pop music means popular music, right? When I make my communication with music, I would prefer it to reach as many people as possible. The things I write about are not fleeting relationships or everyday lust/romance/in the club/I love you songs. I much prefer the messages and emotions to resound in a huge number of people than just a few hidden underground scenes. I definitely consider myself a pop musician, but the difference between me and, say, someone like Christina Aguilera, is that I don't make the music to be popular. I make the music and then if it becomes popular, then that is the most amazing and challenging bonus.

B: Do you think that computer technology like the laptop is liberating enough to eventually make "organic" instruments like the accordion and piano you play on the album unnecessary?

PW: No, not at all. The digital studio is a tool, like a spanner or a drill. Instruments such as the piano and accordion are products of years and years of magic, industry and history. They resound with different cultures. An accordion can be from an 1800 Parisian street or a 1950's gypsy circus.

Computer technology is all about documentation and translation. Some amazing sounds can be made within it, but I think now, after a decade or so of such experimentation, we have reached a dead end with computer sounds. People are starting to realise that there is no harvest without water. We need real instruments—real acoustics, wires reverberating with perfect scientific natural harmony. Do you know the amount of intense natural scientific perfection that lies within one octave of a piano? Such grand simplicity will never ever be surpassed by a computer.

B: Is there an animal spirit inside everyone? Do you believe your music works to help bring out the animal spirit in you and/or the people listening to it?

PW: I'm not sure...I sometimes doubt whether there is even a human spirit in everyone, let alone an animal one. There is an element to Lycanthropy that came from being the only passionate in a music school full of intellect; that is about surrendering yourself to instinct and intuition, to let the moon guide you rather than being possessed by reason; that certainly is a message of getting down on your hands and knees and remembering you are an animal.

B: On the topic of influence, what percentage of the new album is wolf, and what percentage is Victorian pickpocket?

PW: Actually, there is no wolf or Victorian pickpocket. This one is more gale force winds and faint ghost noises on a crackling late night longwave radio.

B: What is the inherent value of miniature animals?

PW: I don't know. I just like them. I used to drill holes in them and put them on a ribbon to make a nice necklace.

B: What are your plans for the immediate future?

PW: On Tuesday I leave for my first tour in the USA. Tomorrow I am packing and going to a goodbye dinner for an Israeli girl who is being deported back to a violent country she has no want to ever go back to. English people and government are horribly intolerant of immigrants and asylum-seekers, although all the prime time TV shows are about moving out of England to live in Spain and France.

***

Lycanthropy was released on April 13th. Patrick Wolf's first U.S. tour kicks off May 5th in New York City.

Essay: Stickin' it to Mr. Corporation with the Lonely Samoans

The Lonely Samoans- Here Come the Lonely Samoans (Rainbow Pig, 2003)

PART I: THE BAND

1- Samoa- lead vocals, acoustic guitar- May or may not really be Samoan. I couldn’t care less...that feather dominates. Possesses the be all and end all of false-shit-eating-grin-to-lull-you-into-complacency-before-I-kick-your-ass-and-steal-your-girlfriend facial expressions.

2- Amanda Pollock- vocals- The subject of a coke joke gone awry with a punch line that just doesn’t sit right...and one hell of a wannabe-country-fried backup singer! Tammy Wynette wishes she sounded this good after shooting meth in a shed somewhere. PS- My mom used to have those sunglasses.

3- Bob Hoffnar- producer, percussionist- Slightly cross-eyed...probably a kindergarten teacher or self-deprecating shock comic. The man(child) behind the band. And behind the wicked pedal steel! You go, boy!

4- Sam Hopkins- electric guitar- Pulls off the frilly pink shirt look so unsuccessfully it transcends itself and becomes hip again. I bet that’s what Frank Zappa’s facial hair looked like circa 1956. This guy is simply the rockin’-est scumbag of all time.

5- Maria Fleischman- drums- I love her hair. Probably too classy for a biker bar, but, paradoxically, would make an excellent biker. She could have been Aileen Wournos’ penultimate fling. Did I mention I love her hair?

6- Alec Morton- bass- What Tim Robbins would have looked like in Mystic River if Clint Eastwood still had any balls. I wish his shirt was unbuttoned just one more notch, because I’m not getting enough chest exposure. Maybe he’s hiding a pacemaker scar or something.

7- That Cat- What the hell is up with that cat??? He’s totally stoned!!! These people drew a flying cartoon cat and then smoked him up!!! How badass can you get???

PART II: THE MUSIC

Before we get to that, let’s explore the album art a bit more thoroughly. First of all, these guys have a weeping Starbucks logo for a band emblem. And look at this crazy shit! The reporter is blind! Colin Powell is a pale zombie robot! Rummy tried to tap Saddam’s phone line, so the bastard jissomed oil right in his craggy face! Bush is a Nazi...OK, that one’s a bit overdone. But look at that cat! That cat is INSANE!!!

PART III: THE MUSIC (SECOND ATTEMPT)

Second-shelf country meets Michael Moore meets an American Song Poem. The music on Here Come the Lonely Samoans is pretty straightforward, and lyrics are predictably cartoonish and cynical. Album highlight “Mr. Corporation” is a stunner—Samoa name-checks Old Navy, the Gap and Starbucks in the first lyric alone, and doesn’t stop the sarcastic assault for a good five minutes. Chorus of my life: “I belong to Mr. Corporation/ When you see me comin’/ I’ll just a smile and say/ Hey, hey Mr. Corporation.” The climax is a rousing chorus cluttered with cell phone noise and bits of annoying conversation. That’s right, folks, we’re talking song-of-the-year material here.

Other highlights: On “Sweet Home Yellow Texas,” Hoffnar opens with a steel pedal version of that generic “Asian” riff you might know how to play on the piano, which still seems inappropriate despite the fact that the song is about the tension between Samoa's Asian and Texan heritage. (“Yellow” may also slyly refer to Dubya’s general yella-bellied-ness.) “The Fool’s Prayer” wasn’t written as a left-wing tirade against prayer in school, but probably should have been—still, it’s a pleasant enough mid-tempo tale of generic country heartbreak. Besides, padding the punch of “Mr. Corporation” with almost an entire album of run of the mill country numbers is kinda subversively badass, in its own weird way.

Why are you still reading this? Go buy this CD before the Lonely Samoans and I get wasted together and beat the living shit out of you yellow-bellies Samoa-style. And watch out for Bob—he’s a little squirrelly, but he fights dirty.

-David Moore

COMICS

2004-04-01T23:55:00.000-08:00

APRIL, 2004, ISSUE #1:
DO YOU KNOW YOUR bASS FROM YOUR HEAD?

MUSIC

Amps for Christ- The People at Large (5 Rue Christine, 2004)

Henry Barnes of Amps for Christ: Oh great and powerful Nostradamus, I fear the end of the world is upon us. I’d like to make an eclectic 23-track concept album about the subject. What would you recommend?

Nostradamus: My son, the end of the world is foretold with hyphens. Al-Queda, 9-11, A-bomb, Bush-Cheney...all hyphenated. What is your musical specialty?

HB: Lo-fi experimental indie-folk-rock.

N: An excellent start. Now add hyphens. Indian music is pretty cool, and vaguely foreboding. Also try free-association poetry. Lots of hyphens there.

HB: I wrote this sorta heavy metal piece, too.

N: Record the metal song in the black box of an airplane and give it a snappy title like “Use Use Use.” People will think the end of the world is upon them—which it is. So what do we have now?

HB: Electro-acoustic-avant-indie-folk-rock-mini-raga-pop-roots-Americana with free-associative-Beefheart-meets-Biafra poetry and lo-fi-black-box-noise-rock. Oh, and two deconstructions of “Auld Lang Syne.” Wow, that does sound apocalyptic. But isn’t it...well, isn’t it all a bit arbitrary?

N: The end of the world is arbitrary.

HB: Yeah, but will my album actually be good?

N: That, my son, is entirely beside the point.

-David Moore

The Bad Plus - Give (Sony, 2004)

Everyone's favorite avant-jazz-rock piano trio, The Bad Plus, released its eagerly awaited follow up to the fantastic These Are the Vistas, a disc that proclaimed them to be “the future of jazz.” Give, however, tends to push more towards TBP's rock influences than the obvious avant-garde jazz synthesis of Vistas. While this sounds exciting, the result seems a little rushed and unfocused. Some tunes, including the particularly lazy opener “1979 Semi-Finalist” and the plodding “Frog and Toad” do not hold attention all that well. The band itself is playing better together than they ever have with the same sound engineering that provided a unified feel to their debut. The collaborative, improvisatory element of the band remains, and when met with the right material, ridiculously good music ensues. As for covers, The Pixies and Black Sabbath are tapped for this installment of song deconstruction. “Velouria” is a concentrated effort on producing avant-garde rock and “Iron Man” is twisted, manipulated, and eventually re-harmonized to make for a humorously uplifting closing to what is a relatively mediocre but enjoyable recording. Some tunes miss big time, but the ones that don't make for more of the incredible music that Vistas seemed to hint at.

-Phil Giampietro

Deerhoof- Milk Man (Kill Rock Stars, 2004)

The cover says it all. A childish drawing of a masked figure with fruit sticking out of his body, causing bleeding of the head, armpit, and anus...hilarious! Satomi Matsuzaki’s sweetly naïve vocals frame relatively constrained (for Deerhoof, at any rate) noise-pop experiments that alternately suggest a Japanese sunshine pop band on mushrooms and the Boredoms on Ritalin. Album highlight “Desaparecere” turns a propulsive electrobeat into what could be described as post-rock lounge music. “Giga Dance” starts with a pounding pop beat that quickly melts into an eerily fragile chorus, while the bizarre “Dog on the Sidewalk” uses repetition of the title phrase to structure an otherwise spastic noise experiment. Deerhoof somehow manages to weave all of these elements into a cohesive concept album about a guy with a banana sticking out of his ass.

-David Moore

**MUSIC PREVIEW**

Communiqué- Poison Arrows (Lookout!, 2004)
Release Date: June 18

Formerly American Steel, Oakland, Calif.-based quintet Communiqué started playing shows in ‘96 and signed to Lookout! Records. The promising single, “Cross Your Heart,” off their A Crescent Honeymoon EP, offered a solid three minutes of Rory Henderson’s lingering vocals and Cory Gowan’s dark, static synth. Due out June 15, the refreshing West Coast sound of Poison Arrows naturally builds on the former release’s strong foundations. Ryan Massey’s ominous guitar and John Peck’s jumping bass are driven by Jamie Kissinger’s fast-paced percussions in “The Best Lies.” Building to a bright climax, the hopeful-sounding end contrasts ironically with Henderson’s insightful lyrics, “All the best lies/ are sealed with a kiss.” The swirling dance sound reminiscent of the Cure in “Perfect Weapon,” perhaps the album’s best track, and the bittersweet “Rattling Bones,” represent the band’s ability to construct quality pop songs complemented by personal, inviting lyrics.

-Vanessa Schneider

The Descendents- ‘Merican EP (Fat Wreck Chords, 2004)

Seven years after their last album and even longer since their heyday, the Descendents have released the E.P. ‘Merican, as promotion for their new album Cool to Be You. While some of its initial appeal comes from the fact that the Descendents had been a brilliant punk band in the 80’s, this E.P. manages to be more than simply a nostalgia piece. ‘Merican has its own charm that comes across in its catchy pop-punk songs like “Here with You.” Even the lame “political” title track has its own allure, suggesting that the Descendents may still be capable of attaining the greatness of their earlier years.

-Richard Porten

Franz Ferdinand (Domino, 2004)

This is big. Franz Ferdinand streamlines the influences of popular acts like Interpol and the Strokes, adds a healthy dose of Britpop and a dash of 90s-era Manchester rock, and shoves one of the best albums of the year (yes, this year...and I’m aware that it’s only March) down the throats of the recent crop of supercool Joy Division-cribbers and garage-rock revivalists. The tongue-in-cheek opener “Jacqueline” (catchy chorus of the week: “It’s always better on holiday/ That’s why we only work when/ We need the money”), Pere Ubu-influenced “Tell Her Tonight”, and unforgettable single “Take Me Out” kick off the album with an assured proclamation of imminent greatness. “Cheating on You” is a garage-revival masterpiece and “Michael” is some kinda brilliant scathing/homoerotic rave culture satire/lust letter. If God exists and also digs Britpop, which He totally would, Franz Ferdinand will soon break through to fickle American mainstream audiences and deliver us to the Promised Land, where we will promptly bob our heads off in a slavishly rhythmic fashion. Hyperbole? Whatever, dude. This shit is nuts.

-David Moore

Jonny Greenwood- Bodysong (Capitol, 2003)

Thom Yorke may be the understood Radiohead brain, but it is obvious that Jonny Greenwood is the hidden genius. His first solo project, Bodysong, is the score for Simon Pummell’s movie “Bodysong,” the story of a human life, using found footage from the last 100 years of cinema. Bodysong begins with “Moon Trills,” a five-minute glide through tinkling bells, buzzing strings, and the simple repetition of piano ivories. With no pause, the album continues into “Moon Mall,” offering arbitrary heart monitor beeps amidst dissonant violins and trance beats. The album follows suit with twangy banjos, playful electronics and even double bass cool on “Milky Drops from Heaven.” Though it is hard to appreciate the album’s vision without watching the movie to complement the music, Greenwood does offer listeners a look into his uninhibited experiments. Bodysong does exactly what its title suggests: presents a musical interpretation of the body. Even without the movie, one is able to mentally create movement with Greenwood’s avant-garde layers and sundry sounds.

-Vanessa Schneider

Iron and Wine- Our Endless Numbered Days (Sub Pop, 2004)

Samuel Beam, appropriately, looks like a cross between Grizzly Adams and Kieran Culkin. As the man behind Iron & Wine, Beam has found an excellent balance between the gritty blues roots of his music and the sweetness of his throaty vocal intonation. Our Endless Numbered Days expands upon the Lou-Barlow-in-the-Delta sound established on I&W’s debut and stands as an early peak in his career. Several tracks, such as the striking opener “On Your Wings,” utilize dense acoustic/steel guitar multi-tracking and unique percussion in the vein of Sufjan Stevens. Others, like the gorgeous “Fever Dream”, benefit from Beam’s characteristic stripped-down lo-fi production. A must own for fans of I&W’s debut or indie/neo-folk in general.

-David Moore

The Liars- They Were Wrong, So We Drowned (Mute, 2004)

The Liars have changed. As they announce, "I no longer want to be a man.... Men have small hearts." I cannot gauge if they are no longer men, but I can say that they no longer have their "finger on the pulse of America," as they proclaimed in their first album, They Threw Us In A Trench and Stuck A Monument On Top. Rather, they seem to have their finger on the pulse of a Matmos-loving, computer-science major's throbbing testicle as he jacks off to a picture of Yoshimi. All references to ex-boyfriends aside, The Liars They Were Wrong, So We Drowned is not for the faint of heart. Thematically it follows the story of a village of Christians as they battle against a group of alleged witches, (hence the title.) Musically it’s an exploration of structured noise, and many of the hooks turn into hypnotic chants, such as the first track, “Broken Witch”, where the hook is BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD. Some of the tracks turn out to be quite beautiful, such as “We Fenced the Gardens With The Bones of Our Own.” Others actually verge on being fun, like “They Don’t Want Your Corn, They Want Your Kids.” Overall the album is a thought-provoking mishmash of old stories and new noise. On my first listen I was kind of scared, but the more and more attention I pay to it, the more obsessed I become and the more I love it…just like said ex-boyfriend. Well, until he tried to stick it up my butt.

-Emily Gallagher

Jeff Mills- Exhibitionist (React/Axis, 2004)

The current underground techno scene primarily rose out of Detroit in the 1980s through a group of African-American DJs who rejected the common notion of the “black entertainer” and instead sought refuge from what was, and is still, the only popular outlet for black musicians: rap. These Detroit pioneers—including Juan Atkins, Carl Craig, Derrick May and Kevin Saunderson—built on the foundation of bass, beat and rhythm structure laid by groups like Kernkraft. Jeff Mills followed closely behind, establishing his own distinct brand of techno that was dark, relentless, paranoid. His famously minimalist sets can evoke dance music while simultaneously inspiring textured soundscapes that capture the imagination. Mills’ music is a soundtrack for crawling through sludge-slogged tunnels, squeezing into pipes, running over catwalks, furtively watching your back for deranged derelicts. His music perfectly captures an industrial city of steam and shadow in a world collapsing upon itself in a blaze of fire. Jeff Mills is the official DJ of the apocalypse.

-Kevin McInerney

Modest Mouse- Good News For People Who Love Bad News (Epic, 2004)

Modest Mouse’s latest and long awaited offering, Good News For People Who Love Bad News, is bound to illicit intellectually diverse reactions from new and old listeners alike. Some may latch onto red meat self-reflection of songs such as “Bukowski” and “The Good Times Are Killing Me” while others may huff and puff about the sparkle and bounce of optimistic first single “Float On.” Brock’s lyrics still search the depths of introspection and the vastness of the universe at large, but he speaks with newfound resignation and acceptance. Indie fans and elitists may have to accept that their golden boys are playing in a bigger game, and that many diehards will soon be sharing the dance floor with the backwards hats of the masses. Modest Mouse has, for better or worse, entered the paradoxical world of unwanted stardom, a place where any change in their press kit will either scare the suits or piss off the faithful. GNFPWLBN is the sound of Modest Mouse uncomfortably settling in the limelight.

-Matt Corley

Squarepusher- Ultravisitor (Warp Records, 2004)

Innovative boundary pusher and Chelmsford rave hero, Tom Jenkinson, has made a window to the best parts of his older work; a greatest hits album with brand new material.The title track’s squelching synths and crazy breakbeats echo sounds from Jenkinson’s Big Loada era. “Iambic 9 Poetry” combines his classical jazz training with electronics reminiscent of Budakhan Microphone. The nine and a half-minute “Tetra-Sync” flies by at warp speed with a bass line good enough to make Les Claypool jealous and reminiscent of his best work, Hard Normal Daddy. Jenkinson’s trademark drill ‘n’ bass chaos appears several times making the album complete. Though not Jenkinson’s self-proclaimed “best work,” the piece still proves that Squarepusher is one of the best in the genre.

-Jeremiah Turits

Sufjan Stevens- Seven Swans (Sounds Familyare, 2004)

Sufjan Stevens broke from his folk-rock outfit Marzuki in late ‘99 to begin his solo career. Fortunately for both artist and listener, the move has led to several uninhibited solo releases utilizing richly layered indie folk instrumentation. In 2003, Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lake State—a conceptual piece about his home state—gave fans an album full of flawless melodies and showed us just how good Stevens was at his craft. Stevens’ fourth album continues this trend, building on ideas of faith and home stressed in his previous release.

On “The Dress Looks Nice on You,” Stevens begins by playfully moving his fingers over the standard acoustic. As he builds to an emotional climax, Stevens has already layered more guitar, vocals and even a banjo as his ethereal vocals repeat, “I can see a lot of life in you.” This theme of life is apparent in Stevens’ technique of building an uplifting creation from an initial riff.

Swans has numerous religious references, notably on the songs “Abraham” and “The Transfiguration.” But instead of preaching, Stevens uses his comforting vocals to tell stories in classic folk fashion. He invites not conversion but appreciation for storytelling amidst complex arrangements. Stevens asks on the elegant “All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands” in his unassuming, smokey voice, “If I am alive this time next year/ will I have arrived in time to share?” He has already arrived; let us hope he keeps sharing.

-Vanessa Schneider

TV on the Radio- Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes (Touch & Go, 2004)

Contrary to the usual critic’s review exploiting the band’s “blackness,” one of the aspects that makes TV on the Radio so intriguing is the group’s ability to inconspicuously break the race barrier. Because the band has two black members, critics naturally connect the dirt-laden saxophone lines and “testifying” chants with gospel. But the dark, looming, static loops intertwined with the constantly changing, multi-layered vocal tracks create something more than a simple “black-y, black rock band.”

TVOTR draws from its influences and uses its knowledge of culture and cross-culture to create something exciting and new. The crafted perfection of the Young Liars EP left many searching to find where the band would go from there. Desperate Youth shows that the band is striving to forge an original sound that will move far beyond the bar set by the EP. The only problem being that the sound is not totally there yet.

Young Liars was autonomous and finished, whereas Desperate Youth has not reached the same level of completion. Even though the EP was produced in an apartment and the full-length a studio, the grittiness of the latter sounds less produced.

It’s as if TVOTR have not yet arranged their songs for a full-length release. The loops start becoming tedious at the end of each 4 ½ minute-song. These repetitious drones tend to grate after multiple tracks, lessening the appeal of many later interesting songs like “Don’t Love You” and “Poppy.”

However, TVOTR is a relatively new band crafting its own way. The band is genuine, soulful, paltry, dour, hypnotic, glorious, and even rapturous. One gets these sensations immediately upon hearing the first dirty chords and background “Oooo’s” of the re-vamped “Staring at the Sun,” the only repeated song from the EP. This track is sure to be a favorite, next to the golden, a capella track, “Ambulance.”

Although every magazine review is scrambling for a musical association, TV on the Radio stands better without comparison. If you care about the new innovations affecting rock and indie, then the merited buzz about this band should not go unnoticed. Though the Brooklyn trio has many critics, putting on headphones (highly recommended) will provide the listener with something truly new and innovative- something that cannot be said often.

-Marc Calderaro

The Unicorns- Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone? (Alien8, 2003)

The Unicorns come out of the gate with horns blazing on one of the weirdest and most rewarding pop albums of the year. Though casual first listens may prove taxing, the Montreal duo eventually establishes itself as a songwriting force to be reckoned with. Armed only with rudimentary synthesizers, recorders, a rag-tag rhythm section and an endless reserve of ingenuity, the band tackles such dark subject matter as ghosts, death and nuclear annihilation with surprising sincerity. “I Was Born (A Unicorn)” is an offbeat anthem, while stranger tracks, like “Inoculate the Innocuous,” become more memorable with repeated listens. The Unicorns may prove to be a principal force in the current indie pop scene.

-David Moore

The Walkmen- Bows + Arrows (Record Collection, 2004)

The Walkmen’s second full-length, Bows and Arrows, opens with a quiet, stark organ riff and shyly sad vocals asking “What’s in it for me?” Hamilton Leithauser’s singing style is honest and unique, leading a band that delivers complex arrangements at their best. Bows’ pace is well varied, as exemplified in first-single material “The Rat,” and “Little House of Savages.” The album’s vibrant energy is used in just the right places. Predictably, the five Brooklyn-based members sound more polished on this major label debut than on their first release, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone. Fortunately, the band has not compromised their quirky sound for corporate cash, allowing them to successfully seduce the music snob as well as the mainstream listener.

-Emily Gallagher

FILM

Film Review: Kill Bill, Vol. 2

The first thing to understand about “Kill Bill, Vol. 2” is that, despite any initial intentions on the part of Quentin Tarantino, it is a sequel of the first film. It is impossible to view the two as one unified film because, as DVD sales for Volume One will certainly prove, the films are being (successfully) marketed as a distinct pair, not parts of a whole. This is a crucial distinction, because it allows the first film to exist in its own universe, and also makes the fundamental flaws of Volume 2 more readily apparent. Volume 2 undercuts many significant ideas presented in the first film, drastically alters the personalities of pre-established characters, and disappoints on the same epic scale it has consciously set up.

The opening (after an awkward and unnecessary “catch up” prologue—the speech that Uma Thurman gives in the theatrical previews) almost immediately hints at the wrongheaded route the rest of the film will follow. The Bride (Uma Thurman) travels to the deserts of El Paso to knock off Budd (Michael Madsen), the next name on her Death List Five. Upon being discovered by Budd, she is shot in the chest with rock salt and buried alive. She cries and screams and pounds helplessly as Budd and an unfunny redneck sidekick shovel dirt over the coffin they have sealed her in.

Where is the confident, stone-faced, deadly Bride of Volume One? Where is that woman who, being a fully empowered and totally kick-ass female assassin, knows she will not only survive the whole movie, but will kill any stupid motherfucker who is unfortunate enough to get in her way? She certainly isn’t present in this instance, or in four similar scenes of graceless humanity. Tarantino has personally called the setting of “Kill Bill” a “movie universe,” but he doesn’t seem to take the phrase to heart. Every glimpse of the Bride’s weakness through an emotional breakdown tears the fragile fabric of cinematic homage the movie has defined for itself. Rather than making the Bride appear to be a three-dimensional character, the constant hints of intense feminine vulnerability only undermine the Bride’s movie-universe invincibility explored so successfully in the first film, making her character confusing and her quest less focused.

Tarantino, in a way, has missed his own point. He has assembled “Kill Bill” as an amalgam of every action film he has seen, which is all of them. Kung-fu, spaghetti western, grindhouse, schlock-horror, blaxploitation and countless other influences inform the limitations of “reality” established in the two films. By taking the emphasis off of action and asking the audience to really empathize with any of the characters in the film, Tarantino has shot himself in the foot stylistically. His characters are mythological cartoons, the kinds of characters who can be instantly identified through name alone—it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that “Budd” is a spineless scumbag, or that “Elle Driver” is a femme fatale. Distinctly human touches, such as themes of maternity and unrequited love, fly directly in the face of the terms set up in the film’s designated universe. The result is a jumbled, manipulative, and occasionally embarrassing mess.

Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of the second film—aside from containing the most anticlimactic finale in any Tarantino film to date—is its decidedly lackluster soundtrack. The soundtrack to Volume One is an entity unto itself, a satisfying concept album that encompasses generations of film music and exudes cool. The music in the second film not only isn’t up to par with Volume One, but is essentially non-existent. I can remember about three songs from the film, the most memorable being an intriguing but inappropriately placed hip-hop mash-up of the Zombies’ 60’s pop classic “She’s Not There.” Even an audio clip from “Shogun Assassin,” one of the many films Tarantino has absorbed in his years of rabid film geekdom, is ripped from the first track of a GZA solo project (also produced by the RZA, who composed the film’s score) and not necessarily hand-selected by the director himself. The soundtrack is sloppy, awkward and, worst of all, incredibly boring.

The film has a few spectacular moments of inspired action filmmaking, including a riveting training sequence with the enigmatic kung-fu master Pai Mei (Gordon Liu) that effectively replicates the crash-zooming grit of a Shaw Brothers film. Also mind-blowing is a close-quarters catfight between Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah) and the Bride. But the moments are fleeting and, for the most part, arbitrary. Scenes feel randomly inserted rather than elegantly constructed, and fight scenes of any kind are few and far between. David Carradine and Uma Thurman do the most any actor or actress could be expected to with the material, but the real problem is that this time around the material isn’t particularly interesting. Bill and the Bride sit and chat about the Nietzschean implications of Superman comics and what it means to be a good parent, but guess what they don’t do? I’ll give you a hint: it involves ass-kicking.

“Kill Bill, Vol. 2” seems to be a calculated effort to stray from the formula that made the first film so successful. But rather than making the two films seem complex and cohesive in hindsight, the technique instead hopelessly scatters the series, making it impossible to view the two films as a rewarding whole. The second film emerges as a needlessly confusing, frequently boring and ultimately unsatisfying conclusion to what could have been one of Tarantino’s greatest achievements in film.

-David Moore

Film Review: Hellboy

Mike Mignola wins. For the last ten years he has been writing and illustrating his underground comic creation “Hellboy,” a film adaptation of which was recently released and is by far one of the better comic adaptations to make it to the screen in recent years. Not to say the movie is flawless, but compared to the current cavalcade and soon to be avalanche of comic book movies, it’s nice to see one that came out halfway decent.

The story is primarily taken from the first “Hellboy” storyline, “Seed of Destruction.” The story begins with the origin of Hellboy (Ron Perlman) as the unexpected result of a last-ditch effort by the Nazis to win WWII, and then jumps ahead to show the results of this experiment sixty years later. In the meantime, Hellboy has been under the protection of one of the 73 super-duper secret branches of the FBI, in charge of unwanted paranormal activity on the planet. This isn’t exactly Charlie Kaufman material, but on the whole the film is far more entertaining than might be anticipated.

Fans of the series will be glad to note that while the plot is greatly simplified and at times slips into a sort of Men In Black for Dungeons and Dragons geeks, the film preserves much of the original character, atmosphere and charm that made Mignola’s two-dimensional creation a success. Yes, there are a few too many battles with slimy, tentacled hellions. But there still remains a surprising amount of character development, especially for a film primarily about a guy who escaped from hell. Key supporting characters Liz Sherman (Selma Blair as an emotionally repressed pyrokenetic) and, to a lesser extent, Abe Sapien (a telepathic merman) are well developed and aren't merely portrayed as cartoons. Even a potentially sappy scene involving milk and cookies, created exclusively for the screenplay and absent from the original comic, succeeds admirably in furthering character development.

The key to making a successful comic adaptation appears to be in trusting the fans. At some point when no one was looking, bonafide quality material snuck into the comic industry, proving there is more to comics than tights, super powers, and bad dialogue. But only filmmakers like Guillermo del Toro, who actually reads and appreciates contemporary underground comics, seem to realize this. League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is an excellent comic series by one of the medium’s most revered writers, Alan Moore. The recent film, on the other hand...*sigh*...shame on you, Sean Connery. Let’s move on. What Hellboy does successfully, as did Spider-Man did before it, is accept that while a direct translation is near-impossible, maintaining the irreverent spirit and flavor of the original work in a new form is essential. See Ang Lee’s recent holy-shit-how-can-this-film-take-itself-so-seriously adaptation of “The Incredible Hulk” as an example of what tone to avoid.

Hellboy is not exactly a landmark comic book film, and it’s pretty far from a watershed moment in cinematic history, but as far as underground comic book fans are concerned, it’s a step in the right direction. There are a few too many slimy green toothy things added to the original material, resulting in a severe case of Star Trek Landing Party Syndrome (don’t get attached to the extras). Ron Perlman, on the other hand, was born to play Hellboy, (the resemblance is almost unsettling) and his portrayal of everyone’s favorite dark side defector is as downright charming as it is uncanny.

To skeptics of comic book movies, don’t give up just yet. Despite its action movie conceits, Hellboy demonstrates respect for the intelligence of its audience and remains true to its source. But so help me God, if Hollywood ever has the nerve to screw up “Transmetropolitan”... I’m cracking skulls.

(If you enjoy the film, also check out the graphic novel “Seed of Destruction.” Support your local comic shop.)

-Chris Ricci

Film Review: Dawn of the Dead

Hollywood has recently put forth Herculean effort to squeeze a few bucks out of that age-old moneymaker: the remake. Usually direct comparison to the original is unavoidable, and tackling the issue directly can sometimes have even worse results than significantly diverging from the original. The problem being that no one seems to want to remake the bajillion bad films swirling in the VHS ghetto at Blockbuster. OK, maybe “Ocean’s Eleven”. But even that one couldn’t make it through without a sequel or two already in the works.

I entered “Dawn of the Dead” with caution, bracing for what easily could have been a travesty of Romero’s original sequel to the landmark Night of the Living Dead. Surely the few extra million dollars would repress any social commentary apparent in the original; surely high-quality sets and special effects would compromise Romero’s distinctive starkness. And I was correct — “Dawn of the Dead,” the remake, is a bloody Hollywood thriller. And it is totally awesome.

The remake succeeds in the face of what would seem to be inescapable obstacles of staying true to the original by intentionally failing to stay true to the original. The opening sequence immediately marks the film as a thriller, complete with zombies aggressively biting through jugulars and breaking down doors, and an arbitrary huge explosion. This is a different film entirely, with different characters, different zombies, different motivations, different conclusions. The willful separation pays off.

The story follows the adventures of a young nurse (Sarah Polley), a tough cop (Ving Rhames) and a half dozen or so other immediately recognizable character types — including the Yuppie, the Redneck, the Naïve Boy and Girl, the Sadist With a Heart of Gold, and, of course, the Generic White Man — as they stave off an army of zombies plaguing a local shopping mall. If and/or how they escape and who gets zombified in the process is relatively immaterial, though there is sufficient character development to just barely allow us some genuine sympathy for most of the characters. The story moves along quickly and rarely pauses for subplots and failed attempts at humor that bog down so many similar films.

What results is a highly satisfying if fairly straightforward action horror film that finds just enough common ground with the original to merit its title, but enough completely unrelated material to keep it from an unfavorable direct comparison. First-time director Zack Snyder makes sure that scares hit hard, fast and consistently. Many moments are genuinely shocking, in terms of both content and ingenuity, including the frightening birth of a zombie-baby and a thrill-ride through a wave of zombies in what looks like a souped up school bus. The film is a refreshing break from the current slew of nearly irredeemable remakes, and probably a rare breath of fresh air before more dreck.

Despite the promising fact that Peter Jackson has taken on “King Kong” and Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are trying their hand at “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” terrible remakes will undoubtedly plague the film community for years to come. In case the previous titles perked you up, here’s a good one: rumor has it that Disney has plans to remake their classics in trendy 3-D animation, starting with “Pinnochio.” At the very least, “Dawn of the Dead” is a pleasant diversion before the imminent atrocities of “Snow White:Cubed” and—dare I suggest such a thing?—“Star Wars: Redux Redux” (3D glasses available at participating Blockbuster stores).

-David Moore

DVD Review: Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: Dirty Old Town

What do you get when you combine an articulate, conscientious musician with an inarticulate, pretentious filmmaker? Justin Mitchell’s frustrating film Dirty Old Town, a documentary about the recent Ted Leo and the Pharmacists tour, provides an answer.

The first few minutes of the film are promising enough. Ted discusses experiences touring and his memories of Coney Island, the location of their upcoming performance, as he and the band make their way to the 2003 Siren Festival. But as Ted talks about his musical inspirations, the film abruptly cuts to unrelated images of the various activities at Coney Island.

As Ted Leo offers his commentary on music and touring, Mitchell comes across as an uninterested five year-old being told by an older sibling what he should find important about the band. The problem, of course, is that the viewer—unlike Mitchell—is interested in what Leo is saying.

Diversions into atmospheric montage continue incessantly throughout the DVD, often with a heavy dose of sophomoric art school pretension, and tend to cut off Leo’s message. The effect is akin to watching a forcibly “original” student film project.

Even the subtitle of the documentary, “Ted Leo vs. Coney Island”, makes no sense in the context of the film. There is no conflict between Leo’s stage persona—essentially a friendly guy wearing an old Chinatown T-shirt and sneakers—and his somewhat decrepit Coney Island surroundings.

We learn throughout the course of the film that Ted Leo is a grassroots indie rocker loyal to both his independent label and the DIY punk rock aesthetic; a man who uses his music to honestly address political issues and social causes. He fits in perfectly with the rustic, communal atmosphere of Coney Island.

Excellent interviews with Ted Leo and his band trickle in between concert footage and ultimately justify the purchase of the DVD. Interview topics range from hidden song meanings to Leo’s attitudes toward touring, independent music, and the experience of being a voice of political dissent in America.

It is clear that Leo lives for his music. The interviews will give fans a new reason to respect him as an artist and as an honest, happy, good-natured person. Despite the irritating film school gimmicks, Leo’s ideas and music stand above the visual mess.

-Emily Gallagher

COMICS

Salamitown (1) by Sean Frasier

Salamitown (2) by Sean Frasier

Sweet Dreams (1) by Joe Nicolosi

Inkblobs (1) by E.B. Cooper

DBGBs (1) by David Moore

Klownz (1) by David Moore