A word of warning to anyone who hasn't switched over to the new and improved Blogger: it's not yet able to accept Youtube postings.
For those who care about such things.
Monday, January 1, 2007
Sunday, December 31, 2006
It's A Stiff
I was going to say that I'm against the death penalty generally speaking: 25% cuz I think it's a sick and macabre thing for a society calling itself civilized to do, and 75% cuz I think that matters of life and death are too important to be left in the hands of the legal system, if you get my drift.
Generally speaking, I was going to say.
I would have added, though, that I lack, sadly, an argument that can correlate the status of your typical psycho killer, no matter how vicious, with that of a certain ex-bastard who used the full power of the state to murder and inflict harm upon his own citizenry in the broadest of terms. That size matters. That it matters because it changes the relationship between the perpetrator and the society that's responsible for meting out justice.
Instead, I'll just say: let's partay. 'Tis New Year's Eve after all.
Generally speaking, I was going to say.
I would have added, though, that I lack, sadly, an argument that can correlate the status of your typical psycho killer, no matter how vicious, with that of a certain ex-bastard who used the full power of the state to murder and inflict harm upon his own citizenry in the broadest of terms. That size matters. That it matters because it changes the relationship between the perpetrator and the society that's responsible for meting out justice.
Instead, I'll just say: let's partay. 'Tis New Year's Eve after all.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Cheryl Lajoie
From her husband Peter Farncombe comes news that the Cheryl Lajoie Award (for School of Social Work students at Ryerson University) is formally up and running. Cheryl, who died far too young in October '04, was a friend and co-op camp colleague of ours who was very active and highly respected in the family and social services world in and around her Riverdale neighbourhood.
The current bank balance will allow the Award, presented annually, to run for six years.
If anyone's interested in prying open their wallets and making a contribution, or just having a look, I've got a pdf brochure (not on-line) available upon request.
The current bank balance will allow the Award, presented annually, to run for six years.
If anyone's interested in prying open their wallets and making a contribution, or just having a look, I've got a pdf brochure (not on-line) available upon request.
Torstar Declares Open War On Beaches!
Hey, no one has a monopoly on sensationalism (keep in mind that these two stories led the last two front pages).
Overreactions to overreactions suck.
I vaguely recall reading something about this in a local Beaches rag a few weeks ago, but the paper copy's gone the way of all recyclables and I can't find any trace of it on-line. You'd think a determination of whether the complaining group was substantial in number or comprised of two guys and their Weimaraners would be in order before unleashing the snotty editorializing about "tony Beaches enclaves" and widespread NIMBYism (a sentiment no doubt completely absent in less tony areas).
I thought The Star was opposed to collective punishment.*
*Bad Taste level yellow ("Elevated")
Overreactions to overreactions suck.
I vaguely recall reading something about this in a local Beaches rag a few weeks ago, but the paper copy's gone the way of all recyclables and I can't find any trace of it on-line. You'd think a determination of whether the complaining group was substantial in number or comprised of two guys and their Weimaraners would be in order before unleashing the snotty editorializing about "tony Beaches enclaves" and widespread NIMBYism (a sentiment no doubt completely absent in less tony areas).
I thought The Star was opposed to collective punishment.*
*Bad Taste level yellow ("Elevated")
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Sunday, December 24, 2006
London
A few days at the in-laws', a few tourist shots:
The girlz in Victoria Park.
That's not The Messiah--it's fucking Hegemony Or Survival!
The girlz in Victoria Park.
That's not The Messiah--it's fucking Hegemony Or Survival!
Some rifle.
City Hall: don't have a clue why I like it but I do.
St. Peter's fiddly-ass Cathedral.
Another view of the fiddly bits.
London Life building, built in 1874. Makes me feel extremely insured.
City Hall: don't have a clue why I like it but I do.
St. Peter's fiddly-ass Cathedral.
Another view of the fiddly bits.
London Life building, built in 1874. Makes me feel extremely insured.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Say Your Prayers, Councillor
Or not. There's an initiative afoot [oops, link now behind a sub wall--this one'll give you the background] by a tiny outfit called Secular Ontario (comprised as far as I can tell of members of the Humanist Association of Canada) to compel the removal of the Lord's Prayer from the opening proceedings of Ontario municipal council meetings. SO have identified 18 offending councils, which include St. Thomas, Ingersoll and Owen Sound, as well as a number of other townships and counties in Grey-Bruce.
This has been in the air for a while now, and its recent legal origins stem from the Freitag v. Penetanguishene Ontario Appeals Court decision of 1999. Now, I'm just a layman here mind so take my analysis for what it's worth, but it seems to me that the judge in that case made it quite clear that the practice of using a specifically denominational prayer doesn't have much wiggle room wrt The Canadian Charter Of Rights And Freedoms. In the case of Penetang, the decision was easy-peasy, as the practice wasn't even listed in the town's by-laws, making the actions of the Mayor in leading an opening prayer "not law but governmental conduct," i.e., not defensible via Section 1 of The Charter. Owen Sound, viz the article cited above, does have the procedure on the books--passed soon after the 1999 decision--but would still have to demonstrate the necessity of maintaining the status quo and explaining why a "compromise" invocation wouldn't do the trick, which should prove a hard sell.
The Province hasn't derived any official policy changes from Freitag, so it might take further individual Charter challenges to make the towns in question more compliant.
I'm of two minds (at least) about this. It isn't exactly the most pressing issue in the universe. It won't change the composition of local councils and from a practical point of view it won't effect how the pothole at the corner of Queen and Main (N.B. every Ontario town has an intersection at Queen and Main) gets filled. And are wussy, non-denominational prayers any better, from the point of view of the anti-theist? But, as always it's the opposition that gets the juices flowing. Stunning legal counter-arguments from Peterborough Mayor Paul Ayotte:
"These guys need to get a life," [he said]. "The rest of us have rights under the Charter of Rights. I have freedom of speech and of religion."
as well as Ingersoll Mayor Paul Holbrough:
“Our community was settled on Christian morals and values. It’s not like I’ve started this. It’s a tradition in council and our community . . .
Geez, the next thing is they’ll want to cancel Christmas.”
Someone definitely needs to go all secular humanist on these guys' asses.
This has been in the air for a while now, and its recent legal origins stem from the Freitag v. Penetanguishene Ontario Appeals Court decision of 1999. Now, I'm just a layman here mind so take my analysis for what it's worth, but it seems to me that the judge in that case made it quite clear that the practice of using a specifically denominational prayer doesn't have much wiggle room wrt The Canadian Charter Of Rights And Freedoms. In the case of Penetang, the decision was easy-peasy, as the practice wasn't even listed in the town's by-laws, making the actions of the Mayor in leading an opening prayer "not law but governmental conduct," i.e., not defensible via Section 1 of The Charter. Owen Sound, viz the article cited above, does have the procedure on the books--passed soon after the 1999 decision--but would still have to demonstrate the necessity of maintaining the status quo and explaining why a "compromise" invocation wouldn't do the trick, which should prove a hard sell.
The Province hasn't derived any official policy changes from Freitag, so it might take further individual Charter challenges to make the towns in question more compliant.
I'm of two minds (at least) about this. It isn't exactly the most pressing issue in the universe. It won't change the composition of local councils and from a practical point of view it won't effect how the pothole at the corner of Queen and Main (N.B. every Ontario town has an intersection at Queen and Main) gets filled. And are wussy, non-denominational prayers any better, from the point of view of the anti-theist? But, as always it's the opposition that gets the juices flowing. Stunning legal counter-arguments from Peterborough Mayor Paul Ayotte:
"These guys need to get a life," [he said]. "The rest of us have rights under the Charter of Rights. I have freedom of speech and of religion."
as well as Ingersoll Mayor Paul Holbrough:
“Our community was settled on Christian morals and values. It’s not like I’ve started this. It’s a tradition in council and our community . . .
Geez, the next thing is they’ll want to cancel Christmas.”
Someone definitely needs to go all secular humanist on these guys' asses.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Big Effin' Deal
But it is. The Deutsche Oper production of Idomeneo goes off without a hitch, albeit with a ton o' added security. No sign of protests by local radical Islamists or Poseidonites.
Audience members were advised on evacuation measures prior to the performance.
Why this hadn't been implemented for previous Mozart stagings remains unclear.
Related: Deutsche Oper gets new head.
Audience members were advised on evacuation measures prior to the performance.
Why this hadn't been implemented for previous Mozart stagings remains unclear.
Related: Deutsche Oper gets new head.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Pip Pyle (1950-2006)
I've just heard about the death on August 28th of Canterbury scene drummer Pip Pyle. Independent obit here, and a remembrance by Hatfield And The North/National Health bandmate Dave Stewart here.
Someone's even posted video from the funeral. Youtube, eh?
Pyle was a bundle of energy on the drum kit, always jumping up ahead of the beat no matter what the song's original starting tempo. He wasn't what you'd call a really technical player, but he had a great sense of decorum, whether the music required simple accompaniment or hell-for-leather. He was a very good writer, too: his speciality was the "extended song," some fine examples of which he produced for the Hatfields and Nat Health. He finally released his first proper solo album (loose collection of songs really), 7 Year Itch, in the late '90s and it's got some of his best-realized compositions, a great deal of charm, and some fine-as-ever playing from PP, Stewart and a large cast of characters.
He spent most of his later life, like so many of that bunch, living and playing on the continent, where there's more of an audience for their kind of thang. I regret never having had the chance to see him play.
Someone's even posted video from the funeral. Youtube, eh?
Pyle was a bundle of energy on the drum kit, always jumping up ahead of the beat no matter what the song's original starting tempo. He wasn't what you'd call a really technical player, but he had a great sense of decorum, whether the music required simple accompaniment or hell-for-leather. He was a very good writer, too: his speciality was the "extended song," some fine examples of which he produced for the Hatfields and Nat Health. He finally released his first proper solo album (loose collection of songs really), 7 Year Itch, in the late '90s and it's got some of his best-realized compositions, a great deal of charm, and some fine-as-ever playing from PP, Stewart and a large cast of characters.
He spent most of his later life, like so many of that bunch, living and playing on the continent, where there's more of an audience for their kind of thang. I regret never having had the chance to see him play.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Records In Review: The Stills--Without Feathers
I can't tell you how tickled liberal pinko I am when I find Canadian indie-rock bands that I really like. Every record I listen to, it's the same old story: "it's okay, but, but, but..." I was starting to think that it's genetic, or perhaps the product of some youthful trauma involving maple syrup.
Enter The Stills. Album number two from the Montrealers is a serious departure from their very good full-length debut Logic Will Tear You Apart, which put an Interpol-type instrumental approach plus a pinch of bar-band attitude to work in dreamy jangle-pop and mid-paced power-pop settings. Drummer and main guy David Hamelin has taken up the vacant guitar position, which won't cause widespread rending of garments among members of the percussion fraternity, truth be told, and has taken over the bulk of the lead vocals. I'm not sure I can really judge the effect the latter has had, as, like the Torontonian in the amazon.com reviews I have a hard time telling Hamelin and erstwhile lead Tim Fletcher apart--it's more in the delivery than the timbre. But more on that anon. Although the songwriting still leans toward the broad strokes and big chords, the band has ditched the Interpol thing, with its pounding 1-2-3-4 drums and ringing guitars, in favour of a style that encompasses folky roots-rock ("In The Beginning"), revivalist orchestral pop ("Destroyer") and piano-bar languor ("Outro"). There's a lot of Hammond organ and galloping dum-ba ba dum-ba ba dum rhythms.
If I was to make a sloppy and unsupportable analogy, I'd say that Logic is to Without Feathers as Modest Mouse's The Moon And Antarctica is to Good News..., in that both bands have gone from a fairly contained sound and static instrumentation to full and at times flamboyant orchestration*; also, there's a similar fearlessness about letting all kinds of styles and generic signifiers hang low and loose. In The Stills' case, the experiment is mostly successful, but there are a few spots on the album where single-mindedness would have been beneficial. The Rufus Wainwrightesque** (Hamelin actually sounds a bit like RW, mixed with The Strokes' Julian Casablancas' croakiness) addendum to the straight-ahead rocker "The Mountain" doesn't really cut it, nor does the showy intro and overripe finale to the otherwise catchy "It Takes Time." Distractions, distractions.
The album is at its best when the songs make sense from beginning to end and when the band let themselves be themselves. The Fletcher-penned-and-sung "Helicopters" is an excellent example and a great piece. It starts out really restrained, with an eighth-note piano rhythm, percussion and plucked string sounds all very reminiscent of the Arcade Fire's mid-tempo mutant new wave, then builds to a great finale of catchy chorus vocal hook and booming guitars. Other really good 'uns are opener "In The Beginning," which maps out the band's new-found rootsy territory very well; "Oh Shoplifter," a booming jangle-pop number arranged around acoustic guitar and handclaps; and "The House We Live In," the pensive and restrained hymnal finale to the disc. I probably lean more toward the guitar-driven material, but "In The End" is a particularly nice piano-based tune, unlike the very pedestrian "Halo The Harpoons." "Baby Blues" is the track most reminiscent of album number one. "Destroyer" makes up for what it lacks in subtlety with vibrancy, a bold brass section and great lyrics.
Both Fletcher and Hamelin are better at writing what I'd consider to be vocal hooks rather than melodies per se ("Destroyer" being a good example from this album, and maybe "Love And Death" from Logic), but for reasons which I can't quite pin down I find that overall the vocals don't match material as nicely on Without Feathers; perhaps the busier arrangements require a busier vocalist. Your thoughts on the matter may be submitted for review by the board.
I can't think of any other relative comparisons that would lead me to pick one album over the other; you'll either prefer the new style or you won't. I suspect that, as a more "adult" sounding record, Without Feathers might not have the same appeal for the younger listener. But, really, who cares about them? As I always say, excellent hearing is wasted on youthful ears. Recommendation: pretty damn good, but could have been better.
*The Stills do it with less, admittedly. Most of the principal arrangement is bass, drums, guitar, keys...just used in diverse ways.
**What gives with all of the whiny bitch Canuck singers? I want real men, damn you!
Enter The Stills. Album number two from the Montrealers is a serious departure from their very good full-length debut Logic Will Tear You Apart, which put an Interpol-type instrumental approach plus a pinch of bar-band attitude to work in dreamy jangle-pop and mid-paced power-pop settings. Drummer and main guy David Hamelin has taken up the vacant guitar position, which won't cause widespread rending of garments among members of the percussion fraternity, truth be told, and has taken over the bulk of the lead vocals. I'm not sure I can really judge the effect the latter has had, as, like the Torontonian in the amazon.com reviews I have a hard time telling Hamelin and erstwhile lead Tim Fletcher apart--it's more in the delivery than the timbre. But more on that anon. Although the songwriting still leans toward the broad strokes and big chords, the band has ditched the Interpol thing, with its pounding 1-2-3-4 drums and ringing guitars, in favour of a style that encompasses folky roots-rock ("In The Beginning"), revivalist orchestral pop ("Destroyer") and piano-bar languor ("Outro"). There's a lot of Hammond organ and galloping dum-ba ba dum-ba ba dum rhythms.
If I was to make a sloppy and unsupportable analogy, I'd say that Logic is to Without Feathers as Modest Mouse's The Moon And Antarctica is to Good News..., in that both bands have gone from a fairly contained sound and static instrumentation to full and at times flamboyant orchestration*; also, there's a similar fearlessness about letting all kinds of styles and generic signifiers hang low and loose. In The Stills' case, the experiment is mostly successful, but there are a few spots on the album where single-mindedness would have been beneficial. The Rufus Wainwrightesque** (Hamelin actually sounds a bit like RW, mixed with The Strokes' Julian Casablancas' croakiness) addendum to the straight-ahead rocker "The Mountain" doesn't really cut it, nor does the showy intro and overripe finale to the otherwise catchy "It Takes Time." Distractions, distractions.
The album is at its best when the songs make sense from beginning to end and when the band let themselves be themselves. The Fletcher-penned-and-sung "Helicopters" is an excellent example and a great piece. It starts out really restrained, with an eighth-note piano rhythm, percussion and plucked string sounds all very reminiscent of the Arcade Fire's mid-tempo mutant new wave, then builds to a great finale of catchy chorus vocal hook and booming guitars. Other really good 'uns are opener "In The Beginning," which maps out the band's new-found rootsy territory very well; "Oh Shoplifter," a booming jangle-pop number arranged around acoustic guitar and handclaps; and "The House We Live In," the pensive and restrained hymnal finale to the disc. I probably lean more toward the guitar-driven material, but "In The End" is a particularly nice piano-based tune, unlike the very pedestrian "Halo The Harpoons." "Baby Blues" is the track most reminiscent of album number one. "Destroyer" makes up for what it lacks in subtlety with vibrancy, a bold brass section and great lyrics.
Both Fletcher and Hamelin are better at writing what I'd consider to be vocal hooks rather than melodies per se ("Destroyer" being a good example from this album, and maybe "Love And Death" from Logic), but for reasons which I can't quite pin down I find that overall the vocals don't match material as nicely on Without Feathers; perhaps the busier arrangements require a busier vocalist. Your thoughts on the matter may be submitted for review by the board.
I can't think of any other relative comparisons that would lead me to pick one album over the other; you'll either prefer the new style or you won't. I suspect that, as a more "adult" sounding record, Without Feathers might not have the same appeal for the younger listener. But, really, who cares about them? As I always say, excellent hearing is wasted on youthful ears. Recommendation: pretty damn good, but could have been better.
*The Stills do it with less, admittedly. Most of the principal arrangement is bass, drums, guitar, keys...just used in diverse ways.
**What gives with all of the whiny bitch Canuck singers? I want real men, damn you!
Friday, September 1, 2006
Records In Review: Editors--The Back Room
I'll start with an admission: my compact disc collection needs another johnny-come-lately example of this particular new-wave revivalist subgenre like I need an aperture in the cranial cavity. Very good though a lot of it's been, I've had more than my fill over the past couple of years.
But, but, but...this record is good. Very good indeed.
The debut disc from this Birmingham-based foursome isn't going to shock anyone stylistically; in fact, the first 8-16 bars of the opening track "Lights" are likely all the convincing you'll need to file The Back Room between the last Interpol record and The Killers' Hot Fuss on your cd shelf (I've done a few reviews on topic, so I won't bore the tits off you by going into all of the influences of the influences--oh wait, here's another). I don't even think it would be unfair to call the record derivative. So, what is so good here? It's useful to define the band's strengths in negative terms: less sepulchral and wearisome than Interpol, less stridently commercial and faux-ennui-laden than The Killers, less young man sturm-und-drangy than Bloc Party. What's left is incredibly tight songwriting, sound and performance, and a record that for the genre is frighteningly easy to listen to. It also ends better than it starts--excellent.
The album's sound is spacious and warm and covered with a modest layer of reverb. The instrumentalism displays good taste, rather than idiosyncrasy: rigidly metrical and ringy upper-range lead guitar ("as was the style at the time"); springy bass, often in the fifths and octaves new wave/disco style; and drums that efficiently hop along on the up-tempo numbers ("Blood")and create good and stuck-in grooves on the mid-tempo ones ("All Sparks"). Singer Tom Smith sounds at times like a composite of others' timbres and mannerisms, most notably the Interpol guy, The Chameleons' Mark Burgess (the breathy upper-range in "Fingers In The Factories"--frightening!) and Ian McCulloch (other comparisons being made to Echo and The Bunnymen in the press are IMNSHO bizarre) ; mostly, though, he's a pleasing if range-limited blend of crooning and declamation. The lyrics sing well but they won't be winning any Pulitzers.
The Back Room's a very strong set, with only the standard-issue misery-guts "Fall" drawing my index finger toward the fast-forward button. My favourite three tracks are one each fast, mid and slow: "Munich," the obvious single and catchy as hell in an Interpol/Killers kind of way, but livelier; "Bullets," the loudest thing on the album, with a chunky groove worthy of the New FADs; and particularly "Open Your Arms," the climax of which'll send a shiver up your spine. If I can't think of too much to say about the rest of the material, it's because it's all really good, from the tough and declamatory "All Sparks" to the dreamy and expansive "Distance."
I'll never say that originality is overrated (promise!), but The Back Room is proof positive that it's not essential. Whether something so easy on the ear will end up having, erm, legs is open to question, but for right now, I'm happy. And that's what counts. Recommendation: high now; in a month's time..?
But, but, but...this record is good. Very good indeed.
The debut disc from this Birmingham-based foursome isn't going to shock anyone stylistically; in fact, the first 8-16 bars of the opening track "Lights" are likely all the convincing you'll need to file The Back Room between the last Interpol record and The Killers' Hot Fuss on your cd shelf (I've done a few reviews on topic, so I won't bore the tits off you by going into all of the influences of the influences--oh wait, here's another). I don't even think it would be unfair to call the record derivative. So, what is so good here? It's useful to define the band's strengths in negative terms: less sepulchral and wearisome than Interpol, less stridently commercial and faux-ennui-laden than The Killers, less young man sturm-und-drangy than Bloc Party. What's left is incredibly tight songwriting, sound and performance, and a record that for the genre is frighteningly easy to listen to. It also ends better than it starts--excellent.
The album's sound is spacious and warm and covered with a modest layer of reverb. The instrumentalism displays good taste, rather than idiosyncrasy: rigidly metrical and ringy upper-range lead guitar ("as was the style at the time"); springy bass, often in the fifths and octaves new wave/disco style; and drums that efficiently hop along on the up-tempo numbers ("Blood")and create good and stuck-in grooves on the mid-tempo ones ("All Sparks"). Singer Tom Smith sounds at times like a composite of others' timbres and mannerisms, most notably the Interpol guy, The Chameleons' Mark Burgess (the breathy upper-range in "Fingers In The Factories"--frightening!) and Ian McCulloch (other comparisons being made to Echo and The Bunnymen in the press are IMNSHO bizarre) ; mostly, though, he's a pleasing if range-limited blend of crooning and declamation. The lyrics sing well but they won't be winning any Pulitzers.
The Back Room's a very strong set, with only the standard-issue misery-guts "Fall" drawing my index finger toward the fast-forward button. My favourite three tracks are one each fast, mid and slow: "Munich," the obvious single and catchy as hell in an Interpol/Killers kind of way, but livelier; "Bullets," the loudest thing on the album, with a chunky groove worthy of the New FADs; and particularly "Open Your Arms," the climax of which'll send a shiver up your spine. If I can't think of too much to say about the rest of the material, it's because it's all really good, from the tough and declamatory "All Sparks" to the dreamy and expansive "Distance."
I'll never say that originality is overrated (promise!), but The Back Room is proof positive that it's not essential. Whether something so easy on the ear will end up having, erm, legs is open to question, but for right now, I'm happy. And that's what counts. Recommendation: high now; in a month's time..?
Friday, August 11, 2006
Records In Review: The Futureheads--News And Tributes
Review of first album here. Read it so's I don't have to repeat myself.
The much-anticipated (by me, the only person who counts) second album from the Sunderland four-piece is a grower and a change-of-pace from their excellent and spirited self-titled debut. Sonically, there haven't been any radical changes: there's still the same noisy guitars, albeit with the occasional appearance of an acoustic, and reliance on multi-part harmonies (guitarists Barry Hyde and Ross Millard share the lead vocal duties in much the same ratio as on album number one, roughly 2:1). The record's got a different personality, though, with more measured pacing (which wouldn't be difficult!), and songwriting that doesn't play so much to the back of the hall and which is distancing itself from its obvious early influences XTC and Gang Of Four. If anything, there's a touch of mod influence on a few of the songs (like "Favours For Favours") that was only hinted at on The Futureheads. The production's hard-hitting, bordering on elephantine in places--the toms on "Burnt" threatened to put a hole in my speakers--and takes a few listens to warm up to. It's a terrible album for the Discman, as it always seems to be too loud or too soft. The mix is excellent, however, and there's some lovely separation of sounds, a good example being the break part in the wonderful first single "Skip To The End." The arrangements are I think an improvement: subtler without losing any of the crunch.
As for the songs themselves, what's good is top quality, but what's less good isn't so hot; fortunately, three-quarters of it's the former. Among the best is the aforementioned "Skip To The End," a mid-paced and volume, sparsely-arranged twitchy number that sounds unlike anything the band has done before; "Cope," an absolutely scorching stomper that sounds like an improvement on the better bits of Fire Dances-era Killing Joke; and "Worry About It Later," which integrates a surprisingly conventional but infectious mod-ish chorus hook into the group's customary spiky aesthetic with relative ease. The more relaxed vein works really well here too, with "Back To The Sea" and the dreamy "Thursday." The title track, a more-or-less recitative tribute to those lost in the Manchester United airliner tragedy of 1958, took the longest to grow on me, but it's one of the best examples of the F-head's skills at four-part (I think) harmony, and goes very nicely with a restrained marching beat. Add in lead vocalist Millard's glottal delivery, and you've got a less anthemic and more abstract Big Country.
I'm less impressed with the songs that bookend the album. "Yes/No" is good and loud once it gets going but has considerably less to say than The Futureheads opener "Le Garage," and takes twice as long to say it. The finale "Face" is ponderous and very wooden in terms of melody, and as for switches to double-time...well, let's just say I'm not a fan. I'm also baffled by the inclusion of the screamed, hell-for-leather "The Return Of The Berserker," which certainly doesn't have much to recommend it even as a noise experiment. If its purpose is to show that they're not pussies, it's wholly unnecessary and extremely disruptive to the album's flow.
Like a lot of bands who put their aesthetic first, there's the occasional bit of songwriting detail that gets missed; e.g.,"Favours For Favours" and "Burnt" have a couple too many finale iterations, and "Back To The Sea" could do a better of job of building toward its chorus. But whatever criticisms are to be made of News And Tributes, you can't deny the breadth of material and mood, and the impression that this is a band that's maturing in the best sense of the word. On the five-Geordie scale, I'm giving it 1/4 less than the first album. Recommendation: a brave and very worthwhile record, if just a wee bit short of material.
The much-anticipated (by me, the only person who counts) second album from the Sunderland four-piece is a grower and a change-of-pace from their excellent and spirited self-titled debut. Sonically, there haven't been any radical changes: there's still the same noisy guitars, albeit with the occasional appearance of an acoustic, and reliance on multi-part harmonies (guitarists Barry Hyde and Ross Millard share the lead vocal duties in much the same ratio as on album number one, roughly 2:1). The record's got a different personality, though, with more measured pacing (which wouldn't be difficult!), and songwriting that doesn't play so much to the back of the hall and which is distancing itself from its obvious early influences XTC and Gang Of Four. If anything, there's a touch of mod influence on a few of the songs (like "Favours For Favours") that was only hinted at on The Futureheads. The production's hard-hitting, bordering on elephantine in places--the toms on "Burnt" threatened to put a hole in my speakers--and takes a few listens to warm up to. It's a terrible album for the Discman, as it always seems to be too loud or too soft. The mix is excellent, however, and there's some lovely separation of sounds, a good example being the break part in the wonderful first single "Skip To The End." The arrangements are I think an improvement: subtler without losing any of the crunch.
As for the songs themselves, what's good is top quality, but what's less good isn't so hot; fortunately, three-quarters of it's the former. Among the best is the aforementioned "Skip To The End," a mid-paced and volume, sparsely-arranged twitchy number that sounds unlike anything the band has done before; "Cope," an absolutely scorching stomper that sounds like an improvement on the better bits of Fire Dances-era Killing Joke; and "Worry About It Later," which integrates a surprisingly conventional but infectious mod-ish chorus hook into the group's customary spiky aesthetic with relative ease. The more relaxed vein works really well here too, with "Back To The Sea" and the dreamy "Thursday." The title track, a more-or-less recitative tribute to those lost in the Manchester United airliner tragedy of 1958, took the longest to grow on me, but it's one of the best examples of the F-head's skills at four-part (I think) harmony, and goes very nicely with a restrained marching beat. Add in lead vocalist Millard's glottal delivery, and you've got a less anthemic and more abstract Big Country.
I'm less impressed with the songs that bookend the album. "Yes/No" is good and loud once it gets going but has considerably less to say than The Futureheads opener "Le Garage," and takes twice as long to say it. The finale "Face" is ponderous and very wooden in terms of melody, and as for switches to double-time...well, let's just say I'm not a fan. I'm also baffled by the inclusion of the screamed, hell-for-leather "The Return Of The Berserker," which certainly doesn't have much to recommend it even as a noise experiment. If its purpose is to show that they're not pussies, it's wholly unnecessary and extremely disruptive to the album's flow.
Like a lot of bands who put their aesthetic first, there's the occasional bit of songwriting detail that gets missed; e.g.,"Favours For Favours" and "Burnt" have a couple too many finale iterations, and "Back To The Sea" could do a better of job of building toward its chorus. But whatever criticisms are to be made of News And Tributes, you can't deny the breadth of material and mood, and the impression that this is a band that's maturing in the best sense of the word. On the five-Geordie scale, I'm giving it 1/4 less than the first album. Recommendation: a brave and very worthwhile record, if just a wee bit short of material.
Saturday, April 1, 2006
Records In Review: Sam Roberts--Chemical City
One of the good things about dreading the worst is that you won't easily be disappointed. But as that middle-class punk in Repo Man said, "It...still...hurts!"
Now, I am a Sam fan, don't get me wrong. I loved the first (proper) ep and very much liked We Were Corn In A Flake. I just felt that the latter (and accompanying live show) represented a musical approach with a short shelf-life, and unfortunately Chemical City does very little to disabuse me of that impression. I haven't read any reviews of this album yet, as is my habit, but just on the off-chance that the words "prog" and "rock" show up in a few of them, I pre-emptively shout "nonsense." A tendency toward long-windedness aside, it's the same fish here, just in different wrappings; or rather, the same beardy scruff with bedroom eyes, just wearing a different t-shirt and playing a little more electric guitar. SR still has his Dylan fetish and he still likes writing and singing shuffle-beat rhythms.
There's always been this pull between the popster and the old-school rocker in Roberts (probably more apparent live than in the studio). On his earlier stuff, this added interest and tension, but here, when he takes the hippie-freak route of longer songs with looser structures, things tend to fall flat. As the yobs say, he's gotta have the hooks! And some economy. The production on the album's better than on WWBIAF; it's harder-driving and less lo-fi. His band, intact bar the drummer from his previous tour, is very energetic and together when they rock out old-school, but not virtuosic, and they don't produce a sound with a lot of internal detail. I find this diminishes the effect of the ensemble playing and crescendos after a while [what are you writing for, Gramophone?--ed]. In any case, definitely an album for high-volume listening, if it's to be listened to at all.
I don't think it's any coincidence that the tracks I like best--two rockers, "Bootleg Saint" and "With A Bullet" and two quieter numbers, "Bridge To Nowhere" and "Uprising Down Under"--are the ones that are the most concise. "Bootleg Saint" is a slow, grungy scorcher with great hooks that begs to be turned up to the proverbial 11. Should be a hit with the stoner crowd. "Bridge" and "Uprising" contain echoes of "No Sleep" and "Taj Mahal" respectively from Flame, and the former would be a good choice for a single, with its bouncy rhythm, nice sing-along chorus and jangly acoustic guitar. "With A Bullet" has a much heavier feel than anything off previous records and balances control and hell-for-leather really well, as well as having some great arrangement and guitar.
The rest of the package ranges from okay to not so great. The pseudo-mystical "The Gate" opens the disc I suppose as a statement of intent, and it's half-successful. It has an attractive energy, but the lyrics are dumb, and the simple chord sequences combined with the loosey-goosey structure create an exemplar of muscle over brains. Smoking a spliff might up the enjoyment factor on this one. "Mind Flood" shows off Roberts' characteristic melodic facility and easy vocal patter, but goes on too long with a meandering instrumental outtro. "Mystified, Heavy" is alright but a bit stiff, particularly on the vocal front. Roberts' lack of variation in vocal delivery is a problem in a couple of places, actually, but particularly on the piano-and-vocals-only finale "A Stone Would Cry Out," which is inoffensive but about as exciting as this. The album low-points are the limp and humourless "An American Draft Dodger In Thunder Bay," and particularly "The Resistance," a definite case of trying too hard whose big musical statement is a switch to double-time. Nice acoustic-y finale part, though, if you haven't hit the fast-forward button already.
Flame wasn't a perfect album by any means, but it had a vibrancy and naivete that helped it get past the occasional duff bit (e.g., "On The Run"). Chemical City is more stylistically cohesive but in the end it just doesn't have enough attention to detail and craft to compensate for the ponderousness. Medium-to-big disappointment.
P.S. If you think I'm being overly critical, note that I didn't take one shot at the ridiculous band photo.
Now, I am a Sam fan, don't get me wrong. I loved the first (proper) ep and very much liked We Were Corn In A Flake. I just felt that the latter (and accompanying live show) represented a musical approach with a short shelf-life, and unfortunately Chemical City does very little to disabuse me of that impression. I haven't read any reviews of this album yet, as is my habit, but just on the off-chance that the words "prog" and "rock" show up in a few of them, I pre-emptively shout "nonsense." A tendency toward long-windedness aside, it's the same fish here, just in different wrappings; or rather, the same beardy scruff with bedroom eyes, just wearing a different t-shirt and playing a little more electric guitar. SR still has his Dylan fetish and he still likes writing and singing shuffle-beat rhythms.
There's always been this pull between the popster and the old-school rocker in Roberts (probably more apparent live than in the studio). On his earlier stuff, this added interest and tension, but here, when he takes the hippie-freak route of longer songs with looser structures, things tend to fall flat. As the yobs say, he's gotta have the hooks! And some economy. The production on the album's better than on WWBIAF; it's harder-driving and less lo-fi. His band, intact bar the drummer from his previous tour, is very energetic and together when they rock out old-school, but not virtuosic, and they don't produce a sound with a lot of internal detail. I find this diminishes the effect of the ensemble playing and crescendos after a while [what are you writing for, Gramophone?--ed]. In any case, definitely an album for high-volume listening, if it's to be listened to at all.
I don't think it's any coincidence that the tracks I like best--two rockers, "Bootleg Saint" and "With A Bullet" and two quieter numbers, "Bridge To Nowhere" and "Uprising Down Under"--are the ones that are the most concise. "Bootleg Saint" is a slow, grungy scorcher with great hooks that begs to be turned up to the proverbial 11. Should be a hit with the stoner crowd. "Bridge" and "Uprising" contain echoes of "No Sleep" and "Taj Mahal" respectively from Flame, and the former would be a good choice for a single, with its bouncy rhythm, nice sing-along chorus and jangly acoustic guitar. "With A Bullet" has a much heavier feel than anything off previous records and balances control and hell-for-leather really well, as well as having some great arrangement and guitar.
The rest of the package ranges from okay to not so great. The pseudo-mystical "The Gate" opens the disc I suppose as a statement of intent, and it's half-successful. It has an attractive energy, but the lyrics are dumb, and the simple chord sequences combined with the loosey-goosey structure create an exemplar of muscle over brains. Smoking a spliff might up the enjoyment factor on this one. "Mind Flood" shows off Roberts' characteristic melodic facility and easy vocal patter, but goes on too long with a meandering instrumental outtro. "Mystified, Heavy" is alright but a bit stiff, particularly on the vocal front. Roberts' lack of variation in vocal delivery is a problem in a couple of places, actually, but particularly on the piano-and-vocals-only finale "A Stone Would Cry Out," which is inoffensive but about as exciting as this. The album low-points are the limp and humourless "An American Draft Dodger In Thunder Bay," and particularly "The Resistance," a definite case of trying too hard whose big musical statement is a switch to double-time. Nice acoustic-y finale part, though, if you haven't hit the fast-forward button already.
Flame wasn't a perfect album by any means, but it had a vibrancy and naivete that helped it get past the occasional duff bit (e.g., "On The Run"). Chemical City is more stylistically cohesive but in the end it just doesn't have enough attention to detail and craft to compensate for the ponderousness. Medium-to-big disappointment.
P.S. If you think I'm being overly critical, note that I didn't take one shot at the ridiculous band photo.
Records In Review: Neko Case--Fox Confessor Brings The Flood
Right off the top, a confession: I have time for Neko Case's voice. An awful lot of time. In fact, if I was given to such things, one of my top musico-erotic fantasies would probably involve NC, Maggie Reilly, and a large consignment of Vista Bellas. But that's another subject for another blog.
Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, which I originally misread as ...Brings The Food (leading to some odd misinterpretations of the lyrics) is the alt-countryish Ms. Case's fourth studio album and it's been getting glowing reviews 'round these parts and has also been moving the odd unit, which is good news. For those unfamiliar with the husky-voiced artist, she's an honorary Canadian (a stint in Vancouver) and perhaps best known as a member of The New Pornographers, of whom I'm greatly enamoured, where she shares the vocal duties with Canuck Guy and Hippie Guy. But there be no power-pop here, fellow! Case's own music utilizes traditional country and folk motifs but comes across as decidedly non-traditional. There's a very dramatic, and often melodramatic side to her songwriting, but it's not Kate Bush dramatic--more of a sense of resignation--and the dynamics are often static and the atmosphere trapped in amber. Add some sonic thickness and you've got a music that's simultaneously pretty and creepy. The songs are generally short and often evanescent, and it's easy to imagine many of them being sung as asides by characters in a musical drama. I'm not exactly a font of knowledge on this genre, so I'm going to write in more general terms than usual, which is probably a better way of dealing with this record anyway.
This is a very good record, but I do have a few problems with it. If I liked everything on Fox Confessor as much as I like my four or five favorite songs, we'd be into rave territory, but life is seldom fair, even for the mere end-user of compact discs. The reliance on dramatics is something I'm not entirely comfortable with. My friend G-Love (Sans Special Sauce), who's more familiar with Case's ouevre than I, finds this aspect of her music (i.e., the end-product of a defined lyrical dramatic persona) slightly hokey. I'm not sure I'd put it in those terms, but I would say that there are times on the record when dramatic considerations and musicality are inversely proportional. I'm thinking here of songs like "Dirty Knife," which has very good bones but is prevented by its episodic nature from really getting going. The music feels almost incidental to the evoked mood. The lyrics are a bit much at times, too, especially when Case is in full wry drama queen mode: "The most tender place in my heart is for strangers/I know it's not kind, but my own blood is much too dangerous." Call me judgmental, but I just don't think you should be writing stuff like that when you're in your mid-30s.
At her best, Case combines a strong melody with an exceptional vocal cadence. Two of the three tracks on the album co-written with The Sadies, "The Needle Has Landed" and "Hold On, Hold On" (from whence the cited offending lyric came) are standouts in this regard. They're both upbeat, straight-ahead and slightly twangy, with bouncy and sharp vocal rhythms that have a way of sticking with you for days. "That Teenage Feeling" is a bit kitschy for me, but again the vocal writing and performance is excellent. Other standouts are the cautionary but fatalistic (and creepy) "Maybe Sparrow," which features some nice details of arrangement, the brief bit of atmosphere "A Widow's Toast," and particularly "Star Witness," which is a great example of the aforementioned creepy/pretty thing, especially in the way that the static, loping three-beat verses give way to a beautifully simple chorus melody and some killer harmonies. Again, a bit much on the lyrical front. The rest of the material is of varying quality, mostly good, but the arrangements are uniformly strong and the vocal performances (you sensing a pattern here?) engaging. The second of the three Sadies collaborations, "Lion's Jaws," is my least favorite track, mostly because Case's singing is lacking in subtlety. In general, I'm happier with Fox Confessor when there's less of the dramatics and/or knowing winks at genre getting between me and the music.
Both the album and the songs are shortish, making this an easy listen in addition to being an engaging one. The production's boomy and the vocals reverberant so listening at low-to-mid volume's the thing to do. Recommended, with a couple of provisos.
Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, which I originally misread as ...Brings The Food (leading to some odd misinterpretations of the lyrics) is the alt-countryish Ms. Case's fourth studio album and it's been getting glowing reviews 'round these parts and has also been moving the odd unit, which is good news. For those unfamiliar with the husky-voiced artist, she's an honorary Canadian (a stint in Vancouver) and perhaps best known as a member of The New Pornographers, of whom I'm greatly enamoured, where she shares the vocal duties with Canuck Guy and Hippie Guy. But there be no power-pop here, fellow! Case's own music utilizes traditional country and folk motifs but comes across as decidedly non-traditional. There's a very dramatic, and often melodramatic side to her songwriting, but it's not Kate Bush dramatic--more of a sense of resignation--and the dynamics are often static and the atmosphere trapped in amber. Add some sonic thickness and you've got a music that's simultaneously pretty and creepy. The songs are generally short and often evanescent, and it's easy to imagine many of them being sung as asides by characters in a musical drama. I'm not exactly a font of knowledge on this genre, so I'm going to write in more general terms than usual, which is probably a better way of dealing with this record anyway.
This is a very good record, but I do have a few problems with it. If I liked everything on Fox Confessor as much as I like my four or five favorite songs, we'd be into rave territory, but life is seldom fair, even for the mere end-user of compact discs. The reliance on dramatics is something I'm not entirely comfortable with. My friend G-Love (Sans Special Sauce), who's more familiar with Case's ouevre than I, finds this aspect of her music (i.e., the end-product of a defined lyrical dramatic persona) slightly hokey. I'm not sure I'd put it in those terms, but I would say that there are times on the record when dramatic considerations and musicality are inversely proportional. I'm thinking here of songs like "Dirty Knife," which has very good bones but is prevented by its episodic nature from really getting going. The music feels almost incidental to the evoked mood. The lyrics are a bit much at times, too, especially when Case is in full wry drama queen mode: "The most tender place in my heart is for strangers/I know it's not kind, but my own blood is much too dangerous." Call me judgmental, but I just don't think you should be writing stuff like that when you're in your mid-30s.
At her best, Case combines a strong melody with an exceptional vocal cadence. Two of the three tracks on the album co-written with The Sadies, "The Needle Has Landed" and "Hold On, Hold On" (from whence the cited offending lyric came) are standouts in this regard. They're both upbeat, straight-ahead and slightly twangy, with bouncy and sharp vocal rhythms that have a way of sticking with you for days. "That Teenage Feeling" is a bit kitschy for me, but again the vocal writing and performance is excellent. Other standouts are the cautionary but fatalistic (and creepy) "Maybe Sparrow," which features some nice details of arrangement, the brief bit of atmosphere "A Widow's Toast," and particularly "Star Witness," which is a great example of the aforementioned creepy/pretty thing, especially in the way that the static, loping three-beat verses give way to a beautifully simple chorus melody and some killer harmonies. Again, a bit much on the lyrical front. The rest of the material is of varying quality, mostly good, but the arrangements are uniformly strong and the vocal performances (you sensing a pattern here?) engaging. The second of the three Sadies collaborations, "Lion's Jaws," is my least favorite track, mostly because Case's singing is lacking in subtlety. In general, I'm happier with Fox Confessor when there's less of the dramatics and/or knowing winks at genre getting between me and the music.
Both the album and the songs are shortish, making this an easy listen in addition to being an engaging one. The production's boomy and the vocals reverberant so listening at low-to-mid volume's the thing to do. Recommended, with a couple of provisos.
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Film Review: Cross Of Iron
Pelette and I took in the late-period Sam Peckinpaugh flick Cross Of Iron (1976) at Cinematheque on Saturday night. I'm sure that Sean will be posting a fuller and more insightful review soon, but in the meantime my humble and semi-literate efforts will have to suffice.
You can read the allmovie guide synopsis, but briefly: the film's setting is the Crimea in 1943, when the writing was clearly visible on the wall for the German regiments. James Coburn is Rolf Steiner, a fearless platoon leader who's only loyalty is to his men, James Mason is the well-intentioned and war-weary commandant (with David Warner--not playing an alien and/or miserable creep!--as his slightly shell-shocked Captain and intellectual confidant), and Max Schell is the Prussian aristocrat Captain Stransky: newly-arrived, old-school, uninterested in Hitler and his ideology, and on the make to pick up the Iron Cross as quickly and cheaply as possible. The conflict between Stransky and Steiner is really the basis of what plot there is here, and things start to heat up when the former's claim to the Cross, based on supposed valorous conduct in battle, is gainsaid by Steiner (a grunt who already has the IC) and his platoon. Steiner becomes a problem to be got rid of...
Cross Of Iron certainly contains a lot of different and interesting technical elements. The film's epilogue is a quote from Bertolt Brecht's The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, which is quite telling as, while I wouldn't characterize Peckinpaugh's techniques as "Brechtian" exactly, there are a number of things, like the unexpected use of montage and the very occasional eruption of orchestral soundtrack that break up the rhythm of the film. All of this is filtered through the director's tendency to live in the moment and to big it up, American-style. Stylistically, there is a large helping of satire, some of it overtly comic (as in the excellent scene where Schell makes his introductions to Mason and Warner), more than a little chunk of melodrama and, this being Peckinpaugh, a generous spread of things and people being shot and blown up...in slow motion, of course. "I say, anyone for tennis..?"
It's a good flick that certainly doesn't feel long at 2-and-a-quarter hours (this non-pristine European print contained an extra 11 minutes, where I don't know), but it is bedevilled by inconsistency. The script is one of the problems. There are great internal scenes and parts of scenes almost worthy of David Lean, and others, such as those revolving around Steiner's time recovering in the infirmary, that are a bit threadbare. The stylistic balance is also a bit out of whack. A lot of the film, perhaps by commercial necessity, is action and while a lot of it's good--the stealth movements by Steiner's platoon are particularly suspenseful--I got the distinct impression of different versions of the film competing for space. I for one would have preferred a few more scenes with Coburn, Mason and Schell and a few less of Russkies being machine-gunned in slo-mo. Given all of these contrasting and often conflicting elements, pacing is actually pretty good, with the exception of the ending which is very abrupt. The movie's really lacking a final scene (mostly due to production problems, I gather).
The acting's a strength. Lots of good moments from the minor players, but the principals are in fine form. Schell is at his oily and dangerous best (albeit slightly undercut by his character's buffoonery); Coburn's cod-German accent escapes him when he gets agitated, but he pulls off Steiner's combination of humanity and necessary ruthlessness brilliantly. Mason gets less of the glory but he's exemplary as the fatherly commander with a sense of perspective who's trying to salvage what lives, honour and dignity he can out of a bad and worsening situation. There's also a really interesting element of theatricality about the film that creates these odd, what I can only describe as "out of time" moments (viz the scene where Steiner frees the Russian boy that his platoon captured), which contrast effectively with the claustrophobic and impending doom-laden trench settings.
As I said earlier, C of I's a film that draws attention to its own technique, certainly more so than the main-sequence Peckinpaughs that I've seen. A good film that could have been better. If you like Peckinpaugh, you're surely going to find lots to like here, and if you don't, hey: he blowed up REAL good!!
You can read the allmovie guide synopsis, but briefly: the film's setting is the Crimea in 1943, when the writing was clearly visible on the wall for the German regiments. James Coburn is Rolf Steiner, a fearless platoon leader who's only loyalty is to his men, James Mason is the well-intentioned and war-weary commandant (with David Warner--not playing an alien and/or miserable creep!--as his slightly shell-shocked Captain and intellectual confidant), and Max Schell is the Prussian aristocrat Captain Stransky: newly-arrived, old-school, uninterested in Hitler and his ideology, and on the make to pick up the Iron Cross as quickly and cheaply as possible. The conflict between Stransky and Steiner is really the basis of what plot there is here, and things start to heat up when the former's claim to the Cross, based on supposed valorous conduct in battle, is gainsaid by Steiner (a grunt who already has the IC) and his platoon. Steiner becomes a problem to be got rid of...
Cross Of Iron certainly contains a lot of different and interesting technical elements. The film's epilogue is a quote from Bertolt Brecht's The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, which is quite telling as, while I wouldn't characterize Peckinpaugh's techniques as "Brechtian" exactly, there are a number of things, like the unexpected use of montage and the very occasional eruption of orchestral soundtrack that break up the rhythm of the film. All of this is filtered through the director's tendency to live in the moment and to big it up, American-style. Stylistically, there is a large helping of satire, some of it overtly comic (as in the excellent scene where Schell makes his introductions to Mason and Warner), more than a little chunk of melodrama and, this being Peckinpaugh, a generous spread of things and people being shot and blown up...in slow motion, of course. "I say, anyone for tennis..?"
It's a good flick that certainly doesn't feel long at 2-and-a-quarter hours (this non-pristine European print contained an extra 11 minutes, where I don't know), but it is bedevilled by inconsistency. The script is one of the problems. There are great internal scenes and parts of scenes almost worthy of David Lean, and others, such as those revolving around Steiner's time recovering in the infirmary, that are a bit threadbare. The stylistic balance is also a bit out of whack. A lot of the film, perhaps by commercial necessity, is action and while a lot of it's good--the stealth movements by Steiner's platoon are particularly suspenseful--I got the distinct impression of different versions of the film competing for space. I for one would have preferred a few more scenes with Coburn, Mason and Schell and a few less of Russkies being machine-gunned in slo-mo. Given all of these contrasting and often conflicting elements, pacing is actually pretty good, with the exception of the ending which is very abrupt. The movie's really lacking a final scene (mostly due to production problems, I gather).
The acting's a strength. Lots of good moments from the minor players, but the principals are in fine form. Schell is at his oily and dangerous best (albeit slightly undercut by his character's buffoonery); Coburn's cod-German accent escapes him when he gets agitated, but he pulls off Steiner's combination of humanity and necessary ruthlessness brilliantly. Mason gets less of the glory but he's exemplary as the fatherly commander with a sense of perspective who's trying to salvage what lives, honour and dignity he can out of a bad and worsening situation. There's also a really interesting element of theatricality about the film that creates these odd, what I can only describe as "out of time" moments (viz the scene where Steiner frees the Russian boy that his platoon captured), which contrast effectively with the claustrophobic and impending doom-laden trench settings.
As I said earlier, C of I's a film that draws attention to its own technique, certainly more so than the main-sequence Peckinpaughs that I've seen. A good film that could have been better. If you like Peckinpaugh, you're surely going to find lots to like here, and if you don't, hey: he blowed up REAL good!!
Records In Review: Moving Units--Dangerous Dreams
The sub-heading for this review should be, with thanks to Dr. Nick Riviera, "you've tried the best, now try the rest!" Moving Units are a Californian entry in the new wave revivalist sweepstakes. Dangerous Dreams (2004) is the three-piece's first full-length release, and within its polycarbonate depths can be heard bits and pieces of a number of influences, both contemporary and ancient, which I'll go into as needs be, but I'll just say this one thing now: don't believe anything you read about this record resembling Gang Of Four in any meaningful way.
MU's principal musical mode is a crunchy, new wavey disco a la Franz Ferdinand, albeit lighter on the Brit jack-the-laddism and heavier on the west coast sleaze. Odd, considering that some of the bandmembers apparently came from the hardcore scene. The songs in this style, like the opening track "Emancipation," feature skronking, metallic guitar, fake-slappy octave-intervalled disco bass and loud 'n' messy drumming. The balance between the instruments is actually quite good, even if the band sound isn't particularly well-developed or detailed and the production is kind of in Nowheresville. The vocal production in particular is not good and consists of a thin layer of goop over almost all of the tracks that's guaranteed to get on your nerves double-quick (as will the vocals--more on that later). A few of the other tracks lean more toward electropop "Anyone" or the gloomy doomy sound of Interpol and the like ("Scars"). The lyrics range from not particularly good to godawful. The dance/disco-tinged tracks are of mixed quality, to put it mildly. They all suffer more or less from an approach that's neither subtle enough to be interesting nor over-the-top enough to be fun.
"Emancipation" is an okay beginning to the record. It's like a lighter, upbeat Franz Ferdinand; or, if you like, Hot Hot Heat with a stiffer rhythm section (same general harmonic landscape). "Unpersuaded," with its lounge guitar chords and herky-jerky slightly latinate rhythm, is the best of the songs in this style. The lounge-latin cheeze--maybe they picked it up from here?--is a persistent and persistently aggravating motif, and it doesn't do "Submission" or "Bricks And Mortar" (awful lyrics) any favours. My imagination conjures up conga lines, cruise ships, and paunchy, leering middle-aged crooners with sequinned suits and Brylcreemed hair. "Available" is embarrassing; I could only bring myself to listen to it through twice, the second time being of course "for science." Singer/guitarist Blake Miller's vocal performance, not one of DD's strengths and hampered by an oily, pseudo-Brit inflection, is particularly bad on this one and brings back unfond memories of this.
The remainder of the material's a bit better. My favorite track is "Between Us And Them," which is quick, concise and with one foot in the Interpol camp--picked eighth-note bass melody and gloomy chorus. You can really hear the influence of The Strokes' Julian Casablancas both on this song and on "Birds Of Prey," as Miller shares the former's penchant for stretching lines out and landing after the beat in faux/ironic-crooner style. "Anyone" features beatbox and keyboards, including some sounds that wouldn't be out of place on an early Ultravox/John Foxx album, and has some nice texturing to it. "Scars" is a bit overlong and features a vocal outtro that sounds like the mating call of the Baudet du Poitou (unsuccessful), but is otherwise a reasonable facsimile of the glum and grandiose Interpol/Chameleons/Cure school. "Killer/Lover" is nice and discordant, if a bit wooden on the songwriting front. The scratchy guitar in the finale is very Bloc Party.
In the final result, there's nothing on Dangerous Dreams that I'd consider essential listening, and there's too many distracting and/or taste-challenged elements on the album to make it listenable. Their contemporaries do it better, and more often. Not recommended.
MU's principal musical mode is a crunchy, new wavey disco a la Franz Ferdinand, albeit lighter on the Brit jack-the-laddism and heavier on the west coast sleaze. Odd, considering that some of the bandmembers apparently came from the hardcore scene. The songs in this style, like the opening track "Emancipation," feature skronking, metallic guitar, fake-slappy octave-intervalled disco bass and loud 'n' messy drumming. The balance between the instruments is actually quite good, even if the band sound isn't particularly well-developed or detailed and the production is kind of in Nowheresville. The vocal production in particular is not good and consists of a thin layer of goop over almost all of the tracks that's guaranteed to get on your nerves double-quick (as will the vocals--more on that later). A few of the other tracks lean more toward electropop "Anyone" or the gloomy doomy sound of Interpol and the like ("Scars"). The lyrics range from not particularly good to godawful. The dance/disco-tinged tracks are of mixed quality, to put it mildly. They all suffer more or less from an approach that's neither subtle enough to be interesting nor over-the-top enough to be fun.
"Emancipation" is an okay beginning to the record. It's like a lighter, upbeat Franz Ferdinand; or, if you like, Hot Hot Heat with a stiffer rhythm section (same general harmonic landscape). "Unpersuaded," with its lounge guitar chords and herky-jerky slightly latinate rhythm, is the best of the songs in this style. The lounge-latin cheeze--maybe they picked it up from here?--is a persistent and persistently aggravating motif, and it doesn't do "Submission" or "Bricks And Mortar" (awful lyrics) any favours. My imagination conjures up conga lines, cruise ships, and paunchy, leering middle-aged crooners with sequinned suits and Brylcreemed hair. "Available" is embarrassing; I could only bring myself to listen to it through twice, the second time being of course "for science." Singer/guitarist Blake Miller's vocal performance, not one of DD's strengths and hampered by an oily, pseudo-Brit inflection, is particularly bad on this one and brings back unfond memories of this.
The remainder of the material's a bit better. My favorite track is "Between Us And Them," which is quick, concise and with one foot in the Interpol camp--picked eighth-note bass melody and gloomy chorus. You can really hear the influence of The Strokes' Julian Casablancas both on this song and on "Birds Of Prey," as Miller shares the former's penchant for stretching lines out and landing after the beat in faux/ironic-crooner style. "Anyone" features beatbox and keyboards, including some sounds that wouldn't be out of place on an early Ultravox/John Foxx album, and has some nice texturing to it. "Scars" is a bit overlong and features a vocal outtro that sounds like the mating call of the Baudet du Poitou (unsuccessful), but is otherwise a reasonable facsimile of the glum and grandiose Interpol/Chameleons/Cure school. "Killer/Lover" is nice and discordant, if a bit wooden on the songwriting front. The scratchy guitar in the finale is very Bloc Party.
In the final result, there's nothing on Dangerous Dreams that I'd consider essential listening, and there's too many distracting and/or taste-challenged elements on the album to make it listenable. Their contemporaries do it better, and more often. Not recommended.
Records In Review: The Decemberists--Picaresque
Album no. 3 from faux-gothic American mutant folksters The Decemberists. Damn--I really have to learn not to fire the bolt in the first paragraph. Well, please read on anyway...
Picaresque (released last spring) doesn't cosy up to you on the first listen. Hardly surprising: there's an awful lot of outlandish and over-the-top elements to assimilate right from the get-go, and the band's style ranges from hang-dog straight narrative folk ("Eli, The Barrow Boy," "From My Own True Love") to borderline power-pop ("16 Military Wives"), with a few stops in between. The line-up is what you'd expect from an outfit with folksy roots: acoustic guitar, upright bass, lightly-produced drums and accordion and/or hurdy-gurdy or something (don't have the liner notes), although augmented with a bit of electric guitar, some keyboards, and bold strings and horns that are fully integrated into the songs. Arrangements are uniformly confident, often swaggeringly so. Geetarist/mainman Colin Meloy has an unmistakable voice that not everyone is going to take to--extremely nasal with some strange diction. I find him distracting in a few places, but generally charming.
All other considerations aside, it's hard not to be impressed by Meloy's easy melodic facility, which really hits home with repeated listenings. One of my favorite tracks, the languid pop-folk "The Engine Driver," moves from section to section with incredible fluidity and grace because of the lovely vocal lines. The aforementioned and up-tempo "16 Military Wives," a hit single in my ideal alternate universe and a million miles away stylistically, is big and brassy but similarly derives a lot of strength from the forward motion of the vocals.
Back to the outlandish and over-the-top for a sec. The opening track, "The Infanta," (lyrics here) thunders along in all its semitonic glory like a psychotic bullfighting theme, painting a picture of the installation of a child queen. Exhilarating, but it's hurt a bit by its silliness, particularly in the break section, and could use a little editing and dialing back of the wild arrangement at the finale. Also in need of a little trim at the back is the otherwise excellent "The Bagman's Gambit," which effectively combines dynamically static acoustic guitar and vocal verses with some real foot-to-gas-pedal choruses--probably the most rockist approach on the album. The weakness in both songs is an (intermittent) hesitation about where to go next.
"The Sporting Life" (are these guys really Yanks?) is a very obvious Smiths homage, right down to the vocal inflections and intervals, and a very enjoyable one too. The lyrics are a light-hearted American transposition of The Mozzer's mopey loser shtick, which adds to the fun. The rest of the material I like very much, with the possible exception of "On The Bus Mall," which is fairly anonymous late-'80s jangle-pop, albeit very prettily arranged. The glacial "From My Own True Love" is, despite Meloy's annoying inflections in the chorus, my favorite of the folk tunes, but "Eli, The Barrow Boy" (I've double-checked: the band IS American!) gives it a run for the money. The nine-minute campy narrative "The Mariner's Revenge Song" is a hoot, but probably not for regular consumption. The guitar/vocal finale "Of Angels And Angles" is very pretty, and sounds like Nick Drake without the heavy hand. A nice palate cleanser to end the disc.
This review probably comes across as more critical than I intended. Even displaying a few errors in judgment, Picaresque is very lively and a good listen from start to finish, with variety and confident delivery to burn. Very much recommended.
Picaresque (released last spring) doesn't cosy up to you on the first listen. Hardly surprising: there's an awful lot of outlandish and over-the-top elements to assimilate right from the get-go, and the band's style ranges from hang-dog straight narrative folk ("Eli, The Barrow Boy," "From My Own True Love") to borderline power-pop ("16 Military Wives"), with a few stops in between. The line-up is what you'd expect from an outfit with folksy roots: acoustic guitar, upright bass, lightly-produced drums and accordion and/or hurdy-gurdy or something (don't have the liner notes), although augmented with a bit of electric guitar, some keyboards, and bold strings and horns that are fully integrated into the songs. Arrangements are uniformly confident, often swaggeringly so. Geetarist/mainman Colin Meloy has an unmistakable voice that not everyone is going to take to--extremely nasal with some strange diction. I find him distracting in a few places, but generally charming.
All other considerations aside, it's hard not to be impressed by Meloy's easy melodic facility, which really hits home with repeated listenings. One of my favorite tracks, the languid pop-folk "The Engine Driver," moves from section to section with incredible fluidity and grace because of the lovely vocal lines. The aforementioned and up-tempo "16 Military Wives," a hit single in my ideal alternate universe and a million miles away stylistically, is big and brassy but similarly derives a lot of strength from the forward motion of the vocals.
Back to the outlandish and over-the-top for a sec. The opening track, "The Infanta," (lyrics here) thunders along in all its semitonic glory like a psychotic bullfighting theme, painting a picture of the installation of a child queen. Exhilarating, but it's hurt a bit by its silliness, particularly in the break section, and could use a little editing and dialing back of the wild arrangement at the finale. Also in need of a little trim at the back is the otherwise excellent "The Bagman's Gambit," which effectively combines dynamically static acoustic guitar and vocal verses with some real foot-to-gas-pedal choruses--probably the most rockist approach on the album. The weakness in both songs is an (intermittent) hesitation about where to go next.
"The Sporting Life" (are these guys really Yanks?) is a very obvious Smiths homage, right down to the vocal inflections and intervals, and a very enjoyable one too. The lyrics are a light-hearted American transposition of The Mozzer's mopey loser shtick, which adds to the fun. The rest of the material I like very much, with the possible exception of "On The Bus Mall," which is fairly anonymous late-'80s jangle-pop, albeit very prettily arranged. The glacial "From My Own True Love" is, despite Meloy's annoying inflections in the chorus, my favorite of the folk tunes, but "Eli, The Barrow Boy" (I've double-checked: the band IS American!) gives it a run for the money. The nine-minute campy narrative "The Mariner's Revenge Song" is a hoot, but probably not for regular consumption. The guitar/vocal finale "Of Angels And Angles" is very pretty, and sounds like Nick Drake without the heavy hand. A nice palate cleanser to end the disc.
This review probably comes across as more critical than I intended. Even displaying a few errors in judgment, Picaresque is very lively and a good listen from start to finish, with variety and confident delivery to burn. Very much recommended.
Records In Review: Bloc Party--Silent Alarm
I'm beginning to think I've got "sucker" tattooed on my forehead; I'm such an easy mark for all of this new wave revivalist stuff.
If I was to compare London's Bloc Party to some of their generational colleagues, I'd say that it's the same ballpark, different hot dog. The influences on display on their debut album Silent Alarm are less of the mod set, Gang Of Four and XTC, and more of P.I.L., The Chameleons (yes, I know I keep bringing them up, but I will continue to do so until people stop ripping them off!) and a little bit of The Cure; so, it's no surprise that BP's is a sound that, like much of the output of these latter three, mixes the aggression with a touch of grandeur--and very successfully too. In terms of instrumentation, it's the guitars that steal the show, as they produce a lot of different sounds, from the sustained to the metrical to the scratchy and reverberated; they're complemented by some keyboard washes and effects here and there. The bass pulses, often with an implied "dubness" to it, and the drums are fairly frenetic, pounding and rough around the edges (usually in a good way, but occasionally with more blood than brains like in the opening to "Banquet"). I hear Martin Atkins in many of the drum patterns (hear "Positive Tensions"). Singer Kele Okereke alternates between subdued achiness and a glottal declamatory style that brings to mind either Robert Smith, Damon Albarn or John Lydon, depending on which song you're listening to. With the vocals, melody is usually secondary to rhythm and attack.
I have to admit that after the first three tracks, I thought that there might be too much of the emo tendency here for my taste, but the middle section of the disc is a peach and with mucho variety. The martial "Price Of Gas" is the most obviously P.I.L.-inspired (hear Okereke's Lydonesque yelps), with the bass and drums providing the foundation in the verse and intro parts while the guitars skitter along the surface. In contrast to this approach, you've got the infectious and radio-friendly new-wave/disco "Banquet," in which the rhythm section and guitars are pretty much working as one metrical unit. Another favorite is "This Modern Love," which, despite it's borderline wimpy-'80s-love-song opening, ends up as quite an exhilarating number. I think it's on tracks like this that the defined edges of the band's instrumentation are a real advantage. BP don't rely on indiscriminate washes of sound, even on the loud and monolithic "Pioneers." "Blue Light" is a sweet, gentle and welcome change of pace.
Back to my Chameleons obsession: I guess what I'm talking about is some of the twin guitar (the opening to "Helicopter" is a good example), the kind of drawn-out sectional songwriting on display in the powerful "Like Eating Glass," and the album's overall blend of wistful and earnest. The final track, "Compliments," does have more of The Cure's shoe-staring dirge quality about it, for those who're into such things. I prefer wistfulness to overwrought, but that's just me (and I am right).
The International Record Evaluation Standards (IRES) require me to deduct a half-cookie for the last few tracks not being up to the standard of the rest of the disc, and an additional quarter for dipping into the same harmonic well maybe once too often, but other than that, this one's yet another keeper, and a nice change from the jerkier styles of the likes of The Futureheads and Maximo Park. Amazing how many of these bands have created a unique sound, despite wearing their influences so boldly on their sleeves. Muchly recommended.
P.S. My burned copy of this disc appears to be missing track 11 ("This one doesn't go up to 11"). If this is the greatest song in the history of rock music, I will adjust my review accordingly.
If I was to compare London's Bloc Party to some of their generational colleagues, I'd say that it's the same ballpark, different hot dog. The influences on display on their debut album Silent Alarm are less of the mod set, Gang Of Four and XTC, and more of P.I.L., The Chameleons (yes, I know I keep bringing them up, but I will continue to do so until people stop ripping them off!) and a little bit of The Cure; so, it's no surprise that BP's is a sound that, like much of the output of these latter three, mixes the aggression with a touch of grandeur--and very successfully too. In terms of instrumentation, it's the guitars that steal the show, as they produce a lot of different sounds, from the sustained to the metrical to the scratchy and reverberated; they're complemented by some keyboard washes and effects here and there. The bass pulses, often with an implied "dubness" to it, and the drums are fairly frenetic, pounding and rough around the edges (usually in a good way, but occasionally with more blood than brains like in the opening to "Banquet"). I hear Martin Atkins in many of the drum patterns (hear "Positive Tensions"). Singer Kele Okereke alternates between subdued achiness and a glottal declamatory style that brings to mind either Robert Smith, Damon Albarn or John Lydon, depending on which song you're listening to. With the vocals, melody is usually secondary to rhythm and attack.
I have to admit that after the first three tracks, I thought that there might be too much of the emo tendency here for my taste, but the middle section of the disc is a peach and with mucho variety. The martial "Price Of Gas" is the most obviously P.I.L.-inspired (hear Okereke's Lydonesque yelps), with the bass and drums providing the foundation in the verse and intro parts while the guitars skitter along the surface. In contrast to this approach, you've got the infectious and radio-friendly new-wave/disco "Banquet," in which the rhythm section and guitars are pretty much working as one metrical unit. Another favorite is "This Modern Love," which, despite it's borderline wimpy-'80s-love-song opening, ends up as quite an exhilarating number. I think it's on tracks like this that the defined edges of the band's instrumentation are a real advantage. BP don't rely on indiscriminate washes of sound, even on the loud and monolithic "Pioneers." "Blue Light" is a sweet, gentle and welcome change of pace.
Back to my Chameleons obsession: I guess what I'm talking about is some of the twin guitar (the opening to "Helicopter" is a good example), the kind of drawn-out sectional songwriting on display in the powerful "Like Eating Glass," and the album's overall blend of wistful and earnest. The final track, "Compliments," does have more of The Cure's shoe-staring dirge quality about it, for those who're into such things. I prefer wistfulness to overwrought, but that's just me (and I am right).
The International Record Evaluation Standards (IRES) require me to deduct a half-cookie for the last few tracks not being up to the standard of the rest of the disc, and an additional quarter for dipping into the same harmonic well maybe once too often, but other than that, this one's yet another keeper, and a nice change from the jerkier styles of the likes of The Futureheads and Maximo Park. Amazing how many of these bands have created a unique sound, despite wearing their influences so boldly on their sleeves. Muchly recommended.
P.S. My burned copy of this disc appears to be missing track 11 ("This one doesn't go up to 11"). If this is the greatest song in the history of rock music, I will adjust my review accordingly.
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