What I witnessed this past Saturday Night

Saturday night some friends and I met up at the new “super bar” Mason & Dixon, in L.E.S for some late birthday drinks. This bar has recieved wretched reviews and I can’t say I disagree with them. It was actually not that bad until people actually started showing up.

Still, it’s got a mechanical bull, which I guess is the real draw. Anyhow, before jaunting to Southwest Bushwick to see Pora! Pora!( http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=195781721) at a loft party, we were able to witness what Claire called “Sensuous Fatty.” This pictures are credited to Astrid Stawiarz, who, even on a night off from shooting (she is a kickass profesional photographer) thankfully brought her camera (and her sexy, sexy self).

Sensuous fatty was a sputtering, angry Irish man who approached the bull with pomp and valor:

“You fucka” he screamed in pleasure and pain

And although he did eventually go down, he did it with confidence

Best of 2007: Top Ten Albums

Let me first note that it is very hard for me to pick a NUMBER ONE of 2007. Last year I was moved by Grizzly Bear’s amazingly beautiful and haunting Yellow House. I also fell madly in love with Beirut and his handmade, homeproduced Gulag Orkestar. This year, though, I seem to be lacking in one album that made me so ecstatic as those two did.

This does mean there weren’t some awesome, awesome albums that came out this year.

So, that said, here are my top ten. They are not in order of best to least, but just a collection of ten great albums.

1. LCD Soundsystem: The Sound of Silver

Sasha Frere Jones (ugh, see earlier post) and Pitchfork both agree with me. Damnit! I’m so unoriginal! Anyhoo, I’ve already romanticized James enough on this blog. It’s just a perfectly enjoyable album, full of black humor, witty lyricism, shimmery sounds and even heartfelt loss. But, it’s also a dance album, which is what makes it not merely noteworthy, but an album that has changed the genre itself. Up there with New Order’s Power Corruption & Lies.

2. Interpol: Our Love to Admire

This is not a “cool” album to cite, nor one that was terribly well reviewed. But I’ve loved Interpol since that first atmospheric minute of “Untitled” off Turn On the Bright Lights and this album has only continued that love affair (one that was put on hold with the more rock-y Antics). “Rest my Chemistry” is classic bummer rock, lamenting a life of too much coke and a heart of nihilism, which, of course, equals classic Interpol. “Metropolis” is Interpol trying to be the Bauhaus. Which is funny. But being Goth has always been kind of funny.                                                                                      

3. Jens Lekman: Night Falls Over Kortedala

 I got into Lekman early in 2007 before the new album came out. My boyfriend at the time made me a mix cd with “Pocketful of Money,” which sounds a bit like if Morrissey went straight and lived in the mountains of North Europe and hung out with Stephen Merritt. I was surprised to hear that not all the songs on the LP “Pocketful of Money “comes off, Oh You’re So Silent, Jens, are so melancholic and so very concentrated on the down and out. Many of the songs are, well, rather giddy. On Night Falls Over Kortedala, Lekman cheers up even more! He’s still a melodramatic, deeply awkward little Swede-”I’m Leaving You Because I Don’t Love You Anymore” could be a Smiths song, at least lyrically-but his musicality moves into a deeper pop domain by throwing in some doo-wop and lots of Bacharach kitsch. On stage he dresses his band (mostly cute Swedish girls) in all white, which makes the whole live show feel rather cult like (Praise Jens). Oh and he wrote a song about his Iraqi hairdresser…. Perhaps he should have called that one “Hairdresser Not Quite on Fire.”

4. Deerhunter: Cryptogram

My Deerhunter moment of the year (because we all have a Deerhunter moment, whether you love them or hate them) was a few weeks ago at a Christmas party when I fell into a conversation with a guy who had a tattoo of a quote from Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake. He imparted to me his theory that Cryptogram is really a dystopian concept album.  Or at least I think that’s what he was getting at; I was pretty drunk. The point is, is that people with tattoos of unreadable texts, young fans of Thomas Pynchon, Kruatrock aficionados and just your average arty stoners all need a new band to wax poetic about. I mean My Bloody Valentine broke up over fifteen years ago!

Deerhunter is that band and Cryptogram is that album. It is soaring and muddy, full of extreme paranoia (lead singer Brandon Cox apparently had panic attacks throughout the recording), and as the album sends, full of hope. It is indeed, rather dystopian, as it ends kind of like a Soma bliss out after a half an album of nerve shock. Kind of like the end of the original theater release cut of Brazil (not the director’s cut with the dismal ending). At times sophomoric in lyrics, the album feels young despite the lofty ambitions, especially as the production is shoddy. I guess that’s the appeal for some, as it’s essentially a lo if shoegaze album, which is kind of a return to the roots of shoegaze. However, what made me love this album is that I realized the guitar in “Octet” sounds a little like the guitar in “She Sells Sanctuary” by the Cult. Most Deerhunter fans would kill me for that comparison, but I was sold. “She Sells Sanctuary” was a really good song, people. Although I would not suggest using this comparison to impress an art rock hottie at a party…

5. Caribou: Andorra

“Melody Day” is a wonderful ditty-shimmering, glossy, tripped out but innocent, like That Girl if she ate a bag of mushrooms. Yes, it’s enough to turn even those skeptical of Caribou’s ambient/electro leanings (hailing back to the earlier incarnation as Manitoba) into a fan. The whole album is sunshine pop with an edge. It does what a breakthrough album does best-it manages to keep intact the band’s heritage of an experimental musical outfit, but also ups the pop quality to a place where new fans can truly embrace them. Standout songs include “Desiree” (check out that flute) and “Niobe,” a track that can only be described as what would happen if the Animals discovered trance music.

6. M.I.A: Kala

YES. YES. YES. I could go song for song with something wonderful to say. I’ll stick to one: “Paper Planes” uses the most underrated Clash song (“Straight to Hell”) to sound even more avant-garde and politically incensed than the original. Even my Jam Band friend likes it. The best part is that it’s not a cover, but something entirely new. This album has been praised again and again and again. I can only say everyone is right. MIA proves she isn’t just Diplo’s ex girlfriend or the “Galang” chick, but a truly revolutionary hip-hop artist.

7. Dan Deacon: Spiderman of the Rings

The fact that I know the real “Jimmy James Roche” and what and where “Wham City” is could be the only reason that I put this on here. But it’s also an exceedingly gleeful and surprisingly approachable electronic album. It often sounds like whacked out sped up Musak, yes. Is that a bad thing when made by a fat, balding man-child who just wants everyone to get along? I think not. Spiderman of the Rings is a lot subtler and technologically advanced than Deacon’s earlier stuff (like the infectious “Pizza Horse” and “Big Big Big Big Big”). Wow, I never thought I’d call Deacon subtle, but in this album he’s become a grown up. He still carries a green skull though, so not that grown up. Wouldn’t it be crazy if Deacon were like the Eno of our generation? Woah.

8. I’m Not There Soundtrack: Various Artists

I left the movie theater without knowing whether I liked this film or not. I left my first listening to the soundtrack knowing even more certainly that Dylan is a genius. It just solidifies something Dylan lovers already know: that although Dylan’s gravely poet from the grave voice and evolving musical styles are worth a place in musical history, what really will endure on and on is his songwriting. Some of the covers are better than others-”Highway 61 Revisited” should have NEVER been out in front of Karen O and the Charlotte Gainsbourg version of “Just like a Woman” only proves she should stick to acting. But even the lackluster artists can’t ruin the effect of those lyrics and the song structure of each tune on here. The highlight for me was “I’m Not There” from Sonic Youth. And Yo La Tengo’s faithful take on “Fourth Time Around” made me rethink Yo La Tengo entirely.

9. Feist: The Remainder

 I resisted Feist’s earlier album because it was just too loungy. She bored me. I was always an Emily Haines fan, at least as the “women featured on Broken Social Scene albums” lot goes. At least you can dance to Metric! Feist just sounded tired. On The Remainder, Feist wakes up. Yes, she is lively! That rolllicking piano on “My Moon My Man” is infectious and she even seems a little-ok, excuse the pun-feisty. What The Remainder does best is showcase Feist’s voice while also keeping her listeners entertained with solid, pleasingly rollicking songs (which I credit to having a full band backing her). She gets a little Paul Simon-y on “Sea Lion Woman” and a little Joni Mitchell-y on “So Sorry.” The popularity of the album may make it this year’s Moby’s Play but really, it’s hard not to tap your feet to “1234.”

10. Radiohead: In Rainbows

A lot of people I know don’t like this album. I’m not sure why. For me, it does everything a Radiohead album should do, an album that we all know won’t be as good as OK Computer. OK Computer was perfect. It’s up there with Blonde on Blonde, Rubber Soul, Purple Rain, The Queen is Dead, etc. Nothing will compare. So I say, get over it and embrace something that is still quite good, if not a masterpiece. There are some not-so-thrilling moments, yes. But the first three songs are funky, complex but still lucid, and full of deep, luxurious rhythms. This is a track record (oh punning!) that Radiohead haven’t done since Kid A. I liked it so much I even wanted to leave a party so I could go home and listen to “Reckoner ” again and again.

Other really good albums:

Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend

Devendra Banhart: Smokey Rolls Down…

Animal Collective: Strawberry Jam (and I hated Animal Collective before this album, so that says a lot)

Kevin Drew: Spirit If (basically a Broken Social Scene album)

Battles: Mirrored

Darjeeling Limited Soundtrack

Of Montreal: Hissing Fauna Are you the Destroyer?
**Note that Of Montreal put on the best show, production wise, of 2007, hands down.

Apparat: Walls

The Field: From Here We Go Sublime

Chromeo: Fancy Footwork

Simian Mobile Disco: Attack Sustain Decay Release

Project Jenny Project Jan: XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bill Callahan: Woke on a Whaleheart

Amy Winehouse: Back in Black (technically 2006, but on the cusp of 2007)

Beirut: Flying Club Cup (I do wish this could get on top ten, but alas…no)

Black Lips: Good Bad Not Evil (very close to top ten!)

The National: Boxer (also very close)

Arthur & Yu: in Camera

Beach House: Beach House

O’Death: Head Home (Remastered, re-released on Mason Jennings)

Strokes redeux from New Yorker music blogger

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/sashafrerejones/2007/11/this-definitely.html

Sasha Frere Jones, the pop music critic for the New Yorker has also blogged about the Strokes video on Fader.com.

This reminds me of something that I’ve been meaning to address for many weeks. For those who haven’t read Frere Jones’s article “A Paler Shade of White: How Indie Rock Lost it’s Soul,”  it’s worth the lookover:(http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/musical/2007/10/22/071022crmu_music_frerejones?currentPage=1)

Frere Jones is one of the most important rock critics out there–and also one of the most hated. And boy he does like to provoke. In this cranky dissemination of the blandness of indie, Frere Jones aims to hit the genre hard. He rips deep into the indie sound, using the Arcade Fire as his primary example (number one misstep). The sound has no soul. Ain’t no James Brown. So Frere Jones essentially makes the arguement against indie into a race issue, criticizing, above all, that indie does music a disservice by being so disconnected to the black roots of rock n’ roll.

Not surprisingly, the article drew a lot of flack from bloggers. One arguement ran in Slate.com a few days later: http://www.slate.com/id/2176187/, where music critic Carl Wilson argued it’s a class issue, not a race issue. The Wilson article is a better written one, for sure. Frere’s article, like many of his reviews, is a meandering mess– and often just irrelevant.

Irrelevent mainly because The Arcade Fire do lack soul and gritty passion. No further elaboration needed. They aren’t important enough to the genre to eleborate.  And come on, do your homework! When your main influences seem to be Springsteen and The Sisters of Mercy, you are not going to sound very bootylicious. If you are predisposed to finding new nifty shit you can do on a keyboard and seeing how many times you can layer vocals, of course, you’re going to sound, well, synthetic.  Arcade Fire are arguably the Dexys Midnight Runners of the mid 00’s. And nobody is arguing about how much soul that band had. I like “Come On Eileen” a whole lot…and I liked the first Arcade Fire album too. But Arcade Fire are not Fugazi. They are not Indie with a capital I. They are like frat indie or this week’s indie–i.e.not strong enough an example for such a sweeping arguement as Frere is trying to make.

Frere feebly compares indie to “rock” of older days, or Classic Rock, if you will. This is also a moot point. Many would claim that the sprit of indie is or was a quietly incendiary reaction to Classic Rock. And, then again, many would claim that there would be no indie rock without the Beach Boys. Indie roots are as indeterminate as the lyrics of the Cocteau Twins.

Wilson’s counter criticism makes a lot more sense. Wilson claims that Indie was born out of college towns and middle class enuui. Rock was born out of sexuality and poverty. Comparsion nill. Indie can be criticized for class distinctions, yes, but it’s not so lucidly a race issue. Wilson also cleverly points out that so many “indie” bands show up constantly on Frere’s best of lists (LCD Soundsytem), despite Frere’s pointed dislike of the genre.

Anyhow, the debacle makes for provocation, if nothing else. And I wholeheartedly enjoyed the provacation! How can you note love highbrow music nerds ripping on each other?

Iran. No Weapons.

From the New York Times, today, December 05, 2007:

“The new intelligence report, published Monday, concluded that Iran had halted its nuclear weapons program in 2003, seeming to undercut the whole thrust of the Bush administration’s policy on Iran.”

Looking at the the Strokes six years later

Today I also stumbled upon an article on Fader online about the Strokes and New York rock.

If you asked me about that a few years ago, about the subject of the Strokes, I’d say, “horrible.” Now the Strokes fall into that gray spot between “horrible” and “not horrible.” They are “horrible” because they capitalized on a look and a scene in NYC a few years ago and exposed that to the world to become commidified. That’s BAD in indie downtown world. They also really aren’t that interesting musically, a fact I’d still vouche for.

But damn they’re catchy! And their cultural relevance is undeniable. They opened the door for rock to be played on the radio when only post grunge crap was on, which is a good thing for the world as a whole (the world, gasp, outside New York). And they might have even edged Christina Aguilera off the charts. And because of them, angsty 13 year olds in Nebraska started wearing stripe shirts and listening to the Velvet Underground. This is bad because the the New York hipster style is a bonefied Target trend. But fashion is fashion. Overall, it’s a sound that will live on, not an outfit. So, more importantly, it is good that those kids who care about the Strokes and did their homework are listening to VU! The Strokes don’t sound like the Velvet Underground, but almost every mainstream artcicle about them alludes to this band’s influence on them. If some kid far away from New York is going to discover The Velvet Underground and Nico that’s a door opened to not just a new sound, but a new perspective on art and self.

I’ve debated these merits and demerits many times. I’ve also spent a lot of time poeticizing the time when the Strokes first blew up: 2001, my first year in NYC area. The Fader article covers this topic–with rose colored nostalgia, a far cry from my skeptical but still “Hey I was there” nostalgia.

The article starts out with a cliche but very pointed, almost rousing opening paragraph about the time:

Quabbles and footnotes aside, in the pages of history books and The FADER, New York rock in the 21st century began with the Strokes. Of course the Strokes always evoked New York rock of the 20th Century, but that was kind of the point. The band captured the city’s borrowed nostalgia for a time when young men wore tight jackets and let their hair fall into their faces, then wrote thrilling songs about the dejected glamour such lifestyle decisions would lead to. At the time of their arrival, downtown Manhattan was still stuck in the orange plastic/white vinyl hangover of lounge culture, but the Strokes were a band for dark bars where the bathroom door was always broken and you could sink into a booth and hide out from adulthood for a few more years. They were a great band for New York because no one could agree on them: they were either the best or the worst thing that could have happened. People would tell you they hated them and everything they stood for, then a couple of beers later they’d confide that they’d never actually heard them or that they secretly loved them. They were one more part of the city you could endlessly kvetch about, then take pride in because no other city had anything nearly as good.

I hate to say this, but a lot of this is true. 21st century MAINSTREAM rock did sort of start with them. Mainstream, I emphasize. However, isn’t that better than, well, say White Snake? Also, they were totally the band you were afraid to say you liked if you were actually in NYC at the time. I remember admitting I had their cd to my friend and he sheepishly said, “Yeah, I do too, but I hide it in my cd book.”

I suppose for other people, not in NYC, it was different. I know that some people found it a badge to be cool if you liked the Strokes. I also know that the Strokes opened up this kind of East Village bar rat/Lou Reed lovin’/garage-y culture to people who would otherwise not know it. And what is also true is that although we hated them in NYC for exposing our scene, we actually LOVED that people were caring about NYC again in the music world.

The article goes on to list the Liars, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, DFA (a transcontinental production duo that pushed old Detroit house 12-inches on guitar bands like it was audio MDMA”), ARE Weapons, Secret Machines, and other big and not so big bands that came out of this time. What it doesn’t emphasis is that between 2001 and 2003 things fell apart—or blew up. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Strokes, and out-of-towners but from same era, The White Stripes, all became big. Not just big, but huge. Fashion icons. Karen O broke up with Angus of the Liars and now she dates Spike Jones. The Strokes hang out with Sofia Coppela. Jack White is married to a model (and makes movie appearances). It’s crazy! DFA, one half being James Murphy (see an earlier blog here praising LCD Soundsystem), may have faired the best overall both popularity and cred-wise. Murphy is both an Indie Dance hero/innovator and also got shitloads of money to make a mix exclusively for Nike.

However, so many of those bands that were touted never made it big. A band called The Prosaics, who I vaguely remember, are mentioned in this article. But uh, who cares about them now, right? And ARE Weapons? Man they were terrible. The Secret Machines? Ditto. And now, thankfully, no one cares, except for etchers of Nostalgia of that time. A good dvd to rent to look at the good and the bad (and also lament what a ditz brat Karen O was) is KILL YR IDOLS, which shows the scene from the 70s in New York, the No Wave scene, and juxtaposes against this early 00’s scene.

I was a babe in indie rags at the time, but one aware and around NYC enough (drinking at East Village bars like Odessa, who didn’t card) to know what was goin’ on. I’m glad I was there. And I don’t hate the Strokes. There, I’ve said it. Sometimes, in retrospect, things aren’t so horrible as they seem. Hey, if the Cure (the Strokes of an earlier English, Post Punk, synth generation) hadn’t been popular, I’d never have been into any of this crazy stuff in the first place.

Funny Games by Michael Hanake

On this cold night, one covered in ominous black ice (black ice!), I watched Michael Hanake’s disturbing German/Austrian film Funny Games. Interestingly, right now, there is an English remake in the works. The remake features everyone’s favorite perennially frightened gamine, Naomi Watts. I’m skeptical about that one, but at least Hanake is remaking the film himself, supposedly shot-by-shot. Since he’s in control, it’s unlikely it will be a situation like the atrocious Breathless remake with Richard Gere (???).

Hanake is best known for The Piano Teacher (with the often spooky, always luminous Isabelle Huppert) and last year’sCache, with French film superstars Daniel Auteil and Juliette Binoche. Cache is the story of a middle class couple who are terrorized by a never seen stalker, one who only makes himself know by sending a series of surveillance video tapes of their home along with some seriously spooky drawings of children coughing blood. The story unravels into the sordid past of this family, exposing the perverseness beneath middle class European life. All the while, it never fails in scaring the shit out of those who watch it. How? Not just with cinematic tension, but by making the audience member a participant. Via Hanake’s portrayal of the screen as a surveillance video into this fictional family’s life, the audience member becomes a voyeur as much as the fictional “stalker.”

Funny Games also requires the participation of the audience. And like Cache, it features a middle class family who are terrorized. However, this terror is much more literal.

Funny Games begins as a pastoral with husband Georg, wife Anna, and their little son, Georg Jr. riding along the on the Austrian countryside to their summer house. They even listen to classical music in their snazzy SUV. Almost home, they pass by some neighbors and something seems awry. Suddenly the music they are listening to is drowned out by metallically vicious, screechy Industrial–music which makes Ramstein sound, eh, tame. Something horrible is about to infect their lives.

As they are settling back into the house, a goofy young man shows up and asks them for some eggs for the neighbors. Anna is cordial to the boy, graciously handing him the eggs. However, before he can say “aulfidersen,” he clumsily breaks them. She gives him more eggs, although she’s a bit miffed. She’s not into generosity, despite her affluence. The boy accidentally drops her phone into the water. She gets really miffed after that. The viewer begins to judge her as a prickly bitch, forced to turn on her. Although we’ll pity her later, we can’t really ever take away that behavior of hers from our minds.

I won’t go on to say anymore, but I will say that what does occur is some of the most brutal activity I’ve ever seen in a film. I credit the impact of the brutality to the general quietness of the work, particularly the lack of any soundtrack except when a character puts on music on screen (with the exception of the beginning scene). Such straightforward filming, such sparseness and frontal simplicity, amplifies the fear. It took me awhile to realize that the entire film takes place in only two or three locations–a living room, the exterior of the house, and the road leading to the house.

But it is this audience as participant factor that is the most disturbing aspect. Those in the audience are is being spoken to directly by one on film , the one who is doing this terrorizing. This makes the horror much more tangible and more impacting than the cheap tricks found in more traditional horror films (such as a screaming dead girl suddenly appearing out of the ground).

Hanake clearly wants to portray violence as unmediated by any guilt or shame in those committing it. Neither of perpetrators have any guilt, while the more powerful one is pure evil, taking sadistic pleasure in twisting his victims both physically and psychologically. I read a review of this film that pointed out that unlike traditional intruders in film who are outsiders or creeps (think Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear), these intruders are clean-cut boys who seem quite harmless. I didn’t really think of that initially, but that too is a contribution to the shock factor.

In an interview, Hanake said “The question isn’t ‘how do I show violence?’ but rather ‘how do I show the spectator his position vis-à-vis violence and its representation?’. Funny Games is an example of Hanake so-called “cinema of disturbance,” which intends to frighten people not by merely showing them violence but by forcing them to question their own violence via the participation his films command. Now viewer participation leading to a questioning of fiction versus reality is nothing new in film. From Truffaut’s Day for Night to anything written by Charlie Kaufman, it’s all over the place in art houses. It’s even made its way into some mainstream American film. However, I have yet to see an American film to address violence in regards the postmodern mindfuck of “what is reality?”. Nothing I know of in English film uses such shocking subject matter to make audience question the level of their participation.

Even the now-in-theaters (and quiet brilliant) Coen Brothers film No Country for Old Men, which deals with violence in a quiet but unrelentingly brutal manner, is still stylized to feel like a film. The cinematography is breathtaking and the shots are done as to symbolize themes. And while it’s exhaustively violent, it’s also clearly representative of a piece of art, not reality. Because it’s also highly metaphorical (it’s Good Versus Evil), we can distance ourselves. I mean in no way to knock what is possibly the best Coen Brother’s film. In fact, I’d say I prefer the stylization. It actually creates some relief for the audience from all the lives taken so easily by a completely unrepentant psychopath (played by a nonplussed Javier Bardem). It’s easier to watch than Funny Games.

However, having seen both of these films, I can’t help but think how much European film has on us, particularly the tradition of avant garde, postmodern Western European film that Hanacke comes from (from the New Wave to their documentaries). In Funny Games there is nothing to distract you. You are forced to be part of it. You recoil, but while you are simultaneously courted by those who perpetrate. The killer winks at YOU. The push/pull factor of the film makes it almost unbearable to watch. In fact, German filmmaker Wim Wendors apparently walked out of the screening of it at Cannes.

The only relief arises when Hanake’s murdering duo discuss the inherent fiction in all film, which makes it very self-referential. Or when they literally “rewind” the film to change the ending. Perhaps this could be Hanake’s way of releasing the audience, by reminding us this is fiction. And that this is an experiment in the psychology of film, that we are test rats in it. Not very comforting.

So go rent the film, before the American version. Um, and watch it before say, 9 pm, or you’ll be up writing about it til one in the morning (like I am right now…).

And as for the Watts film, well, I can’t help but think how it will be very interesting to see what American audiences will think of it, if it is indeed shot-by-shot as the original. If so, well, it will be one of the few truly new experiences Americans have in movie theaters. It might not be popular, but it will be an original form of mindfuck to be found in English speaking movies. Should make for a well-written New Yorker review, if nothing else.