Inflatable Ferret - Volume III, Issue 5 by Inflatable Ferret

Vol 3 No. 5 ///// May 2011

INSPIRED EXPATRIATE IF TALKS TO COLOGNE MC AKUA NARU

REVIEWS

Fleet Foxes Explosions in The Sky And More... 80 Minutes of Music for Midlife Commiseration

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR SO WE LIVED

to see another week, but don't be surprised if they were only off by a week or two. In the meantime, thanks for checking out Volume 5. Inside we have a few reviews, an interview with Cologne-based (by way of New Haven, Philadelphia, and China) rapper Akua Naru, and 80 Minutes of Music for Midlife Commiseration. Also included is Rob DeStefano's look ahead toward this summer's superhero flicks. We proudly welcome Amy Keresztes, our Sweden correspondent, to the staff - I think you'll enjoy her fascinating debut story about Swedish songwriters who write in both Swedish and English. Shouts out to layout phenom Kathryn Freund, who is presently braving the Alaskan wilderness, and Ray Saada, who turns 22 today! Also, HUGE ups to Ainsley Thedinger for all her layout work in Kathryn's absence. If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now. It's only spring clean for the May Queen.

james passarelli

CONTENTS

Vol 3 No. 5 ///// May 2011 FEATURE 06 The Best of Both Tongues: Swedish Singers that cross liguistic borders AND... Tracing the origins of this summer's superhero film directors

REVIEWS 20 Fleet Foxes, Tyler the Creator, Architecture in Helsinki, and Explosions in the Sky

INTERVIEW IF talks to New Haven-born, German-based MC Akua Naru

16 PLAYLIST 24 80 Minutes of Music for Midlife Commiseration

OUR STAFF

ISSUE CONTRIBUTORS Editor-in-Chief

Copy Editing

James Passarelli

Pat Passarelli Ainsley Thedinger

Layout Kathryn Freund Ainsley Thedinger

Featured Writers Katie Cook Rob DeStefano Amy Keresztes James Passarelli Ray Saada Asif Siddiqi Ryan Waring

Web Design Greg Ervanian Rob Schellenberg

Photography Johan Bergmark Ron Henry Sandra Lóv James Passarelli Til Van Loosen Gina Vergel (Cover Photo)

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06FEATURE

THEBEST OF BOTH TONGUES

SINGINGINSWEDISH AND ENGLISHWITH ANNIKA NORLIN AND PETER MORÉN Words: Amy Keresztes

ONE OF THE

best concerts I ever attended was a Swedish powerhouse doubleheader: El Perro Del Mar and Taken By Trees in Cambridge, Massachusetts. When Taken by Trees’ Victoria Bergsman took the stage, a fan yelled out, asking her why she didn't write songs in Swedish. He was wrong—she had, the Swedish song “Tidens Gång” appeared on her most recent album East of Eden—but she fielded the question thoughtfully and replied in her soft, dreamy way: "It is easier to rhyme in English." She then proceedPhotos: Sandra Löv & Ron Henry

ed to woo the entire, predominantly non-Swedish-speaking crowd and make us all exceedingly glad that we understood her lyrics. It's a delicate dance for Swedish musicians, the tradeoff between writing and singing songs in one's native tongue, the language of one's dreams and thoughts, and the language that might open up more doors, musically and financially. Some Swedish artists stick to svenska and find enormous success within Sweden (or with non-Swedish

speakers who might enjoy the sound so much it inspires them to learn, like myself). Still, most write and sing in English, with an accent so subtle that, to this day, I am occasionally surprised to learn that a group I've been listening to for years is in fact Swedish. I want to take a closer look at two artists who straddle the divide, who have neither been forced to give up their native language nor confined themselves to a Swedishonly public: the ones who sing in both languages.

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Photo: Sandra Löv

Annika Norlin THE CHAMPION

of tvåspråkig (bilingual) music success is Annika Norlin, frontwoman of Säkert and Hello Saferide, both enormously successful bands, in and outside Sweden’s borders. Under the Hello Saferide moniker, Norlin writes and sings in English with bouncy dance folk tendencies that have charmed listeners for nearly a decade. Norlin got her big break in English, on the Internet success of her first song, “Highschool Stalker,” and signed with Razzia Records in 2005. Her first self-titled Swedish album as Säkert was released in 2007, and since then she has alternated between the two. This past year saw the release of her second Swedish album, a rich, melancholic gem called Facit, which has been favorably reviewed, even in the English-speaking world. “Although obviously crafted with great care, the songs here feel tremendously naked and transparent, even to someone who doesn't speak the language,” wrote Pitchfork’s Marc Hogan. He goes on to suggest that for any serious fans, some Swedish lessons might be in order: “sooner or later you're going to have to try to understand what she's singing about.” He’s right. Though the jangly, upbeat rhythms of the tracks on Facit are easy to enjoy on a purely aural level, it is the words that really tear one’s

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heart out. Norlin’s trademark of mixing mournful, depressing lyrics with catchy instrumentals works well in both languages. Case in point: the track “Vi kommer att dö samtidigt” from Säkert! is one of the album’s most energetic and exuberant, though the title means “We’re going to die at the same time.” Few if any writers or musicians have made the refrain “We’re going to die—" so charming. Norlin echoed Bergsman’s sentiments about singing in Swedish in a 2007 interview with Paul Scott of Stylus magazine. “English as a language is much easier to sing in, it’s a lot softer and a lot easier to rhyme in. Like, you have a lot of o’s and e’s and no’s, and it’s very easier to write lyrics with them. But Swedish is much… also my dialect is from the north, it is very harsh.” She goes on to explain that most popular Swedish music is “in English mostly simply because it is easier to write and sing in English. Most Swedes speak English anyway.” Norlin’s new project involves translating all of the songs from Facit into English and recording them for release this summer, which will be both an interesting linguistic exercise and a major gift for her non-Swedish speaking listeners who just like the sound of the songs.

“ Norlin's

trademark of mixing mournful, depressing lyrics with catchy instrumentals works well in both languages.”

Peter Morén have evidently had no problem establishing themselves on the global rock-pop scene. They have been charming audiences the world over since 1999, in English of course. With the release of their latest (and excellent) record Gimme Some, it is clear that PB&J are here to stay. As a side project, lead singer Peter Morén released a solo album in 2008, The Last Tycoon, and this past year he surprised us with the release of a Swedish-language album called I spåren av tåren, (“In the tracks of tears”). The project was hailed in domestic press and the music world as a return to his roots, a homage to his true identity and the language that shaped him as a person. Apparently this project was a surprise for Morén as well; he emphasized in an interview for Swedish music blog PSL that he “had never had any plan to write in Swedish, actually…There is something really creepy about singing in one’s own language when you’re used to English. The voice sounds immediately different.” [translation mine] He goes on to discuss the benefits of singing in his native tongue: “It’s liberating to be able to refer to things that only Swedes can relate to, which I did, among other things, through Swedish authors, household nostalgia, and the path from a rural society to an information society in the 1900s, and more specific links to my own roots in Dalarna, and the Swedish countryside contrasted with the wider world. Obviously it’s a completely different type of lyric. Even the most personal love and relationship songs, which a few tracks are, take on a completely different tone in Swedish.” [translation mine] Normally it is thought that singing in Swedish is an all-or-nothing

Photo: Johan Bergmark for Blixten

PETER, BJORN AND JOHN

“ It’s liberating to be

able to refer to things that only Swedes can relate to” kind of endeavor, and that staying true to one’s linguistic and national roots reduces chances of acquiring a large international audience. However, as Norlin and Morén have

shown with aplomb, sometimes it’s possible to have the best of both worlds. In both cases, their music is heartily recommended, regardless of language barriers.

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TYLER PERRY'S SUPERHERO SPACTACULAR

Words: Rob DeStefano

THE SUPERHERO calendar consists of three uneven parts. First, the obligatory winter dud. These annual reels prey on the January/February months, have modest production values, and make little attempt to be remembered: Jumper, Push, I Am Number Four. Opposite these in budget and star-power are the summer blockbusters, the second and largest of the variety. Blockbuster (n.)—a huge aerial bomb capable of destroying targets within a wide area. Generally speaking, the modern summer aerial bombs are adaptations of popular comic books, and their financial success determines the hero’s life expectancy. Aside from visual bedazzlement, summer superhero fare can offer substance (X2), but can easily package a drawn out disaster (Spider-Man 3). Finally, there’s the smallest and most ambiguous of the three categories, the year-end-grab-bag. Here studios target Jews and rebel Christians with December releases: Superman (1978), Punisher: War Zone, The Spirit. The pickings range in value and quality. Now, we wade at the trough of the summer blockbusters, waiting to see what this season

major leagues alongside Batman and Superman; how will he stand, critically and commercially, against Marvel’s summer juggernauts? Since Brett Ratner’s stance against good filmmaking, new persons have renovated Xavier’s school; is it the reboot fans have been anticipating? Regardless of one’s superhero enthusiasm, the emerging success of this “genre” has sparked involvement of countless talent— directors, screenwriters, actors, et cetera— but most have started elsewhere, far from the superhero realm. From adult films to Shakespearean interpretation, where did the directors behind this summer’s action spectacles land their debuts? Their unique origins may brings. DC Comics sends Hal Jordan into the indicate the level of our summer escapism.

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THOR Defends the Globe Theater director : kenneth branagh

Branagh's Henry V

If this were a t hre e-l egged race, the peculiar B r ana gh - Thor partnership might suggest failure, but the director’s career of Shakespearean adaptations gives the duo an interesting advantage on screen. The first of Branagh’s projects was Henry V, the historical account of England’s unexpected victory over French troops during the Hundred Years War. Branagh, who at the time was in his late twenties (during filming, not the Hundred Years War), displayed his talents as the film’s director, screenwriter, and lead actor. Though the language is dense at times, King Henry V’s valiant command and his humanistic nature are effortlessly trans-

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lated. Before the Battle of Agincourt, Henry delivers a monologue into the night, pleading with God for protection over his men and for support in the morning’s battle; the score is exceptional. The next day’s climactic fight is given tremendous cinematic attention. The close-ups show the warriors’ horror. The sound design flutters between silent and chaotic. The violence is unsparing; throats are slit and children are killed. This filmic direction and flow draws attention to the sacrifices of war and the weight of death. I’m not an idealist, but I hope some of Branagh’s proficiency finds its way into Marvel’s steroidal Thor. It’s not an easy Avenger to adapt, but hopefully Branagh will measure the right portions without treating the superhero too much like a god.

TRAILER TALK Thor seems to aim for the blockbuster status: mass appeal and mass action. In only the brief dialogue, there are mentions of Facebook, cell phones, and tasers—modern technology, duh! I hope they cut the scene where Thor discovers autotune. Past this, the drop kicks and hammer throws look fun—well made fun. The effects and sets are lavish and thoroughly envisaged, and with Branagh in the chair, there should be enough character to keep it afloat. Summer success? I think so.

X-MEN: FIRST CLASS Push Pills director : matthew vaughn

Left: X-Men's Charles in Xavier Below: Daniel Craig in Vaughn's Layer Cake

X-men first tested its big screen potential in 2000, marking the start of Marvel’s reign. Bryan Singer’s X-men set the bar high: solid story, effects, and casting. It was well received by fans, critics, and newcomers. Three years later, X2 was an unexpected improvement, building on everything that made its predecessor successful. Then the third installment, XMen: The Last Stand, put an end to the mutants’ cause. This irredeemable train wreck killed the majority of the cast; the earlier a character was expelled from the movie, the more grateful he or she should have been. Its direction was excruciatingly dull, which was made more offensive by the story’s undeveloped characters

and vapid script. It was as if everyone involved said, “We forfeit.” The director of X-Men: First Class is Matthew Vaughn, whose energetic and hip style should infuse some life into the franchise. His first film was Layer Cake, a 2004 one-last-job story about a drug peddler (Daniel Craig) who becomes entangled in favors for a more dangerous crime syndicate. Vaughn, who produced Guy Ritchie’s gangster films, set his directorial debut apart from the bunch with his bold colors and energizing soundtrack, complimenting an already intriguing plot. His mastery over the elements should prove helpful in tackling Xmen’s demands without submitting to sacrifice.

TRAILER TALK With Cold War Era politics and rare additions like Banshee and Havok, the X-men reboot looks promising. We’re not given much information in its trailer, but this adaptation looks to rewrite the previous wrongs with a more tactful, filmic version. Everything so far reflects a high caliber production, and Vaughn’s attachment is a positive omen.

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GREEN LANTERN Knows You Want It director : martin campbell

TRAILER TALK

Everyone has to start somewhere— for Martin Campbell it was 1974’s erotic tale, The Sex Thief. By night, this British adult-comedy follows a jewel burglar who has an insatiable hunger to cure lonely housewives. By day, and therefore by exposition, additional characters plot to seize this masked intruder; the details are peripheral. The Sex Thief is more revealing than I had expected—not in its protagonist’s complex psyche, but in its efficiency as soft-core porn. Fearing that even a second of unused arousal could go to waste, the titles in the opening sequence accompany images of naked women. The prowler finds his willing females just

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as easily, by haphazardly waking the resident—whose husband is always away—with his blinding flashlight and dire need to knock everything over. Yes, it’s all fun and games, but honestly the one postcoital scene in Chinatown exudes more sex appeal than this movie accomplishes in its ninety minutes. Beyond the bungling nudity, it struggles to grasp the difference between rape and consensual sex. Maybe it’s the comedy aspect of the adult-comedy, but the women sometimes look pained, and there is a handful of lines such as, “Will you please rape me?” and “Seven times, that’s one hell of a rape!”

The trailer builds itself to suggest an epic superhero story, but it works better with your eyes closed. Ryan Reynolds has been proving himself as a likeable actor, thanks mainly to Adventureland; he’s low on the list of concerns. The visuals and CGI don’t look spectacular, but even worse, for a brief moment, we see Peter Sarsgaard as the villain, Hector Hammond. Sarsgaard looks like he’s been submerged underwater throughout the production. After months of swelling and disfiguration, he was allowed to shoot his scenes. On top of this, there is Blake Lively, talk about responsibility, and a familiar score. Despite having directed Casino Royale, Campbell may not have the strength to achieve the right tone or to balance the story’s demands. The Sex Thief doesn’t help his case. At least the sex offender’s eye-mask can be recycled into Green Lantern’s.

Above: Campbell's The Sex Tief

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER Shrunk the Kids director : joe johnston

Johnston's Honey, I Shrunk the Kids

With the exception of the Pixar and DreamWorks productions, children’s movies today use a different formula than they used twenty years ago. It’s called the horseshit approach. It requires terrible special effects, a sloppy plot, and complete unoriginality – and then a horse shits on top of it all. Recently, the youth has been treated to movies like Old Dogs, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel, Paul Blart: Mall Cop, The Last Airbender, and Hop. Joe Johnston’s career consists mainly of children’s movies, 1989’s Honey, I Shrunk the Kids being his first. Its well-known plot involves a kooky scientist whose invention shrinks both his offspring and the

kids next door. After they are accidentally taken out in the trash, the munchkins are forced to navigate through the backyard and return to the house for help. A new perspective turns the lawn into a forest of chutes and ladders, as well as a kingdom of predators. The end result is goofy fun that draws on family dynamics for some heart. It’s not the greatest, but it has a sense of quality that is scarce today. Roots like these may bring an old school genuineness to Captain America: The First Avenger; it also helps that Joe Johnston began his career working on visual effects for Raiders of the Lost Ark and the original Star Wars films. The use of elaborate sets and stunts in these will hopefully influence his mode of action. On the other hand, his experience with a young audience may limit the avenger’s accessibility, constructing the character with an austere simplicity.

TRAILER TALK The trailer reflects the better of these scenarios. Chris Evans isn’t a great choice for Steve Rogers, but there is enough to compensate for this. The clips focus on Rogers’ transformation from futility into a superhero, suggesting that attention is given to the character behind the shield. The action breaks away from shaky close-ups and handheld shots, expressing fluid direction; more so, Johnston’s aesthetic gives the warfare a cinematic touch. Captain America could surprise in his triumph this summer.

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16 INTERVIEW

INSPIRED EXPATRIATE

IF talks to Cologne-based MC Akua Naru

WORDS: James Passarelli

"QUIET on the set, ‘cause I’m about to begin

You better take a rest ‘cause you will never win Didn’t you know, you can’t come next to this ‘Cause I’m the girl that grabbed the mic and perfected it." Those were the words of a ten-year-old Latanya Hinton (aka Akua Naru). Ten years old? At age ten, I was just moving on from Curious George; Naru, meanwhile, had been writing rhymes for three years. “I started rapping because I was writing poems – and they would rhyme,” says Naru. “So it was just a progression from what I saw.” Born in New Haven, Connecticut in 1980, Naru was the oldest of three children, and finding a female role model was never a problem. Her mother juggled two or three jobs to support the family, took classes at the local community college, and taught Sunday school. “You know the story,” Naru jokes with a classroom audience in Cologne. “Black women – we have things to do.”

Photo: Til Van Loosen for Hinzvanloosen Photography

Regardless

of her myriad responsibilities, her mother never failed to nurture Naru’s love of rap. An enthusiast of the budding phenomena of hip-hop and the new jack swing movement, she acted as her daughter’s fan and manager, charging twenty-five-cent admission to Naru’s backyard concerts. But her mother wasn’t the only hiphop lover in the family; almost everyone around her quenched her rap thirst with the latest lyrical libations. Everyone, that is, except her grandmother, who regularly condemned the genre as “devil music.” But a few months ago she had a change of heart. “She’s changed,” says Naru. “About a month ago, she called me, like, ‘Hey baby, what about the album?’” The album in question is Naru’s debut full length, The Journey Aflame, released through Jakarta Records, an independent hip-hop label based in Cologne, Germany, the same place Naru now calls home. It’s a fitting title for a woman who has spent the past six years living on three different continents. After her formative years in New Haven, Naru moved to Virginia before enrolling at Rutgers and the University of Pennsylvania respectively. At the latter, she received her master’s in education and the opportunity for a six-week study tour in China. “I feel in love with how different it was,” she recalls of her temporary home in the East. “I applied for a job there, and the following year, after I graduated, I moved to China. The funny thing is that I thought I was going to be praying and drinking green tea, you know. But what happened? I got there and met some people from California. They were hip-hop producers who did promotions, so I ended up doing tours throughout China.” Each new acquaintance strengthened Naru’s long-held conviction that hiphop was not just a hobby – or even simply a passion – but a calling as well. “Wherever I go, the opportunity always presents itself. I could be in the wilderness, and I guarantee you, two weeks later you’re going to come back looking for me. I’m going to be there with a posse – we used to say a posse – or a crew, and we’d be doing

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some hip-hp stuff. Don’t let the skirt fool you – it’s all hip-hop.” So sure enough, when the opportunity presented itself for Naru to move to Germany, she took it. She has lived in Cologne for four years now and teaches various classes in English at the University of Wuppertal; her course listings range from African American Culture and Race Representation to English Grammar and Poetry. While rapping will always be her foremost passion, Naru’s job offers the unique and invaluable liberty to write rhymes at all times – in the office, on the subway, in the classroom – as well as a medium for exploring and expressing many of the

themes that suffuse her songs. Few of her lines are without a social message, and if you can keep up, they’re sure to leave a lasting impression. But she doesn’t credit herself for her creativity. “For me, the creative process is very spiritual, like there’s something on the other side speaking through me. And I feel like it’s a little, old, skinny black woman whispering to me what she didn’t have the opportunity to say.” Judging by the length of the hour-long The Journey Aflame, it seems Naru’s muse has a lot to say. The record’s patinated professionalism might fool someone into thinking

Akua Naru before a show at Rodrigues Coffee House at Fordham University. (Photo: James Passarelli)

“Wherever I go, the

opportunity always presents itself. I could be in the wilderness... Don’t let the skirt fool you—it’s all hiphop.”let the skirt fool you—it’s all hip-hop.”

she has done this before. An impressive feat, especially considering its thirteen-month turnaround, which is far less than the average timeframe for musicians who don’t have day jobs. One reviewer extolled it as “the most important collection of songs on a hip hop album in the last ten years,” claiming Naru to have “the dexterity of Rakim” and “the poetic brilliance of Lauryn Hill.” While this writer is not willing to go so far, Naru certainly holds her own in a thriving independent hip-hop world. “The World is Listening” features the only John Mayer sample I can listen to with a good conscience, and every track on The Journey is enjoyable and insightful, delicately balancing fine production and lyrical prowess. She does justice to her idols; better yet, while many musicians casually cite influences, Naru wears them on her sleeve, exhibiting both respect and gratitude towards them. “How many of you know Roxanne Shanté?” she asks a small crowd at Rodrigue’s Coffee House

at Fordham University, few of whom (myself included) were born when Shanté came to prominence in the late 80s. “No one?” she exclaims disappointedly, then goes on to tell her story. “I was a little church girl when I saw Roxanne Shanté for the first time. She was very competitive – she wanted to battle everyone – man, woman, bird, fly – she didn’t care.” Any conversation with Naru could quickly transform into a hip-hop history lesson, but the same could be said for her songs, which praise the likes of Shanté, Jean Grae, and Queen Latifah, among many others. For all Naru’s confidence, she can never be accused of being unappreciative. And while she is deeply concerned with systemic sexism, she would never use it as an excuse. On the contrary, she believes that women have an advantage in rap: that they aren’t pressured to subscribe to masculine stereotypes. “As a woman I can draw from many references, and my narrative scope is wider – because I don’t have to deal with the way in which

masculinity is constructed in hip-hop. I’m not trying to be hard.” The recent buzz surrounding the album has allowed Naru to spread her messages to a wider audience. For classroom crowds and other intimate settings, she prefers to sing a capella, a style that allows listeners to focus on her pinpoint lyrics, free from all the distractions that inevitably accompany accompaniment. Her favorite setting is with a live band, with whom she can interact organically and let the show truly flourish. Her first love overflows well outside the stage and into every aspect of her life. As she pursues a doctorate in Cultural Studies, Naru continues to create poetry at all hours of the day and night. Twenty years removed from Naru’s first request for quiet on the set, in many ways she is still the same confident rapper. But her vocabulary is larger, and her subject matter is deeper and more complex. And this time around, the whole world is listening.

"What’s

the worth of a black woman, who go ‘cross the Atlantic, stranded on plantations, projects, college loan payments, exploited, captured and framed in white imagination, black male sex arrangements Christian names, master’s house the first stage that made my body famous. Beauty caged in, tainted, behind the lust for blue eyes and blond manes and I‘m saying it started with that slave ship that set the journey flaming."

interview

REVIEWS Helplessness Blues Fleet Foxes (Sub Pop)

Fleet Foxes came onto the scene strong in 2008 with their self-titled debut LP. Robin Pecknold’s sensitive pastoral lyrics on Fleet Foxes were matched to genuine pop hooks, lush textures, and tight harmonies whenever and wherever possible. Such a bold arrival, though, sets the bar rather high for a follow up, and the humble group out of Seattle was definitely feeling it when they got to work on their next batch of songs. The sessions from 2009 were tossed out entirely as they dug back into the songs until satisfied, and it seems to have been worth the extra effort. On Helplessness Blues, they’ve both pulled back and branched out. The debut showed us what they were working with and what they were capable of. Now they’re choosing their weapons more wisely, bringing in the harmonies in tasteful embellishment rather than a near saturation that would borderline on self-indulgence (if not for the adeptness of their delivery). Pecknold’s lead vocals are thus more centered here, drawing closer attention than before to the lyrics, which take a more introspective trajectory while keeping consistent with the evocative imagery of Fleet Foxes. They’ve also broadened their instrumentation, adding multi-instrumentalist Morgan Henderson to the line-up. Before officially joining the group, Henderson had been working with Pecknold on film score-style music as a fun side project. Pecknold’s forays into thematic music have followed him back to Fleet Foxes, as there are fewer standard pop structures on Helplessness Blues. “The Shrine/An Argument,” for example, changes drastically three or four times, bowing out a tirade of

free jazz bass clarinet over vibrant “Glass Onion” strings. It sounds like something drowning in the middle of an ocean that takes no notice. Vivid scenes are set without depending on narrative lyrics—though they’re in there too (“Sim Sala Bim”). While Fleet Foxes was a collection of great songs in a perfectly listenable sequence, Helplessness Blues has more of an arc built into it; it feels more like a cohesive piece than its predecessor. They seem to have their eyes a bit further ahead down the road, both in terms of song climaxes and lyrics. Pecknold’s words reflect an existential world-weariness—perhaps he’s frazzled by the whirlwind of the sudden demands of the success that seemed to catch the band off guard. “Bedouin Dress” makes reference to Innisfree, the fictional isle that for Yeats was the peaceful retreat one longs for after being in the city for too long. The uncertainty with which the lyrics approach the bigger questions are far from new and could otherwise seem belabored (“What’s my name, what’s my station / oh just

tell me what I should do” on the title track), but Pecknold’s delicate delivery redeems with a believable vulnerability and thoughtfulness. If the influence of Brian Wilson was not already evident in their arrangements, it’s that much more tangible in their content. Those expecting the immediate gratification pop tags from the first album will be satisfied: “Battery Kinzie,” “Lorelai,” and the monumental closer “Grown Ocean” are hummable to say the least. But this is a record in the vinyl aesthetic, in that half the reward is in taking it all in together. It’s good to hear Fleet Foxes honing their sense of place and pace.

ray saada

Goblin Tyler The Creator (XL)

These black swans had been incubating on Web 2.0 platforms for about a year or so before the revolution was finally televised on February 16th. On that evening, Late Night with Jimmy Fallon surrendered its stage to two social media sensations, music industry gnats and cultural wild cards petnamed Tyler, The Creator and Hodgy Beats of the self-sustaining, misanthropic L.A. ensemble Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All and showcased an act non-discriminatory in its emotional arrestment. A surreally exhibited garden gnome prop, severely disturbed female mental patient, antagonistically aloof ski masks, razed fourth wall and those threat-heavy, violence-glorifying lyrics fed a performance that was sensational, terrifying, unsettling, but above all, charismatic. Since then, an enamored blogosphere hasn’t seemed able to muffle the deafening buzz that the animalistic collective created and nurtured through their active online fan relationship. Less than three months later, this troupe of bridge burning misfits has quickly thrust itself into stardom without a semblance of orthodoxy. Fame through Facebook: the 21st century American Dream. And all before a commercial release, an oddity Tyler very clearly realizes and frequently addresses on Goblin. Tyler’s therapist/conscience Dr. TC returns to probe out some form of psychoanalysis in sessions, bookending and scattered throughout the album. Much like his rants on his debut, Bastard, Goblin sees Tyler tackling his father’s absence, critical haters and pushing buttons, but all those concerns rightly take a backseat to the professional pressures and lifestyle changes accompanying his rapid rise to fame. Goblin works when Tyler hits pause and

opens up about his insecurities. His braggadocio and sensationalism most certainly bog the album down, but they still offer nice insight when juxtaposed against revelations of a sensitive, selfconscious side. Tyler’s not the genius he boasts to be (at least, not yet), nor can I really buy his murderous, rapacious, schizophrenic persona (let’s hope I never have to), but that ham-fisted, homicidal front still paints a fascinating portrait of a kid with self-esteem issues. Tyler’s real duality is his hypocrisy, a trait never better explored than on the mesmerizing “Yonkers”. In front of those haunting synths, Tyler delivers his paradox so convincingly and with such great command of double and even triple entendres. Aside from the Michael Moore reference, the appropriation of “bowling” by marijuana and skating cultures keeps “But after bowling, I went home for some damn Adventure Time” artistically ambiguous. Either way, the teen who claims to pass on the reefer and to be too busy for his board is lying about something. I’m also glad he took advantage of the fact that the blog that spearheaded his spread to more intellectual, sophisticated circles shares its name with the three-pronged weapon of choice of Tyler himself (read: Satan, as Tyler so often maintains). Tyler also displays a knack for surreally playing with one’s expectations elsewhere, putting a new spin on the old cliché of the girl next door… to the store where he loiters in the personal, thoughtful “Her”. And despite their gross inappropriateness and inexcusable misogyny (more on that in a bit), lines like “Rape a pregnant bitch and tell my friends I had a threesome” in “Tron Cat” undeniably qualify, too. The DIY, minimalist production

keeps the lyrics prominent and the album appropriately amateurish. Tyler doesn’t need much more than a beat anyway; anything too catchy or glamorous that it obscures his message contradicts it. But that’s not to say Goblin is never excessive; contrarily, its excess is its biggest downfall. Subversion and misanthropy can only be injected in such doses before progressive ideas become regressive ideas, and Goblin crosses that line frequently. Misogyny, murder, rape and homophobia are not the platforms of any agenda with integrity, and any message shared with Al Qaeda, whose response to the assassination of Osama bin Laden essentially paraphrased Tyler’s threat to the privileged in “Sandwitches,” are glaring warning signs. His request in the intro to avoid being labeled the scapegoat of shootings and his disclaimer at the beginning of “Radicals” don’t atone for his reprehensible lyrics. But, along with plenty more evidence littered throughout the album, they suggest a selfawareness that bodes well for Tyler’s future art. Goblin is not his magnum opus, but it shows that Tyler has the talent and the introspection to create a respectable work of genius should he mature artistically and personally. But until then, Goblin perfectly exposes, unintentionally or not, the real Tyler as he exists in the present.

ryan waring

reviews

“ Moment Bends has

Moment Bends Architecture In Helsinki (Moduclar Recordings)

22 reviews

What is a band to do when it wants to become more accessible, more respected without leaving behind its pop sound? Simple: release an album that is serious without having an ego, only after cleaning up its errant ways. Architecture in Helsinki, one of the true Australian gems of the last decade, have been wading through indie waters for seven years. Their early records consist of childlike joys only experienced in a room filled with musical instruments; all sounds combining to create great catchy, dance inducing pop. Their latest album, Moment Bends, is their most mature album to date, but don’t be fooled—they still want to dance with you. AIH are known by fans to be highly creative with those various instruments. Some of the sounds are incredibly new to listeners’ ears, making each album a giant Hide and Seek game. Moment Bends has progressed to more synthetic and digital echoes rather than bongo drums and handclaps. What transpires is an unfortunately comparable to some 80s pop hits. It’s distracting to think that AIH may have ripped off a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Even with these similarities, no one is about to call the band out on lack of originality—the intention is most obviously not there. “Sleep Talkin’” gets away with heavy synth due to the steady beat and falsetto vocals from both frontman Cameron Bird and cohort Kellie Sutherland. The song swirls and spins and blooms into a solid pop song with layered beats and guitar chords. “W.O.W.,” on the other hand falls flat as a proclamation of lost maturing musicians; it sounds almost condescending. The song, the acronym for

“walking on water,” is Sutherland’s anthem for physical love, but it is so heavily computerized that the only natural sounds pushing through are her vocals. It ends up being the clichéd song on the album and made me feel like a little kid cringing before an on-screen movie kiss. Yuck. It’s hard to resist the catchiness of “Contact High.” Bird’s breathy vocals turning into auto-tuned harmonies would normally make any serious music lover wince. Yet they do it in a way that’s so seductive that no one can really hate them for trying out something new, even if it is something as silly as auto-tuned vocals. The album is overflowing when incredibly catchy pop songs. “Escapee” has a strong hook in the beginning and a heavy bass beat to keep the body interested. When the rest of the band joins in with Bird, the song takes on a weightless appeal. “That Beep” is a remnant of their last album, Places Like This, calling to mind their other hits like “Debbie” and “Lazy (Lazy).” It may all be imagined—the song is unfortunately positioned near the end of the album, which is subsequently very unappealing. “Everything Blue” lacks the youthful howls of past Bird and Sutherland, making the entire song a Benadryl haze. “B4 3D” is, for lack of euphemisms, incredibly boring. Bird sounds like Antony of Antony and the Johnsons. Was that his intention? Probably not. And it definitely wasn’t expected from these rowdy kids from down under. The slow ballad falls out of the running for an interesting example of the band trying to find their footing seven years in. No matter the pit falls, Moment Bends remains essentially the same as other Architecture in Helsinki

progressed to more synthetic and digital echoes rather than bongo drums and handclaps." records. Most times the meanings of their songs fall on deaf ears, but damn, do they know how to make you want to dance. For the time being, we’ll claim this as “not one of their best” and hope that future records will find the band once again banging on trash cans and stomping their feet. It goes to show that all the nifty do-dads that computer programs have to offer will always fall short against that au naturel.

katie cook

Take Care, Take Care, Take Care Explosions in the Sky (Temporary Residence)

Imagine you are taking out the trash. Or washing the dishes. Or swatting flies on your window. And you’re listening to Explosions in the Sky on your headphones. Your life will sound epic. That might come off as glib, but it’s not so far from the truth. Explosions make the kind of music that can soundtrack any experience and make it feel grand, awe-inspiring, even monumental. And the fact that they do this with your standard guitar, bass, and drums setup is pretty amazing (if not confounding). These guys have been at it for a while now. Hailing from Midland, Texas (the childhood home of George W. Bush), Explosions emerged around 1999 as a postrock outfit specializing in long instrumental pieces. Their aesthetic overlaps with many other bands of the period including Mogwai, Sigur Ros, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor, but Explosions filled a particular niche that really solidified in two stellar albums: 2001’s Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Live Forever, and 2003’s The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place. These were carefully crafted musical statements, meditations on the possibilities inherent in an ostensibly conservative instrumental setup to push the boundaries of conventional pop music. Their early albums fine-tuned a stylistic proclivity that’s easy to recognize if you hear it but hard to put into words. All of their strengths were distilled down to perfection on The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place: you had piercingly clear chiming guitar notes weaving in and around each other as they circled into beautiful—no, achingly beautiful—melodies that threatened to get right to the pit of your stomach. Each “song” would begin with hopeful notes that would, within a few minutes, reach massive, ear-splitting crescendos designed to knock your speakers down. That combination of soft and loud served them well live: the band members, espe-

cially Munaf Rayani and Michael James, would begin songs swaying to melancholy rhythms and end the same tracks pounding their bodies against their guitars in some mantra of ecstasy. Loud as hell. Yeah, it’s something to behold. Since the zenith of The Earth is Not a Cold Dark Place, Explosions have been less prolific. They put out All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone in 2007, which seemed a little less focused—it was their “holding pattern” album, on cruising speed instead of forging into new territory, i.e., more of a slow burner than something that knocked it right out of the park. So now, four years later, after what the band called a long period of soul-searching, we have Take Care, Take Care, Take Care. Let me say right off the bat that it’s not that different from what came before. We still have the beautiful melodies, the chiming guitars, the elaborately architectured musical pieces. But there are small and subtle differences, like the proliferation of loops of found sounds at various key points throughout its fortysix minutes of music. The album opener, “Last Known Surroundings,” in fact, begins with almost dreamy found sounds before launching into familiar Explosions territory. The band enters as drummer Chris Hrasky pounds the skins in an immediately recognizable flurry of marching beats. When the guitars come in, you notice that they are much more intertwined into a wall of sound, more difficult to separate into their individual arcs.The band appears to have a distinctly measured sense of patience about them here, not going for the immediate cathartic crescendo to finish off songs but letting the music play out in loops and circles organically. The relatively short “Trembling Hands” signals a new direction for the band: vocals harmonize beautifully over an insistent and urgent riff that propels the band into a near frenzy, the kind of dizzying motion that had

always been lacking in the band’s music. On another track, “Be Comfortable, Creature,” the band turn down their guitars to (almost) folk mode, playing intricate melodies that coalesce into a gentle lullaby that probably wouldn’t have been out of place on an old Pat Metheny album; fortunately, a two-minute noisy coda reminds us that this is not Pat Metheny. The melodies throughout the album are gorgeous as usual: they fall somewhere between melancholy and utterly sad, served with a drop of hope (or at least the illusion of it). I dare you to listen to “Postcard from 1952” and not feel a tinge of nostalgia for something you left behind. And herein lies the central conundrum for the band. Explosions are good at what they do. They know how to crank out a perfect model of an Explosions album. If you’ve heard their previous albums, barring some small new flourishes, nothing here will truly surprise you. They clearly deliver on their promise, but the question remains: how long can you stick to the blueprint before you have nothing interesting or compelling to say? The problem with the kind of music Explosions makes is that it’s too easily mistaken for background music, and if you start to deliver on that premise on every album, then people will really stop paying attention. It’s pretty, evocative, and yes, sometimes it’s out-of-this-world drop-dead gorgeous, but can there be too much of a good thing? Explosions will have to confront that conundrum very soon. But for now, enjoy this album (and its amazing packaging, which comes with a poster, a postcard, and can be used to construct a house out of the CD cover). Go take out the trash and make it an epic moment in your life.

asif siddiqi

reviews

80 MUSIC

MINUTES

For Midlife Commiseration I’m not going to lie. I don’t feel for you. I may very well have already reached the mid-point of my human life, but mind will most certainly live on as archived information in an indestructible cyborg body. That’s why we’ve gathered a handful of artists who do share your pain. And while not all of them have reached their forties yet, they have all written beautiful to mediocre songs about it. So mellow out and cheer up – you have half your life to go, which is more than enough time to get through these next eighty minutes of midlife commiseration.

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FLEET FOXES – “Montezuma” “Oh man, what I used to be.” Fleet Foxes’ sophomore effort is chock full of retrospect that will make you reflect on the scads of empty promises you once made yourself.

LCD SOUNDSYSTEM – “Losing My Edge” The Internet can be a wonderfully terrifying prospect. Just ask quadragenarians like James Murphy, who ask themselves what all that experience was worth when a Google search can bring the absent up to speed.

2 3:35 THE BEATLES – “She's Leaving Home” Or as Will Smith so tersely put it, “Parents just don’t understand.” For moms and dads whose little princess is now all grown up and ready to lead a life of her own: this Sgt. Pepper classic is for you.

6:06 DEYARMOND EDISON – “Time To Know” On the closing track of his 2006 LP, Silent Signs, Justin DeYarmond Edison Vernon played the part of an old man with ease – at the ripe age of twenty-five. In ten years, the man will likely have written more solemn songs than most folk writers do in a lifetime or two.

5 3:54 THE KINKS – “Come Dancing” There’s nothing that will make your hair greyer like a homecoming where all your childhood memories have been razed and replaced with parking lots and bowling alleys. Ray Davies tells it better than Adam Duritz ever could.

6 4:00 ARIEL PINK'S HAUNTED GRAFFITI – “Menopause Man” This one goes out to Chaz Bono, who’s given transgender rights tons of public exposure in a number of recent interviews. Keep on fighting the fight, Chaz.

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TALKING HEADS – “Once In A Lifetime” You may find yourself listening to this one over and over again. And you may find yourself wondering how you got there. Let’s just hope your story comes with a beautiful wife too.

3:00 DAVID BOWIE – “Rock 'N' Roll Suicide” The song not only closed Bowie’s iconic concept album The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars, but retired the persona of Ziggy himself, an aging rock star brought face to face with the obvious realization of his career’s end.

9 3:20 ARCADE FIRE – “Wasted Hours” When that midlife crisis first hits, everything hitherto can seem like such a colossal waste of time. On “Wasted Hours”, more so than any other nostalgic The Suburbs track, Win Butler sympathizes with that self-piteous feeling.

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JAQUES BREL – “Les vieux” “Est-ce d’avoir trop ri que leur voix se lézarde quand ils parlent d’hier,” sings the beloved French troubadour of “Les vieux” in his 1963 gem (“It is from having laughed too much that their voices crack when they speak of yesterday”).

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11 3:08 BOB DYLAN – “My Back Pages” Not even Dylan’s reverse psychology is enough to make you forget how old and decrepit you really are. Did I say “decrepit”? I meant “wise.”

4:00 THE FAINT – “Agenda Suicide” “Agenda Suicide” suggests a pretty bleak picture of the American Dream. The dull, banal humdrum of punching the clock has become quite the cliché, but the drones need their anthem nonetheless.

4:58 DENT MAY – “Eastover Wives” Strangely inebriating horn samples and understated guitar riffs are enough to give you Eastover wives an acceptable, if not fully satisfying, soporific from your wearisome lives.

2:23 JOHN LENNON – “Life Begins at 40” Finally, a song that (sort of) faces the midlife crisis with vigorous optimism. Never mind that Lennon was murdered shortly after he wrote it in a sad, ironic twist of fate.

GOGOL BORDELLO – “I Would Never Wanna Be Young Again” If anyone could find the antidote to midlife, it would probably be Bordello frontman Eugene Hütz. At 38, he is not quite there (depending on how old he plans to become), but something tells me he will be well-equipped to confront his later years with drink enough to go around…and around and around.

16 3:15 SOFT CELL – “Youth” A flailing Mar Almond groans, “Youth has gone, and don’t think I don’t cry. We let ourselves slip, and now I ask myself why I’m on my own. And don’t think I really mind, when after all, the years have been fairly kind.” But that last line isn’t the slightest bit convincing.

2:36 SIMON & GARFUNKEL – “Old Friends” Take it away, Youtube user faaronshreman: “This song has always haunted me, because I have an inordinate fear of death. But now that I'm almost 70 I realize it's not about death, but about getting old. Which is not so bad; i'm writing a novel, sketching my cats, ballroom dancing, cooking beautiful dinners for friends and family, walking in the woods with camera in hand, enjoying life. Thank you, S&G.”

4:13 LITTLE RIVER BAND – “Reminiscing” Let’s hear it for the band with the most personnel changes in the history of rock ‘n’ roll (not confirmed, but assumed). That is, if you’re willing to call this feel good hit “rock ‘n’ roll.” I call it pure bliss.

19 6:41 LEONARD COHEN – “The Future” “It’s lonely here,” sings music’s greatest poet, “there’s no one left to torture.” He’s seen the future, brother, and it’s murder.

james passarelli ryan waring

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