January 2003
ADAPTATION
(film, directed by that loser who used to do alright videos)
What the fuck was that shit? Basically what felt like six hours of watching
a complete loser beat off and cry at the same time. Like, no interesting
visuals — which could be passable if there’s an interesting
story. What’s this? There isn’t one? The root idea of the
movie (a screenwriter follows up a successful and original script with
an adaptation of a novel, gets writer’s block, watches his fictional
twin brother find success with a hackneyed thriller, writes himself into
a script about the same) isn’t actually developed. Instead, we are
subjected to more filmmaking about filmmaking, in humour-deprived Living
In Oblivion fashion, plus some misogynist make-up-girls-are-dumb jokes,
smart-women-have-never-done-drugs jokes, and women-don’t-know-what-they-want
jokes. This is pure self-absorbed, “I’m awkward and wracked
with self doubt” (uuuuugh) trying-to-show-off-how-I’m-smart-and-original
removal of ribs to give yourself blowjobs. The movie even addresses this,
but just comes across as defensive and guilty. The worst part is, people
actually like this crap. BP
File next to: Should we blame Dave Eggers? Can he give me my money back?
CURSED
Clinton’s, Jan. 2. $5
While everybody was scene-ing out at Sneaky Dee’s, me and a bunch
of Greg Ginn-alikes blasted our asses off to dude from Converge’s
new band, and being spazzed out to the heaviest fucking shit and being
uncool and not buying beer never looked better. Drums like “Whoa!”
blasting near-constant snare rolls in bruise-altering meter, basslines
like “Growowowowwwwllll!” forcing you to stand up straight
while “SHRIEEEEEEEK! CHUGGA CHUGGA CHUGGA” guitar riffs repeatedly
slam their foreheads into your front teeth — then all of a sudden,
this guy with a microphone goes, “RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!” for
like 25 minutes, then they stop and drive back to Montreal in a fucking
blizzard and you go, “That was worth every penny. Hardcore is fucking
cool.” BP
File next to: Packing up your gear really quickly.
Cursed play Sneaky Dee’s on the 28th.
DOGTOWN AND Z-BOYS
(film, dir. Stacy Peralta, now on video)
I don’t know how this manages not to be filed in the Porn section
of the video store because it sure is the longest blow-job I’ve
ever seen. Documenting the time when surfing segued into skateboarding
as the favourite sport of a legendary Venice beach surf team (Zephyr),
the video shows how the hobby evolved into a sport and eventually a lifestyle
choice for millions of boys (and some girls) the world over. It is at
times a fascinating story of the way kids will reclaim the detritus left
by “advancing” civilization, and parlay it into careers worth
big bucks for the more business-astute. However any semblance of objectivity
is lost by the fact that the director and interviewer Stacy Peralta was
a key member of the Z-Boys, and the relentless “we were so great”
testimonials. Noticable flaws include the little time spent on Peggi Oki,
the team’s lone female member, and the minute amount of commentary
from people outside the team. Despite this, it’s a fascinating look
at a scene that had a major role in shaping what we currently know as
“alternative” culture. There is some classic footage from
the time (early ‘70’s) and all those shirtless boys, quite
the soft-core homo-erotic masterpiece. NC
File next to: Your Flipside video collection.
MICROPHONES
Mt. Eerie (K, www.kpunk.com)
Opening with a series of drawn-out tugboat groans and muffled heartbeats
that slowly disperse into the clearing of a rainforest drum ceremony,
Mt. Eerie first smacks of the work of a band wilfully testing its ever-growing
profile, or at least betrays an equally wilful ignorance of same; that
the album’s broken up into ten-minute-ish-long movements instead
of conventional songs only presses the point. Those already smitten with
Phil Elvrum’s idiosyncratically epic touch are sure to find much
to sigh about, though, as the manboy wonder crosses paths with skewed
quest imagery and storybook monologues aplenty, from personifications
of Death as a big black cloud to The Universe itself as an authoritarian
gatekeeper (Calvin Johnson, of course, in a particularly endearing riddle-me-these-questions-three
cameo), Elvrum littering his travels all the way with sonic surprises
that distort and jiggify, desperately yelp heavenward, or congregate with
conviction, all distant-like and broken-voiced like an overgrown school-play
assembly. CFD
File Next To: Shows in churches (yes, other bands have done it too), The
Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, travelling to Scandinavia to consort with
fellow kind mythmakers.
NAW
The Resound of a Foggy Autumn Dawn (Noise Factory, www.noisefactoryrecords.com)
With song titles like “Two A.M. Overcast” and “Moist
Water Drops,” you could be forgiven for mistaking Neil A. Wiernik’s
new disc for another slab of “idyllictronica,” as Simon Reynolds
termed it, that rustically-tinged electronic music that’s spread
across the countryside (blame Boards of Canada!). However, Naw is pretty
straight-up minimal techno more suited to the dancefloor than stoner couchsurfing.
It’s a little obtuse and lacking in melodic accessibility, but throw
it on with the lights off and you’ve got your own warehouse-party
echo chamber! JD
File next to: Tomas Jirku, a metronome.
Naw plays WL 146 on Jan. 12 at 11:45pm.
P:ANO
When It’s Dark and It’s Summer (Hive-Fi Recordings/Zum Media,
www.zumonline.com)
This unique little chamber-pop exploration comes courtesy of wise-beyond-their-years
20 year-olds, Nick Krgovich and Larissa Loyva from Vancouver. You can
just tell these guys are destined for great things. San Francisco’s
Zum label has been responsible for some great, underrated releases lately,
and this fits neatly into that category. Backed up by like-minded Vancouverites
the Beans and Veda Hille, When It’s Dark... is a truly original
release, mixing subtle and fragile textures of bowed saw, cello, horns,
treated piano, brushed drums and music boxes. The real clincher for me,
however, is the wonderful play of Krgovich and Loyva’s elegiac boy-girl
vocal harmonies on many of the tracks. Simple yet strikingly beautiful,
this album brings to mind a long road trip or reminiscing over the lazy
days of summer in the dead of a cold Canadian winter. One of my top picks
of 2002. Highly recommended. SV
File next to: Low, Ida, Bedhead, The Microphones.
PENGUIN CAFÉ
ORCHESTRA
(s/t, 1981, Editions EG, $10.95 at Sonic Boom a.k.a. Cheapo forever)
Whenever a youth culture passes an average age of 25, its members start
to get their own apartments and become domesticated, and thus start to
seek out music that actually relaxes them when they hang around the house
during the day. In the case of the early ‘70s post-hippie boom,
this resulted in some of the worst music ever (James Taylor marked for
death!). Not so with the late ‘90s post-indie boom — Gastr
Del Sol’s Camoufleur, Papa M, The Sea and Cake are exemplars of
this highly listenable “afternoon music.” Penguin Café
Orchestra, a British ensemble conceived in ’72 by late composer
Simon Jeffes, is the secret source of this sound and my “seminal”
discovery of the year. Astonishingly creative instrumental music utilizing
all varieties of stringed and woodwind instruments (and in one instance,
telephone and rubber band), PCO makes for such compulsive listening, you
won’t want to take off your housecoat and slippers until night falls.
JD
File next to: Coffee, newspaper, email.
READ: INTERPRETING
BJÖRK
(CD comp, Hush Records, www.hushrecords.com)
It seems fitting in the same year that the swan-clad Icelandic electronic
queen has released a box set and a greatest hits package, that a tribute
album to her would also surface. Tribute albums can sometimes be the lowest
form of expression, but this little gem grows on you and is mostly respectful
of its muse. Portland, Oregon’s Hush Records, known for their “non-rocking”
quiet roster, have gathered together some inspired covers here. Available
as an e-download album with a donation, this album is worth it for both
the serious Björk fan or anyone curious to hear some of the artists
on this great little indie. Some tracks like the Notwist-by-way-of-Joao
Gilberto version of “Hyper-ballad” by Blanket Music, and Ben
Gibbard’s “Joga,” just make me smile. Others, like Kaitlyn
Ni Donovan’s “The Hunter,” are a bit too close to the
original, in my opinion. But no matter, this is an interesting release
just the same and worth seeking out. SV
File next to: Björk: The 4-Track Demos.
ROCKET
FROM THE CRYPT
Live From Camp X-Ray (Vagrant; www.rftc.com)
Speedo and the boys continue to blaze through their post-“bad album”
rebirth. X-Ray is 26 breathless minutes of studio destruction —
yes, the title is perverse. More of the same pop/soul-soaked, turbo-charged
rock’n’roll mastered at deafening frequencies that will thrill’n’chill
true believers to the bone, and challenge newbies to convert to the RFTC
faith or live in eternal misery. JD
File next to: A hot rod driving off a cliff.
THUJA
Suns (Emperor Jones, www.3acrefloor.com/jewelled-antler.htm)
My roommates keep blasting the Clipse and Justin Timberlake albums. They’re
getting played so loud, in fact, that it’s almost drowning out this
here CD, made by some San Franciscans who call themselves the Jewelled
Antler Collective, play in each other’s bands and generally seem
to do a fine job of crystallizing the delicate and short-lived, all hums,
hisses and crackles, a task executed in as consistently pleasurable a
manner as folks like the Neptunes or Timbaland do in the fucked future-funk
field. While the latter pair best operate when conveying the pathways
of trapped synth stabs skittering through sleek hard drives, though, groups
like Thuja instead excel at humbly mechanizing the mundane, being better
equipped to hot-rod a friend’s attic with mic placements than a
pro studio with Mac plug-ins. Suns is as cozy and inviting as it is spacious
and foreboding, the kind of event-based recording where a dusty organ
intermingles with countless dull creaks—or maybe that’s just
the “Grindin’” from downstairs creeping up through the
hardwood again. CFD
File Next To: A crisply rendered crunch, one lone guitar for timb(er)/(re),
an advantage to singlemindedness.
WAAWE
Timestorm Was The Signal (Minority Records, www.minorityrecords.cz)
Ever wonder what’s up in music beyond the US-Anglo corridor that
most of our brains are stuck in? The scenes that are percolating down
Croatian back country roads, community centres in Denmark, abandoned swimming
pools in Slovenia. Prague’s Waawe (Wave) are the Czech Republic’s
answer to American post-punk. They do it so well it’s easy to mistake
them for an American band, and I’m not sure if that’s a compliment
or an insult. It is perhaps a testament to the allure of the genre. Though
they employ a sometimes familiar stylistic approach such as monotone shouted
vocals (in English) and alternating melodic/atonal guitar lines, Waawe
manage to sound strikingly fresh and original. Stand-out track “Sunset
City” has been on repeat since I first heard it. Cough up the ten
Euros, rediscover the joys of mail-order, and see how the rest of the
world is attempt to save punk from its wheezing death rattle. NC
File next to: Pitchblende, Fugazi.
EVERYONE
Everything (everybody@everywhere.com)
Good for Everyone. Everything is terrific. We love everybody everywhere
and it’s all just really good. Nothing is not good. Yay everyone.
Peace. CH
Reviewed
by: Nora Charles (NC),
Jonny Dovercourt (JD),
Craig Fraid Dunsmuir
(CFD), Paddy O'Donnell (PO'D),
Doc Pickles (DP), Buddy
of the Pines (BP), Steven Venn (SV).
Send
material for review to: Wavelength, 868 Dovercourt Rd. Toronto ON M6H
2X5, attn: Nora Charles.
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Interested in writing reviews for Wavelength? Contact review editrix Nora Charles.