The Sound- a tribute to Adrian Borland and his collaborators

Formed in 1979 from the ashes of the Outsiders, The Sound, hailing from London, are one of post-punk music's most criminally unsung bands. Bandleader and guitarist Adrian Borland crafted fantastic songs that overflowed with emotional power and perfect pop songwriting, and his band delivered tight, polished songs played with power and passion. Just one listen to the headlong charge of "Heartland" from 1979's "Jeopardy" is reason enough to marvel at their collective abilities as a band. For that icy, stabbing synth, that rumbling and bouncing bass that carries the melody, those fantastic guitar riffs and singing, there's little else like the Sound.



From the first, the distinctive sound of the Sound (get it?) put them firmly on the map as one of London's leading bands. They showed great promise and received much critical acclaim, but had little opportunity to break through to a wider audience. While bands like Joy Division and their progeny New Order scored fans and hits, many more obscure acts like the Sound or their contemporaries the Chameleons and Comsat Angels toiled in obscurity. Though they produced a substantial body of work, both pop and post-punk, the Sound never reached the audience they should have due to their refusal to pander to record label demands. They disbanded in 1988, three years after their last album,"Thunder Up". Despite their lack of success, they recorded quite a few classic tracks, and their albums "Jeopardy" and "From the Lion's Mouth" are both stone classics of underground British rock music. Adrian Borland, their lead singer and guitarist, went on to a very promising solo career. Unfortunately, his life was cut short by his losing battle with depression and other mental problems. He took his own life in 1999, throwing himself under a train at Wimbledon station. Tributes to Borland have been substantial, and can be viewed and contributed at his personal memorial website. Please visit http://www.brittleheaven.com if interested in merchandise, condolences, or discussion on the web forums. Thank you all for reading. Once more, I'll let the music speak for itself- the Sound, with "The Fire".

Lat den ratta komma in- a mesmerising vampire film

I just saw the Swedish romantic vampire movie "Let The Right One In". I watched about four movies in rapid succession over the past few days, and this is the one that stuck in my mind most prominently. The cinematography, score, and themes were all hauntingly and beautifully deployed. The spare musical gestures and interminably snowy and stark landscapes conjured a fragile, dark and lovely story of the friendship between a 12 year old boy and an androgynous vampire. Wonderful sound direction here; the sound effects captured countless ambient nuances of both atmosphere and self- the sound of dry and cold lips gently parting, a brittle crackle of toys moving in cold air, blood dripping languorously into a jar or open mouth. The musical score could be called spare were it not consistently wonderful and, while unobtrusive, utterly hypnotic. The lead children had a great chemistry as well, capturing the awkwardness of adolescent yearning and chaste friendship simultaneously. Thanks to the ambiguity of vampiric Eli's gender, the relationship between s/he and Oskar develops as both a platonic boy/boy interaction and a sweetly romantic childhood love. It's to the credit of the movie that Eli can announce "I'm not a girl" and still maintain his/her femininity and girlish form.

Eli (top) in a strangely sexual/ nonsexual situation with Oskar (bottom)

"Let The Right One In" takes a pretty unconventional approach to vampire movies. Eschewing ultraviolence and tacky stunt-filled fight scenes, it focuses instead upon the psychosexuality of vampire romance and especially that of childhood romance. There are smatterings of violence, but they are as likely to involve humans exclusively as they are vampire attacks. There are few vampires in the film as well, and the film succeeds largely because it can afford to focus on individuals and their relationships instead of vamp politics.

Striking at the heart of the vampire mythos, "Let The Right One In" presents the tragic nature of vampires alongside the ethereal and fragile nature of the humans in whose lives they prowl. Though snow and ice dominate the film, its character interactions lend it warmth and humanity. Truly, a great film.

Funking up your politics- the mind and body-shaking Gang of Four

Of a part with the willfully abrasive and obscure art-rock scene that encompassed fellow Brits Wire and American eggheads Pere Ubu and Mission of Burma, Gang of Four rocked as hard as any of them, but brought a slinky, groovy brand of forward-thinking dance and funk into their dark vision of capitalist society. Their impact reaches farther than many other post-punk or art rock bands because, simply put, they rocked, and rocked hard. They brought clear-eyed analysis and scathing rhetoric into their music, but before shouting slogans and between sneering at love songs and cheeseburgers, they had the good sense to bring a hard groove. Countless British and American bands who now bear the torch of twitchy, atonal dance rock music owe, either knowingly or not, a huge debt to their forefathers.

In their original line-up, Andy Gill, Jon King, Hugo Burnham, and Dave Allen recorded their highly regarded debut, "Entertainment!", and its follow-up, "Solid Gold". Both records put forth a blueprint that many bands were better able to commercially exploit- the politically-motivated funk rock of Rage Against the Machine and early Red Hot Chili Peppers in particular were successful at rounding out the many edges in the Gang's music and making a radio-friendly facsimile that would not threaten listeners of pop music. Today the same goes for indie-rock darlings of all stripes; to name just a few, Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party, Liars, and the Rapture. What set the Gang apart is that they questioned their audience without hectoring them, forming anthems and not puerile slogans. Their music demanded elemental movement, their lyrics fostered fierce cogitations.

"Entertainment!" stands as a debut of great note, powerful in the cogency of its ideas and breathless in its savage mauling of conventional punk, funk, and disco music. In any typical song, Burnham would set out a churning disco groove, throwing in just enough high-energy fills and breaks to remind listeners of his chops; bassist Allen reportedly restrained himself when playing Gang's songs, which is hard to believe considering the sheer technical ability of his lines and their overwhelming power. Guitarist Andy Gill never settled for conventional riffs or vanilla solos, chucking out technical wizardry for supremely effective volleys of twitchy, scratching, scabrous guitar gesticulations. Driven by pure rawk energy, he chopped out a mess of both rhythmic and arrhythmic feedback squalls, even opting for (gasp) silence when needed. Jon King ranted and chanted with the best of sardonic Brits, lamenting the state of the working classes, historical revisionism, any idea that would offend the sensibilities of a good leftist.

For a great prototypical GO4 song, look no further than 5.45, from "Entertainment!". A tiny drum and harmonica intro, sounding like some small still voice protesting tragedy to a martial beat. Jon King waxes piteous-
"How can I sit and eat my tea, With all that blood flowing from the television, At a quarter to six, I watch the news, Eating, eating all my food as I sit, Watching the red spot in the egg, Which looks like all the blood you don't see on the television..."
With just this short lyric, King takes to task the news media that glorifies war coverage, the apathetic citizens that can sit and eat whilst others die, and even manages to snipe the news media again for sanitizing reports while simultaneously venerating atrocity. Throughout all this rhetoric, ringing guitar lines cut through a thick and moody bass that cries of the helplessness and hopelessness of the oppressed.

"Down on the street, Assassinate!, All of them look so desperate, Declare blood war on the bourgeois state, ooooooh..." No other band could make such a chorus work; it is intensely politically incisive and revolutionary in nature, and yet perversely catchy.

The mid-song chant lends the album its title, a pronouncement on the sick state of voyeuristic cultural debasement that is the evening news fodder in wartime- "Guerrilla war struggle is the new entertainment!"- that rails angrily at those comfortable upper-to-middle class citizens that can stare at a war-torn country through the lens of a news program and, being desensitized to the suffering of those so many miles and class divisions away, can only shake their heads as they lament the world with a mouthful of microwaved food. The result is a powerful song that, while satiric, doesn't hector its audience, but urges them to think.

Some of their best tracks deal with interpersonal connections in much the same fashion, looking at love with a gimlet eye, rendering relationships into balances and handshake deals, commodities bought and sold, interest not shown by a seductive gaze, but accrued by debt. The commodification of sex and the role of the media in public life surface again and again throughout their discography, giving thematic strength to much of their work. Alienation and the wanderlust of man for interpersonal connection feature heavily as well.

The trajectory of their career fell sadly short of their ambitions, however. After "Solid Gold", bassist Allen left and was replaced by Sara Lee, and a shift in their sound occurred over the course of several albums, moving them decisively toward less edgy and more poppy disco and funk music. The music that followed wasn't necessarily bad, but did not sit well with their original fans, and won them few new ones. Drummer Hugo Burnham left after "Songs of the Free" in 1982, and after only Jon King and Andy Gill remained from the original line-up, they called it quits in after 1983's abysmal "Hard". They reformed twice in the nineties, once for the underwhelming "Mall" and again in 95 for their currently last full-length, "Shrinkwrapped".

In a near-miraculous move, the original line-up of GO4 re-united in 2004, recording an album of new versions of old songs. It's not absolutely essential, but is certainly good listening. Though Burnham and Allen have left again recently, there is still talk of a new album with a new line-up. Their newest single, "Second Life", is a classic. Please support this band and if they tour anywhere near you, make it a priority to see them live. Thanks for reading.

The worst part of 'Knowing'? You're powerless to stop it...

Sometimes a movie comes along that you know nothing about, you see it on a whim, you spend the day out with a friend and see it together. Sometimes you want badly to have a good time, to enjoy a spectacle, to share a good movie. I was sorry to disappoint on a recent outing with a friend of mine. I made the regrettable decision to see Nicolas Cage in "Knowing".

Sitting in the theater, tensed and pissed off, I fidgeted endlessly as this movie assaulted me in an almost sexual fashion. I felt violated by its emotional bludgeoning, sullied by its pathetic lack of subtlety and technique. I was genuinely offended by its plot, its heavy-handed messages and trite, cliche straw-men of atheists and rational thinkers. Everything about this film sickened or angered me in one way or another.

If you ever have the chance, I fucking dare you to watch this movie with an aim to enjoy it.
No groaning, no sighs. Don't be pestered by the inappropriate score, don't sit with mouth agape at its ludicrous plot, nor its sick manipulation of historical tragedy for a catalytic plot point.
If you can actually sincerely enjoy this movie, in all its bland glory, its facsimile of Christian endtimes lunacy, its tired and predictable plot, and its confused melange of science fiction, disaster voyeurism, environmental alarmism, and religious smugness, you may want to seriously re-examine your ability to enjoy good movie-making.

Let's begin, shall we?

Nic Cage is basically rehashing "Next" here. No bones about it. As always, I was okay with Nic, because I think he does good work and he has a persona as an actor that I like. However, I didn't like his character. John Koestler is a poorly-written skeptic; he sounds like the most cliche atheist a Christian could dream up. He's angry at being the son of a pastor, he lost his faith because of a personal tragedy, and basically espouses nihilism. In short, he's exactly what a person who had never met an intellectually justified atheist would think atheists are like. Argh.

The 'story', such as it can be called, begins in 1959 with a young girl, Lucinda Embry, writing a string of numbers on a sheet of paper to be put into a time capsule. The girl apparently hears overly loud whispers that are mixed too high in the film's audio. That's how early I began to shit on this movie in my mind- immediately following the credits. The first mind-blowingly idiotic thing in the movie is John Koestler's lecture to his class on cosmology. He presents a thinly veiled debate between naturalistic and supernaturalistic viewpoints, and takes up the "atheist" side by declaring "shit just happens". Conflating nihilism with non-deterministic philosophies? Thanks, director Alex Proyas and writing staff, you dicks.

John's son attends the same school that the spooky little girl did, so of course when the time capsule from the opening scene is unearthed, who gets the string of numbers but Caleb Koestler, and brings them home to our depressed, nihilistic caricature of an atheist. The numbers Lucinda wrote are apparently predictions of the next 50 years' worth of disasters, told to her by annoyingly loud whispers. But how does John discover that the numbers are not random? Now, this kind of future prediction plot is not entirely uncommon, but if done well it can be mildly entertaining. However, this is the only "future-disaster" movie I know of that had the utter tastelessness and absurd hubris to abuse a national tragedy still fresh in the minds of Americans for a plot point. That's right, when John Koestler's son brings home the number string from the time capsule opening, the first thing John notices is the number string 91101. Way to disrespect a nation.

A couple of punctuation marks later, John's got a full-blown delusion-made-reality on his hands. He goes back through the list of numbers, circles out some date and casualty strings, and confronts one of his fellow skeptical colleagues, who, like any good skeptic, believes that it is a coincidence, not least because of the large amount of uncircled numbers that appear to be random. He thinks John is just looking for a pattern where there isn't one, like those Bible code buffoons.

Of course, what could possibly happen next but John coincidentally being at the exact spot of the next disaster in sequence? How laughably predictable. He looks at his GPS when on the freeway, matches the numbers to the paper, and voila, he's in just the right spot for a disaster. In true "Final Destination" fashion, he tries to do something, anything, to help when a plane crashes. He is however helpless as the camera lingers horrifically on writhing, burning bodies in a positively bloodthirsty fashion. Truly, tastelessness is elevated to an art form by this hellish train wreck of a movie.

The next disaster in sequence is even worse. John chases down a guy who he thinks is going to bomb the subway, but, oops, he was just stealing CDs! Oh, man, talk about being on the wrong track! (Canned laughter) Speaking of wrong tracks... the subway train derails in a gloriously cheesy CGI fashion! Wheeeee! It plows into countless people (some of them even in first-person 'kill-train' camera!) in an orgiastic display of brutish violence. Joy... Mawkish aftermath music would be bad enough, but "Knowing" again assaults the audience by shoving an American flag into the next shot, just like with shoehorning 9/11 into the plot. I don't know what the film seeks to gain by appealing to our sense of patriotism, but it comes off as crass and trashy.

Torturous story short, through some ridiculous non-logic, John finds out that the next disaster will be the end of the world, and that the bible had some prescience of this event (double ugh). A solar flare wiping out the third planet away from the sun? Yeah, that sounds completely plausible.....

To wrap it all up, John finds, in some Rapture-like theological lunacy, that only a few humans have been chosen to be saved from the impending disaster by aliens, who have been stalking him in order to save his son. Caleb and Lucinda Embry's granddaughter are saved by infuriatingly angel-esque aliens, the vast majority of humans die in a huge wave of fiery fucking doom, and Nic Cage reconverts to theism just before disintegrating. Heavy-handed enough for ya?

Sitting through it was hell. I saw every shitty plot point coming a mile away. Poorly executed, trite, preachy, and stupid in the worst way, "Knowing" is a mess of theological and science fiction daftness. Fuck this movie.

Finally, it's the Weekend. No, not the literal one.

Godard. 1967. Weekend.
Everything led up to this. A culmination, an encapsulation of an aesthetic, a singular talent, an idea, perhaps an idea that was the entirety of a person.
Weekend is not a film. It's much more. Treatise, work of art, self-portrait, screed, bore, declaration, and semi-coherent narrative; these are proper, but not entire. It's visual poetry, arresting and savage critique of every sacred cow of consumer and mass culture. It's the big crunch of shopping malls, the heat death of the factory lines, a mushroom cloud to punctuate Godard's political era.
Weekend contains more content, more ideas, more art than most ten films put together. It's scattershot and bizarre, true, but when it works, it sets fire to the intellectual mind.
As an absurdist film, it lacks in terms of plot, but shines in its setup and execution of thoroughly skewed scenes. The whole mad journey plays out in stops and starts, dragging its feet through intentionally annoying conceptual gags and then hurtling headfirst into a morass of philosophical and historical exposition. Hardly any of the film could be considered easy to watch; whether it's assaulting the viewer with a deviant sexual liason, annoying them with overly long shots and too-loud car horns, or lambasting them for their political apathy, Weekend is a film that does its best to try the patience of its audience. It is all for the best, though, as its techniques force the viewer to confront the film on its own terms. Weekend forcibly restrains any who see it from turning their mind off and just enjoying a simple film. It demands attention, its impish gags and heady philosophical ramblings commanding an uncommon force that I imagine most other 'provacateur' movies simply could not muster.
Our crazed journey begins with one of many pop-art styled intertitles, proclaiming that this is a film 'lost in the cosmos'. In a bourgeois apartment, some light conversation about death. Our materialistic main characters, Corinne and Roland, are making a trip to Oinville to make sure they get their inheritance- the hard way. A fight breaks out in the parking lot below, and our detestable lead bitch remarks that it would be wonderful if someone had died in the altercation. A bizarre conversation follows, with the foreboding score floating into and out of the scene, becoming more obtrusive and annoying, then retreating, as Corinne recounts, in graphic detail, an evening of depraved menage a trois. When asked if the story is true, or a nightmare, she says simply, "I don't know". After bashing in someone else's bumper on the way out, a brief, highly class-related struggle follows. Corinne and Roland, after a little absurdist argument, are on their way. The most famous gag of the movie stops them dead in their tracks; a sprawling traffic jam on a narrow country road that takes up an entire five minute sequence, soundtracked by hellish cacophonies of car horns and yells, and the score once again ominously looms upon the entrance of a Shell gasoline truck. At the very end, a disastrous accident has killed multiple people, but between the start and end of the jam, all manner of ridiculous activities are taking place. Chess games on the roadside, children frolicking, balls tossed between cars, and impossible collisions are everywhere. It's a thoroughly testing scene, but also entertaining in its silliness. It is perhaps one of the best encapsulations of the Weekend style, save perhaps the political screeds that take place later on.
As Roland and Corinne continue into the nearest town, a tractor collides with an expensive sports car. The driver of the car is killed, and his girlfriend verbally eviscerates the man in the tractor. As epithets rife with snobbery and class warfare pile up, the farmer and bourgeois woman try to drag Corinne and Roland into the argument over who had the right of way, and, finding no help, both the girl and the farmer unite in their hatred of our anti-heroes, showering them with racial slurs. As Roland speeds off, our bourgeois bitch and lumbering working class fool stand shoulder to shoulder, arms around each other, grieving the loss of their right to judge.
Our couple then have a short discussion that reveals their attitudes towards other human beings. Contemplating the farmer's claim, "We're all brothers, as Marx said", Roland asserts that "another communist said it. Jesus said it." Corinne replies, "I don't care, even if it's true. These aren't the Middle Ages." Apparently, both feel that modern society has entirely progressed past brotherhood and unity, and that the dawn of modern capitalism should require every man to act in his own self-interest.
The rat race of capitalism is the subject of our theater of the absurd, and Godard skewers it with gusto. Automobiles, as metaphors for modern industrial capitalist societies, are wrecked ubiquitously on every stretch of road. Over and over, the message hits home: modern societies are an insult to human decency, where we value only possessions; where boredom and drudgery are our lives, where sex is a farce and a distraction from ennui, where the working classes are manipulated, and the rich gorge themselves on the carcasses of wrecked lives, leaving only husks. Prescient, non?
The title of my blog comes from the next scene, where Roland and Corinne are carjacked by a madman, armed with a gun, and his accomplice. The madman rambles on, mixing comic pronouncements with bizarrely perceptive mots justes. He asks Corinne her name, then refuses her answers. "Durant is your husband's name. Dupont is your father's name", eventually announcing, "See? You don't even know who you are. Christianity: the death of language, the denial of self-knowledge." Here, he's taking to task the patriarchal nature of religions and societies that both make women subservient and impress upon them the names of their husbands. The director basically self-inserts his own opinions regarding film here, and announces "I'm here to inform Modern Times of the Grammatical era's end, and the beginning of Flamboyance, especially in cinema." Godard boldly states that his film endeavors to signify the beginning of a renaissance of films that are unafraid of absurdity and pass by the merit of their ideas, not their formal structure and rigid lockstep with reality. If we had been lucky, more films would be have taken up this clarion call. Or, perhaps it is best that they didn't, and Weekend remains a singular experience.
After running some other drivers off the road, Roland wrecks his car, in one of the many audio-visual mismatches that serve to highlight the unreality of the film. First, the image of the crash and a scream from Corinne, then a cut back to the preceding moment of tranquil driving, then the crash again. Corinne comically mourns the loss of her handbag, a really nifty one from Hermes. Godard hits hard once more with his brutal critique of consumerism.
The film also contains several scenes of concentrated political commentary, one featuring a man dressed as Napoleon shouting seeming platitudes (which, in actuality, are rather stinging barbs striking at humanity's greatest follies), another featuring a juxtaposition of two political manifestos laid out by off screen characters while the onscreen characters stare and eat a sandwich. The effect of having two men spell out each other's views with perfect mental clarity is a very interesting technique and manages to make these sorts of scenes rather arresting in their unique setup.
Corinne and Roland have a number of meta-referential lines in the movie pertaining to 'fictional' characters within the film. They even set fire to Tom Thumb and Emily Bronte simply because they won't tell them the way to Oinville. However, they do take time to note that they're only fictional characters. When hitching a ride, they ask if the driver is in the real world, or a film. This perfectly compliments the film's aesthetic choice to embrace the absurd and refuse to tell a mundane and hyper-real story, instead presenting a gaudy theater of brilliant and provocative ideas.
In the end, Corinne and Roland kill Corinne's mother for a handsome inheritance, but become hostages of cannibal revolutionaries. As these hippy dippy beat poets-cum-Gaullist gourmands compose odes to the ocean and feast on the dead, the film closes with Corinne having a bit of long pork, and hears that she is eating Roland. Remarking upon its good taste, she decides to have more later. The audacious closing text still rings true- "FIN DU CINEMA", not just the end of this film, but all film.
Godard's hellish vision remains prescient in its political observations, staying mordantly hilarious and farcical even upon repeat viewings. It is a quite obnoxious film at times thanks to its attempts to distance its audience from its own internal reality, but it only does so to force viewers to contemplate its ideas seriously. It truly is the end of all cinema; after seeing it, no other movie will ever seem quite so fiercely intelligent, so belligerent, brilliant, or morbidly funny. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Another Long Raving Post About Anime

Greetings, all. Jim here. Figured I'd better get cracking on my next post. As stated previously, this one will be about the cerebral genre of anime, the cat-and-mouse, plot-counter plot type of thing. In recent memory, 2 examples of this sort would be Deathnote and Code Geass. Both have some pretty obvious similarities, so I'll start by outlining both and move on to comparing and contrasting.

First off, Deathnote. The main character is Light Yagami. Light is a high school student, the son of a police officer, and aiming for the police himself as a career. He is shown to be highly intelligent, ambitious, hard-working, serious, and also to have a very strong sense of personal justice. However, it is these characteristics which society would view as positive that eventually enable Light to become the worst mass murderer in history. Light is, to put it one way, bored. He feels the world around him is rotten, filled with useless people without whom society would be better off. Every day it seems more criminals are making the news with increasingly wanton acts of cruelty and senseless violence. Light sees the hypocrisy and apathy of the world around him and despairs of ever making a difference.

However, Light soon gains the power to change this rotten world- to mold it to his liking using the power of the Deathnote. A powerful supernatural notebook, the Deathnote can cause the death of anyone whose name is written in it, as long as the writer can visualize the target's face as the name is written. This notebook was originally the property of a Death God named Ryuk. However, Ryuk, like Light, was bored with the apparent purposelessness of his life, so he intentionally dropped his Deathnote into the human world to stir up trouble. Light first doubts the note is genuine, but comes to realize its power by killing a criminal in the act of taking hostages. Light has some small reservations about killing humans, even murderers, but tells himself that someone has to change the world, and he is the only one with the power and intellect to do so. In his arrogance, Light proclaims that he will pass judgment on humanity and become the God of his new world.

After various trials and tests, Light begins to use his new found power to remake the world as he sees fit, placing himself firmly in the position of God-like authority. His primary targets are criminals, murderers mostly. As his intervention becomes more and more pronounced, a cult following begins to revere him as an ally of justice, naming him Kira, the savior. However, other agencies begin taking an interest in Light as well. The Japanese police brand Kira a murderer, albeit by unknown means, and eventually call in help from an outside agent. Said to be one of the smartest individuals alive, this agent has solved many cases other agencies considered unsolvable. Known only as L, nothing is known about this mysterious individual save how to contact him, and few even know that much. The deadly match of intellects between L and Kira eventually escalates into a full-scale psychological war, with both sides vying for supremacy by any means necessary. As both parties reveal more to each other to lure the opponent out into the open, the mind games reach unbelievable depths as murder and investigation continuously repeat.

A remarkably noticeable oddity is the main character's complete lack of sympathy and, indeed, much human emotion at all. In many cases, Light is portrayed as so cold and calculating that he can kill someone without even a twitch or change in facial expression. Throughout the series Light uses and discards people like tools, coldly sacrificing others-even family or friends- for personal gain. He just may be the least likable character I have seen in a long time.

One odd thing I noticed is an abrupt shift in tone about halfway through the series, where events take a rather surprising turn, and the mood is considerably lightened for a few episodes. Some sight gags pop up, and a little humor is injected into the series, ultimately giving a rather strange feeling that one has started watching a different show. It kind of comes off as somewhat lame, in my opinion, but the interval is short, and it is appropriate, in a way, I guess.

Some viewers might complain about the rather noticeable lack of physical action, however the mental intensity and great emphasis on complex thought rather than action can be refreshing after so much over saturation of action in many other anime. I cannot recall any other form of media that has made even the act of eating potato chips a dramatic and intense gesture. That may sound like a joke, but it really features into the plot. I'm not kidding. I would definitely recommend this one for anyone looking for something intelligent in the anime realm.

Now for Code Geass. One immediate difference to note is a much higher emphasis on action, and also a more sympathetic main character. Code Geass takes place in an alternate time line in which an empire similar to Great Britain, appropriately named Brittania, has conquered much of the world around the time of WW II. After the invasion of Japan by the Empire, the government is dismantled. The people of Japan lose their homeland, their rights, and even their very national identity as the country is renamed Area 11. Japanese are coldly referred to as "Elevens" and forced into a low position in the social hierarchy.

Our main character here is Lelouch Lamperouge, a former prince of Britannia disinherited by the Emperor and forced into hiding in Area 11. Lelouch has two overwhelming desires- to create a world where his sister Nunnaly can live in peace, and to avenge his mother's murder by unknown assailants. Lelouch lacks any significant military or political power, until one day when he encounters a mysterious girl named CC sealed in a capsule. She grants Lelouch the power of Geass, the "power of the King". While each person manifests Geass differently, Lelouch gains the power of absolute obedience. Any one order he gives to a person he makes eye contact with must be obeyed. Using this power and his tactical genius, Lelouch organizes a rebellion in Area 11 in order to overturn the balance of power in the world, both for the sake of a more peaceful world that his sister desires, and for his revenge on his distant father for coldly discarding him.

One crucial difference between Code Geass and Deathnote is the main characters' motivations. While Light is motivated by selfish egotism and a petty desire to take over the world, Lelouch is much more selfless and sympathetic as a main character. It is true that Lelouch will sacrifice others if he must, but he genuinely feels remorse for his actions and even sacrifices his own safety at times in order to protect others. Light would do no such thing.

Another important difference between the two main characters is their confrontational styles. While Light is more subtle and engages in psychological contests of will with his opponents, Lelouch is more dramatic in his gestures and relies on tactical, military, and political maneuvering to overwhelm his opponents, dominating them with an overwhelming show of force (with lots of grand pronouncements and overly dramatic acts of showmanship for good measure).

The emphasis in Code Geass is more on physical action and some mecha combat, along with tactical and political ploys. Deathnote, on the other hand, is more purely cerebral and focuses on the neat little tricks employed to deflect investigation and suspicion. Also, Code Geass has more actual characters to develop, so it comes off better in that department. Deathnote focuses almost exclusively on Light and L's confrontation, with little time devoted to secondary characters.

Lastly, Code Geass has a more satisfying ending, in my opinion, which I will not spoil. Deathnote's ending is rather anticlimactic, actually. A very small detail is what ultimately decides the contest. Still, some of the huge, grand plots in Code Geass can come off as a little unnecessarily ridiculous, but other than a few minor complaints on both sides, I would still rate both series rather highly.

Chairs Missing- The Music of Wire

Few bands could match them for versatility by the time they made their third album. It's really too much to ask that anyone match them now that they've made 11 studio albums and countless other ephemera. Wire is a rare case, a band that keeps getting better, pushing boundaries, and evolving far into its career. From their debut to their latest album, hardly a track goes by in their discography without a twitch of the head, a nod from the listener- "well now, that's interesting." Don't call them post-punk. Just call 'em bloody well good.

There are a lot of reasons 1977 was an amazing year. The Talking Heads' debut album, Marquee Moon by Television, Ramones and all that. But Wire's Pink Flag has them all beat for prescience. Pink Flag buzzes and drills right past punk into strange territory, becoming an art school Rocket to Russia. 21 tracks, 35 minutes. That's all they need to hook you.

Drill, drill, drilling into your head

The album basically has one guitar tone, that of a scratching, insistent power-drill boring through pop-song forms and the occasional dark epic. The opener, 'Reuters', is named for a news agency that often covered wars. The closing words of the song showcase an ironic band-wide shout of "Looting! Burning! RAPE!", with the 'rape' initially drawn out, and then repeated on certain beats for the duration of the song, forming a near-chant. It even becomes catchy by the end, if you can believe it. The track following, "Field Day For The Sundays", clocks in at 28 seconds, as the narrator expresses his desire to be scandalized, so as to appear in the paper as a tasteless controversy. "I wanna be a target for the dailies so they can show/ pictures of me with a nude on page three/ so lacking in taste/ touched up near the waste, looking as limp as Monday morning". Fun stuff, when you actually can puzzle out the run-together, heavily English idioms.

Each track gets in some memorable licks, welding funky yet often sweetly melodic bass lines and martial drumming to its metallic guitar riffing. Jaunty and bitter proclamations assault the listener, popping up like whack-a-moles, then ducking back, leaving the silence to describe the import of every chant, yell, and pithy lyrical flourish. Some are political, some are willfully obscure, but all dazzle with wit in print, and confound when heard aloud. All this and some genuinely great harmonies to boot. What a record.

Chairs Missing, containing some of Wire's finest mood pieces.

Pink Flag was the start of a promising career as punk-rockists, but Wire weren't content to just sit on their laurels. Their next album was even weirder, darker, and better. For Chairs Missing, they pumped up the eerie soundscapes and keyboard parts, whipped up even more arty-but-not-pretentious lyrics, and dammed up most of the punk stuff, instead favoring haunting, creepy contemplations on insanity, suicide, and all manner of psychological quirk and malformations. The guitars adopt a wider range, the bass rumbles in a frequently evil fashion, and squeedly, bleeping keyboards lend an air of unreality and delusion to masterpieces of madness, from the (literally) killer "Practice Makes Perfect" to the raving, rocking closer "Too Late". Often, the lyrics are themselves as atmospheric as the music, quietly suggesting daft ideas, screwy bouts of violence, and tragicomic singsong from the mouth of the asylum. Pop gems sit uncomfortably and fidget next to screwy black comic farce, and through it all, safe, sensible musical ideas take up their corners and hug themselves into the fetal position, afraid to look into the psychotic abyss. Chairs Missing is, for this fact, one of the most effective Wire albums, perhaps the best, but it does no favors to neophytes with its unerringly arty vision and squirrely keyboards. I do suggest getting to know this one on its own terms, taking it in as a piece and letting its eccentricities slide. (Also, go turn on "I Am The Fly" and see if it syncs up with the Cronenberg remake of The Fly. I'm still wondering if these two can do that Wizard of Oz/ Pink Floyd thing.)



As demonstrated by the above track, 154 moved things in a decidedly different direction. The punks became completely post here; keyboards are integrated more fully, there are dancier and even more atmospheric songs, and the boys crank out more grotesque pop permutations. Graham Lewis, their bassist, gets his first turn on vocals on a number of songs. The tempos slow to a molasses crawl for some more experimental pieces, none of which particularly thrill. That said, most of the material is extremely solid, both presaging the Sonic Youths of later years and the My Bloody Valentines to follow them. Immersive production and smooth electronic elements complement their delicious guitar tones and doomy bass. If it weren't for "A Touching Display" and "The Other Window" to destroy the momentum, this might be the best Wire album. As it is, it's still great.

From here, Wire split for an extended hiatus, and reformed after five years. Since then, their evolution, though not as rapid, has hopped madly from pop, electronic, and dance music to their punk roots between bouts of activity and breaks. One of their most notable periods is their current tenure, starting from 1999. Since their reformation, Wire have looked back fondly on their punk roots even as they approach middle age, something Mission of Burma have done to similar effect. Their current line of albums and EPs, encompassing Read and Burn numbers 1-3 in the EP series and the albums Send and Object 47, show a band still full of restless energy and nowhere near spent for ideas.

Some favorite tracks:

• 'Mannequin', a personal favorite from Pink Flag. The band-wide harmonies during the chorus are just sublime. Fantastic bass runs as well.
  
• 'Too Late', closing out Chairs Missing. Great riffing, but after the first chorus gradually builds in intensity, we get an electronic blot of freakout that lasts for the rest of the track, vocals chiming back in to ask that eternal question, "Is it too late to change my mind? Too late, too late, too too too too too late!"
• 'Map Ref. 41n 93w', one of the finest pop songs they penned, from 154. Heavily layered production, delicious keyboard riffs and guitars chiming and drifting, a little self-referential 'chorus' announcement, wonderful vocal production, it's absolutely gorgeous.
  
• 'Comet', from Read and Burn 01. Insanely fast drumming, especially considering the age of the drummer, Pink Flag-style metallic guitar slashing into your skull. Machine-precise drum breaks, and some whipsawing electronics. Breakneck fast, penetrating riffage.
• 'One of Us', from their latest full-length, Object 47. Silky smooth keyboard textures, bouncy, groovy bass lines, tightly-reined disco drums, and an ace chorus that is completely betrayed by the pop songform- "One of us will live to rue the day we met each other." Very catchy stuff.

As great as their songcraft is, their best albums deserve to be heard in their entirety, all at once. Now that they've been reissued, you can pick up a copy of any of their first three masterpieces from online retailers, record shops, or their own band website. Please support a great band and purchase their music if possible. Thanks for reading.