Braiiiins... and no brains- a pop-movie twofer

Saw two movies in the past week, guys and gals. "Zombieland" and "The Invention of Lying". Both had their moments, but I'd say for your money you'd probably best see "Zombieland". Let's break this down, shall we?

"Zombieland"- most characters eat brains, shamble and moan
"Lying"- most characters have no brains, plot shambles, characters talk on the phone

"Zombieland"- solid actors, gut-busting meta-universe cameo
"Lying"- Ricky Gervais makes fun of his own "solidness" and gut, best punchlines concern nonexistent metaphysical character

"Zombieland"- makes you hate clowns even more
"Lying"- makes you hate God... natch.

"The Invention of Lying" wasn't a bad film, really, just one with an obvious slant to it. I mean, we all get that writer/director Gervais is an atheist. Hell, I even agree with some of his reasons for thinking religion is ridiculous. He's a comedian, he's paid to point out absurdity. But the big problem I had was not just with the ham-fisted atheist-ing, but with the shit nature of the crapsack world the characters inhabit in "Lying".

Sure, in their world, there's no flattery, no awkwardness, and there's no misleading advertising or social faux pas, but everyone has brain-diarrhea. There aren't just no lies; there are also no omissions, so anytime someone thinks something nasty about our main character, they just spit it out. It doesn't seem to be a natural consequence of the world we're told this is; it's just a joke, a gag. It isn't really called for in the premise.

Jennifer Garner has got to be the biggest offender in the movie, if only because she is supposed to be the love interest. I have to ask, why would a nice little toad like Ricky, who plays a downtrodden sad-sack who suddenly comes to fame and fortune through lying, want to romance an absolute cunt like Garner? In the movie, her character is completely unattractive in her personality- she's mean-spirited, shallow, judgmental, and dull. Any theatergoer should have been thinking, "Hell, I could do better than that ice-queen. Ricky, what are you doing?". I know I was.

Aside from the jarring nature of seeing a movie in which no character could even censor themselves and wherein the love interest was a superficial slut, the movie wasn't terrible. It got laughs, it got jabs at the vapid religious types. But the main plot did bother me because of Garner's character, and because, at the end of the movie, when the whole sham of Ricky's lies are revealed, there is no stated consequential end to his revealed religion or anything. It just seems to fall by the wayside. Joke-wise the movie was solid, but the plot could have been done better, especially for such a wicked concept. (One of the better advertising jokes- a bus ad for Pepsi that states: "Pepsi- for when they don't have Coke". Lawls for truth.)

"Zombieland" fared a bit better, surprisingly. I went in expecting a popcorn-munching gore-comedy, but I actually got a bit more sweet, awkward road-comedy than I bargained for. Special mention has to go here to Jesse Eisenberg as our hero. Jesse is a great stand-in for when Michael Cera is not around- for proof, see Adventureland. ("Jesse Eisenberg- for when Michael Cera is busy") Woody Harrelson plays a delightful badass with a Twinkie obsession- he provides the guru-ing, although Eisenberg also has some great tips for zombie-movie survivor types. (Avoid bathrooms, check the backseat- these rules pop up helpfully in a nouvelle vague gag every time a rule is demonstrated.)

Our two lovable, tricky chicks are Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin. The two are quite cunning in this film, and it was refreshing to see female characters in a zombie flick who were neither completely asexually badass nor resolutely pouty and helpless. Instead, we get the girls scheming and plotting while still knowing how to pull off a nice headshot.

So, with our four person cast, the group dynamic falls in place naturally by personality and age difference; we get younger Abigail as our perky instigator who riles up rough-hewn but lovable Harrelson, often disgusted at the spunky youngster's lack of knowledge of old fogey culture. Emma is our badass with a heart of gold, falling for our nervous but surprisingly resourceful Jesse, who is often at odds with the intimidating and not-very-affable Harrelson. Nothing groundbreaking, but it works.

The cameo that elevates the movie from good to hilarious should be against the law to spoil- it's unexpected, but entirely apropos, and the joke is distended and stretched to cover most of the late-middle of the movie. It gets plenty of mileage not only from the jokes, but from the obvious mutual respect and affection between the cast, the writers and director, and the cameo star. The feeling of good vibes is infectious, and stays long after the credits.

So, to wrap, to wit, in totality and sum, just go see "Zombieland". Oh, and buy that new album by... who were they? That veteran rock band, new album, Matador records...

Yo La Tengo, that was it.

New Mission of Burma Vid

Music video for 1, 2, 3, Partyy!. Apparently their first official music video. Side note: if there was a Mission of Burma brand beer, would it take 22 years plus change to get your drink on? Just a thought...

Anyways, enjoy the awesome, and sorry again for the delay in postings, I've just had a bout of month-long nerves/ writer's block. I know, pretty specious claim, but, lemme tell ya, I had a lot of doubts as to whether I would keep posting. However, that's all done now, and I'm movin' on, dammit. So Fuck It!

The Sound The Speed The Light

Can you see it, hear it, feel it? The sensation upon me, transmitted through these words. Bursting excitement, explosive joy.
A new Mission of Burma album arrives.

Can they top their other reunion albums?

Our first single, "1, 2, 3, Partyy!" is the opener to the new album, a furious scorcher that throttles forward from the deadpan spoken opener. "1... 2... 3..." and with the four count on the sticks that end on "3", a rumbling, slashing bass and guitar duel throws our heroes back into the the ring. No punches are pulled here. Clint barks out his delivery in the same voice he's had since 1979, and one always imagines his lanky form hunched purposefully over his bass during every riff, retreating from the mic to pummel his instrument with the vigor of a man ensnared in the fevered ideals of a youth rebellion, caught within the hands of some politicized, impassioned "movement" that is less discussed than shouted. Burma has always begged anthem status with its biggest numbers, and "Partyy!", despite the jokey title, is a barn-burner on par with Certain Fate or Academy in the canon of pissed-off but somehow exuberant art-punk anthems. Incredible bass solo? Aw, you shouldn't have. It's more than I deserve.

So, how does the rest of the record stand up to the lofty standard set by our opener? Suffice to say that the flow of the typical Burma formula, if they can be said to have one, remains unbroken. "Possession" in its live form has been a treasure of mine; I've deeply dug its groovy guitar scratches and shuffling, morphing beat and gonzo vocal (while listening, notice the completely asynchronized "gotcha!" Roger proclaims during the verse). In studio it has gained a bit of artsy effects, notably some electronic treatments for vocals and harmonies as well as the usual tape manipulations by Bob Weston. All told, it manages to be both as raw as I'd hoped in its ragged, twitchy, anti-groovy squawks and still bizarre enough in its production for Burma to still warrant the "art-rock" label. Listen to "Possession" here.

"Blunder"'s effected intro that retreats into a more live sound kicks in Peter Prescott's first composition for the record, and its lumbering verses give way to a Middle-Eastern guitar riff for the chorus. Clint's bass growls and slices effectively here, and the biting emotional edge of the break is bizarrely truncated by a cymbal crash leading into a tinkling, zonked out bridge. Mean riffage meets weird once more.

Peter's drumming has got to get special mention here as well, as his abilities are fully utilized to great effect throughout the record. It seemed to me that "Obliterati" had straighter beats for the most part, and I feared Peter was simply in a holding pattern, or maybe losing his touch. My fears were, of course, completely unfounded. Prescott contributes muscular beats everywhere, his trademark complex fills, punishing polyrhythms and hyper-fast syncopations driving every song toward the heart of aggression, insanity, emotional desolation, and anger that lurks within even the most upbeat Burma tune.

Roger's vocals are mostly delivered in a classic 60's style, very psychedelic production and frequently screwy lyrics, as is typical of the guy that wrote "Max Ernst". Bob did a better job producing this one; the band feels more than just muscular, they feel like they have more than just volume, more than just power. Instead of "Obliterati"'s flat, heavy tone, SSL is more nuanced, more varied. Everything feels more alive, more electric. Melody comes through with more clarity. Their use of the studio is as good as it's been since that beautiful field of steel-wrapped flowers, "Vs.", appeared in 1982.

This record has melancholy, it can do frailty, sadness. Like Burma's other work, there are some fast songs, some slow. There are still three distinct songwriters here pouring their hearts out. But no matter the sound or the speed, there still pulses behind that light a deep heart of passionate joy and anger in equal measure, a true Heart of Darkness.

Hear this now. Fucked Up.

Fucked Up is ostensibly a hardcore band from Toronto Canada, but that's really no descriptor for their sound. Though their vocal barks and howls certainly bring to mind hardcore groups, they frequently use female guest vocals for more melodic choruses, and their song lengths hardly fall squarely into the two-minute hardcore rant range. It's no wonder they can comfortably share a stage and a label with Mission of Burma. (See: the Williamsburg Waterfront show in NYC in July)

Man, that is Fucked Up.

Roger's sunglasses can see everything, even the future.

In fact, I came to Fucked Up through Mission of Burma, seeing that both were on Matador records. Their songs don't sound very similar, but the same ethos runs through both bands in totally different and exciting ways.

Mission of Burma's fastest songs and hardest material suggest hardcore, psychedelia, art rock, even heavy metal from time to time. (Fun World is pretty metallic, you could say.) Their anthems are pop-pretty, but ragged, impassioned, sophisticated, and intelligent. Geek punk for those too rational to be angry, but too dissatisfied to just sit down and shut up. I've already waxed poetic on these guys before, so, long story short, they're smart, they rock, kickass bass lines, fuck yeah.

Fucked Up have cultivated mystery and invited controversy since their inception. Their records sport fascist imagery on the sleeve. They take pseudonyms like Mustard Gas, 10,000 Marbles, Pink Eyes, and Concentration Camp. Interviews with the members of Fucked Up have contained incredible distortions and bizarre tall tales told to further the mystery of the group's identities.

Their music is explosive and highly conceptual, combining whip-smart lyrics and hardcore's usual forward-lunging bam-thwok with obtuse arrangements and unexpected moments galore (lounge music, flute solos, strings and whistling). If hardcore bands wrote epic prog-rock anthems... well, I guess now they do.

They've got a style all their own, energy to spare, humor and intellect, and a charismatic front... thing.

Remember how Henry Rollins ate your children? This is the guy that got your dog.

Pink Eyes, a.k.a Damien, is a woolly, growling man-beast who loves puppies, smiles at the laughter of children, and is no doubt a productive member of society. But, just to be careful, stay far away from this man. You just never know. He might just emit the first vocal from this song, then kill you.

New Mission of Burma album gets title, release date (Updated with first single)

October 6th, 2009, Mission of Burma's new LP drops on Matador. I've put my preorder in on matador's website. You should too, if ya know what's good fer ya. $12 for CD, $18 for vinyl. Tell 'em altron2095 sent ya.

First single from the album, y'all. "1, 2, 3, Partyy!" is pure joy, pure bliss. Hear it, love it.

1, 2, 3, Partyy!

Happy Fourth, everyone!

Wow! Sorry for the lack of updates! I've been busy at work...

So, on this, the most American of holidays, let's all remember the treaty of Tripoli of 1796, article 11.

"As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries."

So, we are not a Christian nation. Glad we're all clear on this. We are a nation of Christians... and Jews, and Hindus, and Muslims, and atheists, agnostics, and just plain apathetic types. All types and creeds and delicious flavors, one big nation. So, I'm going to take this moment to show my own pride in a display of solidarity. It is my belief that patriotism consists not just in national pride but in pride in one's state's ideals, and as America prizes freedom and liberty as its chief ideals, I hereby exercise my own freedom of speech.

I am an American, and I am an atheist. I take great pride in the rights granted to me in this nation, and I faithfully serve my duties as a citizen by remaining an informed voter and a productive member of society. I look today with great sorrow at the state of religious discourse in this country, and at the hijacking of this society by religious zealotry in politics and the general public sphere. However, I know that a new day will dawn, and soon. We secularists, progressives, liberals and moderates will win, and not because we will fight for ourselves, as the conservative theists would. We will fight for all, so that everyone, including our opponents in this debate, will benefit.

Freedom of religion, and freedom from religion, is not best just for secularists, but indeed for all people of every religion in this country. When religion is concerned with the private sphere, with people and not movements, society and not politics, that is where it shall do the most good, and the largest variety and number of people will profit spiritually and socially.

The only religion that should be minimized, marginalized, and shunned is that dangerous beast of literalist or inerrantist religion, the vitriolic, and hateful speech the "true believers" call their domain. It is a fetid cesspool of anti-gay bigotry, anti-woman and anti-liberty speech, anti-scientific and anti-intellectual nonsense, and oppressive, self-righteous arrogance. The problem is not so much that these people believe as they do; it is that they want no one to believe differently. In the name of America's ideals, they must not win.

My tone is meant only to be indignant and righteously impassioned here. Know that I have no enmity for any person for their group affiliations or opinions, but I do have little patience for bigotry or anti-intellectual sentiment. I only ask that the privately held beliefs of those who denigrate or prejudge homosexuals, atheists or any other minority group not be given respect, as they promote hate.

For my Japanese-speaking friends

My friends and partners in crime, I give you the almighty and amazing Boris!