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March 31, 2008

Superman Felled by Kryptonite-laced Lawsuit

Actually, to be honest, there's no proof of any Kryptonite contamination, but attorney Marc Toberoff may turn out to be Lex Luthor. He just won a case against Warner Bros. on behalf of the heirs of Jerome Siegel, one of the co-creators of Superman in the original Action Comics issue 71 years ago. Variety is reporting that this might put the franchise on hold:

The federal ruling could put a serious crimp on future plans for one of the studio's most enduring -- and lucrative -- franchises, especially if co-creator Joe Shuster's heirs follow suit in five years, when they are eligible to do so. As it is, the studio has at least two Superman projects in development -- a follow-up to Bryan Singer's "Superman Returns" and "Justice League" -- and it may end up paying tens of millions from the domestic haul of "Superman Returns" to Siegel's heirs under the ruling, which applies to domestic monies for Superman projects since 1999. To the Siegels, Toberoff's legal maneuvers are nothing short of heroic. The family had been destitute for years after Siegel sold rights to his Man of Steel to Detective Comics for $130. DC Comics had started to pony up more monies after Warners made successful movies based on the character, but Siegel had long wished to redress the fact he had gotten so little from his creation; he died in 1996.

While some are worried this could spell the death of Superman, it seems like anybody with a stake in profits would actually want more movies and stuff, not less. Plus, as Vulture points out, putting Hayden Christensen in the role of the Man of Steel would be a far greater threat to Superman's legacy. Whatever, all I care about is the new Wolverine movie. Don't sue Wolverine! He can't help that he's indestructible!

Photo of supermen used under a Creative Commons license from Flickr user Dogwelder.

Has Madonna Finally Lost the Plot?

Like any self-respecting homophile dance music enthusiast, I've always liked Madonna. Er, let me put it more specifically: I've always liked her music. While her mining of the underground often seems to slightly misunderstand it (see "Vogue"), she's one of the few artists who have combined massive success with consistent boundary-pushing. Partly as a result of her continued search for hot new producers, her output has remained compelling, even 25 (!) years after her first album. 2003's American Life was a bit of a disappointment, but 2005's Confessions on a Dancefloor brought producer Stuart Price to the foreground for a brilliant distillation of contemporary dance music styles. Anticipation is high for her 11th studio album, Hard Candy, set for release in April; cover art (left) and the first single ("4 Minutes") are out now. What's the verdict?

Well, in a word, "meh." She's chosen to work with superproducer Timbaland, and "4 Minutes" even features Timbaland house mouseketeer Justin Timberlake. The song is a plodding retread of the same skittery beat we heard in Timbo's "Give It To Me." There are almost-intriguing Baile funk-reminiscent horns tooting around, but the problem is there's no real hook, and instead we get an eye-rolling save-the-world message grafted on:

While I've been a near-tireless cheerleader for Timbaland, his production skills aren't exactly cutting edge at this point, and somehow seemed to fit better with the refreshingly-new-to-dance-pop Nelly Furtado. Madonna working with Timbaland is like, um, Helen Mirren starring in a Steven Spielberg action flick. Nothing against Spielberg, but seriously? And what about that cover art? "Hey, let's use this out-take from the Sex book and have Jimmy in graphic design just type up the title in Arial Rounded. Done!" Sure, cover art is dead, but even the 9-pixel-wide screen on my cell phone deserves better artwork than that. Granted, Madonna will be 50 in August, so maybe her advancing age is making her insecure. It's hard to imagine, though; with her secret yoga moves and Kabbalah chants, she'll probably live to be 150. So what gives?

With Hard Candy also boasting Pharrell Williams on production credits, it's worth noting that both he and Timbaland are the first black producers Madonna has spent a whole album with since Reggie Lucas and Nile Rogers on her first two albums, respectively. While I'll reserve judgment until I hear the whole album, I worry that in Madonna's attempt to broaden her racial and stylistic horizons to include hip-hop, she's just picked the most popular producers around, instead of someone who could actually balance her pop instincts with progressive sounds. What about, I dunno, Danjahandz, grime producers Wiley or Mizz Beats, breakbeat producer Tayo, dubsteppers Digital Mystikz, or even a dancehall guy like Vybz Kartel? Even Swizz Beatz or Danger Mouse is edgier than Pharrell these days. If Madonna wanted to finally investigate hip-hop, great, but I wish she'd continued her tradition of looking to the underground (or even the mid-ground) for inspiration, instead of the top of the charts. But with "4 Minutes" set to bring Madonna above Elvis' record for most Top Ten singles, what do I know?

Photo courtesy Warner Bros.

March 28, 2008

Reports: Brüno Terrorizing America's Heartland with Sexy Hot Pants

What I wouldn't give to have seen this. Apparently, Kansas is the first known location for Sacha Baron Cohen's new movie Brüno, the "sequel" to Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, and the expected run-ins with the local populace have started to hit the news. Dateline: Wichita, and the amazingly-named Mid-Continent Airport (like, why not just call it "Bumfuck Airplane Place"?). The Bruno people got permission to film inside the airport, reportedly claiming to be from German TV, as one does (although Brüno is supposed to be Austrian). Things seemed fine, until they turned their cameras on, according to the Wichita Eagle:

The film crew tossed off their coats and did some "kissing" and "fighting" in the hallway leading to the security area at the airport. The security officer called his chief. His chief watched the live security surveillance and reported that no laws were being broken. "At that point, we didn't feel like we had any law enforcement issues," said [assistant director of airport operations Brad] Christopher, who was dealing with the situation that day. But it was "inappropriate," he said. Christopher asked the crew to leave, and the crew left peacefully. "We felt like we were deceived, lied to about the intent and what their true intents and plans were for this film," Christopher said. He said several other locations in Wichita were also targeted.

So, other than "kissing" and "fighting," what, exactly, was inappropriate?

Well, it might have been the hot pants: The UK Sun reports part of the problem was that a "European man" was "stripping down to tight shorts and dancing in the lobby." Sure sounds like Brüno. There are also reports the crew disrupted an Easter play at a Topeka area church by attending the event in "chains." No more details on that little adventure.

If you're reading this, Sacha, allow me to recommend another location: Nebraska, just a few miles to your north. It's probably a little less homophobic than Kansas, but hey, my relatives could be in the movie!

IMDB has October 2008 release dates for the Brüno movie in Finland and Norway, and a December date for Brazil and the Netherlands. No official word on a domestic premier.

Photo courtesy Channel 4.

MoJo Staff Picks: March 28

Welcome back to the "staff picks" shelf at The Riff. R.E.M.'s new album, Accelerate, is due out on Tuesday, April 1. In preparation for this event, Kiera's selections this week (numbers 2 and 3 on the playlist) both have to do with the storied Athens band.

1. "Red and Purple," The Dodos: Their March 18 release, Visiter, combines sort of a punk attitude (using shoes outfitted with tambourines) with, the band would probably hate me for saying so, pretty melodies, that I want to keep listening to.

2. "Orange Crush," Editors: A mellow cover of R.E.M.'s classic. The Editors are British. Do they even have Orange Crush over there?

3. "Dazzling Display," Steve Wynn: Turns out R.E.M. has an imeem playlist, and this one's on it. Peter Buck + Dream Syndicate=pretty cool.

4. "Bodysnatchers," Radiohead: I know, you're tired of hearing about Radiohead, right? I'm recommending this track anyway. This song is revved-up tension that is pretty and strange at the same time.

Have a Nice Day: Wal-Mart Doesn't Control the Smiley Face

Happy happy joy joy. Wal-Mart has lost its claim that it alone owns the smiley face. Last week, a federal judge ruled that the websites Walocaust and Wal-Qaeda have the right to spoof the company's smiley-face logo. It's not the first time the chain has wrangled over possession of the vapidly feel-good '70s icon; in 2006 a French businessman who claimed to have invented it tried to block Wal-Mart's attempt to trademark it. (The real creator of the smiley actually appears to be this guy—and not Forrest Gump, either.) The store won that round, saving us from the disaster that would have been Freedom Smileys. But at least the French smileys would have been allowed to unionize.

March 26, 2008

Remix Manu Chao's New Song

I'm always stoked when artists put out a capellas from their songs (for easier DJ tricks and mashupping), and it's even more fun when you get the individual instrument tracks, all split up for your amateur-song-rearranger pleasure. This "here, take it all" attitude is still kind of rare, weirdly enough: you'd think every artist out there would take advantage of the free "wikimixers" out there on the off chance of coming up with an even more awesome version of their song.

Well, at least Spanish-French singer Manu Chao gets it. He's sponsoring a remix contest for his latest song, "Politik Kills," which in its original version is a loping reggae number, complete with Chao's typically hypnotic guitar work, although the first thing I might do is take down the level of the vocals which are a bit on the polemical-lecture side for me. But no biggie. Eighteen new versions have already been posted on his website, including dubby ones from Chris Blackwell and Prince Fatty, as well as a shuffly south-of-the-border style mix from Mexican Dubweiser & Kinky. Watch a fan-made video for the original after the jump, and check out the remixes and download the individual tracks here.

—Party Ben

Photo used under a Creative Commons license from Flickr user thetripwirenyc.

March 25, 2008

Expelled: An Intelligently Designed Creationist PR Campaign?

Nice! I just received a package full of swag for the hottest new documentary on the Internets. That would be Expelled, a new film narrated by Ben Stein that claims to expose how "Big Science has expelled smart new ideas from the classroom." In this case, Big Science is evolutionary science and those "smart new ideas" means intelligent design, a.k.a. creationism in a lab coat. It's a little funny to think of creationism as a new idea, since it's been around for 3,000-plus years. Oh well. The makers of Expelled don't seem to be big on nuance. The reason they're already getting press for the film, scheduled for release in three weeks, is that they barred —actually, expelled—a evolutionary biologist who appears in the film from a recent screening. But Richard Dawkins, author of The Selfish Gene and The God Delusion, made it past security and reported that the film not only took his on-screen quotes out of context but is "drearily boring" to boot.

Having watched the film's trailer, I have to agree with Dawkins that Stein's nasally monotone is hard to endure. Disappointingly, Stein doesn't wear his Angus Young get-up (right) but he does reprise his Ferris Bueller "Anyone? Anyone?" shtick. Unfortunately, I didn't receive a screener in my swag package, so I can't really say more about the film except that it looks unapologetically creationist. However, I did get an official Expelled t-shirt, a baseball hat, a backpack, and a luggage tag emblazoned with the film's unintentionally yet tellingly anti-intellectual slogan, "No Intelligence Allowed." Usually, documentary makers are eager to get copies of their films into the hands of the press and have no money for tchotchkes. The backwards-seeming media campaign for Expelled suggests that either the filmmakers don't want advance reviews and/or are more interested in buzz than substance. But who am I to say what the creators' master plan is?

Justice Department Approves XM-Sirius Merger

In the latest example of two wrongs desperately hoping to make a right, satellite radio rivals XM and Sirius are one step closer to blissful orbital matrimony as the Justice Department has approved the companies' merger. It still has to get past the FCC, but Justice accepted the networks' argument that HD radio, iPods and, uh, player pianos constitute adequate competition in the face of what sure looks like a monopoly to anyone with eyes. Assistant attorney general Thomas O. Barnett laughs off your suspicions, though:

In several important segments of their business, with or without the merger, the parties simply do not compete today and therefore the merger would not be eliminating any competition between them.

Right, so can Apple and Microsoft merge, because people can just use typewriters and read magazines? Hooray!

Despite the fact that Sirius is headed by my creepy former boss at CBS radio, Mel Karmazin, his company has always been my favorite of the two: Howard Stern is as funny as ever, and the delayed broadcast of BBC Radio 1 is like pure crack cocaine to an anglophile like myself. Plus, again, full disclosure, their Boombox channel 34 asked me to do a guest mix once. In comparison, XM's roster of lowest-common-denominator non-radio celebs like Oprah Winfrey and Willie Nelson probably seemed like good ideas at board meetings, but don't necessarily make for good radio. Their stock prices are the inverse of my opinions, however, with XM nearing $14 and Sirius up above $3 after news of the approval emerged.

What would a combo Xirius network look like? Well, first of all, it might let you choose what stations to subscribe to (and pay for), if FCC chairman Kevin Martin has his way; the NY Times says he is "thought to support… the creation of a so-called a la carte system of pricing." You mean I wouldn't have to pay for 80 sports channels or Sunny 24: Soft Pop Oldies, and I could just go straight to Boneyard 41: Hair Bands? Okay, maybe this merger's not so bad.

March 24, 2008

Live Review: Vampire Weekend @ Rickshaw Stop, San Francisco

Appropriately enough, just getting to this show sucked the life out of me like a bloodthirsty Transylvanian. I'm happily relaxing with friends at around 9:15pm, having a spirited argument about Hillary Clinton and political dynasties, and I get a text message from Friend A: "R U cming 2 vamp?" I reply: "yes." Friend A: "Show starts in 15." "Minutes?" I reply. "Yes," comes the answer. As I get my jacket on, another text comes from Friend B: "Can my girlfriend be your +1"? Er, I don't have a +1. "Do you have the # of [Friend C who works at the label]"? I text it to him. Friend A texts again: "I'm here with [Friend D, lead singer of a notable Bay Area rock band], he says 'hi'." Okay. Friend C texts to tell me I now have a +1 and it's for Friend B's girlfriend. I arrive at the show, no sign of Friend B or the girlfriend. "Whr r u," I text. "At the kebab place around the corner." That kebab place is like 3 blocks away! "I'm here, band is on," I text madly, as I hear the strains of "Mansard Roof" through the door. A woman bicycles up and asks the security guy if he saw anyone selling tickets. "Someone was selling a ticket for $60 earlier," he says. "Do you think it's worth it if I wait?" she asks, and he says, "nah, I wouldn't." Minutes and two more songs pass, and no sign of my friends, but then Friend C from the record label shows up and puts Friend B on the list anyway, and I can finally enter the venue.

I try not to judge bands by their fans. Beck shows have been known to draw swirly-dancing hippies, and Queens of the Stone Age often attracted fist-pumping roid-heads. Vampire Weekend, with their preppy clothes, witty lyrics, and jaunty Afropop-inspired melodies, are all about College Kids, and right next to me, the Really Annoying College Love Couple Who Never Let Go of Each Other During Their Oblivious-to-the-World Dance Moves That Run Into Everyone Around Them. Needless to say, I'm in a bad mood, and it takes a song or two to wear me down, but surprisingly, the band's unrelenting cheer finally rubs off. "One (Blake's Got a New Face)" inspires the crowd to sing along in a call-and-response, and the feeling is surprisingly intimate: Vampire Weekend are many things, but loud they are not.

Much has been made of how the New York band's Afropop leanings are reminiscent of the Talking Heads, but while the latter always seemed to focus on an unrelenting groove, giving David Byrne a chance to explore more eccentric vocal styles, Vampire Weekend seem to follow along behind singer/guitarist Ezra Koenig, allowing for abrupt shifts in tempo and emphasis, an effect that would seem noodly in less assured hands. They launch into "A-Punk," with its almost ska-like double time rhythm, and the crowd reacts excitedly, but politely: overdoing it at a show like this just wouldn't be cool, although a couple fans did make it on stage to dance around.

Only a few minutes later, and the band were saying their goodbyes, promising to return to San Francisco soon, since they love this city, and I get the feeling they're sincere. Friend C from the label says "they never do encores, they don't have enough songs," and sure enough, the lights come up and the capacity crowd starts to file out the door. Outside, someone shouts, in seeming disbelief, "It's 10:30!!" People are milling around, oddly energized in the warmer-than-usual night air. When I kick start my old motorcycle, a cheer erupts from the crowd as if I've set off fireworks. What's going on? Could Vampire Weekend have so much quirky charm and pop skill that they achieve that most remarkable goal: making a San Francisco crowd happy?

Pictures and video from the show over at Hippies are Dead.

Upcoming Vampire Weekend tour dates:
Tue 3/25 – Doug Fir Lounge, Portland
Wed 3/26 – Neumo's, Seattle
Thu 3/27 – Richard's, Vancouver
Sat 3/29 – Badlander, Missoula
Sun 3/30 – Neurolux, Boise
Mon 3/31 – Kilby Court, Salt Lake City
Tue 4/1 – Bluebird, Denver
Thu 4/3 – Triple Rock, Minneapolis
Fri 4/4 – High Noon Saloon, Madison
Sat 4/5 – Turner Hall, Milwaukee
Sun 4/6 – Metro, Chicago

Photo used under a Creative Commons license from Flickr user M Kasahara, and it's actually from the LA show, sorry.

Gender Bending Language

Last week I examined the issue of gender-neutral language, and demurred at the tendency of the English language to fall back on male-dominant pronouns. Having poked around in a few writing style guides, I concluded that their rules negate the need to pander to linguists looking to strip our pronouns of any association with gender or sex. What my heterocentrist discussion—similar to that of most people—overlooked is how our current construct of language fails to accommodate or even recognize the marginalized transgender or "gender nonconforming" population. An article in New York Times Magazine featuring Rey, a transmale (born female but identifies as male) student, finds that on gender-sensitive campuses "students will often use gender-neutral pronouns like 'ze' and 'hir'—especially if they post on campus message boards." And the appearance of terms such as "gender nonconforming" and "genderqueer" in the article signifies that our relationship to gender is transforming.

“…today many students who identify as trans are seeking not simply to change their sex but to create an identity outside or between established genders—they may refuse to use any gender pronouns whatsoever or take a gender-neutral name…”

Mother Jones took a look at the evolution of gender-neutral pronouns in our March/April 2008 issue. So although our writing style guides allow us to circumvent the current, although heterocentrist, gender pronoun debate, in the future—as our discussions evolve—they might need an update as well.

—Joyce Tang

March 21, 2008

LOST: Last Pre-Strike Episode Not So Striking

Last night's episode of LOST was the last we'll see until April 24. And it was the last written before the infamous strike. Will there be a difference between pre-and post-strike shows? We can only hope so, as the "Meet Kevin Johnson" episode yesterday felt rushed and ultimately unsatisfying.

The episode takes place almost entirely in flashbacks, a trademark of the series. The flashbacks, which reveal critical stories from characters' pasts, have been an easy way for viewers to learn more about characters and their motivations in the present. But some episodes, like last nights', seem to be nearly entirely flash-backs, making it feel contrived and hard to jump back into the present and still remember what's happening. Combine it with the innovative use flash-forwards (which happened in last week's show) and you've got a recipe for confusion in an already complex TV series. Some TV shows and movies (Tarantino's Kill Bill and his inspiration Kung Fu) do flashbacks seamlessly. But it seems to me, when flashbacks start to take up more than 70 percent of an episode, you're asking for trouble.

In last night's flashback, I mean episode, the story of Oceanic flight 815 survivor Michael (aka Kevin Johnson) was interesting, since he was the first Lostie to make it off the island. But it wasn't nearly as fascinating as another character's glossed-over revelation that the alleged remains of Flight 815 found at the bottom of the ocean, were, in fact, planted. But by whom is still a mystery: Bad guy Ben's henchmen say it's industrialist Charles Widmore.

But would Widmore really put his company's real name on a purchase order to buy the same model of plane that crashed? And could a Boeing 777 commercial airliner really cost only $450, as the receipt indicates? To me, that enters the realm of fantasy more than the idea that busy businessman Widmore took 300+ bodies from a Thai cemetery, put them in a plane, and shoved them into the ocean, all so he could hide an island with special powers from the rest of the world.

Another unsatisfying detail of last night's installment was the perfunctory shooting of Danielle, mother of bad guy Ben's daughter, and Karl, boyfriend of said daughter, just before the episode ended. One can only hope the April post-strike episodes will be a bit tidier, since writers got some, er, rest during the five-months they weren't working.

Photo courtesy ABC

MoJo Staff Picks: March 21

The "staff picks" shelf at the record store sucks me in every time. My rationalization: These folks work at a record store, so they must know what they're talking about. Right? Well, we work at a magazine, so, uh...anyway, a few of us here at MoJo decided to compile our own favorites-of-the-moment list. Like it? Super. Hate it? Tell us something better to listen to. Especially if you happen to work at a record store.

We think our picks this week are worth a listen or two. But as LeVar Burton would say, you don't have to take our word for it:

1. "Along the Way," DeVotchKa: Gary saw DeVotchKa perform this song in Austin last week at SXSW, and it's been stuck in his head ever since. Old-world gypsy folk that's pretty and sad at the same time.

2. "Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks," Los Campesinos!:
Welsh indie pop band with names almost as twee as their music: Neil, Ellen, Ollie, Tom, Gareth, Harriet, and Aleks.

3. "Organism," Tommy Guerrero: At a recent live performance in San Francisco, Guerrero and his band drove through songs like this with scary precision. Hip-hop beats + thick, reggae bass lines + funky guitar = Tommy Guerrero.

4. "Zhong Nan Hai," Carsick Cars: We hear tinges of Mission of Burma and the mighty Joy Division in this Beijing band's sound. What do you hear?

March 19, 2008

"Garfield Minus Garfield" A Troubling Lesson on Late Capitalist Anxiety?

There have been a few "comic remixes" that have probably landed in your e-mail boxes over the years: The Dysfunctional Family Circus predates the internet, in fact, replacing the originals' cloying observations with sick jokes about incest and drugs, while "Marmaduke Explained" attempts to find humor in this bafflingly non-funny comic via deadpan explanations that are even less funny. But recently I've come across a reinterpretation of a much-derided comic that's pretty stunning, not only because it makes the originals funny, but because it does so not through addition, but through subtraction.

Garfield Minus Garfield has a simple formula: erase (presumably through the magic of Photoshop) every instance of the irrepressible, overweight feline, leaving only Jon Arbuckle to talk to himself. The results are devastating (and hilarious) treatises on loneliness, without punch lines or jokes, reminiscent of the appallingly bleak early Peanuts strips.

Sometimes, the lack of Garfield and his thought bubbles leaves panels completely empty, yet somehow, you can still "get it":

It's unsettling, to say the least; was this brilliant streak of voyeuristic schadenfreude always there, hiding beneath the surface of an annoying comic strip? Moreover, why exactly does removing Garfield change the meaning so significantly?

If one stops looking at Garfield as a cat, per se, and instead looks at him as a symbol, it starts to make more sense. Really, if you think about it, Garfield barely resembles a cat. He is more of a logo, a product, a nonsense shape whose meaning derives only from its position in popular culture, as something you can buy. Garfield exists merely as a trinket, another blip in the continual accelerating churn of late capitalism's ravenous hunger for the "new." But these trinkets are merely salves for the underlying horrors of late capitalism: social fragmentation, isolation, anxiety. Remove the product from our lives, and we're left with nothing.

Like the angst-ridden figure in Munch's The Scream, Jon Arbuckle is crying out, with no-one to hear. He is shorn of family, friends, or any social network whatsoever. He wanders his empty apartment, and without a product to focus on (even in irony), he vacillates between manic periods of self-delusion and moments of overwhelming sadness. Sometimes he seems to try and create his own "product": a sock puppet, a grocery sack, even focusing on the ice tray as if its solidifying ice could pass for entertainment.

But none provide satisfaction, none bring the distilled notion of "other" inside, that glint of connectedness in the painted-on eyes of a market-tested logo. Our lives, minus product: laid bare as the pathetic, lonely sagas they've become. Did I mention it's hilarious?

There are new strips up almost every day over at Garfield Minus Garfield. If you're single, you might want to brace yourself before diving in.

March 18, 2008

Arthur C. Clarke Dies at 90

Science fiction pioneer Arthur C. Clarke has died at age 90 in Sri Lanka, where he had lived since 1956. Clarke wrote the short story on which Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey was based; his accompanying novel was actually completed after the film. In one of the most famous examples of science fiction becoming science fact, Clarke was the main proponent of the concept of geostationary satellites being used for communications (although whether he was the first to come up with the idea is apparently in doubt).

For an author so clearly interested in "hard" science (and who famously dismissed UFO enthusiasts as signs of how rare intelligent life is on Earth) there is a surprising level of mysticism in Clarke's work, something evidenced by the third of his "three laws" governing prediction: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." Clarke's approach to the mystical (and mystifying) was one of both awe and humility, and while it's Philip K. Dick's dystopian paranoia that seems to best reflect our current reality, Clarke's visions of the future are both reassuringly optimistic and comfortable with the universe's mysteries.

Photo used under a creative commons license from Flickr user Travelin Librarian.

Jack White Thumbs Nose at Music Critics

Well, I suppose it's our own fault. In a move that echoes Radiohead's surprise announcement of an impending album last fall, Jack White's wear-whatever-colors-we-want band the Raconteurs have just announced via their website that they'll release a new album, Consolers of the Lonely, next Tuesday on all formats. But unlike Radiohead, Jack White seems to be a little bitter about, ulp, music critics who jump the gun by reviewing promotional releases or leaks:

We wanted to get this record to fans, the press, radio, etc., all at the EXACT SAME TIME so that no one has an upper hand on anyone else regarding it's availability, reception or perception… the Raconteurs would rather this release not be defined by it's first weeks sales, pre-release promotion, or by someone defining it FOR YOU before you get to hear it.

Wow, and all-caps, even. That's internet for shouting!

After the jump: critics, can't live with 'em, can't crush their heads in vices.

Seriously, though, are critics "defining" releases for people? Especially in this day and age, with the proliferation of tha bloggz, it seems like critics actually outnumber non-critics, so I've always personally felt that sharing my opinions about stuff is merely adding to the conversation (and also hopefully entertaining readers) ... (insert cricket chirping sounds here). As an artist myself, I know that a bad review (or even a great review that maybe mentions one small quibble) can send me into a vodka-soaked depression, but that's par for the course, and honestly I can't imagine being bothered by an early review. Shouldn't even an artist of White's stature be pleased with the attention? So, this statement is pretty silly, and as the Guardian points out, "anti-marketing" is a marketing gimmick itself, and one that only bands who have benefited from the already-existing music industry setup are now free to utilize:

It's a shame that it's only really viable for an act which, including as it does Jack White, already possesses both presumed financial security and an existing audience. If nobody had heard of the Raconteurs, then without pre-publicity, they might as well shoot the album into space as release it to an oblivious public, regardless of format, date, content or the best of intentions.

Hey, don't knock space aliens as a target demographic, I hear they love the Beatles. Anyway, the Raconteurs are generally pretty great, and at least they're selling 320kbps mp3s of the new album on their own website, which, again, you can get next Tuesday, March 25th.

Photo used under a creative commons license from Flickr user Hoodrat.

March 17, 2008

New (Leaked) Music: The Breeders – Mountain Battles

Nobody disputes the greatness of the Pixies, but the Breeders are, it must be said, underappreciated. Their first album, 1990's Pod, is an innovative and listenable gem, proving Kim Deal had a unique songwriting style, more melodic and lighthearted than the Pixies. This is even more evident on the title track from their 1992 EP Safari, a hypnotic, almost Krautrock-y number more in tune with their UK contemporaries. Of course, 1993's Last Splash was the commercial breakthrough, but remember what an unlikely hit "Cannonball" was: a bendy guitar melody that evoked My Bloody Valentine, and winking vocals that seemed like an in joke. Of course, the Breeders' story gets complicated after that, seeming to mirror the general state of alternative rock as the '90s progressed: drug problems, side projects, aborted attempts at reconvening. A reconfigured Breeders released Title TK in 2002: a far less ambitious work, not without its charms, but very different from classic Breeders. Could the worldwide hysteria for the Pixies reunion have rubbed off on Kim a little, giving the new album some of the old playful confidence?

Answer: sort of. Things kick off brashly on Mountain Battles with "Overglazed," a swirling, psychedelic 5/4 track whose only lyrics are "I can feel it." Deal's voice has gotten a tad gritter over the years, but not unappealingly: it's got a bit of Courtney Love's edginess. "Bang On," has a quirky, minimal beat, like Le Tigre covering Princess Superstar, with shouts of "I love no-one/And no-one loves me." Fun. There are quiet, even twangy moments, like the 3/4 swing of "We're Gonna Rise," and a Spanish ballad, "Regalame Esta Noche." Pixies fans' ears will prick up immediately on track 8, "Walk It Off," whose intro sounds a lot like "Wave of Mutilation," actually. And come to think of it, "It's the Love" sounds a lot like Dinosaur Jr.'s "Feel the Pain." Hmm.

So while Mountain Battles seems to be more comfortable aiming for the good old Breeders sound, that does make these uncomfortable similarities (and inadequacies in comparison with an album like Pod) all the more apparent. There's lots to appreciate here—the title track's bare-bones emotion and apparent lyrical references to rehab ("I ride shotgun from the facility") is an eyebrow-raiser, and "No Way" feels like Sonic Youth covering Led Zeppelin, woozy and distorted. But even the album's cover is kind of a throwback. Can you blame a band for going back to their roots, even if they don't quite hit the mark? They're fighting the right battles, I just wish they'd climbed a little higher up the mountain.

The Breeders' Mountain Battles is out April 8th on 4AD. Listen to a couple tracks at Funeral Pudding or at The Swill Merchant.

The Breeders – "Safari" (from the Safari EP, 1992)

March 16, 2008

SXSW Dispatch: The Show Must Stop

I'm coming back from SXSW sleep-deprived and my ears still ringing. My final hours in Austin went a little something like this:

After catching hip-hop sets from Talib Kweli, Pete Rock, and Jean Grae, I stopped by this outdoor courtyard at dusk to hear local Austin band Combo Mahala play Hawaiian music from the 20s and 30s. A couple in their 50s from England (both wearing cowboy boots) told me they came all the way to SXSW so they could hear bluegrass, country, and Hawaiian music. "The real gems are bands that aren't even part of SXSW," the woman told me.

Time for a break from music. I caught a screening of Heavy Metal in Baghdad, a documentary film about the lives of members of Baghdad's only metal band. The film's endearing look at a group of friend's goal to be a band in the middle of a bombed-out war zone also elevates some mind-numbing facts about the lives of Iraqi refugees since the war started. When the group finally enters a Damascus studio to record their first album, it doesn't matter if you like metal or not; you're just glad they made it there alive.

Next I caught a Brooklyn "total sonic annihilation" band called A Place To Bury Strangers. Their set closer was more than 10 minutes of sheer noise. I don't remember the last time I've seen so many people cupping their hands over their ears or just walking away from a performing band. The sheer wall of ear-splitting chaos was surreal. Here in Austin, at 12:30 at night, a performance like this felt sublime.

I took a chance and decided to close my last night with a low-volume set from Denver's Greg Harris Vibe Quintet. Hearing jazz music (fronted by a vibraphone) was a niece reprieve from the slew of noise elsewhere, although a visibly drunk woman dancing around tables and flirting with members of the band (while they were playing) kept things interesting.

"Thank goodness all the freaks are leaving," A friend said as she pulled up to drop me off at the airport. "But I guess we've got a few of them that live here, too." As I checked in, another friend bid me farewell with the following text message: "Come back, but let the rains clean up this city of mine for a month or so first. 'Cause as usual this town looks like it has been sh!*t on for the past two weeks. Now back to normal..."

SXSW Dispatch: That's Ludacris, Silly!

What's the problem with having 1,780 bands performing every night on 81 stages throughout the downtown Austin area? With the barrage of nonstop music being played everywhere you turn, it's possible to walk right by an outdoor perfomance tent where Ludacris is performing and not even know it. He could have been Jesus Christ delivering a Sermon on the Mount #2, and I would have been completely oblivious, had I not stopped and asked a SXSW volunteer, "Uhh, who is that on the mic?"

Day Three at SXSW included enough walking to justify a new pair of shoes, hot enough temperatures to justify wearing shorts, and a late-teens event volunteer washing down her ice cream cone with a can of Miller Lite and telling me, "Well that's Ludacris, silly!"

A Ludacris show is a fun show full of exorbitant amounts of shout-outs "to the ladies." I think he opened and closed every single song with some sort of call-and-response routine about T&A, and people loved it. "I can't remember the last time I played in a tent, but damn if I'm not gonna have a good time here," he told the cheering crowd.

Prior to the Ludacris performance, I spent my morning/early afternoon interviewing Nick Urata, lead singer and guitarist for DeVotchka, who spoke to me about his fascinations with romance, vintage fashion, and Dennis Kucinich. More from Urata here soon.

The most perplexing, boring part of the afternoon was attending a panel discussion with Ice Cube and DJ Pooh to talk about their website UVNTV.com, an online streaming television and broadband social network partnership with the Microsoft Corporation. I would have fallen asleep from boredom, were it not for panel facilitator Dave Marsh's kind of obnoxious habit of cutting off Cube and Pooh every time they tried to answer a question. Once a long line of multimedia "entrepreneurs" got in line for a microphone to ask questions (i.e., promote their own online projects), I realized this panel was all about self-promotion and I walked out.

By late afternoon, I was hanging out with folks at the Million Musician's March. Bands played, people wore tie-dye, and one guy wore a red, white, and blue top hat and carried a sign that read: "No False Reports. Jesus. Blessed are the peacemakers. Jesus." There were a few Ron Paul posters floating around, and I saw one young couple making out next to a mock cemetery of white, military crosses signifying the death of American soldiers in Iraq. 'Nuff said.

On my way to see Pete Rock, Jean Grae, and Talib Kweli, I ran into The People's Party, a jammy/jazzy band from Venice Beach, California who had traveled to Austin in a truck that sort of unfolded into a mobile stage. Turns out the truck runs on biodiesel, and the band sells only "organic" T-shirts. They also register fans to vote while on the road, and lately have been openly promoting Barack Obama's presidential candidacy. The group's guitarist told me, "Obama is an agent of change, and he inspires people. I love [Ron Paul's] ideas too, but his ideas could work in like, 50 years. Right now, we need to level the playing field for poor people. Obama is about giving voice to those that don't have voice."

Here's a quick synapses of the Pete Rock/Jean Grae/Talib Kweli show: Pete rock spun a bunch of hip hop classics, Jean Grae said "mother f!*ker" more times than I could count (One guy behind me even said, "This is an all-ages show, and she's M-Fing up there. That's not right."), and Talib Kweli proved once again that he is leaps and bounds ahead of so many of his hip-hop contempories.

And this was just the first part of the day. More on the evening portion later...

—Gary Moskowitz

March 15, 2008

SXSW Dispatch: Don't Talk to Me About Music, Dammit

So here's the catch about covering the music portion of SXSW: after a day or two of playing as many as four sets a day and doing back-to-back interviews, musicians are tired of playing music, and even more tired of talking about it. Sometimes they're hung over, or tired, hungry, annoyed, grouchy, or just a little disinterested. Can't say I blame them; although they knew what they were getting into when they showed up, no?

The up-side is that when you tell someone you're interviewing them for Mother Jones, suddenly their face lights up and they say screw jabbering about music, let's talk politics. It's happened consistently while here in Austin. So, here's a brief glimpse at what's on the minds of musicians at SXSW in 2008:

"I basically stopped reading all newspapers—except the sports sections— in early 2003. I just don't really trust anyone. They're all kind of crazy," James McNew, bassist, Yo La Tengo.

"Obama came on the tele, and I was crying out, punching the air, saying 'Yes, Yes!'," Dave Wakeling, founder, the English Beat.

"We're all foreigners," Sandra Lilia, guitarist/singer, Pistolera.

"Let's beach an aircraft carrier, and give that money we were spending to keep it afloat to some schools. We could pay for f!*king healthcare, but we pay for defense. Maybe people will finally f!*king vote in 08. But it's only March, and it's more bulls!*t every day," Nick Urata, founder/singer/guitarist, DeVotchka.

"Democracy is a mass movement. If we don't take a stand, and take democracy back, it will be taken from us. We need a major movement, and a plan to grow," Richard Bowden, founder, Million Musicians March, Austin.

—Gary Moskowitz
(photo of Nick Urata of DeVotchka)