When Gene Yang's American Born Chinese came out in 2006, critics and readers received pretty it favorably; since then, I've seen it on many a 'must read' list of graphic novels, contemporary biography, graphic novel biography, and so on with the composite subgenres/ media. When I found myself wandering my local comic shop after pay day, I finally picked up a copy. On the back cover, Derek Kirk Kim, a friend and colleague of the author, was quoted "As an Asian American, American Born Chinese is the book I've been waiting for all my life." Now I'm not Asian, but with a statement like that, I felt quite secure that I had picked a winner.
I read the book a couple nights ago and it breaks down about like this: Yang tells three stories, alternating between them with each new chapter. In the first, he relays a folk tale of a monkey king who strives to be human, and he includes lots of other archetypal myth/ legend type themes and figures. And kung fu (whoooa.) In the second, the reader follows an Asian-American boy, Jin (a.k.a. probably the author), through his adventures and mishaps in third and fourth grade with his best friend Wei-Chen. The third story recalls a TV sitcom (laugh track and all) in which an all-American high-schooler, Danny, is visited and inadvertently terrorized by his inexplicably Chinese cousin, Chin-Kee, himself a grab bag of Asian stereotypes.
When I finished the book, I can't lie, I was a little disappointed. Not that it wasn't a diverting read, I did blow through the whole thing in one sitting. And there were parts that made me laugh, others that made me cringe with that wonderful mix of sympathy for the marginalized characters and guilt for being a white devil myself. But that's a whole blog in itself. My point is I definitely engaged with the book, just not as much I thought I would. I'd had all these expectations, not just from the anonymous background murmur of criticism, but from Derek Kirk Kim. Derek! This book was not as life-altering as you led me to believe. I noticed on the ever-provident facebook that I wasn't alone in my disillusionment. But as I scanned the reviews on the living social visual bookshelf app, I found that I had qualms with the comments people left. Could be I'm just antagonistic. Or maybe what I (and others) failed to realize is that the real brilliance of the book doesn't come across without some thought and analysis after closing the back cover. English major to the rescue!
One example of Yang's story-telling innovation lies in the fact that he doesn't weave his three narratives together, as one might expect from a multiple narrative text. Rather, at the last minute, he pulls the proverbial curtain aside so the reader finds that the Monkey King, Jin, Wei-Chen, Danny, and Chin-Kee are sort of all the same character or at least related in unexpected ways. And not in a metaphorical, character foil sense; literally, Yang draws one character morphing into another. Or pulling off his head to reveal his true identity. And, good heavens, that's what this whole yarn is supposed to address in the first place. Identity I mean, not self-decapitation.
The moment all three stories come together marks another pretty awesome element of American Born Chinese that didn't dawn on me until after I'd set it down: the mythical folk tale, the personal history, and the caricature collide, and any sense of realism/ continuity within each story goes right out the window. When one of the mythic characters shows himself to be one of the main characters from the present, who was an analog for ANOTHER character all along, the divisions the reader had developed between those parts of the book are just obliterated. There's this serious rupture, but the story goes on, accepting everything that's happened as it ends. As I've studied biography (just a bit), especially of the graphic variety, I've found that writers and artists do some really amazing things with blurring and/ or exposing the lines between the factual things that happened to them over the course of their lives and the internal feelings and memories that accompany those experiences. In these terms, just wow- Yang has integrated not just personal history and memory/ internal experience, but CULTURAL history and experience into one biography. Now I'm no expert on the biographical genre (if genre is the right word), but I've never seen this particular mish-mash narrative technique pulled off quite the way Yang does it. It's brilliant. Ok Derek Kirk Kim, you've got me there.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Phonies at the Symphony
Last Friday night, by the graces of the god of free tickets, I got the opportunity to go see the Dallas Symphony Orchestra with a friend of mine. This was a fairly classy event, so the following review will be about as high brow as I get. Unless we're talking about Stephen Colbert.
Anyway, we took the DART train downtown to the Meyerson Symphony Center, which I recommend doing if you're into irony of the class-based variety. The other symphony attendees were about as ostentatiously middle to upper-middle class as you get for a Friday evening, but I was surprised by the number of younger people there. Not only those of junior high, high school age- I imagine someone had arranged a class trip- but also 20-something couples and groups. I guess I shouldn't discount my own age group for taking part in such white collar festivities. Especially as I WAS there myself...
The program for the evening began with the Shostakovich Violin Concerto #1 (the proper phrasing for which can be found in the liner notes, not in my expertise of wording pieces of classical music) and ended with Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony. Now I'm not an expert in classical tunes, but I will say this- those old Russian composers, damn; they're just amazing. No one channels suffering and angst into an art form quite like they do. I've been a conscious fan of Tchaikovsky since I was a little kid prancing around to the Nutcracker Suite, and the pieces I heard Friday really hit that home for me. The melodrama that these guys conjure up, it's breath taking. Literally; there were points where I noticed I was holding my breath. So the score one for the scores; the musical selection was top notch.
With that in mind, you might say that blasting ol' Shasta and Pyotr Ilyich from my stereo might be just as soul-shaking as listening to it in a concert hall. There are a couple reasons you'd be wrong. First, and this is by no means restricted to Friday evening's events, the people at the symphony- they must be emo. Maybe they were getting into the music in their own heads, but physically, there was nary a demonstration that they were enjoying what they were hearing until the applause. No head bobbing or foot tapping; no jumping at shows, I tell you! I was struggling to keep from dancing in my seat, and after a drink at intermission, this was no easy task. I know it isn't appropriate to get into it that much in such a setting, but I have to ask- isn't that a touch ridiculous? Classical music is like the most respected art in the (western) world, so would it be a stretch to say that it's among the best art? Wouldn't that mean the most moving, by some definition? I know I'm jumping around a bit here, but you get my point- art is supposed to move you and it's completely backwards to perform it in a setting where being moved in certain ways is not proper. So from this point of view, listening to these pieces out of a symphony hall would facilitate a superior experience because it would allow lots of flailing and jumping around to the music. And that is my digression.
On the other hand, watching musicians perform can add something to the experience of a piece, and this was absolutely the case on Friday. The DSO has recently come under new conductorship (conduction? conductor-ing?)- Jaap Van Zweden. This guy was such a blast to watch; all the stuff I just said about symphony patrons above applies in NO WAY to our tiny Belgian leader of the band. He was all over the place, stomping and waving kinda goofily, like I might have, had I been in the comfort of my own living room. And he gets away with it BECAUSE he's the conductor- you see how this works? Not fair! Still, it was great to watch him do his thing.
Funnily enough, all of my training in the Classical arts (if you wanna call them that) was in ballet, and reading back over this, I notice that I'm thinking about this experience in terms of movement and the body. So there's some continuity for ya, where maybe you expected an informed point of view?
Anyway, we took the DART train downtown to the Meyerson Symphony Center, which I recommend doing if you're into irony of the class-based variety. The other symphony attendees were about as ostentatiously middle to upper-middle class as you get for a Friday evening, but I was surprised by the number of younger people there. Not only those of junior high, high school age- I imagine someone had arranged a class trip- but also 20-something couples and groups. I guess I shouldn't discount my own age group for taking part in such white collar festivities. Especially as I WAS there myself...
The program for the evening began with the Shostakovich Violin Concerto #1 (the proper phrasing for which can be found in the liner notes, not in my expertise of wording pieces of classical music) and ended with Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony. Now I'm not an expert in classical tunes, but I will say this- those old Russian composers, damn; they're just amazing. No one channels suffering and angst into an art form quite like they do. I've been a conscious fan of Tchaikovsky since I was a little kid prancing around to the Nutcracker Suite, and the pieces I heard Friday really hit that home for me. The melodrama that these guys conjure up, it's breath taking. Literally; there were points where I noticed I was holding my breath. So the score one for the scores; the musical selection was top notch.
With that in mind, you might say that blasting ol' Shasta and Pyotr Ilyich from my stereo might be just as soul-shaking as listening to it in a concert hall. There are a couple reasons you'd be wrong. First, and this is by no means restricted to Friday evening's events, the people at the symphony- they must be emo. Maybe they were getting into the music in their own heads, but physically, there was nary a demonstration that they were enjoying what they were hearing until the applause. No head bobbing or foot tapping; no jumping at shows, I tell you! I was struggling to keep from dancing in my seat, and after a drink at intermission, this was no easy task. I know it isn't appropriate to get into it that much in such a setting, but I have to ask- isn't that a touch ridiculous? Classical music is like the most respected art in the (western) world, so would it be a stretch to say that it's among the best art? Wouldn't that mean the most moving, by some definition? I know I'm jumping around a bit here, but you get my point- art is supposed to move you and it's completely backwards to perform it in a setting where being moved in certain ways is not proper. So from this point of view, listening to these pieces out of a symphony hall would facilitate a superior experience because it would allow lots of flailing and jumping around to the music. And that is my digression.
On the other hand, watching musicians perform can add something to the experience of a piece, and this was absolutely the case on Friday. The DSO has recently come under new conductorship (conduction? conductor-ing?)- Jaap Van Zweden. This guy was such a blast to watch; all the stuff I just said about symphony patrons above applies in NO WAY to our tiny Belgian leader of the band. He was all over the place, stomping and waving kinda goofily, like I might have, had I been in the comfort of my own living room. And he gets away with it BECAUSE he's the conductor- you see how this works? Not fair! Still, it was great to watch him do his thing.
Funnily enough, all of my training in the Classical arts (if you wanna call them that) was in ballet, and reading back over this, I notice that I'm thinking about this experience in terms of movement and the body. So there's some continuity for ya, where maybe you expected an informed point of view?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Van Zant-tastic: Milk review
O December, you really do make it a challenge to get ANYTHING done. I started this review this weekend and it's still sitting here. Gah! Not that I'm on a time line or anything, but when things you like to do keep getting pushed to the back burner, well, you end up with burnt goods. Or some other extended metaphor... Anyway, end rant.
A few nights ago- Saturday- I found myself without a thing to do; heavens! So after sulking for a bit about my non-life, I got over myself and marched my butt to the theater down the street to see Gus Van Zant's latest cinematic effort, Milk. And wow, there is a LOT of good to say about this movie. Coincidentally enough, as soon as I got back home, I saw that a friend of a friend had written a stirring and thoughtful review, so for more reactions to the film, do start there.
In Milk, Van Zant tells the story of Harvey Milk, a gay businessman turned activist and politician in 1970s San Francisco. The movie reconstructs his life from his 40th birthday in 1970 as a suit in New York who has "done nothing with his life" to his assassination in San Francisco's City Hall in 1978. The plot shifts between his personal life- his lovers, friends, and aspirations- and his political career, making particularly clear how the two merged. If wikipedia is to be believed, Van Zant does a bang up job of getting his facts straight. The cast was great, which I spose one would expect from such a reverent project. Sean Penn stars as the approachable, ambitious title character, James Franco, as his adorable lover (can he just not be cute for one damn minute?), and Josh Brolin as an angry but impotent co-politico (can he just not play a dastardly conservative politician for one damn minute?).
A few nights ago- Saturday- I found myself without a thing to do; heavens! So after sulking for a bit about my non-life, I got over myself and marched my butt to the theater down the street to see Gus Van Zant's latest cinematic effort, Milk. And wow, there is a LOT of good to say about this movie. Coincidentally enough, as soon as I got back home, I saw that a friend of a friend had written a stirring and thoughtful review, so for more reactions to the film, do start there.
In Milk, Van Zant tells the story of Harvey Milk, a gay businessman turned activist and politician in 1970s San Francisco. The movie reconstructs his life from his 40th birthday in 1970 as a suit in New York who has "done nothing with his life" to his assassination in San Francisco's City Hall in 1978. The plot shifts between his personal life- his lovers, friends, and aspirations- and his political career, making particularly clear how the two merged. If wikipedia is to be believed, Van Zant does a bang up job of getting his facts straight. The cast was great, which I spose one would expect from such a reverent project. Sean Penn stars as the approachable, ambitious title character, James Franco, as his adorable lover (can he just not be cute for one damn minute?), and Josh Brolin as an angry but impotent co-politico (can he just not play a dastardly conservative politician for one damn minute?).
While Milk was a finely made film, had it not been historically grounded, it wouldn't have hit home quite so intensely. At the end, while the credits began rolling, photographs of the real people that had been portrayed by actors flashed on screen with short captions reporting what they went on to do after the events recounted in the film. Of all the emotionally charged moments in the film- and there were plenty- the images of the actual faces got to me the most. O reality, you cut me to the quick! I may be alone with that reaction, but still, I think it's the "true" rather than the "story" that makes Milk (the movie, not the guy. or the frosty beverage) so successful, especially given our immediate political climate. Not only is Prop. 8 and its backlash probably going to be in the forefront of the audiences' minds, but the messages of hope and change that Milk espouses would be equally at home in an Obama speech.
I majored in history when I was in college, so I'm in no way qualified to say that for the most part, we Americans don't know our own history. Some of us know some stuff, maybe even the basics, but unless an individual lived to see one or another event unfold, s/he might never come into contact with it. And even living at the time of a particular event is no guarantee you'll know anything about it. I don't want to insult the intelligence of the population, but you can't tell me it isn't easy to remain ignorant about the past if you really want to.
Without going on a tirade about the deficiencies in our education system and maybe even cultural attitudes about the past, let's just say that stories like Harvey Milk's tend to fall by the way side; I'll admit, I didn't know a thing about him going into the movie. His story and the history around it, they're important. Not just because of what's going on with anti-gay legislation right now, and not just so we can add to our arsenal of pub trivia knowledge (Who began the AIDS quilts? What was the Twinkie Defense? O, they're in there!). We should know the back story of our country- the hypocrisy and failings of American mythos and the people and movements that refuse to bend to them. And we should know the stories of the little guys (and girls. ahem) that go up against the norm. American history (and identity, I daresay) started with a bunch of outsiders who said 'fuck this' and did things their own way, and while our humble beginnings as a nation are all filled to the brim with a lot of seriously evil shit, that sentiment is part of who we are. Damn it.
I majored in history when I was in college, so I'm in no way qualified to say that for the most part, we Americans don't know our own history. Some of us know some stuff, maybe even the basics, but unless an individual lived to see one or another event unfold, s/he might never come into contact with it. And even living at the time of a particular event is no guarantee you'll know anything about it. I don't want to insult the intelligence of the population, but you can't tell me it isn't easy to remain ignorant about the past if you really want to.
Without going on a tirade about the deficiencies in our education system and maybe even cultural attitudes about the past, let's just say that stories like Harvey Milk's tend to fall by the way side; I'll admit, I didn't know a thing about him going into the movie. His story and the history around it, they're important. Not just because of what's going on with anti-gay legislation right now, and not just so we can add to our arsenal of pub trivia knowledge (Who began the AIDS quilts? What was the Twinkie Defense? O, they're in there!). We should know the back story of our country- the hypocrisy and failings of American mythos and the people and movements that refuse to bend to them. And we should know the stories of the little guys (and girls. ahem) that go up against the norm. American history (and identity, I daresay) started with a bunch of outsiders who said 'fuck this' and did things their own way, and while our humble beginnings as a nation are all filled to the brim with a lot of seriously evil shit, that sentiment is part of who we are. Damn it.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Hold onto your kidneys! Repo: The Genetic Opera
I live in walking distance of a movie theater that often shows independent films, and I don't take advantage of this nearly as often as I should. Until yesterday. I got an email that mentioned, among other goings-on in town, the opening of Repo: The Genetic Opera. The title alone hooked me and when I read the synopsis, I knew: this is what I'm doing today.
The premise of the movie is on the off kilter side: in the not too distance and very industrial-goth future, a plague causing organ failure has struck humanity, putting healthy organs into high demand and spurring leaps and bounds in the surgical field. One particular tycoon, Rotti Largo, takes control of basically the whole industry, first, by founding GeneCo. and offering payment plans to help people acquire organs, second, getting ridiculously wealthy and politically powerful, and third, passing a law allowing him to reclaim his 'products' from those who have missed payment deadlines. The Repo-Man carries out the dirty work of repossessing organs, to the delight (that is, disgust) of slasher fans. O there is plenty of blood-n-guts, as one might expect from Saw II, III, and IV director Darren Lynn Bousman. The Repo-Man, who takes a bit of twisted pleasure in his work, is not an out-and-out bad guy: the light of his life is his ailing, motherless daughter, who he keeps locked away... for, ya know, protection...? Well, he means well. Within the Largo family, three over-the-top siblings vie for the inheritance of GeneCo. Then there's the spokeswoman for GeneCo., an opera singer who has some murky back story. Are all the story lines tied up together? You betcha!
Did I mention Repo is all sung? This is grand opera, folks, in all its spared-no-expense sets, costumes, and effects, melo-dramatic, spectacular glory. And I was continually impressed by the quality of the singing. Paul Sorvino as Rotti Largo is despicable and awesome, with a booming, menacing voice to match. Anthony Head, who stunned the fan base with his vocal talents in Buffy the Vampire Slayer's famed musical episode, rocks out once more as the Repo Man. I'm not exaggerating, he ROCKS. All caps. Sarah Brightman plays the opera singer icon of GeneCo., so you know you're getting quality vocals from her. I was impressed with her theatricality as an actress, too, although I guess a professional singer of her ilk would have had some time to hone such a skill. Alexa Vega, of Spy-Kids fame, takes on the lead role of the Repo Man's daughter with a vengeance. Some of her songs were stronger than others, but all in all she gave a great performance. I guess when Joan Jett is backing you up on guitar, it's pretty easy to kick ass. Yeah, just when you thought you had this movie figured out, Joan Jett shows up. The Largo brood, played by Skinny Puppy vocalist Ogre, slasher favorite Bill Moseley, and Paris Hilton (I know. It threw me for a loop) are a bit rough around the edges, but it only makes them more likable. In an interview, Ogre and Moseley refer to future collaborations, and it's pretty awesome to watch their dynamic develop on screen. Also, um, Paris Hilton can sing. Who knew? Besides her however many million fans buying her records (note to self: find times. Get with them).
In addition to some knock out performances, the director's/ writers' fun and games with the opera/ film medium itself is fantastic. Repo constantly reminds viewers that they're watching an enormous, produced creation, not just with its inherent camp and elaborate costumes and sets, but also with plays-within-the-play, comic book inspired transitions to flashbacks, addresses to the audience by the drug dealing narrator. The fourth wall isn't just knocked down, it's all over the damn place.
Repo bills itself as being the next Rocky Horror, and while I can certainly see the similarities, I wouldn't necessarily make that call myself. I would, however, suggest to anyone who feels even the slightest penchant for unconventional musical theater, rock opera, punk cabaret (I guess that's its own sub genre now...?), and/ or gothiness to check this one out.
The premise of the movie is on the off kilter side: in the not too distance and very industrial-goth future, a plague causing organ failure has struck humanity, putting healthy organs into high demand and spurring leaps and bounds in the surgical field. One particular tycoon, Rotti Largo, takes control of basically the whole industry, first, by founding GeneCo. and offering payment plans to help people acquire organs, second, getting ridiculously wealthy and politically powerful, and third, passing a law allowing him to reclaim his 'products' from those who have missed payment deadlines. The Repo-Man carries out the dirty work of repossessing organs, to the delight (that is, disgust) of slasher fans. O there is plenty of blood-n-guts, as one might expect from Saw II, III, and IV director Darren Lynn Bousman. The Repo-Man, who takes a bit of twisted pleasure in his work, is not an out-and-out bad guy: the light of his life is his ailing, motherless daughter, who he keeps locked away... for, ya know, protection...? Well, he means well. Within the Largo family, three over-the-top siblings vie for the inheritance of GeneCo. Then there's the spokeswoman for GeneCo., an opera singer who has some murky back story. Are all the story lines tied up together? You betcha!
Did I mention Repo is all sung? This is grand opera, folks, in all its spared-no-expense sets, costumes, and effects, melo-dramatic, spectacular glory. And I was continually impressed by the quality of the singing. Paul Sorvino as Rotti Largo is despicable and awesome, with a booming, menacing voice to match. Anthony Head, who stunned the fan base with his vocal talents in Buffy the Vampire Slayer's famed musical episode, rocks out once more as the Repo Man. I'm not exaggerating, he ROCKS. All caps. Sarah Brightman plays the opera singer icon of GeneCo., so you know you're getting quality vocals from her. I was impressed with her theatricality as an actress, too, although I guess a professional singer of her ilk would have had some time to hone such a skill. Alexa Vega, of Spy-Kids fame, takes on the lead role of the Repo Man's daughter with a vengeance. Some of her songs were stronger than others, but all in all she gave a great performance. I guess when Joan Jett is backing you up on guitar, it's pretty easy to kick ass. Yeah, just when you thought you had this movie figured out, Joan Jett shows up. The Largo brood, played by Skinny Puppy vocalist Ogre, slasher favorite Bill Moseley, and Paris Hilton (I know. It threw me for a loop) are a bit rough around the edges, but it only makes them more likable. In an interview, Ogre and Moseley refer to future collaborations, and it's pretty awesome to watch their dynamic develop on screen. Also, um, Paris Hilton can sing. Who knew? Besides her however many million fans buying her records (note to self: find times. Get with them).
In addition to some knock out performances, the director's/ writers' fun and games with the opera/ film medium itself is fantastic. Repo constantly reminds viewers that they're watching an enormous, produced creation, not just with its inherent camp and elaborate costumes and sets, but also with plays-within-the-play, comic book inspired transitions to flashbacks, addresses to the audience by the drug dealing narrator. The fourth wall isn't just knocked down, it's all over the damn place.
Repo bills itself as being the next Rocky Horror, and while I can certainly see the similarities, I wouldn't necessarily make that call myself. I would, however, suggest to anyone who feels even the slightest penchant for unconventional musical theater, rock opera, punk cabaret (I guess that's its own sub genre now...?), and/ or gothiness to check this one out.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Last Shadow Puppets: the first album review
I have some friends in Belgium (why, dahling, of course I'm international) who are awesome and similarly awesome are their tastes in music. The last time I saw them, they burned a fraction of their itunes library for my enjoyment, including the debut album from The Last Shadow Puppets, The Age of the Understatement. The band is one part guy from the Arctic Monkeys, who I don't care for, one part guy from the Rascals, who I know nothing about, and one part guy from Simian Mobile Disco, who I adore. For the album, the group also employed the London Metropolitan Orchestra. Enticing line-up if ever there was one! If nothing else, we know it sounds British...
Of everything my Ghentlefriends gave me, I find myself listening to the Age of the Understatement the most, well, at least top five. Why, pray tell? Well here we go.
As seems to be a big fat trend with indie Brit pop, the overtones come right out the sixties. Not being an expert in this genre or music at all really, I can only suggest reasons for this: the strings which actually sounds stringy as opposed to synthy, the occasional electric organ and tambourine, those Beatle-y ahs and an echoing, scratchiness to the vocals (surely there's an actual word for that quality). And the drama, o lord, it's glorious. When I listen to music, I tend to pay attention to the sounds first, then the words, and one great thing about this album is the two are so well suited to each other, you hear lust, longing, heartache, and angst whether your ears guides you to the instruments or the lyrics.
The title track captivates immediately. Chugging drums underlie a larger, urgent mix of electric guitar, strings, and is that a horn section frosting the tips of this song? Whatever torrents of instrumental and lyrical angst build throughout "The Age of the Understatement," those outlaw, horse-chase drums keep charging along. Cinematic: there's an adjective for this song, and it sets the tone for the whole album.
The album takes an slightly optimistic turn after the first few tracks, with covers of of Billy Fury's "Wondrous Place" and David Bowie's "In the Heat of the Morning" (I had to look that up on wikipedia. I WISH I had that kind of familiarity with Brit pop). But after tipping their hats to their influences, The Puppets continue with tortured, spiteful separation anxiety fire crackers of songs, interspersed among quieter, but still pained melodies. And sometimes in the same song. "Separate and Ever Deadly" revisits the driving drums of the title track, and "Only the Truth," "Black Plant," and "In My Room" could easily find themselves in a spy movie. In fact, I found myself thinking of James Bond more than once as I listened to The Age of the Understatement on repeat. I recommend "I Don't Like You Anymore" to anyone going through a break up, or anyone who has, or well, anyone really. The last two tracks, "Meeting Place" and "The Time Has Come Again," bring the energy level down, but conclude the album on an appropriately forlorn note.
All in all, a fantastic album that balances perfectly woe-is-me-I-hate-you-but-I-would-take-you-back melodrama and get-up-outcha-chair-and-dance pop rock.
Of everything my Ghentlefriends gave me, I find myself listening to the Age of the Understatement the most, well, at least top five. Why, pray tell? Well here we go.
As seems to be a big fat trend with indie Brit pop, the overtones come right out the sixties. Not being an expert in this genre or music at all really, I can only suggest reasons for this: the strings which actually sounds stringy as opposed to synthy, the occasional electric organ and tambourine, those Beatle-y ahs and an echoing, scratchiness to the vocals (surely there's an actual word for that quality). And the drama, o lord, it's glorious. When I listen to music, I tend to pay attention to the sounds first, then the words, and one great thing about this album is the two are so well suited to each other, you hear lust, longing, heartache, and angst whether your ears guides you to the instruments or the lyrics.
The title track captivates immediately. Chugging drums underlie a larger, urgent mix of electric guitar, strings, and is that a horn section frosting the tips of this song? Whatever torrents of instrumental and lyrical angst build throughout "The Age of the Understatement," those outlaw, horse-chase drums keep charging along. Cinematic: there's an adjective for this song, and it sets the tone for the whole album.
The album takes an slightly optimistic turn after the first few tracks, with covers of of Billy Fury's "Wondrous Place" and David Bowie's "In the Heat of the Morning" (I had to look that up on wikipedia. I WISH I had that kind of familiarity with Brit pop). But after tipping their hats to their influences, The Puppets continue with tortured, spiteful separation anxiety fire crackers of songs, interspersed among quieter, but still pained melodies. And sometimes in the same song. "Separate and Ever Deadly" revisits the driving drums of the title track, and "Only the Truth," "Black Plant," and "In My Room" could easily find themselves in a spy movie. In fact, I found myself thinking of James Bond more than once as I listened to The Age of the Understatement on repeat. I recommend "I Don't Like You Anymore" to anyone going through a break up, or anyone who has, or well, anyone really. The last two tracks, "Meeting Place" and "The Time Has Come Again," bring the energy level down, but conclude the album on an appropriately forlorn note.
All in all, a fantastic album that balances perfectly woe-is-me-I-hate-you-but-I-would-take-you-back melodrama and get-up-outcha-chair-and-dance pop rock.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Connect the Zot!s: Scott McCloud's Zot!: The Complete Black and White Collection
So I've been in and out of town the past couple weeks, which means I've spent quite a bit of time on airplanes. One might think this would allow hours and hours of time to catch up on my reading, but one would be wrong: typically, I have a hard time reading for more than 30 or so minutes on a plane. After the drink service, all I want to do is stare at the back of the seat in front of me and try not to look at the time. Thank god for ipods, now I can at least listen to music while I slowly go bored out of my skull. I say 'typically' because every now and then (I fall apart! And I need you now tonight! ... whoa, Nicki French, where did you come from?) I'm able to concentrate on an exceptionally good book for the better part of a flight. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was one of these. And so was Scott McCloud's mega trade of Zot! 1987- 1991: The Complete Black and White Collection, which brings me to today's review.
Zot! follows the title character, a teenage superhero from a Utopian Earth in an alternate dimension, as he fights criminal masterminds in his world and interacts with his pals from ours. The first half-ish of the trade, "Heroes and Villains" focuses on superhero-y exploits and neato techy gadgets and places, while the second part, "Earth Stories," is more concerned with the characters and their backgrounds and stories. As an added bonus, McCloud includes a long introduction and commentaries after each story arc; these insights into the stories and glimpses into McCloud's life as he wrote them were hands down one of my favorite things about the book. I might be biased, because I, like scores of comic geeks around the globe, am Scott McCloud's number one fan (at least in the top 100?), so the biographical aspects of his stories are a real treat. Even for readers not familiar with his opus, the guy's just accessible and really funny. His prose reads like he's talking to you; it's better than a lot of his characters' dialogue. Now, if he had taken a page from Understanding/ Reinventing/ Making Comics and written his commentary in comic form- hm, that may have actually been too much... well, probably not.
The comics of "Heroes and Villains", like I said, mostly tell stories of Zot's adventures in his own dimension with his not-girlfriend Jenny (from our earth), her brother Butch (also a chimpanzee, depending on which dimension he's in), his Renaissance man uncle Max, and a handful of other not terribly developed friends and machines. There's some pretty good witty banter here and there, and some of the themes that come up with the villains invite further thought. In his commentaries, McCloud actually talks a bit about what ideas each of his villains represents, and really, I think the bad guys are the most interesting characters. 9Jack9 and Zybox bring up the subjectivity of morality- always a fun topic- and have probably some of the coolest names in the history of bad guy monikers. Dekko's perception of the world allows for some really neato visual possibilities- just one of the places where you can see McCloud's ideas from Understanding Comics coming into play. All in all, the visual aspect of "Heroes and Villains" is this section's strength- the settings and splash pages, all the neat futuristic gadgets and spaces on Zot's world, the villains, it's all great to look at. The story-telling is fun, but not outstanding, and the characters don't get much treatment as such. Truth be told, the promise of the next section to develop them kept me going.
And "Earth Stories" delivered. In this section, Zot gets trapped on Jenny's world (that is, ours), and so we get to follow the adventures of her friends, none of which are super-powered or fantastical. They're just kids in high school with angst and problems, and they happen to hang out with flight capable, visibility-optional Zot. See? Relatable! Pretty much each issue is told from a different character's point of view, giving the reader a peek into their lives, which mostly revolve around fears, insecurities, and self-delusion. Whoo drama! Even visually, McCloud gets a little more experimental in this second section. The two award winning issues- "Normal" and "The Conversation" deserve every bit of the praise they got. Within a story arc that takes homosexuality and tolerance as its main conflict, "Normal" tells the story of Jenny's friend Terry coming to terms with her own sexuality. Here, the story really grabbed me, and it took no time for me to get emotionally invested in Terry. And if Zot's trademark inherent goodness was a bit over the top in the previous section, in "Normal," I couldn't help loving him for it. The ending is a bit of a heart fuck (if I can invent a phrase), but it's glorious. "The Conversation" focuses on a story line that had been in the back of my mind from the onset- do, uh, Zot and Jenny ever get it on? The issue takes place over the span of a couple minutes, maybe ten, where Zot broaches the subject, questions are answered, and awkwardness ensues. McCloud NAILS this conversation, capturing the discomfort, hesitance, and honesty of the characters flawlessly in empty speech balloons, slow pacing (moment to moment transitions...!), and their gestures. He says in his commentary that capturing human "poses and expressions" was never his strong suit, but I think he's really outdone himself here. The final issue, "The Great Escape," was also stunning: McCloud begins by focusing on a character per page, then per half page, until finally, we're back to a more or less non-character specific perspective, where the story arc of Zot's stint on our Earth concludes. The issue becomes an apology for fiction, which really impressed me; it was a great way to end the book, in both the contexts of the fantastical tales of the "Heroes and Villains" as well as the character driven "Earth Stories."
I'd recommend the complete Zot! to any McCloud fans, for the commentary if nothing else. I know I'm singing the tune of all the reviews I've read, which I hate doing, but: "Earth Stories," look, everyone, just track them down and read them. Also there is this, which I haven't read yet, since I'm still all googly over "Earth Stories." That might have to wait until next week.
Zot! follows the title character, a teenage superhero from a Utopian Earth in an alternate dimension, as he fights criminal masterminds in his world and interacts with his pals from ours. The first half-ish of the trade, "Heroes and Villains" focuses on superhero-y exploits and neato techy gadgets and places, while the second part, "Earth Stories," is more concerned with the characters and their backgrounds and stories. As an added bonus, McCloud includes a long introduction and commentaries after each story arc; these insights into the stories and glimpses into McCloud's life as he wrote them were hands down one of my favorite things about the book. I might be biased, because I, like scores of comic geeks around the globe, am Scott McCloud's number one fan (at least in the top 100?), so the biographical aspects of his stories are a real treat. Even for readers not familiar with his opus, the guy's just accessible and really funny. His prose reads like he's talking to you; it's better than a lot of his characters' dialogue. Now, if he had taken a page from Understanding/ Reinventing/ Making Comics and written his commentary in comic form- hm, that may have actually been too much... well, probably not.
The comics of "Heroes and Villains", like I said, mostly tell stories of Zot's adventures in his own dimension with his not-girlfriend Jenny (from our earth), her brother Butch (also a chimpanzee, depending on which dimension he's in), his Renaissance man uncle Max, and a handful of other not terribly developed friends and machines. There's some pretty good witty banter here and there, and some of the themes that come up with the villains invite further thought. In his commentaries, McCloud actually talks a bit about what ideas each of his villains represents, and really, I think the bad guys are the most interesting characters. 9Jack9 and Zybox bring up the subjectivity of morality- always a fun topic- and have probably some of the coolest names in the history of bad guy monikers. Dekko's perception of the world allows for some really neato visual possibilities- just one of the places where you can see McCloud's ideas from Understanding Comics coming into play. All in all, the visual aspect of "Heroes and Villains" is this section's strength- the settings and splash pages, all the neat futuristic gadgets and spaces on Zot's world, the villains, it's all great to look at. The story-telling is fun, but not outstanding, and the characters don't get much treatment as such. Truth be told, the promise of the next section to develop them kept me going.
And "Earth Stories" delivered. In this section, Zot gets trapped on Jenny's world (that is, ours), and so we get to follow the adventures of her friends, none of which are super-powered or fantastical. They're just kids in high school with angst and problems, and they happen to hang out with flight capable, visibility-optional Zot. See? Relatable! Pretty much each issue is told from a different character's point of view, giving the reader a peek into their lives, which mostly revolve around fears, insecurities, and self-delusion. Whoo drama! Even visually, McCloud gets a little more experimental in this second section. The two award winning issues- "Normal" and "The Conversation" deserve every bit of the praise they got. Within a story arc that takes homosexuality and tolerance as its main conflict, "Normal" tells the story of Jenny's friend Terry coming to terms with her own sexuality. Here, the story really grabbed me, and it took no time for me to get emotionally invested in Terry. And if Zot's trademark inherent goodness was a bit over the top in the previous section, in "Normal," I couldn't help loving him for it. The ending is a bit of a heart fuck (if I can invent a phrase), but it's glorious. "The Conversation" focuses on a story line that had been in the back of my mind from the onset- do, uh, Zot and Jenny ever get it on? The issue takes place over the span of a couple minutes, maybe ten, where Zot broaches the subject, questions are answered, and awkwardness ensues. McCloud NAILS this conversation, capturing the discomfort, hesitance, and honesty of the characters flawlessly in empty speech balloons, slow pacing (moment to moment transitions...!), and their gestures. He says in his commentary that capturing human "poses and expressions" was never his strong suit, but I think he's really outdone himself here. The final issue, "The Great Escape," was also stunning: McCloud begins by focusing on a character per page, then per half page, until finally, we're back to a more or less non-character specific perspective, where the story arc of Zot's stint on our Earth concludes. The issue becomes an apology for fiction, which really impressed me; it was a great way to end the book, in both the contexts of the fantastical tales of the "Heroes and Villains" as well as the character driven "Earth Stories."
I'd recommend the complete Zot! to any McCloud fans, for the commentary if nothing else. I know I'm singing the tune of all the reviews I've read, which I hate doing, but: "Earth Stories," look, everyone, just track them down and read them. Also there is this, which I haven't read yet, since I'm still all googly over "Earth Stories." That might have to wait until next week.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Big City: The Complete Oblivion City Saga, now with tangents!
Over the past couple months, I've been playing catch up with all the graphic novels one might consider classics, and it has been immensely groovy. However, I didn't want to neglect all the unheard of, independent, weird comics you only pick up by chance in used book stores and at the library. Andy Garcia's Oblivion City strip, collected into the trade Big City: the Complete Oblivion City Saga is one of those wacky reads. By the way, not Andy Garcia the actor (which made finding a link for this book nigh impossible. ).
What I liked off the bat was the total weirdness of Garcia's stories and the unpolished, uneven, black and white way he renders them. Stylistically, they're nowhere near the anxious, insomniac doom that Jhonen Vazquez so lovingly inks into his work (same publisher by the way. Hmmm), but I think because of the silliness in both, a comparison between the two drawing styles isn't out of the question. Or maybe the silliness should be only point of comparison and we'll leave visual analysis to the art critics.
Moving on. Reading Oblivion City was kind of like being back in the early 90s, watching MTV's Oddities as a kid, which, for me, had an enormous impact on what I would later think about popular culture, art, and cool. I didn't completely comprehend everything that was going on in these cartoons, and I was even a little creeped out by them, but I felt an overwhelming attraction to them and I knew then, beyond a shade of doubt, that they embodied awesome. In fact, Oddities still retains an aura of such untouchable neat that even wikipedia is speechless. But I'm not talking about Oddities (maybe I should go on rant later on... another one). I'm talking about Oblivion City. Like I said, the strip exemplifies weird for weird's sake, and it came out in the early 90s, so right around when weird for itself was cool, but not trendy yet. Like those fucking obnoxious Quizno's commercials. The ones with the stupid singing hamster things... remember those? They were short lived, thankfully.
Anyway even though at times, Oblivion City is over the top silly or disgusting or makes no sense at all, that overall spirit of good clean (well, sort of) weird fun is undeniable.
Near the end of the trade, Garcia starts getting a little more experimental with his layouts and that fourth wall, if I can borrow a term from the theatre (when it's spelled like that, you know you can read it in a British accent). This is one of the reasons I'm hooked on trades rather than individual issues (I'm helping to kill the comic book. I know, I know.): you can really get a feel for the development of the artist when you can look at a few years of his work in one place. I suppose you could do this with individual issues if you actually had them all, but how likely is that with this book? Anyway, I have little hope that I'll ever stumble across more of Garcia's Oblivion City- related series (Seth Throb Underground Artist, Sizzle Theater, Megazzar Dude), but I do want to see what the guy ended up doing after laying the groundwork in this initial book.
What I liked off the bat was the total weirdness of Garcia's stories and the unpolished, uneven, black and white way he renders them. Stylistically, they're nowhere near the anxious, insomniac doom that Jhonen Vazquez so lovingly inks into his work (same publisher by the way. Hmmm), but I think because of the silliness in both, a comparison between the two drawing styles isn't out of the question. Or maybe the silliness should be only point of comparison and we'll leave visual analysis to the art critics.
Moving on. Reading Oblivion City was kind of like being back in the early 90s, watching MTV's Oddities as a kid, which, for me, had an enormous impact on what I would later think about popular culture, art, and cool. I didn't completely comprehend everything that was going on in these cartoons, and I was even a little creeped out by them, but I felt an overwhelming attraction to them and I knew then, beyond a shade of doubt, that they embodied awesome. In fact, Oddities still retains an aura of such untouchable neat that even wikipedia is speechless. But I'm not talking about Oddities (maybe I should go on rant later on... another one). I'm talking about Oblivion City. Like I said, the strip exemplifies weird for weird's sake, and it came out in the early 90s, so right around when weird for itself was cool, but not trendy yet. Like those fucking obnoxious Quizno's commercials. The ones with the stupid singing hamster things... remember those? They were short lived, thankfully.
Anyway even though at times, Oblivion City is over the top silly or disgusting or makes no sense at all, that overall spirit of good clean (well, sort of) weird fun is undeniable.
Near the end of the trade, Garcia starts getting a little more experimental with his layouts and that fourth wall, if I can borrow a term from the theatre (when it's spelled like that, you know you can read it in a British accent). This is one of the reasons I'm hooked on trades rather than individual issues (I'm helping to kill the comic book. I know, I know.): you can really get a feel for the development of the artist when you can look at a few years of his work in one place. I suppose you could do this with individual issues if you actually had them all, but how likely is that with this book? Anyway, I have little hope that I'll ever stumble across more of Garcia's Oblivion City- related series (Seth Throb Underground Artist, Sizzle Theater, Megazzar Dude), but I do want to see what the guy ended up doing after laying the groundwork in this initial book.
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