Posts Tagged ‘reviews’

I get a lot of CDs in the mail to review and I have little time to get to all of them. Plus, I really don’t like reviewing things. (Yes, it’s sort-of part of my job. Whatever.) So when I can, I’m going to try to do quick round-ups of the latest music releases to come my way. These are opinion-filled and may actually skirt the actual reviewing of an album, so, um, deal.

The Library E.P.: The publicist for this band tried to sell me on it by promoting the fact that Mark Needham, who worked on a few Killers albums, “produced” the Library’s debut E.P. Well, first, he’s an engineer, not a producer, and second: So what? The Library sounds like Under the Influence of Giants kinda mashed up with Terence Trent D’Arby. I like both those artists. I do not like The Library. It’s uninspired disco-pop with vocals that annoyingly veer into the falsetto range. I can do without.

The Staxx Brothers – We Are The Blaxstonz: I first saw this Seattle-based funk/hip-hop/classic rock ensemble live at Bumbershoot last year and really dug their sound, performance and delivery. After briefly reviewing their set on a music website I used to run, they dropped their self-released first album, 12th Street Blues, on me. I dug it. So I had pretty high expectations for We Are The Blaxstonz.

The new album continues with the blend of bluesy rock riffs, soul singing and rap flow that defines The Staxx Brothers sound, with lead vocals traded off between band leader Davin Michael Stedman and MC Decurrian. But for the first half of the album, the songs miss the mark a bit. While the riff in “1992″ is catchy, the rap in the middle section is clunky. “Almost Got Shot in North Minneapolis” is tight, but its gangsta-land storyline feels out of place. And “Oh Carolina” changes things up with its slow-burn, Southern-fried soul, but still feels lackluster.

However, the band picks things up with the upbeat, irreverent, head-bob-inducing “Name Dropper” and “Game Recognize Game,” which, despite its (presumably tongue-in-cheek) refrain of  “money, cash, hos,” is just the kind of funky jam that got my notice on that sunny day in Seattle last year. Your best bet is to see the eight-piece band live, where your biggest concern will be how hard your ass is shaking — and that’s really the only thing that matters.

Silversun Pickups – Swoon: There’s not a sophomore slump in sight for this Los Angeles-spawned, shoegazey, alterna-rock band. On its second album, the quartet comes on strong with more of its signature quiet-to-loud, rasp-to-wail sound. And that’s not a bad thing. Let’s face it: This is what we all wished Smashing Pumpkins still sounded like: Dreamy, lush, full of youthful yearning — not selling cars.

Silversun is all about subtleties and nuances on Swoon: layered guitars, keyboard flourishes, those everpresent, machine-like drums.  From the jaunty, buzzing opener, “There’s No Secrets This Year,” to the hypnotic, chilly “Growing Old is Getting Old,” Silversun reminds us that there is some joy left in alternative rock, even if there’s not much originality. The frantic lead single, “Panic Switch,” deserves a permanent spot on rock radio. A great band both on record and live, I highly recommend picking up this disc and checking out Silversun Pickups if they come through your neck of the woods.

I learned of Boom Studios’ Cover Girl graphic novel (actually, a trade collection of the eponymous five-issue series) via Kevin Church’s website, BeaucoupKevin.com. As a regular reader of his blog and webcomic The Rack, I figured anything Kevin touched couldn’t suck. Plus, I try to support my friends’ creative output, so I clicked the Amazon link on his website and bought the trade, not really knowing what to expect.

Well, it turned out that I wasn’t just humoring Kevin by buying Cover Girl, which he scripted from a plot by Eureka creator Andrew Crosby: It’s a damn good story, one that packs in a whole lot of dialog, action and humor into 128 pages. The basic premise: Struggling, dumb-but-pretty actor Alex Martin plays hero, becomes Hollywood’s next “It” boy, gets wrapped up in a mystery that finds him on the wrong end of guns, explosives and fists, and is saddled with tough-but-smoking-hot bodyguard Rachel Dodd.

Yeah, on the surface, it’s pretty much Moonlighting-meets-Lethal Weapon, but along the way, Andrew and Kevin use Cover Girl to take shots at just about every aspect of the motion picture industry, punctuated by acerbic, punchy dialog crafted by … acerbic, punchy Kevin. While the resolution of the main plotline comes a little too easy, it doesn’t detract from the overall satisfaction I felt finishing the book. It’s just a fun, engaging read, with vibrant, clean art from Mateus Santolouco. And really, what more can one ask from their funnybooks?

Anyone could have done a parody of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ much-lauded graphic novel Watchmen, especially one whose release is so precariously synced with the U.S. premiere of Zack Snyder’s film adaptation. But with Watchmensch (Brain Scan Studios), Rich Johnston and Simon Rohrmuller merely use the familiar settings and characters of the original book as a platform to tell quite a different tale, that of creators’ rights and publishers’ legal acrobatics. Of course, the story of Moore’s ongoing disputes with DC Comics is the stuff of legend at this point, but Watchmensch goes beyond that single case, delving as far back as the birth of the superhero comic industry: When Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster sold their creation, Superman, for $130 to the future DC Comics.

If there’s any one person qualified to write such a far-reaching work of critical satire about the comic industry, it’s Johnston, whose weekly column, “Lying in the Gutters,” has been spilling the inside dirt on all things geeky since 2002. There’s a lot of meta commentary happening in Watchmensch, and it’s a lot to digest, but just as in the series that inspired it, Johnston includes a helpful text page, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow Stories?,” which spells out some of the between-the-panels details.

It takes about half of the book to really grasp who characters such as “Mr. Broadway,” “Nite Nurse” and “OzyOsbourne” represent and how everything relates, but by the time you get to the surprise ending (no, really, much like Watchmen, this tale has a few twists you won’t expect), the payoff is worth the sometimes-difficult journey.

The art by Rohrmuller is pitch perfect: He apes Gibbons’ detailed-yet-clean lines well enough without merely copying, but the revealing spreads on pages 18 to 20 are some of the best-drawn panels I’ve seen in years. And presented in black-and-white, the artwork is crisp, clear and refreshing.

While Watchmensch shoves a lot down your throat in just 28 pages, it’s a good primer for anyone interested in the somewhat-sketchy, behind-the-scenes workings of the entertainment industry. The story works even better if you’ve read Watchmen, as otherwise the stylistic storytelling choices make little sense, but on its own, you could do worse with your $3.99 than send it the way of Mssrs. Johnston and Rohrmuller when Watchmensch ships next week.

Anyone could have done a parody of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ much-lauded graphic novel Watchmen, especially one whose release is so precariously synced with the U.S. premiere of Zack Snyder’s film adaptation. But with Watchmensch (Brain Scan Studios), Rich Johnston and Simon Rohrmuller merely use the familiar settings and characters of the original book as a platform to tell quite a different tale, that of creators’ rights and publishers’ legal acrobatics. Of course, the story of Moore’s ongoing disputes with DC Comics is the stuff of legend at this point, but Watchmensch goes beyond that single case, delving as far back as the birth of the superhero comic industry: When Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster sold their creation, Superman, for $130 to the future DC Comics.

If there’s any one person qualified to write such a far-reaching work of critical satire about the comic industry, it’s Johnston, whose weekly column, “Lying in the Gutters,” has been spilling the inside dirt on all things geeky since 2002. There’s a lot of meta commentary happening in Watchmensch, and it’s a lot to digest, but just as in the series that inspired it, Johnston includes a helpful text page, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow Stories?,” which spells out some of the between-the-panels details.

It takes about half of the book to really grasp who characters such as “Mr. Broadway,” “Nite Nurse” and “OzyOsbourne” represent and how everything relates, but by the time you get to the surprise ending (no, really, much like Watchmen, this tale has a few twists you won’t expect), the payoff is worth the sometimes-difficult journey.

The art by Rohrmuller is pitch perfect: He apes Gibbons’ detailed-yet-clean lines well enough without merely copying, but the revealing spreads on pages 18 to 20 are some of the best-drawn panels I’ve seen in years. And presented in black-and-white, the artwork is crisp, clear and refreshing.

While Watchmensch shoves a lot down your throat in just 28 pages, it’s a good primer for anyone interested in the somewhat-sketchy, behind-the-scenes workings of the entertainment industry. The story works even better if you’ve read Watchmen, as otherwise the stylistic storytelling choices make little sense, but on its own, you could do worse with your $3.99 than send it the way of Mssrs. Johnston and Rohrmuller when Watchmensch ships next week.

I’ve gotten hold of a bunch of quality new music lately (and I have a feeling there’s more coming), so I figured I’d share a little of what I’m listening to these days in my CD player/iTunes playlist/iPod Shuffle:

White Lies, To Lose My Life: This UK trio rocks the post-punk in a familiar manner, with heavy shades of Psychedelic Furs, Echo and the Bunnymen and early Tears for Fears. Really, I challenge you to find evidence that songs such as “A Place to Hide” or “Fifty on Our Foreheads” were not recorded in 1983. But White Lies pulls off the reverb-drenched, bass-driven, keyboard-accented sound so well, I can’t help but dig it. These guys are touring the United States this spring with stops at both Coachella and South By Southwest, so you should definitely check them out should they come to your town. Or pick up To Lose My Life, which drops on March 17 in the States.

Morrissey, Years of Refusal: On the flipside of White Lies is Morrissey, who actually was an iconic 1980s post-punk artist, but you’ll find barely any hint of his Smiths origins on Years of Refusal, a worthy entry in Moz’s return to glory that began with 2004′s You Are The Quarry. From the outset, Steven Patrick Morrissey makes it quite clear that he’s not going to disappear quietly into the night even as he stares down his 50th birthday. He’s angrier and more bitter than ever, and his music is more aggressive than it has been in years. Right off the bat, the high-paced, loud opener, “Something is Squeezing My Skull,” unleashes lyrical venom such as “I know by now you think I should have straightened myself out, thank you, drop dead” and “It’s a miracle I even made it this far.” It’s good stuff for anyone, and great stuff for Morrissey fans. Moz is also touring the Colonies the next few months, though sadly, he’s not coming to Las Vegas anytime soon (surely he’ll fix that later this year — his last few shows have done considerably well).

Geoff Rickly and Tim Payne taste the chaos

For the most part, my musical tastes haven’t fluctuated much since high school. I tend to lean toward classic rock, ’90s alternative and anything either from or inspired by the New Romantic scene: The Doors, Soundgarden, The Cure, Morrissey, Depeche Mode. When I glom onto new bands, they tend to be derivatives of those groups (She Wants Revenge, Bloc Party, Editors, etc.).

None of which explains Thursday.

Oh, sure, lead singer Geoff Rickly’s voice has been compared to a young Robert Smith, but that’s a limited, and mostly inaccurate, comparison.  Otherwise, the post-hardcore band from New Brunswick, N.J. — which I’ve written about numerous times — comes from an unfamiliar scene  during a time in which I was pretty out of touch with anything new and stuck in my ways. I think it was during a trip to Hot Topic in 2001 (right before aging out of that demographic) that I picked up the band’s Victory Records debut, Full Collapse, on a whim (it was a featured album, and the “Robert Smith singing in a hardcore band” tag must have actually worked on me).

From that moment, it was on. Back then, I didn’t have a car, so I spent a lot of time on public transportation with only my portable CD player (and notebooks, of course) to keep me company. And I wore the hell out of Full Collapse. Skull-penetrating melodies. Breakneck drumming. Dissonant guitars coming from all directions. And Rickly going from whine to scream to whisper — and sometimes speech — all the time delivering some of the best-written, most insightful lyrics I’ve ever heard. (more…)

Guys, ease up! He doesn't even have any powers now!

NBC’s Heroes has come back strong from its season break with a new volume, “Fugitives,” and it seems to have shaken off a bunch of its discombobulated storylines with overcrowded characters, leaving viewers with something much more streamlined: New York Senator Nathan Petrelli is rounding up all powered people as a campaign to keep America “safe” for normal people, and the central “heroes,” on the run, have teamed up to oppose his efforts.

While the plot is basically a convolution of several X-Men comic book storylines (including “Days of Future Past,” in which mutants are rounded up into internment camps), it works pretty well. Gone (for the most part) are the wildly varying character personae, the confusing continuity and the unclear objectives of each sub-plot.

Whereas Season Two was … nearly unwatchable, the first volume of Season Three, “Villains,” was entertaining but draining. I look at “Villains” as nothing more than a set-up for “Fugitives” — a way to clean the slate and reboot the show. And now I find myself not just tolerating Heroes with hope for something better, but thoroughly enjoying every twist and turn and dangling on every cliffhanger ending.

To Tim Kring and his writers: Stay the course. You have a good thing going here, and might even see a return to those vaunted Season One numbers (or as close to in this attention-scattered age) if good word spreads around.