Showing posts with label pop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop. Show all posts

Wednesday 9 December 2009

Tonight's the Night For Steppin'

   Now and again, one could stand to use a little Cole Porter-inspired New Wave in their lives. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Joe Jackson:

Friday 4 December 2009

Max Tundra - Parallax Error Beheads You (2008)


Parallax error beheads you
Framing of a history lost
Caravans of infants
Fortified against the frost
Systems under boulders
Compacting penumbra now
Salons unprotected
Disappear beneath a brow
Absence round the edges
Crackles in an orange sky
Shutters on the safety
Standing by for your reply
Appalachian figure
Gazing down upon you, proud
Future life projecting
Something that you never vowed
And if I loved you
Doesn't mean I'll see you in the crowd


   So go the words as Ben Jacobs (I'll refrain from using his pseudonym because last night one of my best friends described it as akin to a wrestling name and now I have luchadores on the brain) upends the previously instrumental nature of 'Orphaned', the endearingly unsettled fifth track of his third album and the first song on the record to willfully indulge his free associative lyrical bent. I'm not familiar with every single landscape photograph the words may mean to evoke but I love singing along nonetheless

   'Orphaned' happens to be my favourite song of the LP for funny reasons. As Jacobs produces every scrap of his eclectic, musical history recombinant-sounds on an Amiga, it easily resembles the BGM that would flow from the tinny speakers of a Sega Game Gear or a Nintendo Game Boy, albeit warmer and more full bodied. It's mostly made up of a great number of cut-up-and-stitched together half-second samples, similar to the work of dance producer Akufen, that sound like the twitching of neurons set to whimsical, freewheeling electro-funk. And consisting as it does of about 3 sections that last 8 bars each, it's the earworm equivalent of a merry-go-round. But then I do have a little weakness for looped productions. Conversely, the rest of the record is in a far more structured vein, which allows Jacobs to spread his almost limitless musical imagination in as many directions as he likes

   As long as I'm referencing video game BGM, I've long described 'Which Song', probably one of Jacobs' best received productions, as Scritti Politti's 'Perfect Way' absorbed into the Streets of Rage soundtrack. Expounding on some of his favourite topics - failed relationships with girls and satirising his own nerdiness - the song's juddering danceability, dynamic keyboard playing, jingle-like hooks and register-stretching falsetto brings out Scritti's adoration of prime Michael Jackson even moreso than the band themselves could and yet remains a definably Max Tundra track. Especially with lyrical winners like "Just because I don't like football/Or wear expensive shoes/Doesn't mean my friendship isn't something you should choose," though I find the ensuing bridge a little close to the bone ("Ultimately/Different coloured fabrics sewn/Together would be/Many times more useful if/They taught me to flirt/But instead inanimate/They hang there inert/Waiting to encumber me")


   Like any good nerd with a computer, Jacobs is a dab hand with an arrangement, showing it off deftly during 'The Entertainment', morphing it from a lightly accompanied show tune (yes, I see what's been done there) to a hands-in-the-air Euro dance number before settling into a time signature shifting keyboard-led electronic jam. This is also exemplified by the opener, 'Gum Chimes', a 70s TV theme-like harpsichord-led  ditty that could support dozens of harmonies, serves as the quietest, most restrained moment on the album and has a winning way with a trumpet and a xylophone. He also adds an appreciated alternative perspective to the 80s nostalgia that's driven many of this decade's musical and cultural impulses - like modern studio greats Cornelius and Timbaland, he has a strong signature sound and a wildly obsessive attention to each and every detail that makes his genre and decade hopping distinct from mere pastiche and aping. Aside from the aforementioned influences, 'Number Our Days' (opening with "Nothing happens when you die/You don't leave your body and fly off into the sky/The deities you count on were just made up by some guy") sounds like an off-key hybrid of The Pet Shop Boys and early Jam & Lewis (specifically, Cherelle and Alexander O' Neal's 'Saturday Love'), with Jacobs on vocoder, increasingly redolent of a robot Eeyore, falsetto choruses aside

   The closer, 'Until We Die', which puts a more optimistic spin on Jacobs' fatalism, is stadium synth prog gone deliriously madcap for 11-plus minutes. Elsewhere, he finally crosses off rock music and thrash on his checklist, formerly in the high speed, off kilter, slightly noodly fun of 'Will Get Fooled Again' (also about dating, this time through popular internet sites - "I met the girl on eBay/She was bidding on Halfway to a Threeway") and latterly on 'Nord Lead Three', an exuberant, lo-fi valentine to his favourite analog synthesiser. A valentine dominated by a drumkit and guitars; I like that. 'Glycaemic Index Blues' (and with this, I believe I've covered all 10 tracks) is a twitchy, fast electro-funk number; almost unbearably zippy with pitch-shifted singing but suddenly sideswiped by a plaintive "I'm so alone" amongst the jumbled lyrics to remind us that Jacobs's (or his persona's) disposition is as changeable as his sonic backing

   As an unabashed J-Pop and picopop fan, I'm wholly receptive to Parallax Error...'s hypermelodic showstopping, expert technical manoeuvering and blipvert-esque musical joyriding. It also shares some of my favourite things about those genres - pop classicism, a respect and love for conventions combined with gleeful boundary pushing, absurd catchiness and a truly elastic mindset that makes such endearing flights of fancy possible

   And writing as a fellow neurotic, I believe that Jacobs manages to express the very picture of a modern introvert in more words and self-mocking humour than other such people will express in their lives, mine included. Sweet, catchy, fantastical, offbeat, patience testing and very, very expressive; not an album for mass consumption, but it easily finds favour with many a proud oddball

   And that's one to grow on

Monday 30 November 2009

Glamourous

And now for a post that doesn't feature me in it

   As an addendum to The Party Post, I'd like to reiterate that we're rolling headlong into the party season; a time of frivolity, stupidity, overconsumption, enjoyment and your parents being overly embarrassing/overly affectionate/overly or not so overly generous/overbearing pompous asses. For those of you who have more strings to your social bow than the ritual cheese overload and rite of humiliation/schadenfreude/sexual misadventuring that is the office Christmas Party, get dressed to express, impress and flounce the night away in as strut-worthy a manner as possible. Be glamourous. And if you cannot, be mildly insane:


Sammy Davis Jr.

From the aptly named Iconic Photos, Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson in a London nightspot in 1936. The photographer, James Jarche, covertly concealed his camera in his bowler for just such an occasion. When did the paparazzi stop being so creatively underhanded? Today, such deviousness means that you're also paid to write about it or are reporting to a superior in at least one governmental departmment


Alain Delon

Claus von Bulow; socialite, theatre critic and Man With a Dark Side

Truman Capote accompanied by then Washington Post president Katherine Graham at his Black and White Ball, November 1966

Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones; the suit is actually an appealingly carefree shade of purple


Keef's bandmate and dandy drummer par excellence, Charlie Watts, in good company

On the far left, Julian Ormsby-Gore, late son of the also belated David Ormsby-Gore, 5th Baron Harlech and diplomat, accompanied by his sister, Victoria, and interior designer David Mlinaric, who sports a Mr. Fish suit since donated to the Victoria & Albert Museum. Alongside the other Ormsby-Gore siblings, the lifestyles of all three existed at the intersection of rock, aristocracy and hippydom during the Swinging 60s; Mlinaric was once asked to leave Annabel's for his flagrant sporting of a white suit. I can't help but approve


Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick

Liliane Bettencourt with her late husband, André

The late Brooke Astor, long-lived socialite and social activist


Antonio Azzuolo A/W 2008

Renowned operatic soprano, the late Maria Callas

A recently departed pop colossus


   Note the stylish proliferation and use of accessories, from signature eyeframes to louchely held cigarettes, nonchalantly draped scarves to ethnic jewelry, studded sparkling belts to lustrous furs. Looks that kill


(Author's note: I'm shocked at how easily the opening paragraph wrote itself. Misanthropy Mode has its advantages. Perhaps by (re)attaching my "Keep Away" sign to my forehead over the holidays, I may finally get to catch up on my reading)


Sunday 25 October 2009

Stars - 'Elevator Love Letter' (2003)


   In 2003, I was still a student and because students are stupid and introspective, I began to delve into twee pop. Today, I'm so out of touch with my emotions that I can justifiably claim to have left my feelings in my other trousers. But some things stay with you and this song is one of them

   Stars is a Canadian pop outfit almost unhealthily concerned with love, death, love, isolation, love, major emotions, guitars, love and keyboards. On a side note, founder and male singer, Torquil Campbell, was a walk-on in an episode of "Sex and the City, crowning his achievement with his sole line, directed at Sarah Jessica-Parker: "Is that pleather?" I spent a reasonable amount of time with their first three albums, fell hard and then removed them from my affections almost as quickly. Perhaps it really was a question of feelings in the end. Still, 'Elevator Love Letter' is quite possibly their indelible classic, or at least as close to a signature song as they had developed before releasing 'Ageless Beauty' in 2004

   The thing is, songs that are bleak, wistful and disappointed at the core but dressed up in melodies and beats of earworm-like properties are neither new nor uncommon, but few of them have as delicate and accomplished a happy-sad balance as this does. Although Torquil has a part to play as a cynical, blithe Lothario in the second verse, the song rests much more on the beautiful vocal performance of Amy Millan and her realisation of the equally cynical and emotionally stunted yet yearning, depressed and insecure rich girl whose woes and fragility drive the song. If her story was not so slight, I'd actually like the song less, since Stars already had 11 other emotional situations to navigate through on the song's parent album, Heart, to say nothing of the rest of their output

   'Elevator Love Letter' tells me just enough about its characters, says enough about what a rich girl with a nearly frozen heart really wants out of life and woos me just enough with a fast paced, lightly melodic production and singing that actually affects. And all with a chorus that turns the mundane into something transportive, although it helps when there's various layers of instruments playing in perfect synergy underneath it

   Maybe I've not grown up fast enough - I may still have the albums somewhere

Wednesday 21 October 2009

Pop Culture Thumbs-Up 21/10/2009




   The Quietus interviews Florence Welch of the vacuously flouncy Florence and the Machine. And it is truly refreshing to read an interviewer so unrestrainedly spiking her subject, so much so, that the interview itself comprises 30% of the overall feature. As someone who's only sweet on the outside and considers House, M.D. and its rational, brutally honest title character to be the best creations in modern television, I feel very happy indulging in the vituperative, scathing and insightful snark unleashed on Ms. Welch, who reminds me very much of every other female art student I've ever met in London (Writer's note for art students: put it this way - if we're buds or if I've ever been polite to you, I'm obviously not alluding to you)

  In the comments box, one reader notes, "good singers don't always make good conversationalists. and more often than not, good conversationalists make terrible singers. Two different forms of expression. it doesn't mean that she's stupid." He's not wrong. But leaving aside his obvious fandom, he's wrong to excuse her conversational abilities on the supposed merits of her talent because aside from the fact that her public persona generally belies the metaphorical knots around her tongue, someone who allegedly bursts with ideas should have even the most basic things to intone on regarding their craft, some small details to reveal regarding its intricacies or the work put in or how a particular burst of inspiration took matters to a logical and enjoyable conclusion. And that isn't what I just read, nor will my hopes be approaching the high setting any year soon



   Rumours of the death of America's favourite jackass (straight from the President himself), Kanye West, comprised the top Twitter trend this morning. I'd be interested to know what the fake cause was - "crushed under the weight of his own ego/hubris/chutzpah" seems far too mundane a death for him. Where would the funny be?



   Oh, and I finally sent a new piece in to Men's Flair, regarding the Hong Kong based tailors, W.W. Chan, who will be in residence at the London Park Lane Hilton tomorrow and Friday. I like them because they are far over half the price of your entry level Savile Row two piece and nearly as impressive. And frankly, not many other tailors do such an intuitive job of creating an aesthetic that marries exquisite classicism to natural progression. When I can afford them, I'm pretty sure crazy things will happen



Saturday 3 October 2009

Neil & Iraiza - New School (2002)


   For context, please note that this was written prior to the Sugababes review. This is most apparent in the opening paragraphs:

   I started around 7am. The insomnia is working mondo overtime, as I'm so very fond of saying, though it bears pointing out that the saying sits loftily on my monument of "Turns of Phrase I Wish I Had Devised". For as long as my sleep has been disordered, I've wished for it to amount to something - anything - productive instead of procrastination or zombification or trying to roll my eyes into the back of my head (purely experimental)

   Bearing in mind that this started far back around my 14th year, I recalled sometime after 2am this morning that I used to have a wider variety of coping methods beyond fatalism and rubbing my temples in what I hoped was a hypnotic rhythm. Such as music. And there was something "productive" to be followed, for there was a promise I made to myself and, by extension, the 3 people who peruse this journal on a regular basis regarding what used to be on my iPod, as well as what might be on a future model. To specify, little missives about what I consider to be among the best records of the past 9 years

   New School is rather easily one of the top 5



Via Last FM: l-r: Hirohisa Horie ('Iraiza') and Gakuji Matsuda ('Neil'). I'm planning to acquire sunglasses like Horie-san imminently

   This is, as far as anyone's aware, the final long playing collaboration between the abovementioned band members, who have maintained stalwart status in Tokyo's alternative music corners since the dearly departed King of Pop was onto his sixth new face in the mid 1990s. Matsuda, aka DJ Chabe, is best known under his Cubismo Grafico alias, tying together lounge, classical strings, Brazilian pop, French House, reggae, electronic exotica and a dab of Philly disco to almost unimpeachable effect over multiple albums, EPs and singles, all impeccably produced and played. And he sang too

   Horie is even more disgustingly talented - a multi-instrumentalist who flies the world with former Shibuya-kei figurehead and lauded sonic maestro Cornelius as his live bassist (which means that I've seen him in person twice), and has an almost inexhaustible gift for honing psychedelic rock experimentation into unforgettable melodic hooks and uncontrived arrangements, using his cheerfully wistful and whimsical persona to imbue a winning warmth in his writing (he's also a frequent collaborator of pop star Hideki Kaji, whose recent unfortunate assault was reported a few months ago - their 1999 Tokyo Tapes EP as Dots and Borders is worth five LPs put together). Given the close-knit nature of the scene, his list of collaborators is naturally extensive and, up until N&I's first releases, more used to taking center stage


   On the face of it, it's Eclectic Dance Producer meets Ecelectic Indie Pop Lifer, but the common thread between the two men - unabashed FM radio adoration - makes them entirely an entirely natural pairing. Over two EPs and the first album, charmingly titled Johnny Marr?, as well as New School, the division of labour runs thus: the duo split lyricwriting duties, Horie handles anything with a keyboard, leads on vocals and creates the bulk of the guitar work, arrangements and ultimately, the majority of the music. Matsuda handles choruses, secondary vocals and keys, and an array of percussive instruments including the occasional drum. Friends play parts N&I believe to be better served by other talents. And naturally, Horie and Matsuda produce everything



New School's sole (Japanese) single, 'Wasted Times'. It scores highly with me for the callback to early song 'Five Idle Days', amongst other things


   In my own way, the first adjective I use to describe the album is "consummate." There seems to be an utter lack of limit to the deft touches the two artists leave on the 12 songs. Although their earlier work had a certain ramshackle charm that was nevertheless in tandem with the breadth of their skill, the songs of New School are full bodied, tightly arranged and winningly melodic; hook filled enough that English indie label Ochre Records, released tracks 4 and 11, 'This is Not a Love Song' and 'Oracle Noises' as a 7" in 2003 as a way to increase their cult profile. As an international introduction, the single captures the sunny, charming FM pop side of the duo, who create the most perfect country-inspired jangle pop record of the decade in a little over 2 minutes on side A and then delves into their effects-led psychedelic introspections on the flip, thereby providing a snapshot of the entire album

   I adore every single cut, but aside from the delights of the aforementioned selections, there are many great tricks performed successfully here. Take 'Human Dust Bin' - silly title, sillier risk in leading with beats, keys and sax that resemble mid-1980s synth soul and r'n'b (or Simply Red, if you're feeling mean) and in a possible moment of self consciousness, Horie even sings "Out of my head, that makes no sense, you know" in the middle, but it's an undeniably charming concoction of songwriting and melody that soon papers over the desire to sneer and might even move one to reconsider the source genre. 'Our Housing' is another excercise in such near-3D thought - if the reference to Madness in the title isn't immediately obvious, then the opening soon reveals the extent to which 'Our House' influences the song - the bassline, the horns, the famous guitar lines and the chorus harmony are all present and correct, but it's nevertheless a different entity in rhythm, arrangement,and lyrics, dipping through all the wistfulness and emotion that accompanies nostalgic reflections on a childhood home and providing a strong example of inspiration made good where other efforts are cynical and poor (Christina Aguilera's 'Make Over' of Sugababes' 'Overload') or simply accidental (The Flaming Lips' 'Fight Test' and Cat Stevens' 'Father and Son')


   'Wednesday' is a spirited dash of Kinksian whimsy that manages to seem original through the strength of the melodies and playing, the unexpected soft pop/light reggae collision of 'Hello Young Lovers' is soothing and oddly moving (blame it on Horie's cooing choral lead-out), while the energetic instrumental (save for a whistled lead tune), 'Fez', gallops through lighthearted 60s freakbeat and 70s keyboard wizardry but avoids total antiquity through the  detail and clarity of its production



   Special mention goes to 'Supreme Day', a superficially simplistic drum-pounding jaunt, upon which all manner of instruments and hooks surmount, most prominently a recorder. And then there's 'Mall Rats', possibly my favourite contender for rock'n'roll song of the decade. It's exuberant, confident and practically viral in its memorableness, from its opening riff to its cute, child's-view-of-consumerism-and-defiance lyrics to its slightly dizzying, percussively danceable finish. Best part? It's the second song on the album, and, therefore, the strongest assurance that the record to follow will be one that remains in the memory

   It pulls off the best trick of much of Shibuya-Kei - making the past sound like the present and/or the future - but the childish whims and viewpoints of many of their peers are made more adult  and refined in the hands of Horie and Matsuda. And as an album from the final days of "old" Shibuya-Kei, New School is very much the capstone that the movement deserved

Friday 2 October 2009

Shibuya-Kei: A Brief Primer


 Whilst finishing off my next 2000s musical review - technically the first until real world events dictated otherwise - I noticed that a genre overview might be needed for those who lack my particular proclivities for musical geekery. So the following is extracted from said review, a classic from Japan's old alternative pop scene, Shibuya-Kei:

The now-dead - and resurrected - scene they contributed prolifically to, Shibuya-kei, deserves its own article or, better still, a link to a better overview and dissection than I could hope to manage, lack of rest or no. Suffice to say, it centred around an auspiciously fashionable and lively area of Tokyo - the titular Shibuya - and its harmonic proponents became known for recombinant, idiosyncratic, heavily detailed and often exuberant and kitschy forms of Western pop history. It was the 1990s incarnation of the DIY spirit of punk and golden age hip hop, yet almost everything had a whispy voiced Japanese femme on vocals and it all sounded like it was created on an unlimited budget, even when it wasn't

   And those links are the preserve and insights of Japanese-but-actually-American alternative/blender pop artist, journalist and cultural disinterrer Marxy, as detailed in six parts. The Legacy of Shibuya-Kei is a vital and excellent read, examining and championing well over a decade of a landscape changed by reinterpreting and reshaping Western music into something familiar but utterly new. And sometimes far more interesting:



   Give Marxy's songs a try. I'll be returning to his output in the near or distant future

Wednesday 30 September 2009

Sugababes - One Touch (2000)





   I had an entirely different, and, some might argue, more "sophisticated" record review to address the Broken iPod Blues I've been feeling. But then the news broke that Sugababes had finally become utterly akin to Menudo, Morning Musume and Trigger's Broom, so this response is wholly dictated by the fickle whims of current events. An easy mark for Pop Culture Thumbs-Down News of the Month if I ever saw one. Good times

   It's strange to settle in with their first, and best, album and note that in spite of the considerable charm, ranges and talents of the three founding - and now utterly departed - girls, Mutya, Siobhan and Keisha, that it was not immediately apparent that this was Britain's most successful female pop act in the making. At least, if you analysed the sales figures instead of scrutinising the music. But then the marketing for the group's introductory period demanded an appreciation of the little differences between themselves and their peers. They had a cutesy name but were not being promoted on the basis of their looks (though it's worth noting, now that the girls are in their early 20s, that those looks are more highly rated than popular myth might have it); they were 16 but neither cute like The Jackson 5 nor disquietingly sexualised like Miley; they were a girl group but instead of an abundance of plastic exuberance moulded as Spice Girls in waiting, the public were presented with a youthful, contemporary British pop band pitched somewhere in the hinterland between All Saints and En Vogue. And they could sing


   Quite the curious beastie, pop singing. To the average person, it's an area wherein if the voice conveying the lyrics doesn't make one reach for a rusty cleaver with which to pay personal tribute to Van Gogh then it's fine. Unless there is a panel of at least 3 overly self-satisfied judges on hand to make repeated complimentary remarks about a nascent singer's voice and the transformative effect it's had on their lives, sex lives, rheumatic problems and bank balances on live television or the vocalist on the radio or television is widely recognised as a diva, then no one cares how well the girl(s) in question performs. Especially if she has a face made for posters in a supermarket


   So, Sugababes at the start were different. No smiles, no sex, all 16, all sass. The music and the singing had to be front and centre, and it was rather helped by, as well as hinged on, the fact that the performers all seemed older than their years. Indeed, when they sang such a line in 'New Year', perhaps the least nauseating Christmas song in over two decades, it actually seemed plausible, the way that little Michael projecting age old heartache about the lover he spurned moving on from him did. The album's thematic elements are generally uncontrived - the usual hazards and happy times with boys and girls are mingled with deftly handled singalongs about teenage angst, musical escapism, breakdowns in communication and social alienation, much like a teenager's diary (thank you, Popjustice message board). Alongside this, the production was utterly different to their various peers - sparse, oft-times downbeat, barely melodic in most places and more in the mould of trip hop's pop excursions than the post-Spice World environment


   And these girls could not only sing but harmonise. Unexpected multi-part vocals are a particular highlight in 'Look At Me' and 'Promises', wherein the girls' voices cascade across each other without overwhelming themselves or the listener, while the vocal interplay, while not necessarily unconventional, strives to be interesting, whether through all 3 girls singing the second verse of still memorable debut single 'Overload' or ending an ensemble-sung bridge with a couple of solo lines. The combination of vocals is also a strong selling point, mixing as it does Keisha Buchanan's slightly tremulous r'n'b stylings, Siobhan Donaghy's sweet melodies and somewhat detached delivery, and Mutya Buena's strong range and interesting mix of honey and husk. Emerging as the band's best singer over 3 subsequent albums before resigning, Mutya gives the album moments of added punch, even managing to sound as if she's making little effort at the same time. This becomes particularly evident in the title track, which makes a 15 year old calling her beau "my dear" the most natural statement of declaration for a young 'un whose adulthood is still a few years away (by all accounts, the girl also makes for an excellent mother)


   The most interesting aspect of the line-up changes is how it reveals how each of the founders have shaped their particular tenures, notably in hindsight. Sugababes Mark 2 was filled with fuzzy basslines and grit and spikes in a way that particularly suited Mutya, who moved on to take the majority of first verses and leads on choruses, as well as typifying the "non-traditional" image of the band with her offbeat dress sense, tattoos and piercings. The recently ended Mark 3 focused on Keisha's enthusiasm for American r'n'b, more facile pop and high energy numbers. And so, Mark 1 seems to match the rather indie Siobhan the most through its heart on sleeve-approach, minor keys and utilisation of sunny and plangent strumming. And while this is the record of theirs that I'm most fond of, it does them no end of credit that amongst all the changes, there's still something to enjoy. I only hope that Mark 4 can keep it up

Monday 14 September 2009

Pop Culture Thumbs-Up 14/09/2009: What We Learned at the 2009 MTV VMAs

   Madonna can give a truly heartfelt speech. And Janet gets fiercer and more powerful with age

   We learned nothing new about Kanye's lack of class, however

Monday 20 July 2009

Pop Culture Thumbs-Down 20/07/09


   It's heavily dismaying to learn that Adam 'MCA' Yauch, Beastie Boy founder, campaigner for a free Tibet, and America's premier Buddhist Rhyme King, has been diagnosed with cancer. The band has been one of my largest musical pleasures and inspirations, particularly when I was learning music programming way back when - indeed, I'd say that they "saved" this angst-ridden teenager once upon a time, and my thoughts are with him, his family and his fellow Beasties. I hope he'll beat this



   This is only a Thumbs-Down because I'm tainting this post with a link to The Sun, but photos of Matt Smith and Karen Gillan as the Eleventh Doctor and Amy Pond have emerged as they film episodes of next year's Doctor Who. I'm particularly interested to learn what the sartorialists among us consider as to the new Doctor's outfit, which appears to be a compromise between the outfits of the previous two lead actors but, it must be said, rather lacks the personalisations of his previous selves, rolled hems and boots aside (yes, it does remind me of a certain designer I mention too often, but done on the cheap. And yes, it's more than a little bit 70s). I presume that the academic look, Harris Tweed included, is meant to counter the Time Lord's most youthful physiognomy yet, but they should have just run with it as was done for Doctors Five and Ten (points for the (clip-on, unfortunately) bow tie - it was about time the character started wearing them again). And as far as a professorial, 30s-inspired Doctor goes, it's truly hard to beat the creative whimsicality of Seventh Doctor Sylvester McCoy's ensemble; an imaginative mix-and-match combination that continues to influence me to this day. Still, a couple of tweaks here and there would make the new outfit rather memorable

   Meanwhile, JLS is currently at no.1 in the UK's pop singles chart. It doesn't even merit a link, but it's the UK lionising yet another bland boyband, so there you have it

Tuesday 7 April 2009

Pop Culture Tick-Offs - 07/04/09

   Things that have not made me happy of late include the untimely death of Angel alumni Andy Hallett at 33 last week. It was a sad piece of news made even more surreal and sad because earlier in the day I viewed him during a rewatch of the final episode to feature series lynchpin Charisma Carpenter, in which she and David Boreanaz genuinely cried during their final scene together. But then the show was stuffed with the talents of professionals who loved and knew what they were doing, and it's an apt and special body of work that Mr Hallett has left behind him

   It's somewhat ridiculous, given the circumstances, to say that this next story left a bad taste in my mouth, but one of my favourite Japanese indie-pop stalwarts, Hideki Kaji, was beaten up in Sweden on a video shoot while dressed as a pineapple. Ridiculous, but rather uncool nonetheless. Here's a video of Mr Kaji dressed as a rotating head on a yellow background and note that this assault is driving up his video comments on YouTube

   And finally, I'm predictably unimpressed that House M.D. is now short one main cast member, if only because I'm sceptical that the show is going to do justice to the fallout. But the actor did a great job bouncing off the rest of the cast and I cannot wait for the next season (not that this season is done yet)

   B

Monday 6 April 2009

Song Obsession: Timothy Victor - 'Ass2Ass' (A Requiem For a Universal Dream)

   I make no claims on being a classy man, so when I state that I unironically watched most episodes of the third series of e4's Skins, a paean to the teenage angst that apparently runs through the souls of Bristolians aged 13 - 19 with the unrelentingness of a six foot long hose through one's lower intestine*, it's because it's the truth. I was curious, I really had little better to do, and if my love for symphonic orchestra performances at the Royal Festival Hall cannot coexist with my appetite for lowbrow televisual delights or chart music, then why live? And that brings me to 'Ass2Ass'

   There was pretty much one real highlight of the recently concluded series - two, if you count the performance of angsty-but-coping Kathryn Prescott aka "Gay Twin" Emily, who gets props for possessing better taste in music than her sister Megan. While I'm certain that the trials of tribulations of a teenage lesbian in love have been blessed with better portrayals (based on no research whatsoever), Emily benefited from having a hateful, controlling, shallow and possibly homophobic twin sister in Katie that resulted in her looking better by comparison, but Prescott was consistent in her characterisation and performance, distinguishing herself with strength of character to belie her vulnerabilities and fears and being one of the very few of the show's personalities to lack a core of narcissism. Her ability to give and receive kindness was distinct from most of the rest because Prescott made it believable that she was a girl worth cherishing. She probably had the happiest ending of all the main story threads - until next year

   Allow me to drift back to the point. 'Ass2Ass', from the 4th episode, is the centrepiece at a series of satirical shots of reality pop competition shows, with the blatant cod-soft porn antics of girl group Da Sexxbombz only one element. Boasting Popstars: The Rivals and Girls Aloud runner-up, failed solo singer (but for a euphoric collaboration with Richard X) and infamous home-wrecker Javine Hylton in an oh-so-meta appearance, the group was on the hunt for a new member and their schtick, as portrayed onscreen, owes far more to the Prince-directed frolics of Vanity 6 - lingerie, innuendo, sex songs - than the generally implied sexuality of the contemporary scene. Gratefully, rather than solely make obvious cracks about the superficiality and exploitation of such entertainment, supporting character and contestant Karen was relatively complicit, using her tale of a dead mother to further her voter base. Focusing on the media-friendly backstory element all such contestants seem to possess in our world gave the episode more of a unique slant and gave consideration to how all encompassing a desire to be famous can be used to dishonour a memory (even Karen's father had no qualms about this vulgar invocation of his dead wife)

   Anyway, 'Ass2Ass' is just another piece of the referential whole (incidentally, other Da Sexxbombz tracks include 'Rim Licking' and 'Juicing Down'). It's musically based on Britney's 'Piece of Me' (a song that's unapologetically about the tabloid antics of its world famous performer, gossip fixture and singer of the good clean fun of 'If You See(k) Amy'), right down to the vocoder, minimal synth bass and sampled ecstatic moans, and in performance, the bodypopping, crop haired "backing singer" is straight out of the video to Fedde Le Grand's 'Let Me Think About It'. And taking its title from a pivotal scene of a movie that got the juices of a million film students flowing does make an extra effort to layer the shout-outs. The song works because it has one thing going for it - it was clearly written with the mind of a schoolboy for the minds of actual schoolboys (and overgrown ones, in my case) - and this one thing leads to other things - catchiness, infectious glee, knowing winks and, in the episode, better dancing than Vanity 6 ever managed. And they even went to the effort of a full-length, ready for pirate radio production

   Get it here (yes, I went there)

* Also stolen from a television show - my favourite, in fact. If you know which one, I have an opening for a new BFF. And that's another rephrasing in the making

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