Album Review: Black Lips - "Arabia Mountain"

"Dude, they are conjuring up those demons. Basically they're taking spells out of that book, or they're taking demons out of that book and working it into a song that basically conjures up these demons, man." This is a quote from what sounds like a found audio clip, spoken by a guy with a 1991 California accent. It comes in as the music fades on a song about Spider-man getting molested as a child. It's the third track on Arabia Mountain, the newest release from the blissfully sloppy, lo-fi, "flower" punk band Black Lips.

 

Black Lips hail from Georgia, coming of age and popularity in the Atlanta scene that fostered bands like Deerhunter, Mastodon, The Coathangers, and King Khan and the Shrines. They're notorious to a certain extent. Their live shows have included vomit, blood, piss, etc. They are, as one of their earlier songs proclaims, Bad Kids. But their live shows are only an extension of the raucous, wild good time that is a Black Lips record. Arabia Mountain is no exception. And even though they collaborated with famed producer Mark Ronson the album is still uniquely Black Lips. In other words: It's still a slime-covered gem!

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What If Rupert Murdoch’s Empire Were Hacking All The Way Down?

Rupert Murdoch owns a lot. That sentence doesn’t even need an indirect object. He simply owns a lot. Of newspapers, of movie studios, of television networks, of television programs, of websites, of magazines, of record labels. He even owns fifty percent of Australia’s National Rugby League. Chances are that of the thousands of pieces of content you interact with everyday, a good third to one-half of them link back to him in some sort of gold-plated game of Six Degrees of Rupert Murdoch.

He now owns one hell of a scandal. Murdoch’s News Corporation is the parent company of News International, which published the British tabloid News of the World. It’s recently come to light that News of the World engaged in phone hacking to illegally obtain information. Earlier this month, British prime minister David Cameron called for a massive government inquiry into the affair, hoping to address claims of hacking and police bribery.

High-ranking British police officials are stepping down. Members of Murdoch’s empire are being arrested. The United States is now getting involved: the FBI just began investigating whether or not News Corp’s violated the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act with the alleged hacking and bribery. Oh yeah, and they might have accessed the voicemails of victims of the 9/11 attacks and the 7/7 London bombings.

Rather than wade into this quagmire and attempt to report on it (there’s plenty of that going on already), I’d like to speculate on what the world would be like if such underhanded behavior pervaded the furthest reaches of Murdoch’s empire. Cue the dream sequence music.

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The End of the Midnight Madness: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Alohomora!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Hearing those pretend, faux-magicky-language spells shouted out by tween voices, watching them flick their substitute wands (anything from a twig to a drumstick to a chopstick to a sewing needle) with grandiose flourishes, checking out all the robes, cloaks, scarves, glasses, lightning bolts drawn onto foreheads... let's just say it takes me back.  I was there, nine years and four months ago, when the first installment of this storied seven-book, eight-movie franchise exploded onto America's silver screens.  I was standing in line (in those barbaric times before assigned seating), waiting anxiously to rush in and claim the best seats for our group of young, fresh-faced aficionados of witchcraft and wizardry.  I was watching with wonder as Harry Potter's bespectacled face first filled the screen and I was listening as John Williams's majestic score first filled my ears.  And I haven't missed one film since.

Looking out over the sea of eager fans, the old and the young, the costumed and non-costumed, those desperately trying to hold onto one last shred of dignity and those who had long ago abandoned all hope - you could tell it was the end of an era.  Now, almost 20 hours and more than $7 billion later, we were all about to take part in the last midnight showing of the last Harry Potter film EVER.  And you could tell that everyone was thinking the same thing:  IT'S FINALLY ABOUT TO END!

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Thoughts of an Aspiring Music Snob: Week 115 - Björk

Chris is trying to compensate for his lack of musical knowledge by immersing himself in one new artist each week. At the end of the week, he will write up a brief summary of his opinions. You can read about the origin and parameters of this project here.

Yup, it's a picture of the swan dress. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Björk. Admit it: it's the first thing you thought of too. 

Björk is one of those musicians whose fame as a celebrity has somehow managed to eclipse her fame as a musician. In the United States of America, where she was never as popular as in the rest of the world, it's possible that many people only know the singer from her exotic-sound monosyllabic moniker and her famous cygnine Oscar garb. Until this week, I don't think I had ever heard a piece of music by Björk, even though I totally knew who she was as a public figure.

It's nice when my musical ignorance yields these surprises, and a figure I dismissed as a mere European novelty actually turns out to have talent, a willingness to experiment, and some great music to back up her image. I had assumed Björk was some sort of faux-classical easy listening - an Icelandic Yanni, if you will. Instead, she stocks up her influences to Stockhausen, Brian Eno and Kraftwerk, which is a pretentious list but also a surefire way to make me take notice and realize that I'm really going to enjoy this week's music. 

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After the Jump: The Many Emmys

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Hey, look at us being all on time with the podcast this week! As long as "10:00pm on Sunday" counts as "on time" for you guys. Probably it does.

This week! We talk about the Netflix price hike, Canada's Internet caps and the legislation surrounding same, the Emmys, the possibility of an Android tablet from Amazon, and more!

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Sunday Reading: A Prank Customer Letter

In the generational shift from letters to email, I fear we’ve lost something. It’s not the care with which one chooses words while writing in ink. It’s not the intimacy of sending someone a physical manifestation of your feelings, be they love, anger, worry, etc.

We’ve lost a good deal of pranking.

Think about it. Pranks rely on anonymity, something social networking and modern email etiquette have slowly eroded. Anything you don’t recognize immediately gets sent to your Spam folder before being deleted.

You have to physically deal with a letter. Sure, you can throw it away afterwards, but it’s likely that you’ll at least tear open the envelope, read the handwritten or typed text, and then discover that someone was playing a joke on you.

Just check out some of this letter from R.J. Bumpass, sent to the Blum Manufacturing Company, a cowbell producer, in 1957.

“By golly everything has happened to me expect a spudnixt falling on me. Several evenings, couple weeks back was flagged by some indians, were broke down. Did not get to bed untill 2:00 or 3:00 o’clock. As far as I am concerned, people better be where they are headed that time of day, I am not stopping.”

This is either the rant of a crazy person looking to buy more cowbells, or it is a well-crafted prank letter sent for the amusement of the Blum Company. You can read the rest of the letter here. Meanwhile, I’m off to locate a functioning Underwood. I’ve got some letters to write.

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Book Review: George R.R. Martin - "A Dance With Dragons"

"It has been a while between books, I know," George R.R. Martin admits in the introduction to his new novel. One can only imagine this line being delivered wearily, the response to thousands of fans clamoring for the next installment in the epic fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire. It's been six years since the previous book, and that book only featured half the main cast. Long-time readers haven't met up with certain characters in A Dance with Dragons since 2000. That was eleven years ago. Bill Clinton was president. It's been a long time. 

So it's hard to approach reading A Dance with Dragons as one would a regular book. The build-up, both from the long wait and the exposure from the HBO series, has led to increased expectations and a reader base large enough to single-handedly revive the fortune of some bookstores. It's hard for a book to live up to that sort of anticipation. Additionally, there's the personal element to consider. When I last read about some of these characters, I was fourteen years old. It's a bit jarring to pick up the new book and realize that absolutely no time has passed for these characters I left eleven years ago. 

After three immensely enjoyable books, Martin ran into a bit of problems with A Feast for Crows in 2005. The book featured only half of the main cast, and they happened to be the least interesting half. Fans missed their favorite characters, questioned the slowing pace of events, and wondered if publishing a half-book wasn't just a way to sell something while working around some sort of writers' block. Excited as I was about Dance, I was also a tad nervous. Martin's been writing these books for close to two decades. What if he's lost his touch? 

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The Uplifting Pessimism of Louie

We all have dark spots in our brains. Dimly lit corners out of which the nastiest, most unseemly, deplorable thoughts emerge. Like vermin, they scuttle back to darkness the second we shine light on them. We prefer them that way. Few of us have the courage to go in after them, even fewer have the courage to invite them into the light.

Louis C.K. has such courage.

At forty-three, Louis C.K. (née Szekely) has lived a more thorough life than most of us ever will. He’s written for The Late Show with David Letterman, Late Night with Conan O’Brien, The Dana Carvey Show, won an Emmy in 1999 for his work on The Chris Rock Show, written several screenplays, created a sitcom on HBO, starred in several comedy specials including the Emmy-nominated Chewed Up.

Why call C.K.’s life ‘thorough’? He’s also gotten married, gotten divorced, and shares custody of his two daughters with his ex-wife. He’s been through enough crap to know that every bright sun comes with its own dirty gray lining, and he’s unafraid to share that truth with his audience.

You’d know all this if you watched his FX show Louie, for which C.K. recently received Emmy nominations in acting and writing.

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All-Star Tuesday: One Year Later

About a year ago, I was fortunate enough to attend last year's MLB All-Star Game in Anaheim.  Yesterday I was fortunate enough to liveblog the Home Run Derby, which featured an exciting, last-ups victory complete with a record number of home runs hit in the final round by the Yankees' Robinson Cano.  Just when I was beginning to think of the #HRDerby as dull and repetitive, they come back with an exciting nailbiter - kind of like how whenever MythBusters starts to get too stuffy and science-y, they pull out a sequence featuring Kari Byron running through some obstacle course or something.

And yet even after all the fun I had last year, and all the fun the fans in attendance have, and all the fun players appear to be having on the field, getting the chance to fraternize with the best and brightest in the sport, there's still a contingent arguing that the All-Star Game is obsolete?  Because of TV ratings?  Come on!  Everybody knows that TV ratings only exist for the benefit of advertisers and every advertiser knows that the climate of the industry is gravitating away from the 30-second TV spot and towards more new-age, interactive means of reaching consumers.

The All-Star Game is about so much more than TV ratings and showcasing the world's best commercials (the same cannot be said for events of other major sports).  It's all the things Mr. Fetter notes in his "Atlantic" article: a break from the grueling baseball season, and a (better) way to decide home field advantage in the World Series (than simple alternation).  But it's also about so much more.  It's about... well, I won't spoil it in the opening; you'll have to hit the jump to find out.

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The New World of Board Games

It's been a beautiful week and a half here on the coast of the Delaware Bay. I've tanned. I've been chased off the beach by those fat, biting flies that crave ankle flesh. I've floated in the dead calm brackish waters. And, seeing as I'm the oldest of three, I've played board games. A lot of board games. In fact, it feels like I've taken a trip through a board game museum this week.

And all this play time has, in some small way, been enlightening and sad. I've played the games of my youth, the games of my parents' youth, and brand new ones released in the last decade. They don't make these games like they used to. But if they did my seventeen year old sister probably wouldn't play them. Let's talk a walk through the water-damaged and dusty cardboard halls of board game history. I mean come on, it's the summer, what else are we going to do?

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Art House in the Middle of the Street #16: Fists in the Pocket

There's no grand philosophical project behind Charge Shot!!!'s new feature. Jordasch's mom got him Janus Films' absolutely untouchable Essential Art House box set, and he's going to watch the whole thing. It's a behemoth set, collecting 50 films released since 1956 by one of the first distributors to bring honest-to-goodness world cinema to U.S. shores. The films contained in the collection serve as a crash course in world cinema, encompassing everything from major works of the French New Wave and the Italian Neorealist period to films from lesser-known corners of the filmmaking world, including Brazil and Poland. The collection is 50 discs, weighs 16 pounds, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.

Fists in the Pocket (1965; dir. Marco Bellocchio)

Why It's Important: A bit tougher to tell with this one. It's easy to point at films like The Bicycle Thieves or Vertigo and explain the cataclysmic impact they had on the history of film. But with the lesser-known films in Janus' box set - and Fists in the Pocket is assuredly one of them - it's a tougher game. The film's Wikipedia entry tells us that author Rex Pickett (Sideways) cites it as a big influence, though similarities between Alexander Payne's 2004 version of Pickett's novel are tough to spot. Rovi hails it as one of the last great classics of the Italian neo-realist period, but the film's bracingly experimental editing and grim absurdity are a far cry from the level-headed reality of a film like The Bicycle Thieves. But other than that, the film is little-known outside of a small circle of dedicated film buffs and the filmmakers it influenced so heavily (Pier Paolo Pasolini, Bernardo Bertolucci). But they sure seem to love it.

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Thinking with Soundtracks: The Music of Portal 2

Two Month in Reviews ago, I alluded to our lack of a proper Portal 2 review. Andrew and I both completed the game’s stellar single-player offering within a week or two of release, but neither of us felt compelled to pen anything. Perhaps the glut of creative reviews intimidated us. Or maybe it was each of us lacking a proper co-op partner (he purchased for the PlayStation 3/PC, I for the Xbox 360).

I’ve also been worried to even talk about the game with someone who hasn’t played it. On the off-chance that they ever get around to it, I want each and every moment to be as fresh as it was for me. Portal 2’s puzzles are challenging and offer many “A-ha!” moments, but they offer little in replay value. To even discuss them would diminish their appeal.

Portal 2’s plot is nowhere near as complex as your average Japanese RPG, nor is it as sweeping as Valve’s Half-Life 2. But the writing is top-notch, and the story beats twist and land with the nimble precision of an Olympic gymnast. The story offers a handful of truly satisfying surprises, and I feel like dancing around them is even a bit too close.

What I can tell you, however, is that the music is amazing. Yes, there’s a song by The National tucked away as an easter egg, and yes, indie folk rocker/cruise captain Jonathan Coulton recorded another closing track. What’s more impressive, and definitely worth your time regardless of your relationship with Portal 2, is Mike Morasky’s score.

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After the Jump: Featured Footlong

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Chris, Andrew and I regroup after taking a holiday weekend off, covering Google+, Netflix, Italian BMTs, failed social media, and Dropbox security concerns.

We also debuted a new segment, Quick Hitz, in which we burn through a handful of stories that don’t really deserve much airtime. Spoiler alert: we gloss over Rebecca Black’s upcoming single, “My Moment”.

Thanks for listening, and we’ll see you next week!

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A Decade of Dreck #58: The Celestine Prophecy

Charge Shot!!! is celebrating the end of the decade in the most masochistic way we know how - by watching and writing about the 100 worst movies of the last ten years as defined by film review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes. Click here to see RT's complete list, click here for more about the Decade of Dreck project, and click here to see all of the movies we've done so far.

As a bookseller, there are two types of people I loathe more than all others (the people who buy Amish romance novels I believe to be beneath my hatred): first are the Self-Help people. I really, really dislike having to show someone all the books about "getting motivated" and "dealing with difficult people" and "turning your life around". All I want to say to them is "This is a scam to dupe you out of your money. Get a hobby and stop being so fucking sad all the goddamn time." but of course, that's how you get fired.

Higher up on my shit list (okay, maybe somewhere below the old people who buy books about how the "Moslems are gunna impose Sharia law on America") are the New Age "spiritual" people. There's way too big a market for this sort of shit out there; my store only got rid of the "Crystals" sub-section in the New Age department last week. I already have a pretty dim view of religion in general, but I will say this for Christianity and the others, at least they have their shit together. New Age people are just wackos.

So it is with great delight that I was assigned this week's entry, the king of the Self-Help/New Age hill: a film adaptation of James Redfield's The Celestine Prophecy.

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Thoughts of an Aspiring Music Snob: Week 114 - Wilco

Chris is trying to compensate for his lack of musical knowledge by immersing himself in one new artist each week. At the end of the week, he will write up a brief summary of his opinions. You can read about the origin and parameters of this project here.

There's a fine line between subtle and dull, between the album that's a "grower," and the album that really isn't worth a second listen. The problem is that it's often hard to identify the difference right away. Some albums I'm convinced don't have that much to hide yield surprises in the weeks and months down the road, while others that I'm convinced will grow on me actually turn out to be kind of bore. 

Wilco straddled the line between the two this week, and even now I'm still not sure which side is going to win out. I think I've written before how my "artist-a-week" schedule frequently rewards the novel, the new, and the easy-to-like. Those bands don't knock my socks off right away are often harder to appreciate by the end of the week, which is not to say that I won't grow to love them. But I ended up being less enthralled with, say, Being There, and more intrigued. 

This isn't a bad thing. Nearly all the classical music I listen to takes a few spins in order for me to grasp what's going on. It's the difference between love at first sight, and slowly developing a crush. Some music is there to wow you from the very beginning, and the minute it comes on you can't believe what you're hearing. Others (possibly like Wilco) only reveal their depth in time. 

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