2011: The Top 10 Best ‘New’ Artists:

New this year really wasn’t all that new. Though a list of this magnitude usually features those artists that we’ve never heard of before, 2011 proved to be a year where the underground efforts of some outstanding talent reached the mainstream, thus making them ‘new’ certainly in the eyes of many. This year’s batch is outstanding, indeed as strong a batch in at least a decade. It features some reinvented veterans or just clear star shine finally manifesting on others. Here goes:



1. Grimes:

the coolest artist around in pop music is Canadian (suck on that America!) Claire Boucher. Though she released a pair of obtuse debut albums last year, few heard them and even fewer had a chance to purchase them. The indie press latched on to her early though and we’ve been hailing her inevitable rise to mega-stardom next year ever since. The year has seen her reinvent pop as a major genre with her laptop-fiddling approach, re-release her debuts as well as co-author a new one. And to top it off, she’s dropped the first track of her upcoming album and left us all hungry for more.





2. Danny Brown:

not new but for all the years spent clowning around, Brown hit 30 this year and suddenly his jigsaw purpose fell into place. No other artist features more in the year (or on my song list) and that he reminds us of Andre3000 is, of course, a big help.





3. James Blake:

certainly, the year’s most talked-about new artist, Blake has been hyped and dished in equal measure---a sure sign that he’s arrived. Despite not nabbing a Grammy nomination, he has accolades from last year for his technical merits but this year we got to see his expanded talent and though some, most notable a member of Portishead, derided his rise, critics have uniformly praised his debut for enhancing dub-step into the future.





4. Shabazz Palaces:

Ishmael Butler, has turned up on Sub Pop as that label’s first rap act, this after pioneering in his previous band, Diggable Planets more than a decade ago.





5. Sheep, Dog & Wolf:

I keep coming back to the remarkable fact that this kid is still only seventeen!





6. The Weeknd:

reinventing contemporary R&B with a slutty twist that strikes the right balance.





7. Chelsea Wolfe:

the new queen of goth pop, Wolfe released her debut last year but it wasn’t with this year’s Apokalypsis that it all registered. Indeed, the album can be seen as a proper re-working of her entry into mainstream. Now, we see her as the younger version of PJ Harvey and in the eyes of rock scions there can be no higher recognition.





8. Frank Ocean:

yet another young Turk branching out successfully in the year.





9. Willie Evans Jr.:

rap’s new renaissance man.





10. Childish Gambino:

the most divisive rap act of the year but Glover has already transcended one genre…he’s merged it with pop and dug into something totally new.

2011: The Top 10 Most Disappointing Albums:

Disappointment with music is a constant theme for critics, especially when an artist reveals a flash of genius then reverts to the usual, boring space occupied by everyone else. This is summed up by my top choice here but also spreads to the innately talented slumbering without a breakthrough. Critics look for such magic moments, those instances where beauty is juxtaposed to sheer will. This list has talent aplenty and drive, just that this time they didn’t go far enough or as far as the vision is steering them. Here goes:



1. Patrick Wolf Lupercalia:

after positioning himself as the quintessential queer indie artist out there with the messy yet brilliant The Bachelor, Wolf steps back into PG-13 pre-sex music that challenges no one and doesn’t advance his own persona. Maybe it was the lure of a ‘normal’ recording career but hearing him vocalize boring stuff like Slow Motion and Together just makes me want to sleep, not weep with awe. We want the very, very gay Patrick back.




2. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah Hysterical:

the title says it all, unfortunately. This from a band that gave me the howling Yankee go Home last time out. Sigh!




3. Toro Y Moi Underneath the Pine:

after a brisk start it seems as if Chazwick Bundick forgot to add lyrics of great insight into his sophomore. Sure, it’s pretty but pretty is for major labels.





4. Future Islands On the Water:

how this ended up so lacking in depth is beyond my comprehension.





5. Tori Amos Night of Hunters:

not that I expect any of her brilliance of decades past but hearing Tori getting lost mid-song or unable to drive home the point is frustrating, The plastic surgery-look is irritating as well too.




6. Laura Marling A Creature I Don’t Know:

a precocious talent but if Marling’s new shift into Fiona Apple-ish territory is going to be more effective then she needs to commit to her commitment.




7. Feist Metals:

the very nosedive into boring that I always knew she had the capacity for but truly hoped she’d have avoided.




8. Lady Gaga Born This Way:

it’s totally unfair for Gaga to end up here but then again its totally justified also. She promised us the biggest pop masterpiece ever but, with a second half that dragged, the promise was not epic, no matter how epic the videos are.




9. Rahsaan Patterson Bleuphoria:

I found myself in the midst of a huge Twitter war with Patterson’s fans when I said Bleuphoria sounded obligatory and far less revelatory than Wines & Spirits (2007). I still stand by the claim even though this album’s main fault lies in the fact that quite a few soul brothers had tighter stuff going on this year.





10. Meshell NdegeOcello Weather:

the truth is that NdegeOcello has been slacking off since the past four years and no amount of jazzy riffs are looking likely to revive her once fiery career. The production value remains solid but someone’s clearly lost their muse.

2011: The Top 10 Worst Films:

No words really need expounded upon this list: here are really bad films and no explanation for their existence can suffice. To be fair however, there may have been equally bad films released towards the end of the year but one can only watch so many and then decide to spare one's self of the rest. Chances are I skipped anything Adam Sandler did, hence his absence here. Here goes:


1. Conan The Barbarian:

from its incredibly tacky beginning to it's cliched end, this was the most witless film I had the misfortune to see all year.




2. 11-11-11:

I knew it'd be bad going in---as if naming as film off a date wasn't just amateurish enough--but the second-hand quality of the film was what truly damned it.




3. The Green Hornet:

there sometimes I think Seth rogen makes thing critic job way too easy.




4. Abduction:

in which Lautner forgets that he isn't a werewolf in real life and fucks up an entire movie that was ridiculous already.




5. Red Riding Hood:

initially I had hoped this would have some general sluttiness or porn but, alas, this B film never takes its head out of its own ass long enough to generate any interest.




6. Season of The Witch:

like, seriously, what would a year-end list be without Nicholas Cage?!




7. Trespass:

a double dose of Cage and, alas, Nicole Kidman...who really should have known better.




8. Final Destination 5:

remember that episode of Sex in The City where Samantha tells the girls that the latest the numeral before a man's name, the worse off he is in bed? Well, same thing here for this film...




9. Scream 4:

that it took so long for this sequel should have been a big enough tip-off for anyone still hung up on this cheesefest series.




10. Madea’s Big Happy Family:

can't we just stage a #occupy Madea strike to force Tyler Perry to quit now?

2011: The Top 10 Most Overrated Albums

It’s been an interestingly low-keyed year for popular music, one that focused more on what wasn’t getting done than what was actually being achieved. Year-end though and the usual rush to over praise records is starting to pile up. As I did last year, here is clarification for this particular list: these records aren’t awful (I do not intentionally listen to bad music) but more precisely, the earth didn’t tilt after I listened to them. This list has the usual suspects that critic love to promote as well as new discernible trends that need further re-examination before the hype can be justified. Here goes:




1. Destroyer Kapput:

we all love Dan Bejar but the love doled out to this opus in January seemed a bit too drunk in its own man-love. Savage Night at The Opera is brilliant sure but the other tracks are good but not as life-altering. Maybe it’s the lush horns but once they’ve played part then Bejar doesn’t really use his beautiful voice long enough to place this in the upper echelons of masterpiece level. (METACRITIC SCORE 84%)





2. St. Vincent Strange Mercy:

in a fitting art-imitating-life moment, the cover for Annie Clarke’s latest describes perfectly the mood one can get into while listening to her music: a stifling scream silently going into abeyance. (METACRITIC SCORE 86%)





3. Gillian Welsh The Harrow & The Harvest:

an ok alt-country record but far from the year’s finest. Not because she’s a veteran that gives her a free pass. (METACRITIC SCORE 84%)





4. Tune-Yards whokill:

there are two masterpieces on this sophomore and then some half-fabulous ideas. That said, when the steam runs out of Garbus she still retreats more into sound and not emotional experimentalism. (METACRITIC SCORE 86%)





5. Radiohead The King of Limbs:

it seems ridiculous for the best rock band on the planet to end up here but then again which Radiohead album doesn’t come with its own overpowering hype? (METACRITIC SCORE 80%)





6. TV on the Radio Nine Types of Light:

not just boring but also, to add insult, the sound of a great band just cruising as way of an obligation. Critics fawned but it’s the type of pre-set fawning that goes as easily as it came. (METACRITIC SCORE 82%)





7. Wild Beasts Smother:

a band that interests me less the more I listen to them. It’s not their ideas--which are exciting enough—but more the execution that seems filtered in a Brit drawl hand down that doesn’t elicit much spontaneity. (METACRITIC SCORE 85%)




8. Drake Take Care:

for Drake to even make this list is astonishing. The first half of Take Care is the trouble but with the astonishing Underground Kings piloting the second half, Drake has found undeniable ground. However, let us not jump shark just yet ok. (METACRITIC SCORE 81%)





9. Fucked Up David Comes to Life:

cool band name aside, a punk rock opera concept is tricky, especially when lyrics are not a highlight. It’s brave but still choppy at best. (METACRITIC SCORE 86%)





10. Kate Bush 50 Words for Snow:

two albums in seventeen years and hardly any rust to show for it. Mama’s a genius alright but her full force lies around the corner and not here. (METACRITIC 87%)

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn—Part I (2011)

The Lady is a Vamp

We’re down to the business end of the Twilight series now and there’s no greater indication of this than Breaking Dawn’s poster. As posters go, the transformation is heavily perceptible, startling. Whereas Bella (Kristen Stewart) has been the shrinking violet before, now she sports sensuality and curves as she leans into beau Edward (Robert Pattinson). Interestingly, the other tangible in this otherworldly threesome, Jacob (Taylor Lautner), is now posed alongside the couple, his animalistic appeal evident even though fully clothed.

If last year’s Eclipse broadened the reality of the sexual tension among the three then this new film deals perpetually—and a bit too stupendously—with its dire consequences. Jacob has resigned himself to the fact that Bella has chosen Edward to be her mate and husband. She however starts to feel jitters as the wedding day arrives. The not-so subtle panic spreads yet it seems no one realizes how deep it is. Thus, the wedding is not the fairytale Bella hoped for but she goes through with it, her face showing the emotional range it lacked before now. Stewart has the requisite nervy-angst mix pat but the writers of Breaking Dawn continue the trend of reinforcing her importance to the plot while limiting her reality greatly.

What it eerily achieves though is capturing a young woman balancing love and lust amid a precarious situation. For all the static that perforates Breaking Dawn, it’s the simple moments that resonate clearest: the glorious long-shot of the camera lens as Edward and Bella stand together or the close-up of their intimacy. This extends to when Jacob finally emerges to wish her well. The moment is softened by Edward’s acceptance of the part he plays in Bella’s life. Whereas the truce is uneasy, it is also necessary. Bella’s face comes alive around Jacob whereas it creases with her husband because in that bond, she is carrying both of them. Their honeymoon to Brazil, where they ‘do it’ for the first time, proves her utter femininity too…the silliness of bidding for time to brush her teeth and shave her legs. This is clearly nerves but, more deeply, is also stubbornness that Bill Condon cannot navigate through or connect a deeper meaning with. This is no surprise as he isn’t known for emotional depth but more a technical gift for portraiture (Dreamgirls, Chicago).

And so Bella toils with her inner struggles over mortality and her real feelings about Jacob in a self-suffering way that drags the film into what feels like a dirge, from half-way throughout. Sadly, it is the latter half that gets most affected, most imbued with ridiculous instances. After their love-making, Bella ends up with bruises and the fastest pregnancy ever on film. The former proves to be interesting fodder but the latter is too absurd to ignore. Or simply too huge because it ends up overshadowing the point where Bella’s maternal instincts begin to empower her, beyond the point of reason.

Breaking Dawn, split into two parts to match trends of other famous film series, thus is caught between stalling for the inevitable outcome and some fad to cling to. The problem is that it meets failure at every turn: Edward’s attempt to kill only sleazy criminals at his initial vampirism comes across clumsy. Bella’s pro-life stance proves a point for exactly the opposite because, like everything here, it lacks real conviction or scope beyond the personal. Even the CGI-wolves talking among themselves at one point prove utterly irritating.

Which, surprisingly, leaves us with the only worthy cause hammered home: family. Bella may not readily see the love surrounding her through real and extended relatives but Jacob does. Breaking Dawn is really his epiphany about the true nature of love and the messiness it can create. Here he becomes willing to take on his own clan just to have Bella’s life spared before her baby can be born. It’s much more too but only now can he articulate it to others, not just to himself, her or Edward. Their world and circumstances are changing and baby (Renesmee) makes four, an unusual number in such an equation. When, in the very last scene, Bella’s bloodshot eyes fly open, he knows things have changed yet again. So too Edward and everyone other supernatural being that populate the town. She’s the new thing around yet, at least for now, she still has time to merely wake up and be just fine.

RATING: 5/10

Brave New World

Last year, AMC unveiled a six-episode drama about a zombie-attack world that, on the surface, was to achieve one thing only: lure conspiracy theorists and post-apocalyptic world geeks into one big fan-base. Given the plethora of gore-fest films that horror fans have been exposed to of late, the task was more than feasible. Indeed, we’re experiencing such an overload of senseless, dull zombie films at theatres that it achieves the opposite of the intended shock: numbness. Ironically, the best of the current crop hasn’t even hit local theatres or DVD stores much (REC, REC 2, Don’t Let the Right One In) but rather—and there is rancor on my breath to say this—they’ve been adapted instead. Apparently the likes of Spain and Sweden do horror better than North America and with more intricate layers, i.e. more plot, less blood.

Americans though need to see the carcasses on screen being ripped to shreds by the mindless hoard and when death comes then it must be spectacularly in the head. So while the best parts of foreign zombie films get lost in cinematic translation, the guarded skepticism that met this project-- developed by Frank Darabont—was justified. Yet, when the series premiered in October 2010, it was sheer poetry because it easily found a palatable middle-ground. Season I of The Walking Dead has been rightfully lauded as the best thing television had to offer last year, with its no-holds barred look at how surviving humans deal with incomprehensible loss and their own mortality. It was justly rewarded with the Emmy for Best Television Series Drama in January. Like LOST before it, the fascination lies not with the obvious cat and mouse game with death, but with the examination of the survivors themselves. Darabont is no stranger to directing tense psychological thrillers: he did bring adaptations of Stephen King’s The Shawshank Redemption & The Green Mile to theatres and critical acclaim. Here he worked seamlessly with material originated by Robert Kirkman and Tony Moore, which itself was inspired by George A Romero zombie films.

The series revolves around former deputy sheriff Ricky Grimes (Andrew Lincoln) as he guides a small band of survivors, which include his wife and son, towards any hope of life across the zombie-filled landscape. Each new episode brings some new pulsating twist that tests the group’s sense of loyalty to each other. Season II opens with Grimes reflecting with his walkie-talkie on what CDC scientist Edwin Jenner (Noah Emmerich) whispered in his ear before the entire compound was obliterated. The group heads to Fort Benning but get stalled by a barricade of cars on a highway. In a terrific sequence, they hide under vehicles while the zombies swarm past them, not without incident. Both surviving children have been most affected so far: Sophia (Madison Lintz) gets lost in the woods and Carl (Chandler Riggs) gets accidentally shot.

The season so far has built upon its impressive beginning, while embracing newer elements. When Grimes and Daryl (Norman Reedus) dissect a ‘walker’ (name used by the survivors for the zombies) it echoes the forensics on CSI, albeit crudely. There is even a little black humor; the group breaks into a Church only to find four walkers apparently worshipping. Not only do they slaughter them but then turn around and pray to God in the same building. As we’re progressing, the walkers become less of an obvious menace and the personal tumult among the group is taking over. It’s a risky move and one that clearly highlights AMC’s own tumult after firing Darabont. With new writers come newer directions. While the quality of the show has not dipped, there are some stretches that need closing quickly. The disappearance of Sophia is one and the inevitable clash between Ricky and Shane (Jon Bernthal) for alpha-male supremacy and, alas, the woman caught between them, Lori (Sarah Wayne Callies) is another. We’ve only skimmed the surface of this uneasy love triangle but slowly it is building to a bitter end. Lori remains the most fascinating character and Callies plays her with deft touches of sadness, rage and subdued emotion. Indeed, the female characters all seem to be fighting mysterious, tragic pasts. Whereas the men stereotypically now assume a heightened sense of awareness. Here, Darabont’s vision is missed most because we’re in divisional territory of making the storyline utterly original. The character development is multifaceted yet copious…even the walkers are slightly nuanced.

How it will unfurl is anyone’s guess but as The Walking Dead continues to push more moral issues, the characters become more of a collective shell, especially the women. They are indeed, mother, wife, fantasy and target all rolled up into one. Before now they only had the walkers and their children to worry about. Now, however, with rapt tension building, their faces eye the men more wearily and themselves too. RATING: 8/10

Biophilia (Bjork) (2011)

App(ly) World

There are two types of people in the world: those who knew who Steve Jobs was and those who did not. How the latter group can actually still exist puzzles me but they do and, as frightening as that is, it remains ironic that they’re the ones who clamor for his iconic products the most without even realizing it. For, what would be the tech world be without the Mac (Apple, not BK, kids) and the iPad, both portable devices that have revolutionized our involvement with the internet and music. The genius of Jobs was not only the equity he invested in invention and implementation but also that he understood greatly the personal, almost fanatic relationship between the user and product in contemporary times.

As we’ve progressed into the twenty-first century, that fanaticism has extended towards the very art we consume as well as to the innovators that produce it. In the field of music, no solo artist trends on of this wave longer or more consistently than Bjork, the Icelandic singer who has blazed an almost Jobs-like path these last eighteen years, with stunning music videos and gorgeous concept albums. It’s been an impressive streak, one that has dragged electronica and Brit pop out of near obscurity (Post, Homogenic) into a splendored thing and positioned her as the leading exponent of both genres. More recently though, in the second half of her career, she’s embarked upon defining love as the central form of expression(Vespertine, Medulla) to coincide with the personal decisions of her life. While lauded initially, this phase has come under the microscope ever since Volta (2007) failed to find resonance with most of her fans.

Bjork is nothing if not persistent however and the stubborn genius that resides within her feels that her extremity will win all over eventually. So, though to the average music fan she’s the crazy exotic who wore the infamous swan dress to the 2001 Oscars, she’s made plans for them. She’s also aware that critics have helped herald the rise of a certain Sri Lankan-born pop terrorist to usurp her as the leading pop brand but she’s seen these insurrections before. She also knows that we’ve been wondering just how deeply her partner Matthew Barney has influenced her art direction.

So here we are with Biophilia, her long overdue eight solo album. It’s more than just a studio album however but a multi-media release that tackles the visual as well as the technological aspect of her music. Here the Jobs comparison becomes apt because all of the album’s ten tracks were partly recorded on an iPad, with accompanying apps to be downloaded to enhance her vision. Apple has even shrewdly thrown in a game and allows the listener to remix parts of the songs for themselves and hear concert footage as well. It’s a heavy-loaded project but one that feel like a natural progression for Bjork. The past ten years have seen her moving away from singing about technology to incorporating it heavily into her world. The range here runs from the use of a gameleste – a fusion of gamelan and celeste—to electronic pyrotechnics pummeled out on a laptop.

All this info fascinates but listening to the songs sans the apps, the vision of Bjork remains clear in weaving her own interpretation of the microcosms that guide the natural flow of our universe. This includes her own rejuvenation, heard clearly on opener Moon, a glorious offering that teems energetically with its ‘all birthed and happy’ mantra. Thunderbolt bridges the gap between her worlds, with its heavy orchestrated flow giving way to her vocals and video game-like synths. It’s a welcome concession from her that though we’re deep within her folds, Bjork must not lose us as she did on Volta. You hear it in the way Crystalline smoothly blends its burgeoning hip/hop beats with her soaring growls while Hollow’s theatrical groundswell tilts just at the right emotional level. The rest of the album breaks on either side of these two song concepts, some with better results while others maintain a restrained pace. All however slow their tempos as if to have her remain in an exquisite time warp of primeval sounds and rhythms.

It’s far from her peerless days (Homogenic,1997) but if her last opus fell prey to its own intricate design, then Biophilia is the spiritual re-emergence from all that indulgence. Or maybe it’s a widening of the chasm but with upgrades added that allows the listener to choose the accessible parts for themselves. Irrespective of our participation though Bjork continues to sew together a patchwork of her most personal ambition as well as to expose the inner working of her fecund mind. It has reaped much joy before—the huge emotional crest washing ashore on Pagan Poetry, the love letter being written with heart-breaking gestures on Hidden Place, both tracks from Vespertine. It will continue here as well but the album is at times inaccessible for attracting new listeners but the old faithful will find it utterly compelling and rich, especially with repeated listens. It won’t matter much now the advanced technology involved but it is heartening to know that this heralded first ever app-album is indeed the watershed moment in popular music that we’ve felt it would be. Time will tell if this whole new world that she’s spent three years creating will yield even greater results or if there’s a third act (or app) in the making. We expect nothing less from her because that’s the very high stakes by which this woman’s inimitable career has always been marked. For now, she’s forged ahead of the pack yet again, daring everyone else to step up their game. Your move again, M.I.A.

RATING: 8/10

Coastal Grooves (Blood Orange) (2011)

Club Imitation

‘maybe she’s just pieces of me/ you’ve never seen…’ (Tori Amos, ‘Tear in Your Hand’)

When last we left him, Devonte Hynes was busy releasing a sophomore album for his more famous moniker, Lightspeed Champion (Life is Sweet, Nice to Meet You, 2010). In my review, I noted Hynes’ relentlessness as well as his innate genius of mixing pop and rock vis-à-vis his slavish love of pure forms keeping him in one skin too often. The talented twenty-five year old hails from Britain but has been so formalized in the mid West that you’d be excused for mistaking him as American. His debut album (Falling off the Lavender Bridge) was a solid introduction to his aesthetic, which is quickly catching on: he’s been writing a lot recently for Solange Knowles (Beyonce’s sister) and Florence and The Machine.

A year later and he has reinvented into something totally new. So new and mysterious that I’m not sure how to describe Blood Orange other than to say that Hynes has finally gotten that complimentary swagger he desperately needed. Or, maybe just gotten in touch with his depressed, feminine side. Like all compulsive-driven musicians, he’s tossing off ideas that others can only dream of inventing. Coastal Grooves is interestingly configured because its evidence of his own growth as an artist receptive to openness.

The immediacy of the guitar work coalescing with electronic beats on the opener, Forget It shows that Hynes has been hard at work. It’s a simple song, most notable for one line (‘I am not your savior baby girl’) sung many times over but its sheer minimalism is pleasing. Instantly Blank inserts gorgeous aside vocals that nearly steal the show. Hynes has stated that his reference for the album were basically drag queens of the very distant past and the cover shot for the album is indicative of this. He has stated also though that it was not meant to be a personal perspective from him on the issue that would arise and that’s where he runs into a few problems. All art is viewed through specific lenses and the author cannot extract himself from the written or sung word so Coastal Grooves is a definite balancing act.

Things are most balanced when Hynes rips away the self-efficacious masks his characters wear: the bluesy solution fronting Champagne Coast, the stark propulsion facing the doomed girl in Can We Go Inside Now? Or when he’s channeling transgender influences in an attempt to tie sound and sexuality together. A sense of sadness perforates the album as well but this can be tricky and he either hits or misses with the ten tracks, depending on the mood that’s set. It doesn’t help that his dissection of pop as Blood Orange doesn’t loosen up the techno and dance beats as expected. He instead uses a lot of dubs and minimalism, which work to an extent but doesn’t provide transcendence. Nor is there much wry humor either—something he’s provided in spades as Lightspeed Champion. More results like Madame Van Damme and Galaxy of the Lost would’ve done this project a hell of a lot good.

Coastal Grooves doesn’t exactly push through its intended denizens or reveal the hidden: Hynes tries hard to replicate the queer night-life but ends up with something that sounds more like the cool, straight guy’s perspective instead. The overlapping jazzy texture that dominates the record is his stamp but there’s little connection to the source material in its actualized form. Coastal Grooves is a highly romanticized look at multi-dimensional personalities to be sure but it’s just not them telling these tales. It’s fascinating in parts but that’s because Hynes is the type of nerdy genius that enthralls…which leads to another issue. You’ll listen to this project and end up forgetting everything else except his silky voice and solid grooves. The artistry involved though is too medicinal because he’s taken the excitable and loquacious and simply cleansed them with sterile normality. It’s a little lost on him that people go to clubs to enjoy a bit of escapism…to become something temporarily that they cannot be during the day. To experience the excitement of strangers, to flirt unashamedly or to merely unwind with the besties and bitch about work.

Yes, Hynes does well to accompany his subjects into their world but he’s nailed them to a wall of intense scrutiny without as much as any of the aforementioned joys or even a Cosmopolitan to sip on while waiting for last call. This wide-eyed Q&A wearies after a while because, seriously, who wants to focus on their problems while their having fun? Hynes seems to think otherwise and I’m guessing from now on they’ll only have him tag along because he’s the designated driver.

RATING: 7.5/10

POP CULTURE WATCH: ON TOLERANCE & SOCIAL, MEDIA RESPONSIBILITY.

A few months ago, I was privy to view a public service advertisement (PSA) dealing with tolerance of homosexuality before it was to be broadcast locally. After it was played, I noted to the other persons in the room that it was indeed bold, especially the personalities involved in it. It has since aired in the media, without much fanfare or controversy and I had all but forgotten about it.

That was until however this recent brouhaha over another PSA, featuring a former beauty queen and her brother. Christine and Matthew Straw are the only two persons in it and it barely lasts a minute but the deafening outbursts from the media and Church have come to derail it even before we can view it for ourselves.

A few things have disheartened me about this: first, the ad has not even been aired or viewed fully by all of the entities actively seeking to refuse it. Television Jamaica (TV-J) has disappointed no one by refusing to air it as its family-oriented position is well-known. However, the management structure of the RJR group (responsible for TV-J) has failed to look at the ever-changing direction of our culture. It has used the weak excuse of identifying its own brand with the PSA’s message and our buggery law as a staunch guide. When last I checked though, The Broadcasting Commission, not TV-J, dictated what was proper to be aired. Nor did I remember seeing a memo stating that the station was a registered religious institution. We watch TV-J for local entertainment and to learn. Indeed, RJR’s own website says it stands unwaveringly for, among other things, fairness and social responsibility. Thus, we can deduce that RJR is an anti-gay tolerance body as that was simply what the PSA was advocating against only. The PSA mentioned nothing about legalizing same-sex unions, (which is a whole different issue). If I’m wrong then I’d be happy to see its own message that is geared to promote tolerance in our society aimed at any minority groups. If no such PSA is forthcoming then I stand correct.

For, how can a media titan like RJR be accused of inaction in the age and rise of social media responsibility? We now know that the journalists working there are obligated therefore to uncover only happy, photo-cropped and biblically-pleasing images we wish the outside world to see. For, if we do not focus on something then it doesn’t exist, right? Homophobia is a part of our culture, there can be no denying that fact but is it the place of media in Jamaica to promote or hide that status quo or is it their responsibility to press our leaders into action as well as themselves?

My own interest in the PSA begun when I realized that I actually went to prep school with Matthew as well as the fact that the Church and the media were working overtime to get a forced reaction from the public for different reasons. The Church’s response to anything homosexual is the same stock reply. And as perversely homophobic as we are, newspapers know that any gay-themed headline sells papers like hot bread. Listening to the one progressive local media entity (Nationwide) and hearing the different church-folk decrying the PSA without even as much as watching/listening to it makes one wonder if they have any moral authority to, for example, criticize politicians, because their interest is limited and will never change. Indeed, what is the Church’s position on tolerance then? Where is their PSA? How would they frame an ad that sticks to their valid principles yet accept that such errant lives shouldn’t be killed? For that is what faces many gay people in Jamaica and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. Or, is it that the Church doesn’t see the need to be publicizing such an issue? No one asks the Church these questions but as an entity looking to dictate the morality of our lives, shouldn’t we expect more?

As for the media, I’m sure John Maxwell is turning in his grave at the display of silent cowardice. Homosexuality touches on every aspect of life (negatively and positively) so I’m sure there are gays in powerful positions in media, the Church and no doubt reading this article. They know that a few gay hustlers in New Kingston are not the only representation of that part of our society. Let’s not blindly forget that there are just as many heterosexual hustlers in the area too that are a nuisance. We can’t just dismiss their lives because Jesus would not have. We need to understand their misery and think that there may come a time when our own lives fall into such a state. Given the harsh economic crunch we’re in, for some of us that will be sooner rather than later.
If in rejecting the PSA both entities had put forth put feasible alternatives then there would be some choice. What they advocate though is delayed action or none at all and that approach lacks vision. No one I’ve spoken to since this story broke has even heard of this now infamous PSA but thanks to Youtube ,Twitter& Facebook, people can view and judge for themselves if its relevant.

The reception may stun the Church because it still feels as if it controls the way we think. I could incite hypocrisy on other topics like adultery (an even wider practiced biblical sin in Jamaica) but deep within every adult, lays a conscience and it guides you, with or without religious or State approval. What TV-J has done is to turn its back on its conscience and embrace instead the ideal of merely living a lie in hope no one pays too much attention. Like the popular #OnlyRealJamaicansKnow thread running on Twitter currently, this is the effect of the two-edged cutlass.

Bad Teacher (2011)

Man Eater

Within its first fifteen minutes, Bad Teacher springs a refreshing premise upon us—that of a sorta teacher romance story---then oddly just allows the pieces to unravel without much direction thereafter. There’s no denying Cameron Diaz (There’s Something about Mary, Gangs of New York) great moments but director Jake Kasdan’s (Zero Effect, Orange County) clumsy overreach is a constant sour point whenever things start to get clever. Even the film’s poster shows up this flaw: Elizabeth (Diaz) preciously slinking behind dark shades, with just the right levels of deliciousness, only for an ‘eat me’ post-it on a red apple defeating her cutesy purpose.

As the film begins, she thinks she’s done with teaching forever so she wears a stunning yellow dress on the last day, smiles broadly and speeds away in her car with a loud ‘adios, bitches’. It’s a memorable last line but sadly for her it comes back to sting immediately. She arrives home to find her fiancé and his mother waiting for her. It is a bad sign made worse with her forgetting that it’s his birthday. Thus caught out by a simple thing she offers to sign a pre-nuptial then informs them she’s pregnant. It’s a cheap, desperate ploy and she only gets cast out from the luxury she’d gotten used to as just reward. With no other choice around, Elizabeth returns to James Adams Middle School (J.A.M.S) to plot her next move.

That oddly enough means securing ten thousand dollars for a boob job. At first she tries to guilt her ex to pay for it then, in a terribly funny bit, asks her roommate. These moments of distress allow Diaz’s comedic talents to shine and when she learns that the teacher with the best overall student grade gets a bonus of nearly six thousand dollars, she goes into overdrive. Sadly, so too does the script written by Gene Stupnitsky and Lee Eisenberg. We get, at best, a mixed bag as Elizabeth’s twin aims become more convoluted and less funny.

Not that the film gives her a set-up fit for someone who appears ever the clever schemer: for starters, it took her a whole year to finally get the boyfriend to propose and it took an even bigger schemer (a male parent) to trip her unto an extra-lesson plan that could potentially bring in extra dough. Nor is she cynically practical. Most women would wait until they’ve secured the ring before quitting their day job but instead Elizabeth comes across as impetuous and rash…the antithesis of what she’s supposed to be. Diaz is the reason why it works any at all and the film pays very little detail to anybody else, which plays into stereotype with varying degrees of success and rancor. Thus we’re left with more questions than answers about Elizabeth. For example, how exactly did she end up in teaching when there are far more viable or quicker ways to climb up the social ladder?

Elizabeth is the typical American: using a job as a stepping-stone to something else. In this case, it isn’t a more rewarding job but to land a husband who’ll take care of her financially. Her cynicism towards the children is harsh but she’s well aware of the happy-fake level needed to operate within her realm. She even witnesses it among her own students and allows it to play out without much interference.

Kasdan however interferes too much; it’s not enough that Elizabeth has to deal with being alone but there’s a drinking and drug problem too. We never witness the beginning of her manipulative streak, thus the implication is that it’s an innateness that affects all women. Unlike the recent Bridesmaids though, Bad Teacher shoots through the smokescreen of love and feelings and gets right down to the more sinister issue of human property. For that’s how Elizabeth and her rival, Amy (Lucy Punch) view men here (through their battle for Scott, played boringly by Justin Timberlake).

Kasdan stumbles upon this darkness within both women then backs off in hope that slapstick magic will occur. It doesn’t because both are so steeped in their own game that you see the elimination of one of them long before it happens. What is less clear is how everyone else will pan out in their own miserable lives once the drama between the two divas finally concludes. The initial focus---that of the real plastic image women use as they make their way into the world of potential husbands—has been long lost since Elizabeth started to assess her own superficiality and attraction to, gasp, the penniless gym teacher, Russell (Jason Segel). He, at least, doesn’t mind the lack of silicone in her chest.

RATING: 6/10

4 (Beyonce) (2011)

The Good Grief

In the field of psycho-analysis, we’re told of the four varying levels of grief: denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance. One step may not strictly follow another in a certain order but in the maelstrom of emotions involved, all four cycles will be completed. One can argue as well that everyone is perpetually in one of these states but the process can only be fully appreciated after it is completed. That sense of completion comes through strongly on 4, the new album by Beyonce Knowles, former Destiny’s Child singer aka Mrs. Jay Z.

Hers is a career that has focused on huge achievements (Grammys, Billboard hits, ect) but none more culturally-relevant than that point in 2003 when she surpassed Jennifer Lopez as the ‘it’ girl of pop music with the release of her solo debut (Dangerously In Love). If that was the bargaining step of her career then it did not come without blows; many felt Knowles through her family involvement had ditched Destiny’s Child to selfishly pursue her own motives. The hits came but outside of Jay Z and NARAS (the Grammy organization) few felt an emotional connection to her. Then came B’day, her sophomore album that explored themes of backlash. It’s her anger meme but with some brilliant and wry tracks like Ring the Alarm and Irreplaceable. B’day did also start to see her tie concepts together with a little black humor---which, often times than not, makes for her best songs (Sugar Mama, Freakum Dress).

By the time I am…Sasha Fierce rolled around the playing field had shifted with the rise of ‘dark-side-of-the-force clones’ Rihanna and Lady Gaga. The album had a monster hit in Single Ladies (Put A Ring on It) but the pretentiousness involved only reinforced a sense of denial: she was no longer queen by might alone.

4 thus is her acceptance that she’s in a different space in her career now. Whereas her music before felt aggressively defending turf and ambition, here she mellows nicely in reflection. At first when I learned that she submitted seventy-two (72) tracks for the album, I felt it was more an egocentric ploy but hearing her cite Fela Kuti and Stevie Wonder as main influences made me realize that she was serious.

And there are great moments of raw emotion here: 1+1 showcases her vocals in its purest form, without any stylistic tricks or heavy padding. It’s the type of song one imagines she warm ups to in front of the mirror before going onstage to belt out the real gems, but here it ends up being a solid highlight. The piped in guitars and atmospherics chime in at just the right levels and Knowles—never one to pull back from excess—surrenders to the moment with ease. When she sings the line, ‘darling/ you got enough/ for the both of us/ so, come on baby/ make love to me…’, it is not mere recognition that her man has strayed but more acceptance that he is not perfect. I Care is a slow tempo groove that, while not quite sexed up to Aaliyah-like levels, rocks its slick production brilliantly. Knowles growls, purrs & throws her tightly-wound format out and, towards the end, when you seemingly hear the horns pipe in, you suddenly realize that it’s her humming a few lines instead. It is a stunning, reflexive gesture…one that puts her in an unprecedented angle of vulnerability. The standout though is Love on Top and its breezy, early-90s r&b killer hooks to accompany her vocal longing. I’ve never heard Beyonce get so lost in a song, for such an extended period.

These three songs demonstrate the real depth she keeps in reserve or, perhaps more precisely, hidden from us. I’m not sure the reason for this but no doubt there is heavy calculation done by her PR team. The other songs are hit and miss concepts: I Miss You is at times gorgeous but never pushes beyond her comfort zone. Best Thing I Never Had feels like a hit but retreads to much into Irreplaceable territory to blast forward into transcendence. Party achieves the impossible: Beyonce bringing the brilliance (except the ‘hey, hey’ chorus which is just annoying) but somehow Andre 3000 can’t hit his part out of ballpark. Rather Die Young is a good Mariah Carey impersonation, which in its own way is a huge problem unto itself.

Her vocals are gorgeous but still, at this stage of her career, it’s alarming how the goal-post continues to shift for Knowles in terms of inspiration. She’s era-less one minute then sultry the very next. Within the niche between these alternating states lies the best of her effort here. That includes the frustrating inconsistency that has been a hallmark of her career. To its credit though, 4 does seem to reveal the final, most personal side of her as an artist and human being. It’s a heady mix of strength and vulnerability…the only tools any artist needs to emerge as a musical icon. Up to now, we’ve had our doubts that beneath the public image there was something really tender and likable about Beyonce Knowles but, with all its flaws and all, 4 will come to be the album that we’ll remember as the first step of her career as an important soul singer, fit to be mentioned alongside her contemporaries.

RATING: 7/10

Darkbloom (d’Eon/Grimes) (2011)

Search for Delicious

Like most love stories, this one started with a picture then a Google search. The monstrous cover shot for Grimes’ brilliant single last year, AVI, had me hooked almost as immediately as her lush vocals easing through chillwave in a manner that demanded more than just fleeting attention.

Not even I though could have imagined that with Darkbloom, her split opus with fellow Montreal pop scion d’Eon, she would transform the genre into an expose of even weirder yet fascinating ideas. Her pair of debut albums last year (Halfaxa, Geidi Primes) was mostly minimalistic in aim---the type of art-pop music that critics love to highlight and secretly hope will take off in the mainstream. But if it felt as if she worked within an exclusive frame back then, her five tracks here are, at last, unifying all her strengths into one almighty mindf_ck of an effort. Ladies and gentlemen, Grimes is the artistic name for Claire Boucher and if you haven’t heard about her in indie blogs before then I present her to you now.

After a brief intro, we’re smack into arguably the best song of the year so far—Vanessa. AVI proved last year that when she sports dance riffs she can move mid-sections without really trying. Vanessa takes this a step further by juxtaposing pop and techno into her mesmerizing wall of sound technique. It’s mathematical but unlike Lady Gaga, Grimes isn’t fearful of letting her grooves do all the talking or trying too hard to engineer a hit. Only the peerless Robyn has better pop songs out now because she’s able to weave actual stories into her music. Grimes focuses more on reverb and synths but when one considers that she’s been around for only a year, a track like Crystal Ball is even more stunning for that fact. The beats slam hard, colliding blissfully with her puerile vocals (‘faster/ faster/ the lights will flow…’). Urban Twilight returns to her minimalism but this time the twisted vocals and nefarious beat run in a spell that works. The ending track, Ivory, is the only one that feels like a left over from last year. It indicates that she has a lot more work to be done before she’ll control the world…right now she’s capturing hearts and critics with this continued search for deliciousness. Given the impact made here, I’d say she hasn’t that much farther to go.

Indeed, her interpretation of underground pop matches up greatly against everything else is out there. Only Austra (look her up!!!) currently has anything remotely going on for her in the chillwave genre, but she is a distant second. Grimes has already reached an artistic level within pop and club music circles because, again, unlike Gaga, she has stuck to the task. She’s not hiding weakness in garish music videos nor curtailing new wave ambitions short just for a happy GLBT moment.

The album isn’t finished there however as d’Eon contributes four tracks. Grimes is a hard act to follow and most critics so far have made that known but he more than holds his own. Fresh from a critically-acclaimed debut last year (Palinopsia) he announces himself with the mobile phone buzz fest instrumental Telepathy. The remaining tracks are all uniquely brilliant dance-pop songs, the type of songs that Toro Y Moi tried but failed to pull off with his sophomore earlier this year. Thousand Mile Trench is silky smooth, almost bluesy love-making club music. It features the requisite electro- hi claps but the instrumental mash-up towards the end—while betraying a certain reticence—only builds us up for the breathy finale. Tongues is more standard in structure but it one-ups both James Blake and Jamie Woon for sheer synthesizing seduction value. And if he hadn’t already proven not to be merely another white act digging on R&B for inspiration, Transparency is his masterstroke, full with two-step and electro-pop flourishes that renders the notion that only black musicians can wring funkiness out of soul redundant. I can’t think immediately of any of the standard black soul-pop solo males doing anything this ridiculously good and effortless.

I hadn’t known of d’Eon—whose first name is Chris-- before so there were no expectations and I still haven’t heard his debut (though, he is in my ‘like’ group now on Facebook) but given the start Grimes gave him, he has delivered a stunning end to a rather innovative, quirky project. Darkbloom is a fitting title because the brilliance of the album releases itself slowly with repeated listens and opens up its delights within your headphones. It is also a bonafide album of the year contender and keeps both artists firmly entrenched in that ‘next big thing’ category that is increasingly centering on, of all places, Montreal, Canada.

RATING: 9/10

MINI MUSIC REVIEWS

Black Up (Shabazz Palaces) (2011)

Remember The Diggable Planets? Think when CVM just came on air and the track Rebirth of Slick was played like every second…now you’re getting the picture. One-third of that band, Ishmael Butler, has turned up on Sub Pop as that label’s first rap act. To say the critics have fallen in love with this album would be an understatement. What is equally frightening about Black Up is how much it resembles what we all expect Dre3000’s upcoming album to sound like. Yeah You indeed could be mistaking for something out of Outkast, with its pre-programmed drums and electronic bleeps. The ideas running through Black Up feel revolutionary and the swag on display means that, just like the Fugees fifteen years ago, everyone will be forced to pay attention to this potential AOTY. 9/10






Wounded Rhymes (Lykke Li) (2011)

There is no shortage of brilliant Swedish female singers around and with her sophomore, Wounded Rhymes, Lykke Li now joins that pantheon which includes the likes of Robyn and Jenny Wilson with a great pop album. You know it’s great when the banging beats on the ender Jerome groove for days even after the umpteenth spin. If her promise was exposed in packets of brilliance on her debut then this album breaks out like a great adolescent discovery, akin to any John Hughes coming-of-age film. The imagery of girlish love, sex and rebellion courses freely throughout and it all coalesces into something fleshy and relevant. No review would be complete without mention of that now immortal line from Get Some (‘I’m your prostitute/ and you’re/ gonna get some’)…talk about dedication to a cause. 8/10







Earthly Powers (Pollyester) (2011)

The dance-pop genre continues its exciting breakout year with Pollyester’s new album, a synth-heavy driven effort that never lets up. Based in Germany but no doubt following the Kevin Barnes-led school of flamboyant excess, this duo floods our senses with a keen sense of timing. Tracks like 24h Party People and Voices propel the witch-house idealism that is all the rage in Europe currently. Old Shoe channels Jenny Wilson with a smart juxtaposition of beats and vocal delivery. Indian slows the tempo down and the result is gorgeous and sexy. Their name may not be house-hold yet but with Earthly Powers, Polina Lapkovskaja is destined to be off the obscure indie shelf much quicker than even she would’ve imagined. 8/10

Born This Way (Lady Gaga) (2011)

Fear of Flying

In the famous Erica Jong novel we are introduced to Isadora, a woman in her twenties, on a quest to figure out just exactly where her life is headed and what it’s currently all about. While these existential issues come to gnaw at each adult eventually, we take for granted sometimes the precociousness involved on an individual level. The search for identity gets highlighted so often in pop music ; indeed it has helped spawned some of the greatest musical icons, but the one thing they’ve all needed was time to experiment with their growth and vision.

Unlike Isadora, the character here, Lady Gaga (birth name Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta) is urban and adept at the gritty realities of the contemporary America she calls home. She is also the most eminent pop musician around, a point recently reinforced by Forbes placing her atop its most powerful celebrities list, even ahead of Oprah. Her fan-count on the social networking sites (Facebook, Twitter) are unrivalled and her Alexander McQueen-inspired Bad Romance music video has half a billion hits on Youtube. Even here in Jamaica, her impact is massive with only Vybz Kartel and Rihanna’s every move being watched and tweeted more. With her sophomore album, Born This Way, Lady Gaga makes a bold attempt to chronicle the journey that has brought her to exalted heights and make her followers—cutely called ‘little monsters’--proud.

For all of her mainstream success though she’s yet to deliver a masterpiece in spite of having the luxury of time. Sure, we all loved Poker Face and Paparazzi but who hasn’t wondered whether Miss Germanotta was nothing more than a singles-driven oddity dressed in stunning fashion? Her disposable pop twined with shock value lyrics have been cute but they have limited her scope for growth. But, even a casual listen to I Like it Rough, an obscure track from The Fame, proves that buried beneath her plastic image lays a calculating pop diva. The song’s deep swathe of new wave beats bang out to an impressive techno component that demands attention. As a concept it was very high-stakes and followed in the Madonna principle: that of making pop music in great taste but also that tastes great.

Born This Way is not concerned with taste but volume and the sheer sound of it. The tame opener aside, the first couple tracks bring considerable amount of 80s arena-rock noise sculptured with synths and electronic programming. In a nutshell, this works relentlessly well. The anthem title track has been rebuked by purists as being a shameless plug at Madonna’s Express Yourself but it just points out the age difference between her core fans: half being old enough to remember that song, the other half not even being born way back then. Government Hooker, a yummy hot mess, is even better, replete with bad dialogue and an operatic aria morphing into a luscious groove.

Like M.I.A, Gaga’s strength lies in the belief that she can stitch loose ends into a magical, coherent idea. When she pulls out all the grand theatrics then it works in a lovely, filthy pop manner that Madonna used to pull off in her sleep. Judas, without its ridiculous video, is her manifesto…note the hysteria executed in the breath-taking chorus, the flawless construction spinning out of control. Americano, a track that should fail outright, doesn’t as Gaga reinvents spaghetti-pop with pseudo-lesbian references and funny Hispanic pronunciations. Schibe, worded mostly in German, echoes early 90s techno with an excellent Madonna-aping bridge (‘when I’m on a mission/ I rebuke my condition/ if you’re a strong woman/ you don’t need permission’).

Just when you’re ready to sacrifice your soul to her though, Gaga switches to Mother Monster mode and the references turn stoic and conformist. Her stories start to lose interest once the dreary Bloody Mary starts the second half. No doubt Mary Magdalene serves as the obscure focus but the voices echoing around sound contrived and Gaga sounds jaded beyond belief. Bad Kids is better; sounding like a cross between Grace Jones and early Madonna but the cop-out lyrics (I’m a bad kid/ like my mom and dad/ made me…’) eventually torpedoes any chance it has of morphing into something really fierce. Heavy Metal Lover and Highway Unicorn are just lazy, pointless tracks geared for gay clubs but Grimes already covered that market way better with Vanessa this very month so these songs feel like disco for beginners instead. It doesn’t help that Gaga trying to relive some wacky 80s bad-hair vibe is downright puzzling. Edge of Glory sounds eerily like Cher’s Song for the Lonely, with only the jazzy textures towards the end making any real distinction between the two. Electric Chapel features a strong new wave riff, the type that Kylie Minogue would kill for but it’s not sustainable. It’s an interesting concept but at the three minute mark it’s evident that she doesn’t know exactly what to do with it. It’s as if all the looking back and within cannot connect to a future or present: when it’s time to fly away from memories, Gaga can’t sprout wings strong or quickly enough.

This is an oddly-contrived position Gaga has found herself in though, one that psychoanalyzes her raison d’être as it goes along sans the mirth we’ve already been exposed too. The biggest mistake Born This Way makes thus is to keep her vision stuck in that very past from which she was wary to get away from. The back-tracking was always going to be inevitable but the album’s bottom-half gets so stuck in its fear of flying that the fierce statement of the first seven tracks get all but lost. Her focus on the past remains amorphous and, judging by the album cover of her being some sort of half-drag queen, half motorcycle, makes one wonder when will she finally let it go and rock unto her future. This leave us, steadfast critics, in quite the impatient bind because we want to love her just as much as you do but, damn--to paraphrase a Joanna Newsom line from last year-- ‘how long’s it gonna take?’

RATING: 6.5/10

MINI MUSIC REVIEWS

King of Limbs (Radiohead) (2011)

Part of being the best band on the planet entails having others realize through your music. Others may get heavy with videos and rowdy lifestyles but for Thom Yorke and his band it’s always been only truly upheaval in the studio. King of Limbs however pares things down to a minimum. This is a ghost record, where lips barely move and instruments loom loudest. Occasionally we get sentiment (Give Up the Ghost) and it’s touching in a way only Radiohead can master. Morning Mr. Magpie is as restless as things get which might disappoint some fans that wanted some cerebral event that the band has earned the right to ease off from every now and then. 8/10





Kiss Each Other Clean (Iron & Wine) (2011)

Sam Beam is a critic’s darling for that glorious, tremulous voice alone…he was the Bon Iver of the indie scene before Justin Vernon showed up. Here, though he’s unveiled a stunning diversity I hadn’t expected from him. Your Fake Name is Good Enough for Me powers on jazzy textures of all things. Even the ballads are steeped in a stunning religious fervor that can be tricky. These nods to technique are meticulous but also show his growth being strong and not just merely as a token. Nor is he merely just turning out the same template like Fleet Foxes…not a swipe at them but they could take a listen to this record and learn a thing or two. 8.25/10






The People’s Key (Bright Eyes) (2011)

Reportedly their last album, Bright Eyes bows out on a very poppy vibe. Led by the ultra-talented Connor Oberst, The People’s Key does feel very much like the seventh album that it is. The structure is familiar but not exquisite. This aimlessness can be charming at times---Haile Selassie rumbles around nicely---but I’d love to have heard more fire from Oberst. Jejune Stars is more up tempo, the best track here. Maybe Oberst needs to focus more on his solo career before the relentless branching out that we’re used to can pay as rich dividends. 7/10

Madea’s Big Happy Family (2011)

Choking that Ho'

One of the problems I had with Tyler Perry’s previous Madea film (2009’s Madea Goes to Jail) was the character’s obnoxiousness getting in the way of basic humor. Too often, Perry’s lack of sharp repartee showed Madea up to be just plain mean and definitely not erudite. Worse, in isolation, as the only character who brought laughs on screen, she fell well flat by any slapstick standard. She’s back here now but this time Perry seems to have listened to his critics for all of five minutes before unleashing his usual antics. Not that Big Happy Family isn’t as trite as all the previous Madea films (it is) or doesn’t show women in his typical embattled terms (it does) but it at least features some genuine funny moments that make it not as cheesy as its predecessors.

The opening sequence, for example, is raunchy ghetto fun. Shirley (Loretta Devine, in yet another sentimental, sappy role) is getting tests results at the doctor’s office but Aunt Bam (Cassi Davis) is busy busting moves for the doctor. The routine is familiar but it’s still funny how she questions him and flutters her eyelids. The doctor plays along but there is grim news to deliver and so Bam exits, taking all the good humor with her. Like, literally, for the rest of the film. Shirley has cancer and unless she undergoes chemo then it’s inoperable. She tries to downplay the diagnosis by trying to gather her family for a last dinner to break the news but is ignored by everyone. Only her doctor seems genuinely concerned while she gives Jesus praises for the life she’s had, ad nauseum. Needless to say, the sessions between the two are stale—he’s genuine but still it’s his job, thus, in the disquiet manner she’s become used to, he really can’t offer much more and she has to appease that reality to make him feel better.

But if Shirley’s reliance on faith guides her through the diagnosis, it clearly hasn’t fared well against the general unruliness of her family. When the first attempt to pass on the bad news fails, she meekly asks Madea to round up the troops instead. This partially indicates that Shirley isn’t as naïve as we think. Like all patients, she dispenses her words and sickness when needed. She is the only intriguing character here but Perry doesn’t know when he has depth or range on his hands. Nor when to cut the sentiment. Her position of matriarch doesn’t offer much beyond her illness. It’s no secret that the character was based on Perry’s own mother who died two years ago but when will he be able to separate sappy characterizing in his films to work through real issues? Issues that are complicated and not stereotypically offensive. I know his many fans out there won’t give a fig that he hasn’t yet learned how to fit progressive storylines into the generic canvass he uses but as he considers himself an auteur, I wonder if he ever will.

Which means we’re still at that stage of his career (if ten years can be seen as fledging) where his films are still self-consciously all about him instead of anything else. Speaking of which, the screenplay is yet again rinse and repeat. So, it’s no surprise that the women come off badly, yet again. Shirley has given birth to monsters but that’s Perry’s ‘middle-aged mother’ bias that is a stock character in all his films. Naturally, as the ‘father figure’ designee is missing or hen-pecked by the wife---this same sweet mother role—manliness never plays any significant part in Perry’s world. The women are conniving while the males are reactionary to acts of evil and kindness depending on the mood they’re supposed to be in. That leaves Big Happy Family’s with huge gaps to fill. For, how can Tammy (Natalie Desselle Reid) gripe at her husband so openly yet cannot dare discipline her two young sons? Kimberly (Shannon Kane)—the ‘older rich sister’ constantly works on her husband’s nerve yet crumbles the very first instance when he stands up to her.

The few men here are woefully one-dimensional: Byron (rapper Bow Wow) is the ‘troubled young man’ who is being yanked between Karen (Brandi Milton)his baby mamma, whose shrilly drawl epitomizes the term generic at its basest, and his current girl Rose (Chontelle Moore)who has her manicured claws sunk deeply in him. The other males are older and married but just as wearisome of their respective partners. Perry has repeated this theme so often that at one point he himself (Madea) pointedly shouts to one of them to finally, ‘be the man’. That, ironically, is what these men think they’re being; providing for their families, not cheating and, most importantly, bearing the brunt of their wives’ collective emotions. Perry isn’t a nuanced director so we never get to look behind this façade to see the alternatives for the men to explore or that what the women portray is the requisite toughness needed to survive in a man’s world.

Then, there’s Madea of course going about her business in a hail of clichés…snapping away like a fierce hyena for a few quick, cheap laughs instead of setting an example for her wayward family. Sadly, the feminist streak that initially made her interesting has fully receded now into caricature. She’s not even concerned about her niece’s suffering…she just wants to round everyone up and ‘do up’ whomever needs scolding.

It’s not just that there aren’t enough funny moments to hide the film’s disengenuousness but it’s also only just now that the franchise threatens to storm even crasser popular culture references. This one ends poorly on the set of The Maury Povich show, with a huge non-funny skit that should have clearly been edited out. It is beyond cheesy but as taste level isn’t the issue here, one suspects Tyler Perry will eventually go full throttle and give us something like Madea goes to Washington or Madea in the Big Apple real soon. As a film critic, one hopes always to be right but in this case I seriously hope I’m reading the tea leaves wrong.

RATING: 4.5/10