The Best New Artist of 2010 is...

 ...and we have a tie. There is no way to separate the brilliant yet contrasting styles of Summer Camp and Twin Shadow. One is a band that features two real-life lovers and the other is a man who is reinventing new wave. 

Summer Camp: together in love and music

Summer Camp is multi-instrumentalist Jeremy Warmsley and journalist Elizabeth Sankey. The duo’s love for the fuzzy, complicated world of  adolescents and gawky moments dominate their lush music. It's just six tracks but the lo-fi 80s template feels remarkably fresh and on trend. It helps that these two are lovers because it is translated in the juxtaposing of their art. Warmsley backs up Sankey's lovely vocals admirably. The key track is 'Veronica Swayer'--a reference to the Heathers character--which doubles as some feminist anthem. 

George Lewis Jr.: groove daddy

Twin Shadow: is the moniker used by one George Lewis Jr., a Dominican-born, Florida-bred composer whose varied musical misadventures have already taken him around the globe and back. And it's official: indie heads, your new messiah--your latest Bowie interpolation is here and he's a master technician already, delving confidently into the heart of new wave and connecting to its pulse.

Here are some other notable new splashes in the pop music pool this year:

clown sings the blues

Jamie McDermott: lead singer of ten-member orchestral ensemble The Irrepressibles, McDermott is lyrically dramatic and a deadringer for Antony Hegarty vocally...which is a good thing.

my band can swin

Surfer Blood: singer John Paul Pitts howls and rages in the beach-pop genre and it's a winner.

freak for headphones

Toro Y Moi is the stage name used by recording artist Chazwick Bundick. His music takes many different forms within the electro-pop fold with a whiff of chillwave.

bad-ass

 Sleigh Bells : singer Alexis Krauss and guitarist-producer Derek Miller. Signed to N.E.E.T record label and that's M.I.A new project. They're loud and smart. Treats was good although not as orgasmic as most critics would have you believe but this duo will only get better. 

Nedry: The London-based three-piece – Matt Parker and Chris Amblin on glitches and glides, electro-percussion and pitch control, and Ayu Okakita on vocals. An interesting idea. One I'm watching closely.

Darlin' Nicki

Nicki Minaj: Her debut didn't deliver the goods but it was a fairly good opening shot for the Trini rapper who looks like a younger Chaka Khan and has Lil Kim attitude in spades. Such a combination is bound to pay off soon and besides she stole the show from more enlightened company on two of the year's best singles; Christina Aguilera's 'Woohoo' and Kanye's 'Monster'.

red-head minimalism

Active Child: is Pat Grossi, an L.A.-based songwriter who layers his keening, unearthly voice over diffuse waves of keyboards. 

The Top 10 Most Disappointing Albums of 2010

For clarification, being on this list doesn't necessarily mean the album was awful but it does indicate that I expected much more. Many of these artists are brilliant but somehow the artistry didn't click here or the songs simply just didn't catch fire. Here's hoping though that they'll shake off the bug and, as we say in Jamaica, wheel and come again.





1. Massive Attack 'Heligoland': the band that helped bring trip/hop to the masses returned with a type of chill music that no one could possibly chill out to.




2. Midlake 'The Courage of Others': ugh....




3. Martina Topley-Bird 'Some Place Simple': it must be a bitter irony that Topley-Bird has done an even bigger disappointing album this year than Tricky, the man whose career she helped shape two decades ago. Apart, neither has been able to do much so now, as uncomfortable as it may be, both better swallow pride and reunite.



4. Tricky 'Mixed Race': a defining voice of the the 90s, lost interminably within his own delusions.



5.Klaxons 'Surfing the Void': as if the idea of putting a cat into a spacesuit wasn't dumb enough, the band ditched its once smart, sharp ouvre for even dumber songs.



6. Les Savy Fav 'Root For Ruin': I'm still puzzled how the band that gave us 'The Equestrian' and 'Patty Lee' three years ago reduce themselves to this boring much.



7. Sia 'We are Born': Sia is not a mere pop singer but she doesn't do much here to prove that. She's not a genius but the heart-felt emotion of her previous album is undeniable and given her recent admissions, I expected some beautiful torture but, alas, it's just frustrated torture.



8. Laura Marling 'I Sing Because I Can': the feminist intent is there but it's cluttered with so much inexperience that Marling hasn't yet seen the total vision she needs to carve out and not allow the expectations of her backers to overwhelm her.


9. Lightspeed Champion 'Life is Sweet, Nice to Meet You': Devonte Hynes is a genuis but he reminds me so much of that scene in The Matrix where the Oracle tells Neo that he could be the One, just that he seems to be waiting on something. There are a few flashes on pop pleasure here once the guitars kick in but he hasn't mastered the total performance yet.


10. Xiu Xiu 'Dear God, I Hate Myself': Jaime Stewart's existential queer angst has been the dominant theme in Xiu Xiu's decade-old existence and, well, I wish he'd stop being such a pussy and wreak shit and get on with it already.

The 10 Worst Films of 2010

First, these are horrible film yet I'm sure there were others. These were the ones I saw though. Without further ado, here goes:


1. 'Vampires Suck': spoofing a franchise that is itself struggling for critical praise isn't exactly a genius move and, well, no surprise that this is infinitely worse than its source material.


2. 'I Love You Phillip Morris': just seeing Jim Carey prancing around as a bad 90's gay cliche is enough to seriously consider the merits of being viciously homophobic.


3. 'The Last Airbender': like, seriously, even with adapted material, Shyamalan can't put a decent film together anymore?!


4. 'Cop Out': stupid muthafuckers, stupid.


5. 'Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief': a blatant Harry Potter rip-off but without any real heart and Uma Thurman should know better than to be caught with badly-animated snakes in her hair.


6. 'Devil': Shyamalan strikes again!


7. 'Skyline': never trust a dumb horror film where you never even get to see what the monsters look like.


8. 'Clash of the Titans': not only was the 2D to 3D transformation ridiculous but the entire plot stunk and looked cheap too.


9. 'Legion': as is angels would really squat or give a bat shit about any of the humans paraded here.


10. 'Machete': are you kidding with this crap?!

Top 10 Most Overrated Albums of 2010

Like every other year, there are some albums that got universal praise seemingly long before even being released or for some sentimental reason. This list is for only those albums that are not on my top 30 of the best albums of the year but seemingly popped up everywhere else. So, Laurie Andersons’ Homeland isn’t here because, though critics descended upon it like a holy text to be revered---it has been totally been forgotten on their year-end lists. Yes, that’s how vicious and absentminded their hypocrisy can be. Here we go:


1. This is Happening (LCD Soundsystem): even before release, one could sense critics lining up to crown this year-end winner. I had no expectations but its ordinary dance tracks seem cartoonish and I don’t mean that in a nice way. It must have hurt critics too though they won’t ever admit it but the fact that most lists have placed this ridiculous record outside of top 20 range speaks volumes.

2. Swim (Caribou): a huge disappointment given how brilliant his previous album was (Andorra). The lead track, Odessa was cool enough but from their Dan Snaith tuned me out with his non-commitment to lyrics.

3. Plastic Beach (Gorillaz): I love me some Gorillaz but the second half of this album dragged on for ever and left us with an unbalancing act that Damion Albarn just doesn’t pull off convincingly.

4. Treats (Sleigh Bells): by mid-way I tired of their noise and wanted actual, real songs besides the brilliant ‘Infinity Guitars’. The hypocritical view of most critics was that though they’re signed to M.I.A’s label and she tried her hand at the same stuff with her album, she got slammed while they got all praise. Something isn’t balanced there.

5. How I got Over (The Roots): or, how I continue to do the same stuff year-in, year-out but get praised for it always.

6. Crazy for You (Best Coast): it’s retro surf-rock done with female vocals basically and that’s all. And no, I don’t want to head out to the beach with it.

7. Sisterworld (Liars): this edged out of the gates early but has remained there because the low spectral quality was obvious.

8. Crystal Castles (Crystal Castles): I loved their debut but this new opus just lacked any oomph or memorable lyrics pared with production value.

9. The Monitor (Titus Andronicus): maybe it was the super serious intent that swayed critics that this was Very Important material but I can’t remember one memorable hook. It’s not awful but it is forgettable.

10. Brothers (The Black Keys): a very fine duo but even with some fine moments, at what point will their garage rock expand?

The Age of Adz (Sufjan Stevens) (2010)

The Emperor’s New Clothes


The Wikipedia page on Sufjan Stevens gives us an endearing image: him strumming a guitar with, of all things, a pair of multi-coloured wings. Given all that we now know that he has faced in the five years without proper new material, it is quite apt. For the uninitiated, those wings used to be starchy white given the universal critical love that his past albums have enjoyed. Sufjan’s appeal to indie-heads has always been a bit cerebral: a kind of intellectual nod to the unflinching Chistian-based idealism he espoused. But after a daring scheme to dedicate whole albums to the fifty states of America, Stevens has interminably broken down. While the length of this review alone couldn’t properly detail his exhaustive musical output, suffice it to say that the pedestal he was placed upon after the stunning Illinois (2005) has proved to be the breaking point.


A breaking point that threatens to rebel against his lofty lyrical eviscerations because such conscientiousness demands a sturdy personal examination on a rotating basis. It was no surprise to me then to read somewhere that he had likened his construction of the album to how Woody Allen directs and stars in any of his film, most notably Manhattan. Add the inspiration of mad-cap artist Royal Robertson and you begin to understand the mountain of neuroses and schizophrenia that Sufjan has layered the album with. The Age of Adz (pronounced ‘odds’) thus powders its face with heavy electronics and orchestration but not the quasi-spiritual overtones we’ve become accustomed to. The immediate difference between it and its predecessors is the fact that instead of interpolations of ideas, Sufjan now is sharing something apparently real, worldly things that we’ve all experienced during our lives like a broken heart or a crisis of self.


In short, he’s finally become one of us, the imperfect mass of human life-form that he always seemed above of. It is this new found relatable factor that makes the opener Futile Devices touching even amid his trademark acoustic arrangement. I Walked, the standout, starts out with a quasi-R&B beat but mutates into a mournful wall of reverb that ricochets so sumptuously that it’s exhilarating and sad at the same time. I couldn’t image any of the second tier R&B crooners around (Usher, John Legend, etc) doing anything this mournful or remotely sexy. It’s intriguingly erotic too; something previous Sufjan songs were not. Chicago and John Wayne Gacy Jr had the same template but they were instructive songs to a fault: meant to warn not inspire conflicting emotion. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same Sufjan Stevens we’ve thought steadfastly as a Bible-thumping, Jesus-loving, Republican-voting moralist the past decade. Like, seriously, what accounts for the jittery beat that course throughout another highlight, I Want to Be Well? When he croons, ‘do yourself some good/ do yourself a favour/ do yourself a turn from the ordinary’, it’s almost as if the five years have coloured his dark materials to the point of becoming a soul brother. Another gem, Too Much, turns the amps up and the studio atmospherics literally bounce off each other with a care-free kinetic energy. Get Real, Get Right incorporates all the little tweaks and quirks we’ve become used to from Bjork but Stevens unearths an even weirder type of funk within the heavy layers of textures used.


Even the cagey ideas have a specialty to them that lets one know that Stevens has given us his best album to date. Now That I’m Older drags through six minutes of atmospherics but once his vocals chip in, it turns utterly mesmerizing: in effect, working a short yet clever trick until it’s done. Even when he retreads (Vesuvius) it sounds heightened, exalted even because there’s a worldly conviction behind it now, not just a theoretical one. The ambitious 25- minute closer Impossible Soul somehow works mainly due to the jarring horns awaiting us almost at every turn. They work to prop up his electronic synths and direction as it morphs itself into a separate EP’s worth of ideas. It’s more that twice the length of Joanna Newsom’s titular track for her album this year but both know how to cleverly spin a tale: she lyrically and he musically. His title track here bleeds electronic dissonance while being, at heart, a love letter. All for Myself proves that both Jaime Stewart and Antony Hegarty have been slacking off in the baroque pop terrain and are approaching irrelevance.


Sufjan’s ideas here aren’t exactly unprecedented—musicians have always been meant to question themselves-- but he’s made a great sonic record about losing faith and juxtaposed it with the result of what happens when the disillusion lifts. Like the cover art for the album, one senses that there is a new Sufjan emerging from the principles that has always guided him. The majestic emperor figure sketched decades ago by Robertson is regally robed but there is a red colour applied almost as if to highlight some inner turmoil slowly becoming external. The effect is pretty yet effective: ladies and gentlemen, the questioning section of the Sufjan Stevens career is over.


Where does it stand in the annals of 21st century popular music? Is it better than Kid A or will it have the same long-lasting effect? Honestly, I have no idea but Pitchfork loves it and it will feature prominently on most year-end critics’ lists. I reckon this is the new decade’s first great introspective album. It may take some time for his old fans to appreciate its change of direction and his loss of ideological innocence but no one can say that Sufjan hasn’t blown a huge load all over us with this brilliant album. I’d be a damned liar if I said I wasn’t here still gasping for breath listening to it while reaching for the hand towel…

RATING: 8.75/10

Project Runway Season 8 Recap

In Defence of Gretchen Jones:


In the few minutes right after Heidi Klum declared Gretchen Jones the winner of this season’s Project Runway, it was near impossible to keep track of the status updates on the show’s Facebook page. Not surprisingly, the messages were not congratulatory to the Portland designer for a hard-fought victory but instead to overwhelmingly reject the outcome. Fans of the runner up, Mondo Guerro, have been all over the internet with multiple claims that he was robbed so persistently that it must be an uncomfortable feeling for all parties involved since the show’s two hour series finale.


They say everything works better in hindsight but as a critic I prefer to look ahead and make all of my bets. When I originally picked Jones to win the season (see Bookends, October 10th edition) I had only the first five episodes to base such a decision on. That was after she won the first two challenges, something unprecedented in the show’s history. Guerro hadn’t become the second designer ever to string three challenge wins together nor revealed his HIV positive status yet. However, by the time my piece came out I had edited it to reflect those changes. I still stuck with Gretchen though to win the entire thing.


To understand how Project Runway operates one must take a look at its judges. In an interview even before Season 8 began, Michael Kors exclaimed that hats were the current accessory of choice and that floral prints were decidedly ridiculous. Kors has been a wunderkind since he was nineteen and still is the pre-eminent ladies-wear designer in America. Both he and Nina Garcia are graduates of the esteemed Fashion Institute of Technology and she oversees fashion trends at Marie Claire and Elle magazines. For fans of Mondo to turn against their insight just for choosing Gretchen, shows a type of fickleness that has no place in fashion. As one neutral blogger rightfully pointed out, both are heavily invested in and influence American fashion. Quite frankly, I’d take their expert opinion over Klum (a model & active wear designer) and Jessica Simpson (a pop singer) any day. Heidi deliberated on an emotional level while Simpson seemed ill at ease or constipated whenever the camera focused on her during the finale.



Another misnomer this season was to think that Gretchen was a total underdog. Though she only won two challenges, the judges had consistently held her styling and taste-level high. Their criticism of her was the superfluous type that betrays a genuine likeness for her designs. In essence, she was never in any danger of being eliminated. The same applies to Mondo, who started slower but once he came out of his shell then his invigorating style unleashed some memorable pieces on the runway. His tremendous talent became even more personal when we learned of his struggles.

Here I must point out that Project Runway is a show that centers on Fashion Week and the collections presented by the three finalists. It’s a total experience, one geared to expose designers to the pressures and idiosyncrasies of the business. Based on what we saw on the finale, both Mondo and Andy South had issues controlling their collections whereas Gretchen was in command and relaxed. This plays a huge part in the perception that a designer is at one with the pieces being sent out.


The final collections by all three designers were uniquely theirs but Gretchen’s underwent the hugest transformation. Whereas Mondo kept everything as was and Andy only substituted his previously shown lavender bathing suit for a grey one, Jones actually saw wisdom in the critique she got the week before and changed things up. Gretchen’s ego had often clashed with the judges but she humbled herself to an alternative idea. When first presented, I hated the three pieces she showed and the hideous brown texture that Nina Garcia cutely called ‘crunchy granola’. The clothes looked inexpensive and in dire need of accessories.


I’m not sure why Mondo had all his models in head-pieces but they looked slightly ridiculous with the colored party hats and I think if he had omitted them, he’d have won the show. Garcia had warned Mondo that he ran the risk of not being taken seriously as a designer if he couldn’t edit more sternly from his print template. I think she went against him too when she considered that Mondo’s ‘Day of the Dead’ theme was a single season feel and not as sustainable as Gretchen’s. His outsized prints are sheer genius but there was definite design overkill and its best he hears objectionable criticism from a professional than blind praise from a casual fan. Gretchen’s first look was met with silence but the preceding designs were simply stunning. The silence at that point was provoked by admiration and one could see all three judges nodding in approval. When the granola dress came out she had wisely cut out its middle to reveal skin and the accessories were easy and sprite. She incorporated different hues and the wild hair and hats added a depth I didn’t know she possessed. The final piece somehow pulled off two hideous colors and made it work. It did lack an outstanding piece but the cohesiveness of the look reads more relevant in these times. I feel if she had used basic black and made the apparel tighter-fitting then it’d be even more stunning. In fact, when I first viewed the collections two weeks ago online, hers immediately registered and I’m sure it was the same for both Garcia and Kors.


Still, Mondo fans maintain that he was robbed even though, from a professional standpoint, Gretchen’s look has been overwhelmingly embraced. On the show itself he won only one more challenge than her if you don’t count the finale. If you do then they were tied. Winning challenges isn’t everything: season 1 champion, Jay McCarrol didn’t win any en route to victory over Kara Saun who had won four challenges, including the last one just before the finale. Season 2 saw Daniel Vosovic win even more than Kara Saun (5) yet he too was upstaged at Fashion Week by eventual winner Chloe Dao. Those are real upsets in any scenario.


Finally, in order to press their claims, Mondo’s fans have smeared Gretchen as the bitchiest person ever on the show and the least talented. That is laughable because those people clearly never watched Wendy Pepper or season 6 champ Irinia Shabayeva who went as far as to accuse her runner-up of copying her design at one point. Besides, there were no angels this season including Mondo. He was initially derisive of Michael Costello before they made up. April Johnson unleashed her cattiness by episode 2 by deriding both Gretchen and Jason. On the contrary, Gretchen started by praising Valerie’s designs and helping out Cassanova when others wouldn’t. Gretchen gave her opinions on design, not personality. Ivy constantly dug into Michael Costello’s character without proof. Costello himself was disingenuous with Gretchen but no one has seemed to mind this or called him out on it. While I don’t totally buy Gretchen’s strong woman bitch slant, she has a point in that a defined female perspective always toes the line. Ever since the Team Luxe challenge when her leadership qualities became obvious, women bloggers in particular have been nothing but negative towards her. I found her to be calculating and naïve more than anything else. I never heard her say anything personally disrespectful to anyone on the show yet here she is now subjected to vicious, unsubstantiated claims. Maybe it’s because she isn’t suffering from some ailment or didn’t style a shoe in a model’s hair why we don’t care enough to humanize her existence. When she called Andy’s design ‘student work’ early on, it was totally inappropriate even though I felt the same way. It’s not like she tapped him on the shoulder and said it to his face during the finale though. She hasn’t learned how to be politically correct yet but she must if fashion is to totally embrace her. I also disagree when it’s said that Gretchen’s designs were boring. Her two challenge wins were daring and if the experts could see that then that’s all that really matters. She delved into earthy tones to present designs well styled and tasteful. This was evident to me, a fashion neophyte, but it was on that basis I was sure she’d triumph. Here’s to hoping that she has a long and successful career ahead of her.

There is No One Else When I Lay Down and Dream (Ninca Leece) (2010)

Future Bride



It happens every year: critic sits down to shape up a best music year-end list, fretting mightily that some new or relatively unknown artist or band will slip through the cracks after months of hearing everything as well as the unavoidable selective listening. It does help that they’re so many other indie-heads out there proclaiming ‘must-listen to’ types but for every FrYars or Jenny Wilson that I’ve unearthed there have been bands like The XX or producers like The Dream that leave me cold with indifference. It’s a fine line but one that most artists either fall into or against right away.


Ninca Leece, however, is a different type of proposition because I’m still not sure where her aesthetic is heading. Her debut begins with the track Touriste, a minimalistic dance number that reminds one of Bjork circa 1993. This is a good thing but the time-line is very important too because that was when our favorite Icelander dropped Debut, a delightfully weird, abstract project, full of great ideas like Human Behavior and Venus as a Boy. She wasn't yet at the height of her genius but at the point where its realisation was obvious. Unfortunately, Leece hasn’t armed herself with such variety here but what she gives off instead is a strong batch of house songs that are homogeneous to the dotted tee. It's a little rough around its edges but something epic is amid all this repetitiveness. Whereas Bjork or even Wilson use dramatic flourishes, Leece throws in electronic programming and children voices (The Uncut Version). There’s nothing edgy here either nor does she have a signature guttural growl but this isn’t comfort music for elevators or Bookophilia-browsing (sake for Love Song). This is la-la club music, at times blurred with techno and propulsive beats that DJs will be manipulating throughout the year. A track like Division, with its groovy one-liner, feels like a smug but deserving victory lap.


When Ninca turns up the amps though then her grooves go for days. On Top of the World introduces guitars and a lovely vocal wrap before the house beats collapse upon everything. Like a Tattoo is her only real head-on vocal workout and it’s gorgeous, replete with synths that enhance the taunt nature of the track. Its way too short but it’s the heralding of a great promise once she adds sensuality to the mix. Funny Symphony throws in fuzzy bass lines and blissful French, just like how her country-woman Camille does and the pastiche effect is strong. You’re Walking in My Head would fit into any club, remixed or not. When she croons, ‘somewhere between coffee and shower/ you’re still there/ wishing I could spend all day with you,’ then inserts the chorus with spray-gun synths, she finally achieves an originality that didn’t seem likely.


For, let there be no doubt, Leece does run into a few stumbling blocks with There is No One Else… because the music is so at odds with her intent. Maybe it is the two-tier genre effort that burdens her sound but techno is by nature monolithic while dance music must mutate constantly for survival. Any attempt to bridge the gap between both must walk that proverbial fine line. At times, it seems Leece scurries back from the challenge: The Beast has to suffer throughout five minutes of tediousness before some life kicks into it: all of fifty-two seconds! Aseptique is a lovely chillwave track but an instrumental piece nonetheless.

That leads right back to the point that maybe what Leece needs more than superfluous execution now is time to master her ideas. She needs time to grow out of her self-consciousness and critics, like myself, eager to pile on the early-Bjork years comparisons. The dance-hippie slant is fraught with many artists this year alone: Glasser, Avery Tare and Nedry can all claim great songs (Apply, Heads Hammock and Squid Cat Battle, respectively) but middling to just okay albums. Ninca doesn’t have that one defining song here but an album simmering with uniformly interesting stuff. I don’t know if that’s something music execs and impatient fans are willing to watch blossom but they should. I do know that it’s fascinatingly indecisive though, just as how Bjork was when she just started out. I need not to remind you how brilliant her career turned out afterwards with back-to-back masterpieces (Post in ’95 and the career-defining Homogenic in ’97). I’m not saying Leece has such an exalted trajectory in store but she’s unto something fantastic here, mark my words. And if she does evolve into the second French version of Bjork (Camille is the first) then I’ll be a genius for pitching it up now when it eventually happens, hopefully somewhere in the not too far future.

RATING: 8/10

MAYA (M.I.A) (2010)

Living in America



Beyond the now infamous spat with New York Times writer Lynn Hirschberg and the decision by Youtube to ban the video for Born Free, here we are still grappling with M.I.A’s third album just under a month of its release. Her career is at a compelling stage now; that of global provocateur and pop icon assaulting the problematic American terrain after the surprise hit of Paper Planes. The two halves of her persona though are so strongly entrenched that it is with much suspicion that MAYA has been greeted with. The pro-M.I.A faction has resisted it so far because for the first time they’ve started to suspect that the music isn’t what’s foremost on her mind. Any perception of M.I.A’s intentions must state that but it also doesn’t help that MAYA is coming off the back of Kala, a landmark album that saw her usurp Bjork as the leading proponent of pop music while bringing the world into recording studios and Western consciousness.


First up is the brief yet paranoid The Message where M.I.A outlines the connection between Google to an all-intrusive government. It sets the pace for what is a jittery yet enthralling ride. Steppin’ Up is a harsh, industrial-hip/hop rant that throws out the swagger immediately (‘I light up like a genie/ and I blow up on this song’). The album standout Teqkilla runs six minutes and it crashes up against a wall of baille funk, ganga references and alcoholism. It is one creative mindf_ck of an experience, the likes of which she’s never done before. Lovealot rides a stunning ruckus bag rhythm while racking up controversial mileage. When she croons, ‘like Obama needs to love up Chen’, the jarring beats can’t drown out the geopolitical statement but damned if it doesn’t try hard to. Meds and Feds steals the Sleigh Bells single Treats away to inject much needed attitude over the one line, ‘I just give a damn’ for what seems like an eternity but it never gets boring. Tell Me Why pairs electronic beats with chorale music to take a swipe at her critics (I’ve been coming up for a while/ on your radar/ and I know I made it/ just by counting up my haters’). It Iz What It Iz, a seamless cross between blues and pop, warmly reveals the woman behind the music and her struggles. Her vocals here find a range between contrition and sexiness, a combination that I’m not sure even she thought possible but it’s a stunning result… the slinky type of stuff I imagine Aaliyah would be doing were she still alive. Born Free brilliantly takes punk band Suicide’s Ghost Rider apart for her own use to finally give it a weighty rethink after Romain Gavras’ disturbing music video robbed it of any previous relevance.


The album is seriously flawed at points however; something previous M.I.A work was not. This isn’t fatal for most artists but for what M.I.A represents, it’s the stumbling block we’ve dreaded ever since she landed in the American mainstream. For each exciting layer of noise and context sculpted we also notice some lazy-sounding experiments that just don’t gel. Story to be Told sets up an intriguing premise but her vocals stay within a timid refrain so long that the incredible beat is wasted. It Takes a Muscle---destined to be a huge karaoke hit no doubt—takes a decent enough stab at reggae but there’s nothing interesting really going on lyrically. Where MAYA really loses edge though is its final two tracks. XXXO remix is the type of slick, commercial fare that’d be a perfect summer hit for someone else. Jay-Z intercutting with a phoned-in verse only reinforces the cynical panic that M.I.A is changing for the worst. This is within your own perception to judge though because, frankly, it is a fantastic pop song once you’re willing to trust her machinations. Space is three minutes of bland repetition that feels a bit too smug in its production. It’s a waste of collaborative effort and, well, we expect much more from M.I.A three albums in.


Though I believe some critics have gone too far in lambasting the album, I contend that it is to sharply rap the apparent hasty production and not to see her fall into an abyss. Counter-reviews have started to pop up to reinforce two points. The first—which I’ll credit to cokemachineglow’s Calum Marsh—is that while M.I.A’s quest for superstardom in America is ill-timed, the innovation and quality of her music hasn’t eroded to the point of whoring into the money-making Billboard market. The second point, accredited to Nas, is that she is the sound of the future of pop. Whereas her previous work established her on a highly successful personal level, here she is now gathering a mighty colony of producers (Rusko), an independent label (N.E.E.T) and influencing lo-fi/pop music that has dominated the year (Sleigh Bells, Wavves,).

In the process M.I.A has altered contemporary music yet again without caring where the displacement falls. It’s the inevitable move to wean fans off the expected and substituting it for something newer that’ll likely take years to appreciate in value. That’s the kind of risk-taking that makes M.I.A still the most vital yet flawed musician around. MAYA panders too much to expected fame, is an imperfect blueprint, rails too hard to be noticed and bloats on its own excess...all traits that are uniquely American. All M.I.A has done is captured these elements, jotted them down and delivered a Sandburg-esque ode to a country she must surely love and hate in equal measure. Indeed, that is the uncompromising sentiment that hovers around this record. Hate her now but it’s also worth asking that if this is her ‘worst’ album then how comes it’s still ten times more interesting than anything her counterparts can produce even at their best?

RATING: 8.5/10

Clash of the Titans (2010)

Some Odd Thunder

In the beginning we are told how the Olympian gods overthrew the Titans with the help of the terrifying Kraken and settled on Mount Olympus with Zeus (Liam Neeson) as ruler of all and his brother Hades (Ray Fiennes) ‘tricked’ into ruling the underworld.

That opening narrative aside, Louis Leterrier’s Clash of the Titans pays little homage to the 1981 film that it’s adapted from or actual mythological events in any proper sequence. Instead this vanity remake follows its hero Perseus (Sam Worthington) as he sets out to save Argos by destroying the Kraken and Hades, the god responsible for his mother’s death. Of course, this quest requires a motley crew of men to help him battle awkward-looking giant scorpions, three blind sister crones and, more dangerously, behead the gorgon Medusa.

It’s a plot we know well but soon enough huge holes appear and they blur the realistic efforts of the film almost as much as the hasty rush to 3D formatting on display. Leterrier, known more for the Transporter series, doesn’t fixate on storyline long enough to set off his action sequences to full effect. This causes much static. Clash of the Titans, like the ridiculous Percy Johnson and the Lightning Thief, misunderstands its source material by focusing less on the Olympians and more on one human (a demi-god, to be technical).

This antagonistic trend to modernize every mythological film is ridiculous because it leaves characters totally vacillating. For example, the romance between Perseus and Andromeda (Alexa Davalos) is absent and in its place she functions solely as a high-priced extradition request. Hades demands her as a sacrifice to the gods or else Argos will be wiped out by the Kraken. Though the king, her father, tries to find ways around the request, Andromeda eventually gives in to the idea so as to spare her people of certain destruction.

Perseus’ ‘love’ interest is Io (Gemma Arterton), a female nymph who has watched over him since birth. She councils him until conveniently killed before any real sexual tension arises between them. He saves Andromeda of course but Worthington’s performance evokes a type of rigid asexuality that contrasts sharply to Harry Hamlin in the original film. This asexual broad stroke from the writers (Lawrence Kasdan, Travis Beacham) makes every character suffer from an alarming purge of human frailty; they’re characters playing characters essentially, not full-bloodied people.

Only the gods are shown with any human traits ironically: Zeus as the conciliatory ruler looking out with concern for a son and Hades maliciously out to destroy Argos with tacit consent. That consent of course comes from Zeus and though it throws his own leadership and its consequences in doubt, Leterrier skirts any real religious implications by simply making him seem like an average Joe. Being an action film, Clash of the Titans thus isn’t concerned with Zeus’ complexity issues or who needs protection from whom. It is interested in bringing unruly subjects to the brink of peril before our hero saves the day and gets the girl. It is concerned with Medusa’s hair of snakes and Pegasus magnificently black and brief shimmering across your 3D glasses. Its innovative look sacrifices important characters in the original (Thetis) so as to give you more action and pretty destruction.

And sure enough, it is in this gargantuan scope that the film fails so miserably. Avatar showed us last year that with this new 3D technology much is visually possible but Clash of the Titans follows an annoying trend of hyping big fight sequences only to wrap them up just as you’re settling in for the long haul. The emergence of the Kraken adds menace but Perseus hardly toils to do away with it. Even more surprising is his ‘defeat’ of Hades by merely throwing a lightning bolt-dagger in the god’s direction.

A small gesture with big implications and one passed over entirely by Leterrier but Perseus’ hand is not unaided in the latest banishment of Hades to the underworld. That Zeus would so daringly side against a god (his brother) in favor of humanity (through a son of his) at such a moment of crisis is telling. Leterrier’s scant regard for these conflicts between the brothers limits their true motives. This is amplified by the deafening silence of the other gods whom we see virtually nothing of, not even Hera, the only deity who dares to contradict Zeus on a regular basis.

In the end though the film delivers on its basic premise of being just an update of a cultish fantasy film…nothing more, nothing less. Purists who fume at its clear inferiority to the original miss the point as much as how you can’t equate an online idea like Farmville to real farming. The fact is that more people will flock to the former to appreciate the latter and, for them, on surprisingly deep levels too. This crass update can therefore eschew any noble notion of ideology that makes sense or multi-dimensional gods just to present them—well, Zeus and Hades really—as merely capricious gods of war. Here are deities fighting for human adoration and control and only out to prove, quite frankly, who has the bigger penis. That at least, since the start of humanity, is something we can all relate to. The DVD/Blue Ray package include separate version on each as well as combined. This is important as one is able to view the original shooting of the film and enjoy its textures before the rushed 3D formatting. Blue Ray offers an alternate ending where Perseus confronts Zeus on Olympus as well as in depth discussions with cast…all which make you realize how wasted the final product is.
RATING: 4/10