Beat and Meat (Pt. Three)

There's not much for me to say this time around, at least not about the indelible self. I've contracted a bit of a stomach ailment or something, which arrived just in time for the weekend, so I've been sitting around my apartment, brooding and drinking copious amounts of Chilsung Cider to alleviate my disdain for viral malevolence. Like employment in South Korea, these things just happen and, to be honest, a weekend spent in recovery has its own merit. I did, for example, finally take the time to watch No Country for Old Men, and it definitely pressed all the right buttons for this overgrown child.

Speaking of children, I also saw This is England and while I think it was a good film (I don't regret viewing the movie), the notion of a small -annoying- boy taking the lead role didn't assist whatsoever in winning my approval (for that is what really matters). I certainly understand that I am, in all likelihood, exceptionally distant from any implied target audience for the film. Still, just because a film is obnoxiously English, doesn't make it good (despite all that you've been led to believe). Speaking of England,

Music, music, you say, mostly in the UK.

The Good, the Bad & the Queen, the Good, the Bad & the Queen: I was just ranting about a repugnant English film, and now, if it doesn't trouble you, I'll proceed to laud a British album. GB&Q may sound a bit like a Gorillaz disc (if the fictitious members of that fictitious band were to go through rehab, subsequently break apart, and then reunite to record some swanky music for the benefit of starving children in Africa) but that doesn't change the fact that GB&Q makes for some decent listening.

Trading Twilight for Daylight, Great Northern: that a band could have generated a disc that was both catchy and whimsical is not entirely surprising, but to have done it so well is worthy of mention. Great Northern's debut album is an effective collection of wistful, carnivalesque melodies that remind me of material goods which bequeath fab impressions gone awry, and I mean that in a positive way. One of the more agreeable albums of the year.

Untrue, Burial: this is a prime example of a great album that should be electrifying me much more than it has been, and I shall take a wild guess here, and state that the problem lies with me (as opposed to a flaw with the disc itself). A recent review by critic Adam Webb postulates that 'Untrue is a devastatingly accurate depiction of urban UK - plugging the listener into the matrix of some godforsaken south London satellite, with its identikit fast food joints, repellent inhabitants and anonymous decaying sprawl,' which sounds like a plausible account, granting that (as mentioned prior) I lack any verifiable connection to the United Kingdom. As things stand, Untrue is a gritty, inclusive work that keeps me occupied, when I'm occupied with something else; beyond that, I'll just have to trust Webb's evaluation, and distrust my own.

We Are the Night, Chemical Brothers: Tom and Ed, from the British Isles as well, still know how to pound out some beats, and I don't begrudge them the slightest bit for traversing the well-beaten path because that's how you make money, retain fans, build a legacy, sire numerous illegitimate children, and sustain an army of polyphonic vampires. Half of the tracks suck ass, and the other half sucks the semen from your malformed penis.

We Can Create, Maps: look, James Chapman, I don't think that there is any question that you know how to make a memorable album, and your first foray onto the global music scene, We Can Create is, hopefully, a mere taste of what's to come. Like a delectable appetizer, Chapman's work offers a variety of sonic wonders, but it never overwhelms the listener, nor does it compel you to skip tracks, but it does leave you wanting more. This alone should signify the makings of an exquisite album. Perhaps we should write We Can Create off as one of those albums you like, but you'll be damned if you can explain why.

We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, Modest Mouse: no comment. You know which movie drives me into a feral rage, eager to taste the blood of small Asian children? If you guessed Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, then you'd be correct, and I'll do you the favor of ingesting your misbegotten gamine first and foremost. Burton's torrential monstrosity should be required viewing for all Imperial stormtroopers, journalism majors, country club owners, and professional dancers, period. And then they should be forced to endure Modest Mouse.

Year Zero, Nine Inch Nails: if society is to shift, fall, or break apart, then I suspect that Trent Reznor will be there, not at the forefront of activity, but on the sidelines. He'll be doing what he does best; flushing the toilet of our demonized culture, making sure the shit goes down, whither we know not. Whatever tune he'd be humming, we'll keep coming back to hear that not-so-dainty hymn time and again (even if we really just have to drop a load). He has a magic touch, that one, and Year Zero, be it far from perfection, still manages to tickle my eardrums, especially Vessel.

Zeitgeist, Smashing Pumpkins: wasn't I just talking about flushing shit down the toilet? Call it prefacing, friends, and this log is just too big to go down at once.


There may be a few other albums I listened to in 2007, but this will (due, mostly, to fanboy outrage) be my last post regarding the topic.

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Adol Christin