Beat and Meat (Pt. Two)

2008. Wow. You're kicking my ass on as many levels as Donkey Kong heaves barrels. Honestly, what more could a guy wish for in life?

January, would you be so kind as to remain forever more? Getting up at the buttcrack of dawn to teach kids the meaning of superfluous -and, yet, mildly appropriate- vocabulary like vermicious downright tickles my funny bone, and no, 'funny bone' is not a euphemism whatsoever.

Hold on. We're not here to read about my inadequacies; in actuality, we're here to write about my inadequ-

Hey, 2007, I'm not quite finished with you, so open wide (she said). Let's talk a bit more about music (and perhaps a tad regarding Cronenberg's Eastern Promises). I hadn't completed my initial list of music, partially because I was tipsy, but also because there is no sense in creating an excruciatingly elongated post. I've never been found guilty of such atrocity and, dog willing, I never shall.

Minutes to Midnight, Linkin Park: I'm not the biggest fan of Linkin Park, so it came as no surprise that I found this album to be mostly forgettable. Shadow of the Day has a decent melody, and Given Up accomplishes its mission as a single. I'll admit that much.

Neon Bible, Arcade Fire: drawing from the same reservoir that dictated my comment about El-P's latest jaunt, I'll state (for the record) that I can't -and won't- compare this to Funeral. What I will admit is that Neon Bible presents listeners with imagery that is far less, say, idealistic, and I enjoy it immensely. Black Wave/Bad Vibrations alone warrants incalculable praise.

On the Leyline, Ocean Colour Scene: I won't complain about Britpop, just like you, dead reader, won't gripe about self-references (especially not with a clownish outburst unbefitting your vastly superior sense of subtlety), so let's just agree to disagree on the value of this album. Where do I stand? On the Leyline, that's where.

Preparations & Interregnums, Prefuse 73: beating this dead horse once more? That's my style, but I'm feeling extra lazy tonight. Check the Labels, Papa Smurf.

Sawdust, the Killers: jumping to conclusions is what I do best (concerning the Killers), so I'm going to reserve any comments until some distant, obscure point in the future. By 2011, I'll probably be in love with this collection of B-Sides, except for the 'Abbey Road Version' of Sam's Town. I'd rather watch the Departed (for a first time) than be forced to endure a second listen of that catastrophe.

Sky Blue Sky, Wilco: popular opinion dictates that Wilco is, as some folks have claimed, a monumental, illustrious band that consistently creates culturally relevant music to enhance our mundane lives. Granting that, you'd be tempted to think that anything touched by Jeff Tweedy's penis be worth its weight in gold. Yeah, Sky Blue Sky is a good disc, and yeah, Tweedy slapped each and every individual copy of the CD with his dick, but that doesn't change the fact that Wilco isn't nearly as radiant as people fervently proclaim them to be.

Sound of Silver, LCD Soundsystem: keep the shit coming, Mr. Murphy! Starting off with the undeniable charm of Get Innocuous!, the album careens through a roller coaster of repetitive emotions. The brilliantly recurrent lyrics and themes fail (in this case miserably, much to our morbid delight) to alienate the listener, because Murphy reminds you, ever tactfully, that humans* are tedious, not in their attachments per se, but in their approach to such entrenchments. Fuck it, the album is amazing.

That takes me through the letter S, and I'm sure that you can easily extrapolate what happens next.**

From the onset, I intended to say a few things about Eastern Promises, if only to take a break from music. What a great film we have here. After the 2005 release of a History of Violence, I was eager to engage any subsequent film that paired Mortensen with Cronenberg once again. (On a side note, we can only pray that the two reunite for a third film, perhaps a remake/revision of Scanners. Hell, I'd go see it.)

I went to see it, on a Sunday night in late September, with two friends of mine.*** I distinctly recall that we were amongst the grand total of seven people in the theater; which doesn't reflect negatively upon the quality of the film, but it does limit the number of gasps possible during some of the more violent scenes, of which there are a few, each executed with either brutal efficiency, or efficient brutality (I'm unable to decide). Anyway, despite the lack of outbursts, the film successfully captivated me for an hour and a half with its unflinching depiction of life; of pragmatic men, adaptive women, and broken girls.

Roger Ebert noted that Eastern Promises is 'not a movie of what or how, but of why' and it's hard to disagree, although I'd insert a who alongside the demarcation of why. The characters are dependent upon the plot, initially, but at some juncture I ceased to be concerned with the particulars, which is part of the film's charm and, furthermore, who the characters are, as defined by -and subject to- their actions, is what interested me. Having said that, I shall refrain from any divulgence as to the story itself; you'll just have to rent the DVD and see for yourself.

________________________________________________

Hati

*All humans? No, just North American Scum.

**If you guessed Taking out my garbage, then you'd be correct.

***They weren't my parents, so cut the shit.

P.S. There are so many things wrong with the two pictures in tonight's post, that it's just gotta be so right.



Happy new year, indeed.