nine summertime

Off ya tree of souls

noreply@blogger.com (Alex Condon) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 02:45:00 +0000

Avatar? More like...Shitatar! Oh my god! Somebody stop me! Where do I come up with this stuff? But really, I just couldn't resist a ranty panning of Jim Cameron's bloated half-billion dollar soap box epic of blue bombast. Maybe I'm just an elitist contrarian, unwittingly compelled to loathe all status quo-determined zeitgeists, but I was frankly gobsmacked by the dumb CGI sermonising of the prophet Cameron.

Sure, it's a visual spectacle to be matched- no qualms there, JC (heavens, even the initials are redolent with holier-than-thou-ness), you've certainly dazzled us with sweeping landscape/artillery porn. If this is solely the reason for it's immense popularity, then I will be at peace. But if cashed up bogans are genuinely flocking to this flick in their gas-guzzling foreign made four-wheel drives and walking out feeling like shrewd social commentators on Iraq and climate change then I will readily seppuku my innards in a heartbeat.

Just to clarify- if JC didn't quite beat you hard enough over the head with his subtle take on neo-imperialist land rape and jingoism- the greatest director who ever lived literally set out to 'educate' Americans, and the world (hmmyes, two different things, apparently), about the ill effects of invading and subsequently bombing the proverbial out of Iraq... what? There's negative ramifications of launching missiles at Baghdad schools and hospitals on a daily basis? Fuck, good thing Jim Cameron pointed that out to me via $500million of three-dimensional awesome! Mmm, where was I? Popcorn and mega-cola! If you want intelligent critique of war-mongering America, read some Chomsky or Pilger, don't go to the megaplex.

Not to mention his blatant use of the 'noble savage' plot device, really only a few rungs down from the 'magical negro' plot device on the latent racist plot device ladder. So we're all to fall in love with the Na'vi and their huntin', avian-enslavin', paganistic ways, right? Again, Western colonisation indeed led to abhorrent genocide and heartless assimilation of indigenous peoples the world over- most sentient beings are aware of this fact, and multiplex sci fi actioners are generally not ideal source material for this topic, so maybe avoid citing 'Cameron: 2009', along with Wiki brilliance, next time you're compiling a political science essay reference list.

Next- the cardboard cut-out gung ho meathead cowboy military stereotypes. Yes, sadly they do exist, and in large numbers, particularly in the US armed forces. But could JC have made it any more black and white- shite was I at a loss as to who the antagonists/protagonists were! Sooo...the shaven-headed, buff, gun-toting types who want nothing more than to cold-bloodedly and gleefully blow up some trees of souls and "savages", mostly for the sheer heck of it, partly to mine 'unobtainium' (I know- they really do call it that- outstanding, Cam!) are the baddies? Well I'll be a thanator's uncle! Could Colonel Whatshisname be more of a George W. Bush/poor man's Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore from Apocalypse Now caricature? ...Sorry, I'll try and curb the cynical rhetorical questions, they do become tiresome I suspect- but really? "...Fight terror with terror"? Come on Jim, make us think just wee bit. Maybe Colonel Shootemup had a difficult childhood, with an abusive father or something? He just wanted to be a classical pianist instead of going to military school. Maybe blowing up pagan god trees and blue aborigines was his only way of expressing that angst? Let's flesh out some of these characters, eh Jim.

What else- oh, of course, Worthington's stellar American accent!
I could extrapolate more, but I think that's enough ire. Essentially, it's dumb, overly idealistic people and aging hippies like Cameron who give the Left a bad name, with such unequivocal preachings through 'art'. There's countless films and songs that combine politics and art successfully and subtly, and the thought that Avatar could be referred to as something more than simply a gargantuan piece of well-styled summer cinema entertainment is rather dry retch-worthy.
Leave the humanist ideologue to intelligent people. And hail Eywa! Oh, gosh- it really is addictive! I take it all back, Jim!*
*I don't.

postmodernism, and why it should leave hardcore music alone.

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 13:15:00 +0000

Postmodernism is a wonderful thing. It made it acceptable for people to be weird and alternative back in the 60s, which made it easier for indie/arty/blogger types to be alternative now. It brought about things like pop art, which brought us both Andy Warhol silkscreens and the cover to Sonic Youth's Goo - both of which can be easily worn on a shirt to communicate one's obscene alternative...ness? (alternativity?)

Warhol et al showed the dissolution of boundaries that attended the postmodern movement. Not only high and low art, but also genre divisions came tumbling down. Suddenly you could 'appropriate' from some trashy sources and simultaneously create art and a statement on contemporary culture. What's not to love? Shit's easy, makes you look smart, and some of it was actually pretty cool.

Everyone with a BA knows the postmodernism was good because John Cage and Foucault already told them so. Fact: there's little that can make a cultural studies major renounce his (largely superficial) devotion to the postmodern movement.

The hardcore/electro genre blur is one of those rare things.

(thanks for Tal via Maddy for the tip on these guys)

I didn't think it would be necessary for me to divulge the reasons why electro and hardcore shouldn't mix, but apparently some people didn't get the 'decent taste' memo. Attack! Attack! are amazing artists at the forefront of postmodern music. Look at how they seamlessly (read: not seamlessly) gloss over various styles in just one song, sometimes even playing multiple styles of music at the same time. "Why don't we play this monophonic synth preset over some distorted guitar?" Holy shit. Amazing. This superficial treatment of opposite musical styles is evidence of true originality and forward thinking. So forward, in fact, that it is in need of pulling back.

This level of genius doesn't just come from nowhere. No, it comes from compiling a whole bunch of different passages of other peoples music into a musical clusterfuck. It's almost like someone recorded a karaoke machine stroking out and accidentally combining a heap of bad covers. Or like the song-structure equivalent of 'exquisite corpse,' and everyone who participated was eleven years old.

I've known about Attack! Attack! and others like them for a while. My current wave of anger is motivated by a fear that this genre may infiltrate our pure Australian shores. Damn you internet for opening our secluded country up to crappy tweenage cultural imperialism. If only we could keep this shit locked on a boat in Indonesian waters...

Alas, here is an Australian band bring the techno-core closer to home - alarmingly singled out as a Triple J next crop artist last November. Admittedly it's not as extreme a treatment of the hardcore/electro fusion that I detest, but this is just the beginning. Soon, the the artistic inventiveness that saw fit to lazily tack on a trance-ish outro to that song with creep into the entire tune. And then there may even be some rapping. And we'll have our own shitty genre mash-up epidemic to deal with.

Help me make sure this doesn't happen. This is the worst thing to happen to music since nu-metal. Stop these forward-thinking musicians right now and pull them back into musical territory that's more stylistically comfortable.

Literal Lyrics: Make your own rules.

noreply@blogger.com (Tom) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 10:26:00 +0000

Literal lyrics is back! After a brief Christmas holiday in which it travelled to the ends of the earth in search of a good pavlova, it has returned victorious. Turns out a small coffee shop in western Ukraine really knows its New Zealand desserts.

This week we will be covering the first single from John Mayer's new album, 'Who Says'. In typical John Mayer fashion, he sounds just like a year 12 jock douchebag who bought a second hand guitar and takes it to every party because he knows like five chords and can totally bust out the first half of a bunch of Powderfinger songs and chicks dig that. Mr Mayer has totally nailed that market. Unfortunately, John is now 32 and hitting on 17 year olds is borderline illegal.

As such, it would appear Maybags (a smooth combination of "Mayer" and "douchebag" that rolls right off the tongue) has become a little jaded, probably after numerous attempts at failing to score with Jennifer Aniston, Hollywood's most damaged goods. Seriously John, I could bag that scalp if I wanted to, and I'm a poor, mostly talent-less Australian guy nearly 20 years her junior. You've got everything (well, not exactly everything, but money and fame are two good starts) and you managed to blow it.

So, Maybags has written what I can only describe is the apathetic anthem of the Naughties. Ladies and gentlemen, Who Says...

Who says I can't get stoned
Turn off the lights and the telephone
Me in my house alone
Who says I can't get stoned

Well, for starters John, the Government says that. They make these things called laws and the citizens of the country, who more often than not elect said Government (your country, as much as you desperately try to fuck it up, does this) must obey these laws. Now you may turn your nose up at this, but its these laws that keep people driving on the right side of the road, keep people from just waltzing into a shop and taking what they wanted, and stop angry members of the public from raping and murdering each other on a whim. They provide people with consequences, and help guide them in the right direction.

Laws aside though, the other thing that says you can't do that is our basic desire for sound mental health. If you sat alone in a darkened house and had no contact with the outside world, you would literally begin to go mad. And that's even if you weren't getting high all the time. Our brains crave social interaction. There are actually methods of psychological torture that involve locking people away from society for extended periods of time. It's called 'solitary confinement' and is regularly used in prisons to break the spirit of tough inmates.

Is that enough reason for you Maybags?

Who says I can't be free
From all of the things that I used to be
Rewrite my history
Who says I can't be free

You want a clean slate John, is that what you're getting at? You want everyone to forget all the terrible shit you've done? Or worse, all the cool shit you've done? Unfortunately Maybags, you are a worldwide celebrity, so the chances of everyone forgetting who you are and you being able to start over again are very slim. That would involve everyone else on the planet suffering a very specific kind of amnesia, in which we forgot just who you were but retained all other information. Plus there is the logistics of removing any trace of you from the internet and society at large. That's a pretty big ask Maybags, just so you can give being a different person a new try.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long night in Baton Rouge
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

Now we begin to see some evidence of how you managed to fuck up the whole Jennifer Aniston thing. I'm going to assume you're talking to a women in those last two lines. Bad move. "I don't remember you looking any better" is basically saying, "You look pretty shit right now, I much prefer what you were wearing last night". And following that line up with "I don't remember you" is bound to make any woman you've met more than twice feel like shit. I mean, sure, you're famous, you meet a lot of attractive women, but that is no reason to act like a dick. Do what most men do and lie, make shit up. And the excuse "It's been a long night in New York/Baton Rouge" really isn't going to work. Firstly, pick just one city (preferably the one you are actually in) and then say you've had a long night. Simply pointing out that it is the Winter solstice is not a valid excuse.

Who says I can't get stoned
Call up a girl that I used to know
Fake love for an hour or so
Who says I can't get stoned

More stoned talk, we've covered this Maybags. As for the drunk dialling, while there are no hard and fast rules on such a thing, it is generally frowned upon in social circles. More so by the person you are tricking into thinking you like them, but also by their friends. It really is a dick move. And just doing it over the phone and only for an hour is really just a waste of everyone's time. If you're going to mess with her head, at least invite her around and sleep with her. At least if she hates you she'll have had a night of pleasure. I am also getting the feeling you did this to Janiston, which probably didn't help your chances with her at all. As a general rule, no one likes any sort of emotions to be faked, particularly not love. And considering you did this to a woman who had her heart publicly broken by Brad Pitt and then Angelina Jolie basically spent the next five years rubbing it in.

Who says I can't take time
Meet all the girls in the county line
Wait on fate to send a sign
Who says I can't take time

Are you trying to tell me that you want to meet and, I can only assume, fuck, every girl on the county line (which, for Australians, is basically all the women in a certain post code) and then wait for fate to tell you which one to maintain a relationship with? Possibly an even worse idea than your psychological torture plan, Maybags. Firstly, the health issues. You're going to have to wear a condom the size of a pair of trousers, and that's not even considering oral sex. Secondly, those types of things can't just be left to fate. There will be a certain number of women who will pursue you and you will have to deal with them, you can't just wait for a sign. Finally, good luck keeping the fact you're shagging every woman in a 100-mile radius a secret. Much like the drunk dialling thing, women don't like being lead on. And considering you've already demonstrated your inability to talk to women, I can't help but feel this plan is going to crash and burn.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long night in Austin too
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

Again with the bad compliments and even worse excuse. Perhaps try "I've never seen you looking this beautiful" next time.

Who says I can't get stoned
Plan a trip to Japan alone
Doesn't matter if I even go
Who says I can't get stoned

Finally, you have proposed something that isn't frowned upon by normal society. I mean, it is a little depressing that you want to go on a holiday alone, but the fact you want to get out of the house is good. Baby steps Maybags, baby steps. And you're right, you don't have to go if you don't want to. However, I would recommend not paying for it if you're unsure about whether you'll actually show up to the airport. Otherwise you could waste a fair bit of money. However, considering the fact that you're both rich and willing to buy copious amounts of marijuana, maybe a missed flight to Japan isn't such a big deal. Also, a word of advice, don't fly stoned or take any pot with you. I may be incorrect, but I think that thing is illegal. They've been pretty anal about plane travel for the past few years and you could find yourself in a bit of trouble if they found you out.

It's been a long night in New York City
It's been a long time since 22
I don't remember you looking any better
But then again I don't remember you

John, you're a quick learner. Finally a decent excuse for not remembering someone. You haven't seen them since you were 22. That's ten years. She'll understand if you say that. Again I would avoid the thinly veiled insult and instead try, "You look amazing, I didn't even recognise you, have you lost weight?"

Wasn't that a fun journey into the inner psyche of John Mayer? Turns out he's just as much of a douchebag as you thought he was. Daughters is a pretty song though.

And now, something less vaginally cleansing than Maybags...

Inaugural Post, Or How I Learnt to Stop Worrying and Love the Proverbial J's

noreply@blogger.com (Alex Condon) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 02:57:00 +0000

Guten tag there, Nine Summertimers. I'm Alex, the conspicuously as-yet-until-these words-gracing-your-screen-unpublished third member your venerable trio of advisors to the Board of Cutting Pop Culture Dissection. My old drinking/charades buddy from our heady student politics days in Young FARC, Matt, kindly extended the olive branch to join he and Tom in knowing, wry social commentary, to which I gleefully replied, "nice olive branch! Kalamata? And I'd love to join the writing team!"

I hope your Yuletides have been gleeful and consumerist, like an awful Disney-or-similar madcap, hijink-fuelled Christmas caper stacked with insipid family values, starring some interchangeable ex-comedian who may or may not have once been funny, but one day had kids and thus turned to doing solely shitty wholesome family 'comedies'.

Either way, I hope you got some gems. One of my appreciatiatively bestowed gifts was none other than Triple J's Hottest 100 of All Time, that much celebrated behemoth of a poll they trot out every so oft, with invariably unchanged results from previous outings. I like the CD, despite criminally little (read: no) Smiths, criminally little female artists (consisting, vocally, solely of Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser's guest vox on Massive Attack's 'Teardrop' and Kim Deal's backing wails on Pixies' 'Where Is My Mind?') and criminally little explanation as to what process was employed to whittle the initial hundred down to thirty six- in fact, how do these sexy kingmakers at the J's get away with such murder year in year out with the annual contemporary 100's, in having the gall to include the crucial '100' in the disc title. Sure we're all so unquestioningly complicit to it now, but someone really should have held them accountable at very first compilation, and suggested: "why not 'Hottest Bits of the Previously Announced Hottest 100 (Culling Process for Featured Cohort Omitted)'?"

Still, I have to love Triple J. Even if they do make it difficult at times. Such as mediocre hip hop, flogging 'Sex On Fire' ad nauseum throughout '08, and the aforementioned ambiguity of track selection/omission on compilations.

The Hottest 36 of All Time, is a polarising affair, and was always going to be. And it did seem as though the Association of Cynical and Sometimes Angry Men Who Were Teens in the Early-Mid '90s rallied their membership base in an unprecedented voting spree.

Apart from this fact it does remain a comprehensive collection of alt hits of decades past. When listening to the countdown attentively earlier in the year, it was quite clear once it got inside the top ten that 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' would probably top the poll, a bit of a disappointment considering those back-of-neck hairs don't quite stick up as tinglingly as when hearing it for the first few spins in one's adolescence, and it's not even the band's best work.

Highlights include: RATM's anthem for boisterous angry men who don't understand the actual sharp political diatribe of the song, 'Killing in the Name', the ill-fated yet still mystical and legendary Stone Roses' 'Fools Gold', New Order's 'Blue Monday', it's throbbing bassline easily one of the most pinched bits of music since the Bo Diddley beat (even Rhianna's had a crack), Jarvis Cocker oozing wit and shrewd socio-cultural observation on Pulp's 'Common People', Bowie's 'Life on Mars?'- not my pick of his catalogue, but anything by the greatest man ever in any professional field suits me dandily, the aforementioned 'Where Is My Mind?' of Pixies fame, who arguably influenced every '90s artist who appeared on Triple J, The Shins' wistful signature 'New Slang', You Am I's seminal 'Berlin Chair'- I don't care if you don't much care for Rogers' exuberance, they made an inarguable contribution to '90s Oz indie and were channeling the retro gods in a much more inspired and original way then Jet ever would or will. By Christ! I mentioned Jet in text! I swore never to do such crime- I am indeed allergic to the band, you see. Well then, before the harrowing convulsions set in, I'd best wrap this up.

In all, a good listen, but could have been much better. Oh and the incredible The Cure are another big highlight with the heartstring-tugging catchiness of 'Close To Me'. In fact I could go on with the highlights for, golly, at least a couple more tracks! I say go purchase it if you don't already own most of the songs, liked the '90s, or are a misogynist.

krudd's ultimate summer mixtape, vol. 1

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 15:57:00 +0000

So here's probably the best mixtape you're going to hear all summer - it's scientifically proven to improve your summer by 87% and comes straight from the decks of the Hon. kRudd. In the PM's words:

"This mix is meant to evoke all the feelings of summer. From the breezy, chillaxed mornings, through to afternoon storms and partying with yr bros at nite [sic], this is is where it's at. Throw in a bit of 'what-the-fuck-parliament-doesn't-sit-until-Feb' and you've got the right combination of songs to enjoy in due season - and that season is now: summer!'

Hard to argue with that. I've listened to it myself and can assure you that 87% is a more conservative figure than the ETI - this is the balls.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE MIX

Shit is epic - 90+ minutes of sweet tunes. Tracklist after the jump.

1. Bibio – Ambivalence Avenue
2. Air France – No Excuses
3. Summer Camp – Ghost Train
4. The Notwist – Good Lies
5. A Tribe Called Quest – Can I Kick It?
6. Iran – I Can See The Future
7. Toro Y Moi – Fax Shadow
8. Girls – Big Bad Mean Motherfucker
9. Karen O & The Kids – Capsize
10. Eddy Current Suppression Ring – Wrapped Up
11. The Thrills – Don’t Steal Our Sun
12. A Sunny Day in Glasgow – Shy
13. Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears – Get Yo Shit
14. The Kritzlers – Scarlet Sometimes
15. Love of Diagrams – Forever
16. The Depreciation Guild – Because
17. Warren Zevon – Nighttime in the Switching Yard
18. Here We Go Magic – Fangela
19. The Flaming Lips – Fight Test
20. No Through Road – Party To Survive
21. DM Stith – Abraham’s Song (Bibio Remix)
22. Looking Glass – Brandy
23. The Mary Onettes – Puzzles
24. Washed Out – Feel It All Around
25. Clinic – The Witch
26. Animal Collective/The Beach Boys – I’m Waiting for My Banshee (Mash-Up)
27. TV On The Radio – New Health Rock
28. The Drums – Let’s Go Surfing

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Not enough mixtape fun? Get the previous, shorter 'Hipster Partay Mixtape' here.

Tell me something I don't know.

noreply@blogger.com (Tom) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 06:53:00 +0000

There is no doubt that music has a unique effect on the human brain. As William Congreve once wrote (and is commonly misquoted) "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast." Neurologist Oliver Sacks has written an entire book, 'Musicophilia', about music and the fascinating influence it can have people, particularly when modern medicine has failed.

He writes stories of an Alzheimer's sufferer who is unable to string a coherent sentence together, however when asked to sing, he returns to his former self in a dazzling display of raw emotion and lucidity. Tourette's sufferers have their incessant ticks calmed by playing the piano, patients who are incapable of remembering anything longer than 7 seconds, except for intricate musical compositions.

Indeed, any music listener can vouch for their favourite album or song being able to lift them out of a bad mood. Emo music has thrived on the fact that angst-ridden teenagers find an escape from their emotional existence (whether real or imagined). Couples have "their song" that reminds them of when they first met, groups of friends have a tune that stirs memories of a particularly wild night or epic holiday.

But for all of music's good, it has committed unto me a heinous crime. Its great power can be used for both good and evil. This is made evident through it's ability to get a horrible pop loop stuck in your head for hours, days, even weeks at time, coming and going as it pleases. My problem? It has created a false memory.

Not just a little false memory mind you, an entire semester of memories. The album "Let's Bottle Bohemia" by The Thrills crafted, over a matter of weeks, the following memory:

Thomas spends a semester studying abroad. Specifically, he goes to the East Coast of America and completes four subjects in his Arts degree. He lives on campus in college and has many wondrous adventures with dozens of new friends. He returns home a new man with stories to tell his children and their children.

If any of you know me, you'll also be aware that the aforementioned memory never occurred. I have never studied anywhere abroad, let alone in America. I've never lived in a college anywhere. The album has manufactured these memories. And they aren't just fleeting fantasies, these are fully crafted recollections. I can recall driving across state (oddly, the actual state and university are not part of these lies) in a car full of students, one other Australian (male), two American girls and a guy (the driver, also American) as we headed to a football match.

I remember whole parties, including the type of house/bar it was in, the people there, as well as what I drank. I remember not one but two holiday romances, one which we promised we'd keep in touch but it never really worked out that way. I could describe a number of women I hooked up with, including some embarrassing sex stories. I recall sitting in lectures hung-over and/or tired. I remember cramming for exams, my cool room-mate, and the weird guy who lived across the hall.

Granted these "memories" are probably an amalgamation of the various American college movies I've seen over the years, but the odd thing is that I know I've never been to America, and it is not until I listen to this album, and this album only, that my brain thinks I've been there. And it is damn near convinced. I genuinely miss America and my adventures when I listen to the LP.

The whole tricky nonsense can be traced back to a few years ago when I was hoping to go on an exchange. I filled out the various forms, but I was denied due to poor results. At the same time, a friend of mine was over in America (at UMass) doing a semester abroad. I was listening to this album a fair bit, obviously it was a little too much.

I downloaded the album this afternoon (I have previously bought it, but at some point the CD has gone missing) and it has all come rushing back. I wont bore you with a track by track run-down (I don't want to sound like any more of a crazy man) but but I can guarantee you it is once again coming rushing back. I haven't listened to it in months, but it's all there, like it genuinely was something I've done and I'd just not thought about it for a while.

This has been a big secret of mine up until now, I'm not sure how people would handle my admission of a serious delusion. However, it's out in the open now. I'd be interested to find out if anyone had a similar experience. Any songs that remind you of things that have never happened? Post your crazy in the comments.

Now, feel my pain...

remember the titans: then and now...

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 14:50:00 +0000

I went to an all-boy private secondary school, and as anyone who attended such an establishment for any even insignificant period of time can testify, two things are pretty much held up as the pinnacle of male adolescence – sport, and masculine bonding (through sport). Thus, when teacher’s were trying to kill time after exams were finished or an ethics assignment was on the horizon, it made sense that they’d repeatedly reach for one movie several times a semester – Remember the Titans.

This is a movie about the first inter-racial football team in some region/“conference” in (mid-west?) ‘50s America. The football team is a microcosm of the town, which is a microcosm of broader America, and through their success as people and sportsman, teach others that black people are the same as white people but slightly more athletic and sassier. Like every fifteen-year-old male at the time, I loved this movie. It was the kind of movie that could make you cry (on the inside), and simultaneously making it acceptable to cry (on the inside) because a) it’s a movie about brotherhood, and b) everyone else in the class was similarly crying (on the inside).

It was about high school boys overcoming adversity and basically saving the planet just by playing sport. It’s the dream that every male at that school secretly had – that their physical prowess would put an end to the world’s problems and then the team would all be BFFs. I literally saw this movie over fifteen times during high school, which is more than three times a year. Furthermore, I discovered that I actually own two copies of it on DVD. This was a movie that I would forever identify with that period of my life, a shiny compact disc that would carry the glorified nostalgia of my high school days.

I watched this movie again recently and realised it was pretty shit.

I don’t know whether I’m more disappointed in myself for ever liking this crappy movie so much in the first place, or whether I’m more upset that another coat of glory has been stripped from my memories. Either way, twenty-two-year-old Matt was able to notice a few things about Remember the Titans that his younger counterpart conveniently overlooked.

The middle third of this movie (ie. where the general narrative thrust occurs) is essential a repeating cycle of the following scene:

Token racist incident to remind the audience that the movie is about race and create conflict for the characters.
The black coach (Denzel Washington) is a hard ass.
The team nearly fight, but that turns into a bonding moment.
The black coach says something inspirational, then is a hard ass again.
Montage of the team becoming brothers and/or winning.

Throw into the mix more scenes than necessary of football matches and some token family moments and that pretty much sums up the middle hour of this movie.

What we learn is that through sport – specifically, through winning sport – people can overcome deep-seeded social issues like racism. Don’t understate the importance of winning here, because essentially the acceptance of black people rests on their superior sporting ability and the success it brings the mostly-white school/town. Also, we learn that singing/chanting/exercising/banging into each other/etc are acceptable plot devices to be repeated throughout the film to show the strengthening of relationships. Who needs conversation when we can just show the team celebrating after practice – that’s what real friendships are made of.

Granted, this is a) a Disney film, b) PG-rated, c) based on a true story, and d) people die at the end, which eventually shakes up the aforementioned pattern of scenes. That in mind, my problem with this film isn’t that it’s outcome is formulaic and a deliberate tear-jerker, but that that the journey to that destination is told in short, cliché, superficial scenes. Also, I feel uncomfortable watching a younger, racist version of a girl I would later find very attractive in the show Heroes. It doesn’t feel right.

Furthermore – and I hate when extra-filmic considerations enter in and effect my perception of the film itself (see: Woody Allen), but Denzel Washington has gone up several rungs on the pompous ladder since this film’s release. He seems like the kind of guy who still likes to unnecessarily make race an issue and then call everyone latent racists. I especially like how his character in the film, while fighting for racial equality, tells a girl she should play with dolls instead of following football. Nothing screams for audience empathy more than trying to break down one barrier whilst re-enforcing another – but then this may have contributed to its popularity in all-boy high schools.

I sincerely wish I hadn’t seen this film again and I could still remember the positive emotions it elicited, but its flaws are too overwhelming to ignore. This isn’t meant to be an attack on the film – like I said, it’s a Disney movie – but an admission, or cleansing, of my own former poor taste and naivety; an indictment on the culture at all-boy private schools that allowed me to invest so much emotion in this film, to hold it up as a cultural totem of my school days. Damn you, good taste and maturity for ruining my empty nostalgia. Oh well, that same same maturity and taste will hopefully prevent this from happening again. That said, I’ll be cautiously avoiding other movies from that time in my life in an attempt to maintain some of the magic gained by vicariously living through inspiring Hollywood movies.

Literal Lyrics: Self-esteem issues.

noreply@blogger.com (Tom) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 12:07:00 +0000

Time for another dose of literal lyrics. Under the microscope this time is an Australian lady by the name of Vanessa Amorosi. Now Vanny (we're friends and she lets me call her that) has been around for quite a while, beginning her musical career in 1998 with the dance anthem "Absolutely Everybody". This song did indeed annoy absolutely everybody with its repetitive pop loops. Then then disappeared off the face of the earth, only to be reborn with the following track. Lucky us.

The song is basically a, "You are beautiful no matter what anyone says, you are strong, just keep fighting!" anthem to all the ugly teenage girls who listen to Vanny. Too harsh too soon? We'll see.

We open on an empty stage. Vanny enters with her guitar. She begins to sing in a heartfelt manner.

I spend my life
Trying to do things right

Better than trying to do things wrong I suppose. That can end badly. So far, nothing new though.

But all I do is fall to my face
with my hands on my head so many times

You what? You fall to your face... with your hands on your head? How about using your hands to stop you falling "to" your face. Considering you've done it so many times, why haven't you learnt how to stop landing on your face? (Note: other versions of these lyrics read "my hands and my hips" which makes even less sense.)

But then I learnt, after being burnt
To get back up and push straight on
stop the tears people move on, on

No no, if you've been set on fire, you should go to the hospital, or at least a doctor. Don't keep going like nothing has happened. You'll regret it once your skin starts to peel. It's also okay to cry if you've just landed on your face, been set on fire, or both.

The following happy words are the chorus.

Well it's alright to be myself
now I've learnt to stand
well it's ok to be just who I am
I spent years really hating me
longing to be friends,
now I hope that you can understand
This is who I am

Lighten up Vanny. You hate yourself, you've just learnt to stand, blah blah. No wonder no one liked you, you're a wet rag on the party of life. If who you are is a mopey bitch, then I would contest that's not an okay thing to settle for. You should really try to not be a downer.

Now when life gets tough
I'm quick to hurry up
I run all day, I run through the night
I break down walls, I hit up high

It would seem Vanny recommends the following coping mechanisms for those on Struggle Street:

excessive and dangerous exercise
vandalism and property destruction
grievous bodily harm

Not the wisest of choices, but I suppose if it stops you killing yourself then it's better than nothing.

I don't care if I'm fat, or if you think my clothes are bad

You should care if you're fat, because its actually unhealthy. I realise the media places too strong an emphasis on being thin, but the reality is, fat people get sick and die much quicker than thin people. That's a fact. Bad clothes is less of an issue, but I guarantee if you're fat and poorly dressed, no one is going to want to be your friend.

'cos I can go to sleep at night,
I'm a good person and I'll get by

Most people sleep at night, thats not a feat of strength. If you said you wrestled alligators at night, or kicked bears in the shins, then I'd be impressed. The same goes for being a good person. Big deal. Lots of bad people sleep brilliantly at night and get by just fine as well.

Are you someone, are you someone, are you someone,
someone like me

Fat, badly dressed, self-loathing, violent and well rested? No. You're appealing to what I can only assume is a very niche market here Vanny.

You deserve, you deserve, you deserve to be free

Free from what? Their own shitty lives? If they deserve it so much, they can go out and earn it.

Because the world will keep spinning,
and you'll be trapped in it

Not only do you have a poor grasp of the basic sciences of the planet, you're being very threatening here Vanny. These people aren't the most confident souls on the planet, and I can only assume they don't react so well to being told they'll be sucked into the Earth's core if they don't emancipate themselves from their shame spirals. Maybe not though, maybe that's what they need, a good scaring.

The chorus repeats a few times, and it's just as depressing as it was the first time you heard it. I'm not sure where Vanny went wrong, but whoever is writing her material should really get themselves checked out.They've gone from poppy anthem to borderline emo rather quickly. Well, that's a lie, it's taken 10 years, but still, they should be on suicide watch.

Multitasking bonus: The music and lyrics in one hit!

If you're feeling down about your weight, listen to this:

twitter review: a sunny day in glasglow - 'ashes grammar'

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 03:26:00 +0000

...in which we succinctly review albums via our twitter account.

A Sunny Day in Glasgow - Ashes Grammar:

---
Follow nine summertime on twitter.

Literal Lyrics: guns kill people.

noreply@blogger.com (Tom) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 11:53:00 +0000

Hey there nine summertime readers. I'm Tom. I write this nonsense. I've been asked by Matt to contribute, and since I learnt how to share back in preschool, I was happy to help out. I hear he wants to turn this blog into a critical discourse on the state of modern music. Boring.

This is a series called 'Literal Lyrics'. Basically, I find the lyrics of a shitty pop song that is dominating the ARIA charts and I dissect them for the benefit of the listeners at home. It helps uncover the true meaning of these auto-tuned monstrosities. I plan to do it on a weekly basis.

This week's song is 'Russian Roulette' by Rihanna. Don't get me wrong, I think she's great. But only at dancing and singing. And getting punched in the face by her boyfriend. OH NO YOU DIDN'T! The song opens with some basic instructions on how to live.

Take a breath, take it deep
Calm yourself, he says to me
If you play, you play for keeps

Rihanna, you're hanging with the right crowd. These people have their head on right. Breathing, calmness, playing for keeps. Good on you girl.

Take a gun, and count to three

Jesus Christ! Rihanna, what the fuck is going on here? I take that back, these aren't nice people. Guns are not toys. Get out while you can!

I’m sweating now, moving slow
No time to think, my turn to go

No Rihanna, there is most definitely time to think. It doesn't have to be a long thought. A simple "I don't want to shoot myself in the face and die" will suffice. Also, I hate to point out the obvious, but if you're moving slow, then you're probably buying yourself those few seconds necessary to think about how much of a bad idea it is to play Russian Roulette.

And you can see my heart beating
You can see it through my chest

Now, either everyone is sitting too close or you're dangerously skinny. If people can see your heart beating, you've got some issues. I'm going to assume these same people that want you to play games of life and death are also encouraging your eating disorder. Rihanna, as much as I applaud you for leaving Chris Brown, perhaps you should reconsider your new choice of company.

And I’m terrified but I’m not leaving
Know that I must must pass this test

How topical. Is this song a metaphor for something? Perhaps a destructive relationship you had recently?

So just pull the trigger

Nooooooo! Rihannaaaaaaa!

Say a prayer to yourself

Oh thank God you're still alive. Get out now. Either you're going to die or you'll be an accessory to murder.

He says close your eyes
Sometimes it helps
And then I get a scary thought

Only now? You've just nearly killed yourself and now you're thinking scary thoughts? You're crazier than I thought Rihanna.

That he’s here means he’s never lost

That doesn't make him a winner. Nor does it make him a desirable partner. It most likely makes him a killer. Or at least a cheat. While I don't know how many games of Russian Roulette he's played (he does seem to have a lot of handy hints), I'm guessing the laws of probability would prohibit anyone from becoming too good at it without some element of rigging.

As with all pop songs, the chorus begins its monotonous repetition about here. Rihanna "pulls the trigger" two more times, so either there isn't a bullet in this revolver or they're playing with a machine gun. She does offer one more word of... warning, I suppose you could call it.

As my life flashes before my eyes
I'm wondering if I will ever see another sunrise
So many won't get the chance to say goodbye
But it's to late to think of the value of my life

Once again, I must point out that there is always time to think of the value of your life. You don't have to write an essay, just a brief "I have loved ones" would pretty much cover all the important arguments. This whole song is making me question Rihanna's sanity. She really doesn't seem to care much about her own safety, or how her death (read: suicide) might make people feel. Instead she worries about seeing the sunrise. Never mind how her parents would feel, or her legions of fans, or her friends. As long as you're impressing a boy by gambling with your own life, it's all good.

You know, Chris Brown may not have been the nicest guy, but I doubt he would have made you kill yourself to prove you like him. He wrote a song called 'Kiss Kiss' after all. Maybe you should give him another chance.

Read the full lyrics here
Listen to the song here.

I've been your literal DJ, here's something less dangerous than shooting yourself:

in rememberance: kings of leon

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 11:45:00 +0000

I’d heard others lament the transgression of previously-great bands into mainstream mediocrity and the consciousness of the cultural bankrupt long before I’d experienced that grief myself. From Daft Punk’s ‘Human After All’ to Wilco’s ‘A Ghost is Born,’ from Massive Attack, Pavement, Air, Beastie Boys, The Verve – all are artist’s that have damn near broken people’s hearts with their decreasing vitality and relevance. That’s just a selection of them. Try talking to someone who loved Muse ten years ago about the now Big Day Out-headlining band.

This is a chance to reflect. This is an obituary for the integrity and awesomeness behind a band once close to my heart. A chance to remember the good times so readily obscured by the more recent and more publicised shite. Stand up, Kings of Leon.

I bought Youth and Young Manhood while in Sydney for my uncle’s wedding without having heard so much as single note from it beforehand. I was at that point in my mid-teenage years where, devoid of an older brother and a dad that kept abreast of new music (and back when Myspace was actually used by high schoolers and not bands), I would readily hand over my monies with an adolescent, explorative excitement based on the thirty seconds I heard at listening stations (back when people still bought CDs), or the cover art, or one good review I read in some largely irrelevant publication. I genuinely miss that practice, especially the lack of expectations I had for every release and thus the greater frequency with which I was pleasantly surprised; the complete lack of aesthetic criteria or credibility concerns that now colour almost all my consumption. It was the product of a musical naivety I wish I still had. It made every release something of a mystery and almost everything (including – briefly – Jet) sound quite fresh.

I didn’t get to listen to the Kings of Leon album all weekend. It sat in my bag until I was back in Brisbane, three days worth of anticipation making it all but fizz with kinetic energy, as though it would be too hot to actually hold. I put it on, only to be met by the raw guitars and Caleb Followill’s distinct drawl came pouring out of my speakers. What the fuck was that voice? Was he drunk, stoned, getting a wristie in the vocal booth, hamming it up for kicks? He sings every word like he’s smoking a cigarette in a post-coital haze.

The whole thing lacked a self-consciousness, perhaps even self-awareness, that I too was lacking. It’s the kind of outlook that attends the feeling of isolation, that no one out there is listening to you. Three brothers and a cousin in their late teens/early twenties, looking like they’ve just emerged from a bomb shelter after twenty-five years of thinking it’s still the ‘70s, making music about cross-dressing, murder, and fucking. The latter subject would basically grow to encompass all of their lyrical concerns; the claustrophobia and idiosyncrasies of small-town southern America replaced with introspective, self-absorbed musings on the rock star condition and their penises.

Their next album was better received by critics but never managed to win me over like their first did. There was hardly a way that it could match the sheer shock I felt when I first played that album, especially since it came along a couple of years after heavy music consumption. It was still quite rad though and even a little more varied, but you could hear the restraint creeping into their music, the ideas of what an album should be. It was cool, but it wasn’t the same.

I won’t go on from here. If you’ve ever switched on Video Hits or Nova in the last two years then you probably know where the sad end to this tale. Suffice it to say that I’d sooner set fire to my own genitalia than voluntarily listen to ‘Sex on Fire’ any time soon.

The point isn’t even that the band got crap. A lot of bands dissolve in a lack of ideas or degenerate into their own karaoke act. These guys didn’t just get crap, it’s like they shifted their entire aesthetic – their image and their sound – to please people who didn’t even like them in the first place. This is more than disappointment – it’s betrayal. It’s like the band saying that your love isn’t valuable enough; they’d rather lose that love in exchange for the approval of thousands of twelve year olds.

They now look like a boy band, their old material barely appears in live sets, and their lyrics, once largely indecipherable through his drawl, are front, centre, and entirely embarrassing. The boys Followill now have their own clothing label being released exclusively through a store in Copenhagen.

I’ve not heard the latest album straight through once – I’ve barely made it past the first few tracks. They were playing at a festival I was at in Europe and I went out of my way to miss them. I cringe when their film clip comes on TV, as it tries to awkwardly weave a storyline between backstage and live footage and soft-focus close-ups on Caleb.

I’ve been turkey slapped by a band I once loved. My revenge, I guess, is that they’ve no credibility or cool left, and will probably have to perform ‘Sex On Fire’ at every concert for the rest of their lives.

Whether they feel that pain as the tween market shouts along… well… the kids’ pocket money might buy them nice clothes and expensive haircuts, but will it be able to buy peace within their conscience after having brutally betrayed their original fanbase? For having inflicted their recent run of shithouse Creedence-meets-U2 singles on the world?

RIP to old, good Kings of Leon. You’re dead to me.

Kings of Leon - 'Happy Alone'

Kings of Leon - 'California Waiting'

stuff i've been listening to

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:22:00 +0000

Bibio - 'Bones and Skulls'

This track is off Bibio's latest - and THIRD - album released on Warp in 2009. In fairness though, while billed as an album, The Apple and the Tooth is basically an EP and a handful of remixes packaged together. It's still cool if not a slight let down after the fantastic Ambivalence Avenue in June.
Apple doesn't come any closer to marrying the "two Bibios" presented on earlier albums - the glitchy, electronic Bibio, and the singer-songwriter Bibio. They remain quite distinct, though the latter is better represented on this release.
'Bones and Skulls' is a simple guitar track with a catchy, drifting vocal melody. It's a long way from Neil Young , with plenty of background noise and effected sounds filling out the empty space around the clattering percussion and crusty beats. It's the whimsical, vocodered bridge pulled straight from an Air track that really makes it soar.

The Radio Dept. - ' Pulling Our Weight'

One of the biggest regrets after my Euro trip this year was that I never made it to Sweden. I saw Sweden from the Danish shoreline, but never actually made it over there due to time and monetary constraints. This year alone, Sweden has brought us personal favs Fever Ray (album of the year) and The Mary Onettes (to be featured on an upcoming mixtape) amongst many others.
The Radio Dept. were the toast of indie music earlier this decade, with two great EPs and then a pretty good LP released in quick succession, plus no less than three tracks featured on Sofia Coppola's ultra-hip Marie Antoinette soundtrack.
This is an old song of theirs and is on both the aformentioned soundtrack and the Pulling Our Weight EP. The vocals have that dream-like quality that only continental Europeans seem capable of producing, and it's more than just the accent, the low-cut filter, the double-tracking and the reverb. It's what makes even the most fuzzed out Radio Dept. songs sound blissful; it's what draws the comparisons to other 'dream pop' bands. The bass takes the lead on this track. Its melodic line weaves throughout the track, and the one-bar-short phrase that opens the main riff seals the deal.

The Cure - 'Purple Haze' (Hendrix Cover)

Apparently this was put together for a 1993 Hendrix tribute album. I don't own said album because I find Hendrix/Zeppelin et al fairly soporific. I do, however, own The Cure's four-disc, 70-track long b-sides and rarities compilation Join the Dots. Organised chronologically, 'Purple Haze' is buried in the middle of the 3rd disc and is probably the last worthwhile track hearing on the very patchy last two discs. This shouldn't surprise anyone really since The Cure's a-sides at this point were nothing short of terrible ('Mint Car' anyone?)
The best thing about this track is that is displays the creativity that was then lacking in their own work. Robert Smith needs to find and hold onto whatever inspired him to turn air-guitar standard 'Purple Haze' into a hip hop-inspired, drugged-out ballad. It's also the most gothic sounding thing they'd put out that decade until '99s ridiculously hyper-goth Bloodflowers.
The Cure are one of my top three favourite bands ever, and if I were going to recommend any track they released in the '90s then it would be this one. Unusual, since it's a cover, but it shows what's great about The Cure better than their own material - it's eerie, oppressive, and inventive. It doesn't touch their first four albums mind you, but very little out there does.

what do you do with a...

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:55:00 +0000

“What do you do with a BA in English?” So goes the opening line in a song from Avenue Q. It’s a great musical because it makes puppets swear (giggle), and is also peppered with harsh truths like that one (you just don’t get that in Cats). I always knew my BA in English wasn’t worth much, but you never expect to hear it from a Jim Hensen creation (or close enough approximation) and being laughed at by a large who probably all have that degree or similar.

There is one difference between my situation and the one outlined in the aforementioned song. Ok, two: the first is that Gary Coleman is not my landlord, and the second is that my life doesn’t suck. I get work and it keeps me afloat, but it’s doing little to wipe away my debts from a recent Euro trip. It’s also hard to look busy when you work from your bedroom –and thus to anyone not physically standing in your room and observing you, working and watching Twin Peaks are practically the same activity.

Although said work is writing-based, I’d have probably gotten this work regardless of whether I had that BA in English or not. That said, I loved my BA and would do it again if I had the chance. But that routine and relative lack of expectation from my undergraduate days has since been stripped away and violated. I’ve never been one to stress about money or occupation before, but debts need a-paying. Also, my partner in crime/self-pity is now a straight and semi-productive member of society whose achievements at her job somehow eclipse the time I spend on Hype Machine and Facebook. I know, right?

I didn’t adopt all of the below steps, but if I ever scale back my freelancing stuff and get desperate then I will likely be turning to suppress the impotent guilt that will likely arrive shortly thereafter.

1. Cultivate an intentionally unkempt appearance to try and romanticise your lack of employment. For men, one way to do this is to grow a beard and girls can stop shampooing as regularly – just keep in mind that the idea is to transparently communicate an embracing of all things bohemian, including a deliberate withdrawal from capitalist society. Don’t go burning incense and distributing pro-hemp sidewalk literature because that’s not only uncool but is actively anti-productive. Just get a beard and caftan and bliss out to Yeasayer or Davendra Banhart. This should outwardly suggest enough counter-cultural capital to temporarily absorb your current unemployment into a conscious lifestyle decision.

2. Instead of eating your Mi Goreng in front of ‘The View,’ try trawling through Wikipedia and becoming an expert on freak-folk/experimental music or post-modern viewpoints. A working knowledge of recent underground cultural trends creates the impression that you are still somehow vital and connected to society’s linear thrust even though you contribute little to that movement. Furthermore, a cursory knowledge of some broader philosophical ideologies reminds people that you are semi-intelligent and at least able to recall if not synthesise the more superficial elements of complex theories that you brushed over throughout your degree. If you are particularly confident in your abilities, use your recall to regurgitate news about the next Fennesz record or Zizek essay and imply that said knowledge makes you too good for the few low-paying media jobs available whilst simultaneously proving to your friends that you’re more synchronised with cultural and intellectual trends than them.

3. Where possible, leave bits of paper lying around that suggest you’re doing work (note to family and friends: this isn’t necessarily the reason my desk always looks like a bomb hit it). Always consult a diary when a friend or partner tries to arrange dinner with you and like you’re constantly waiting for an important call. If people enquire after what you’re doing, mention that you’ve got several independent projects in the works. As long as you appear to be working toward something edgy, others will hopefully become jealous that you operate outside of traditional work structures.

4. You could, of course, actually work on some “independent projects,” in whatever form they may take. At the very least it keeps you from getting bored in between re-runs of ‘America’s Next Top Model,’ and may even feed into the cultural capital that you’ll use to offset your lack of tangible monetary capital. Remind your friends that even beauty school dropouts have access to the latter form of capital, but yours is far more exclusive and therefore valuable. If your richer, employed friends suggest that you’ll never be able to afford a pet therapist without a proper job, respond by saying that you don’t agree with the practice of keeping animals as pets and thus deflecting the guilt and capitalist shame back on to them.

Hopefully neither of us gets to the point where these steps become useful, but no doubt you’ve met people who’ve adopted them to a certain degree. The point of the above steps is to dissolve the disparity between you and functioning members of society by creating the impression that your situation is somewhat deliberate. There’s only so long that they’ll work before the lack of returns or tangible progress become apparent, but these are good ways of temporarily appeasing parents and partners before you return to full-time study in an area more vocationally oriented.

Or, for other advice, don’t get yourself into thousands of dollars debt when you don’t have solid, salary-based employment prospects. Lesson learnt.

What do you do with a BA in English? Blog, clearly.

Avenue Q - What Do You Do With a BA in English/It Sucks to Be Me

(FYI, I saw Avenue Q on West End during the aforementioned Europe trip and it was great. If anyone from Sydney reads this then you should go and check out the season running down there fo sho).

stuff i've been listening to.

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 07:39:00 +0000

The Beta Band - 'Squares'
This is a song off this now-defunct band's second studio album Hot Shots II released in 2001. What's notable about this song - and something you'll realise pretty quickly if you listen - is that it shares a chorus with a later, well-known Lupe Fiasco song. Both are based around a prominent sample from I Monster's 'Daydream in Blue,' only The Beta Band's sample is slightly more abridged and features their distinct brogue on top.

I like Lupe Fiasco's track, but this is much better. While the idea of pop music drawing from hip hop in the mid-to-late nineties was hardly revolutionary, a bunch of English squares (no pun intended) somehow managed to sound so original by doing just that. Sampling old soul tracks, using crusty hip hop beats, playfully cutting up their librarian-esque vocals - it all works so well when it probably shouldn't. Maybe it's exciting because the band could have so easily rested on their laurels and churned out more acoustic songs like 'Dry The Rain' - first song on their debut EP and a fantastic song no less - but they went much further than that. They were diverse, adventurous and quite geeky. Sometimes they go almost too far; the sampled string break in 'It's Not Too Beautiful' is surprising the first few times, but eventually feels like the aural equivalent of sea-sickness.

I've been thrashing the Beta Band's 'best of' this last fortnight and this is probably my favourite song on there.

Foals - 'Big Big Love (Fig. 2)'
This song is hardly old but whatever, the album leaked Feb 08 - which is long enough ago to warrant its inclusion here. The opening (not the bit with sticks but the bit with the delayed guitar) sounds "like water" according to Maddy, which is a great description. The distorted, low-cut drums and synth that come in soon thereafter are deceptively simple and maintain a feeling of floating throughout the verses. The chorus is all double-tracked shouts and yet somehow sounds nearly as weightless, and then the song is brought by down to earth by high-fret antics in the bridge/outro.

This album was was produced by Dave Sitek (aka the man of the decade) and is way too underrated. Too many reviews said that the album needed more upbeat ska-type singles like 'Cassius' and 'Balloons.' While those songs are good, the best stuff on Antidotes is easily the more atmospheric, loop-based compositions (see: 'Red Sock Pugie,' 'Tron (Is A Good Film), 'Electric Bloom'). People complain about Sitek's production (the band themselves rejected his final mix) because it's not transparent - it draws attention to it's knob twiddling ways and incidentally pulls focus from the songs. But that what I love about it, and any band or listener looking for slick, live-sounding jams should stay away from Sitek. His production makes me want to spend hours trying stuff out on Logic, and the song 'Big Big Love (Fig. 2)' makes me want to grab my guitar and delay pedals and go for it.

in defense of animal collective (at my own risk...)

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:21:00 +0000

I remember a time when it was cool to like Animal Collective. I remember that time mainly because it only three years ago.

I was among the many fans that thought Feels was a great album from an innovative band. Then a whole bunch of new blogs and blog readers decided they also loved Animal Collective, and held them up as the band of the decade and the pinnacle of experimentation in indie music. And then it became cool to hate on Animal Collective. So many of those who formerly championed Avey Tare, Panda Bear, Geologist and Deakin moved on to championing Fuck Buttons and Health - until such time that they too become the toast of alternative media and thus must be discarded in an equally open and critically-hostile manner.

I saw Animal Collective on Channel V the other day. Yes, it was a shock to my own indie sensibilities as much as it was to all those currently burning their previously-loved copies of Sung Tongs. Despite it's (low) rotation on such media outlets, 'My Girls' is still far from a "sell-out" - hell, it keeps the same descending arpeggios repeating throughout the whole six minutes, and there isn't even a beat until a third of the way through. The presence of bands like AnCo on Channel V is more a symptom of those outlets turning to alternative media for cues on what's cool rather than alternative bands altering their output to fit the aesthetic criteria of old media institutions.

Stephanie Meyer (author of the Twilight series) openly lists her favourite albums of the year as Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear*. Did these band bend to meet the aesthetic criteria of this creative vacuum? No. We are talking about someone that dedicated an entire novel to the band Muse (don't even get me started on Muse). Animal Collective have rightly earned a larger profile after a decade of prolific and high-quality output, and it's this heightened profile that's the reason for their uptake by the aforementioned indiscriminate outlets. Their buzz underground became too much for those with their head in the clouds to ignore.

I like Fuck Buttons. Their new album is way more "beat heavy" than their last one, so no doubt particularly fickle fans will have already moved onto something more obscure. I also still like Animal Collective. They don't record into cassette microphones and don't do a lot of 'freak-folk' stuff anymore and so yes, by those standards they are probably more accessible. But they're still one of the least likely bands to crack the the <15 market - I don't see too many twelve-year-olds wishing that the new Muse album sounded more like Feels. For most people, a three-part closing symphony on your album is experimental and Animal Collective is just obnoxious muzak.

The whole situation reminds me of primary school, when some of us eleven-year-olds liked Limp Bizket and then other boys in the class started liking Limp Bizket, so we decided that Korn were now the coolest band around and Limp Bizket were for girls. And so we cycled through nu-metal bands as we saw fit, judging the 'next big thing' (clearly) not on how good they were but on how cool they made us look. God help you if you still thought Silverchair's Freak was harcore. In doing this, not only were we displaying horrible music taste (a crime that I believe any primary school kid should be absolved of) but we were participating in the production of primitive cultural capital. If you could find and appreciated cultural product before others, you had more capital (ie. you were cooler, a taste-maker etc).

My grade six class was a microcosm for the indie music community. Were we a particularly advanced grade six class? No. So this basically just reflects poorly on those choosing to hate on their previously loved bands. (There are definitely exceptions, see: Interpol et al).

Even if you didn't like Strawberry Jam (I didn't really), at least don't let it taint your views on their old stuff. Because then you look like a douche, and you perpetuate the build-them-up/tear-them-down stereotype that reflects poorly on the whole blogging/indie community.

Instead, save your hate for nu-metal. Limp Bizket need to realise that those eleven-year-olds have grown up and no one wants to listen their ultra-compressed guitars and white-boy rap/whine shite any more. Ever.

---

'Grass,' off Animal Collective's Feels, was featured on my rad partay mixtape, which you should download here.
If you enjoy partay mixtapes, also check out Maddy's mixtape here.

* Grizzly Bear are arguably more accessible these days, but really only their singles.

hipster partay mixtape

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 07:34:00 +0000

I put together a bit of a mixtape because it seemed like a fun thing to do. This isn't a compilation of my favourite songs ever or anything. No. This is a collection of songs that I would play if tonight I were getting loose and DJing to a crowd consisting entirely of myself.

It's pretty fun and not "high brow" hipster material (see: 'Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell'), though it may possibly include the obligatory AnCo jam ('Grass'). Also some cool remixes and my favourite mash-up ever alongside just generally catchy stuff. It's one file with fades - not exactly "mixed" (ie. beat matched), but still worth putting on if you're doing pre-drinks tonight (especially if you to be/want to be me). This is what Brisbanites affectionately call a "Ric's Mix," in reference to the indie-iPod-shuffle style of DJing featured at the eponymous still-best-despite-all-the-Motown-upstairs-on-Saturday-nights club/bar in Brisbane.

Download the mix (at 128kbps) along with the above cover art and tracklist here.

Enjoy.

(Clarification: the name of this mixtape - 'i want to party (party)' - references a Philadelphia Grand Jury song. So as not to be accused of misleading anyone, I'll now point out that that song is NOT included here since I didn't have my new PGJ album near me at the time. Suffice it to say it would've been included and may indeed pop on a future mixtape).

problems with indie films, pt. 1

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 03:27:00 +0000

Since the 1950s and the birth of 'counter culture' as we know it, the mainstream has continually absorbed the signifiers associated with various movements until said signifiers become widely disseminated and steadily lose the cultural purchase they once possessed. It happened to punk (see: Supre shirts with safety pins, Ramones shirts on sale at K-Mart), it happened to hip hop, it happened to grunge - it's a cycle that endlessly repeats itself.

The same is true of the signifiers and tropes of indie movies. The impetus behind this post has been two movies I've seen in the last fortnight, both of which are ostensibly banal Hollywood genre movies that tried to decorate unimaginative characters and plots with indie songs and images in a superficial attempt to connect with/conflate themselves with a demographic that A) enjoys basking in their own reproduced codes, and B) shuns cultural product made from mainstream media outlets/isn't championed by blogs (this is an important caveat, since 'Where The Wild Things Are' is a movie from a major studio that still excites the indie kids).

I would have to identify myself as part of the indie crowd. I love the fact that it's incredibly codified - music and image have always been connected and to say that visual and musical aesthetics should be totally disengaged is rubbish. Style is important and exciting. It obviously goes too far at times, but this has been the folly of the subculture since way back. While I mention above that us indie kids love recognising and reproducing our stylistic codes, nothing annoys us more than when those codes are adopted by outsiders for commercial reasons.

This brings us to 500 Days of Summer, and Whip It.

I'll start with the latter since it annoyed me most. Whip It is essentially a sports movie wherein a small town character wants to play a sport in spite of disapproval from her parents and other typical obstacles, while also, through this sport, meeting a romantic counterpart bringing its own complications. The supposed difference with Whip It is that the sport in question is female roller derby, which is admittedly a much grungier, underground sport than a lot of sport movies delve into. But the superficial and highly-sanitised world of roller derby presented here is not enough of a subcultural hook on which to hang the otherwise typical story; nor is enough to have a character dress like Daria to tell us that she is alternative. I won't go into the details of the plot because that's irrelevant to my point. Suffice it to say that if you are surprised by anything in this entire movie then you have probably never watched a film in your entire life.

No, besides the plot, what offended me most was the bold and careless appropriation of indie/alternative images and references. There is one scene in which the main character and the love interest (who of course plays in a band that sound exactly like The Libertines) sit in front of a giant mural painting of Daniel Johnston's The Unfinished Album. It's almost as subtle as when the mother and daughter reconcile in front of the fridge, which happens to have a LOVE HEART MAGNET POSITIONED IN THE MIDDLE - just in case you didn't realise that this was a moment of reconciliation. But then, in case you didn't get that this move is alternative, that same male character later wears a t-shirt bearing THE SAME DANIEL JOHNSTON IMAGE later on. Twice within twenty minutes we are bombarded with a cartoon that would mean nothing to most of the audience were it not for the fact that it's now plastered all over Guitar Hero as well.

I won't go into the soundtrack (which is ever present beneath the movie and plays like a fifty-year-old's guide to indie music) and the fact that the roller derby community overtly adheres to the typical patriarchal and heterosexual norms of the culture to which they are apparently opposed (although I will point out the unnecessary references they make to several characters' sexuality, just to clear up an ambiguity the audience might've had). Take my word for it that this is trite and unnecessary.

Now for 500 Days of Summer, a film that billed itself as a not-your-typical love story but is, in fact, very much a typical love story. The structure of the film itself suggests those involved were aiming for an updated Annie Hall, but where that film went for equally flawed, three-dimensional, occasionally-likable characters that engage in intelligent conversation, 500 Days does none of these things. For the record, having two characters with diametrically opposed views of relationships entering into one does not result in any meaningful interrogation of relationships; two caricatures positioned at either extreme of the relationship-outlook spectrum do not provide any insight when thrown together.

That's largely the story, a typical odd couple situation. The twist is that they don't end up together, and they flog it as though that's never been done before in the history of cinema. It also includes the obligatory indie soundtrack, the indie dress sense (skinny ties and cardigans, both of which I own and sport regularly), and the fact that it stars Mrs Death Cab For Cutie. There's also some obtuse surrealistic moments that feel like they were thrown in as an afterthought so as to appear more 'experimental' (read: non mainstream). These scenes include: a visit to the cinema in which the character sees himself playing out a French art house movie on the big screen; a scene in which the story is presented split-screen, one side showing the actual events and one side showing the idealised events; and a scene in which everything turns into a cartoon sketch a la Juno.

The thing is that neither of these two movies would be so offensive if they didn't so aggressively - but also lazily - try and align themselves with a style and culture to which they don't belong. The superficial attempts they present make both feel fairly ingenuous and don't invite good-will.

I blame Juno for these two movies, which is a shame since that movie was really good. Yes, it was jam packed with indie references and codes, but it was actually funny, the characters were real, and you actually got the sense that these guys might just know something about the subcultural world into which they'd been posited. But alas, Juno took a lot of money and went on to win an Oscar and so now we are left to suffer through the Juno-lite run-throughs of less-imaginative minds that only further destroy any value left in the prominent '00s indie signifiers flogged here.

Alternative culture has been through this before, and it moves on and comes up with something new. This isn't the end of the world, but it is very annoying.

(Clarification: I use the words 'offended' and 'offensive' quite liberally above. I am not actually personally offended that my beloved indie tropes have been used by the mainstream, I am mainly offended that someone out there thought I was stupid enough to blindly lap it up in place of any story or characters).

mixing failure

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 03:01:00 +0000

So I just finished mixing one of the Ticky-Tak songs we'll be uploading tomorrow. It's an epic song, it took a long time to mix, and I was pretty happy with it...

And then I realised I hadn't even recorded the bass yet, let alone mixed it. And now I'm sad.

I know - how meticulous a craftsman, how skilled and attentive a musician must I be to finish this work of art only to later realise that one of the main elements of a popular music song was missing? The obvious answer is: not a very good one. But this answer is wrong; I am slightly above average, and in my defense this song has upward of 60 tracks hovering around (an indicator of my penchant for excess more than anything else). Still, this is quite the (isolated, not-reflective-of-me-as-a-whole) failure on my part - and more than that, has meant that I've literally pissed my entire day thus far against the wall.

I'm currently thinking that the track will be uploaded sans bass tomorrow, and the bass can then be an extra surprise in a few weeks. If nothing else it gives us another excuse to drum up some future anticipation/hype - marketing 101, guys. Or, in other words, it's laziness repackaged as a cunning attention-grabbing ploy amongst our handful of fans.

I'm about to go work on my Lost Valentinos review for The Vine before I continue mixing. I have a dream that one day I'll be able to pay someone to mix our stuff. Hopefully that day arrives before I strike my computer down and/or go deaf.

Also, the 'ghost organ' I referred to on Ticky-Tak's blog is still yet to be located. The mystery van is on its way.

aural exhaustion (+ normal exhaustion)

noreply@blogger.com (Matt Hickey) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 09:08:00 +0000

I've spent the last few hours with my Senheisser headphones on attempting to mix a few of my band's tracks, since I may have publicly promised to have them online by Friday. Not that anyone will be too devastated if I fail, it's more of a motivational technique designed to snap me out of idling perfectionism. And I wonder why I'm steadily going deaf...

Anyway, I've been sat here since six, slowly growing to hate my own tunes as cymbals, kick drums and all other array of sounds steadily disappear from the mix. Right now, all I'm hearing is a tambourine - which, jaunty as it is, is still largely unhelpful since a solitary tambourine hardly maketh a song. I'm told not to mix through headphones, but this way those fortunate enough to be near me escape the repetitive sonic battery. I know, I'm a martyr right?

My actual body is also fairly exhausted. I played squash for the first time since I got back from Europe today - turns out Europe and Boot Camp aren't the same thing.

Some rad things also happened today, like this rad, Cure-referencing track magically landing in my SoundCloud inbox. You should check it out. I love my SoundCloud account, it's like some sort of glorious, intangible stocking that fills up like it's Xmas every day. (And by 'my' SoundCloud account I mean 'whothehell.net's' SoundCloud account). I also did some work on Rahool's traitorous MySpace page; I'd like to have had the fortitude not to condone her back-stabbing side-project ways but I'm enjoying Photoshop way too much at the moment to pass it up. It's fairly basic, but you'd be surprised how easily I can be impressed with my own limited abilities. Money doesn't buy happiness, extremely small expectations do.

Having enjoyed this brief respite, I'm going to return to my tambourine solo of a song. I'll let you know when it's up, or you could just check Ticky-Tak's blog yourself.

(Yes, we are called Ticky-Tak. We literally drew it out of a hat after certain members of the band deemed 'Pink Tight Raptors' too lame).