Thom Yorke – “Hearing Damage”

Thom Yorke of Radiohead.

It has been a busy year for Thom Yorke of Radiohead. The band has released two new singles within the past three months: “Harry Patch (In Memory Of)” and “These Are My Twisted Words.” You’ll hear neither on the radio. Yorke has also released two solo singles of his own, a cover of Mark Mulcahy’s “All for the Best” and a double A-side 12-inch of the songs “Feeling Pulled Apart by Horses” and “The Hollowed Earth.” In addition to this, he’s started an as of yet unnamed new band with Flea, Nigel Godrich, and others.

You’ll hear a lot of varying opinions on said activity if you ask a bunch of Radiohead fans. Opinions are pretty divided, but the general consensus seems to be that the new tracks are nifty, even pretty good, but a bit of a disappointment. I personally agree, for the most part. In particular, “Harry Patch,” as pretty as it is, sounds streamlined, and so do “Twisted Words” and the Yorke singles, even considering their experimentation. To me, “All for the Best” is the one that sticks out as the best, a glowing electronic pop piece. With all this said, I’ve been playing all of these tracks fairly often recently, so my disappointment is obviously rather minimal.

The latest bit of Thom Yorke related news involves one of the stranger releases of this year, the indie/alternative rock star-studded “The Twilight Saga: New Moon” soundtrack, which contains the work of Grizzly Bear and Beach House’s Victoria LeGrand, Bon Iver and St. Vincent, Death Cab for Cutie, The Killers, Muse and Thom Yorke himself, among others. Someone involved with the Twilight Saga clearly had a large wad of cash to blow and happened to decide that this soundtrack merited it.

Mmm, mmm, kiss me Edward Cullen, kiss me lest I stain my petticoat with mine beads of anticipatory perspiration.

As you can expect from a cast like that, the disc is scattered in quality. It is split pretty much half and half between (and this is just one man’s opinion here) lame alternative-lite shit and moody, thoughtful pieces. Yorke leads the latter pack with his new song “Hearing Damage.”

As I write this, I’ve listened to the song maybe around ten times, and it is really beginning to bother me. I’m imagining Mr. Yorke would either take this as a bit of a put-down or a complement, and I should hope the latter. A lot of Radiohead’s greatest work has been willfully difficult and experimental, and every one of their albums within the past nine years have their artfully disturbing moments. Thom Yorke took the band’s electronic paranoia to another level with his excellent 2006 solo album The Eraser. Not many other artists have the ability to reliably get under a listener’s skin with their music.

“Hearing Damage” wouldn’t sound out of place on The Eraser, and for that reason complaints of Yorke not progressing his style beyond dark electronic music may be legitimate, but this also means that Yorke has really started to cement his own style as a solo artist, and we can tell that this is a Thom Yorke track immediately upon hearing it. The song still has it’s own thing going, though. It taps into something primal, and we can point to the pulsing, irregular rhythm for part of the explanation.

The piece seems to build and build and not climax, and it’s sonic identity is built around a shuddering, bassy synth. It is heard throughout the track, dipping in and out and warping as the song draws to a close, and is also mirrored by higher pitched synths throughout. In opposition to this inventiveness is that this track is slickly produced, as expected for a song on the soundtrack of a major motion picture. How complex and disturbing the song is contrasts with its immediacy.

As far as Yorke’s vocals and lyrics go, we are reminded here why he is still one of the best vocalists around. As we have heard on Radiohead albums as well as The Eraser, a little bit of echo goes a long way for Yorke, and raises his emotional momentum a hell of a lot. His singing here is hushed, also a lot like it was on the majority of songs on The Eraser.

The lyrics are, as expected, the heart of the song, and they solidify “Hearing Damage” as a classic cut. “You can do no wrong / in my eyes, in my eyes” may sound like sexy vampire type shit, but it’s got the typical Yorke sleeper effect, and when you really think about it, it’s pretty creepy. He switches back and forth between first and second person point of view here, and there is no short supply of affecting material. Even more harrowing: “A drunken salesman / your hearing damage / your mind is restless / they say you’re getting better, but you don’t feel any better.”

A slithering earworm, “Hearing Damage” crawls into your consciousness, stays there, and haunts you, like tinnitus. It’s no surprise that it is the odd duck out on this soundtrack, and nothing else sounds half as creative. Granted, its competition is lukewarm and straightforward, but the curiosity of how the song might be used in New Moon almost makes me feel like I could tolerate two hours of vampire smut to know. Well, not really. But it’s further proof that Thom Yorke still has the capacity to make great music in 2009, and paired with some of the other good compositions here, makes the soundtrack worth the price of admission.

Admit it guys, pretty much the story of our lives for the past two years.

NOTICE: As you can see, all of the Radio Cure playlist posts have been deleted. Don’t worry, you can still view them on the “Radio Playlists” page, now accessible from the sidebar. I did this to open up space on the front page for more interesting posts, as the front page was getting cluttered with playlists that I post weekly and didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of content.

Zombieland

Zombieland

For a certain niche of b-movie enthusiasts, Zombieland is a dream come true. The film’s premise is that the entire globe is overrun by zombies, and few lone survivors remain in the mostly destroyed wasteland to kick ass and take names with giant vehicles, shotguns and a nearly endless supply of ammo. Let’s face it guys, and I’m talking to you fellow zombie flick fans here, you’ve wanted to be in a situation like this for your entire lives, and you have all of the plans written out in your head already. You know which neighbors have guns, you know where you would run to, and you have the rules of zombie busting remembered by heart. The characters in this film mention these things in an almost obligatory way, but for you, it goes without saying.

Part of the fun of the flicks which Zombieland plays off of are their predictability. People can draw mental prototypes about them because they have seen the elements hundreds of times, and rules like “Check the back seat” and “Double tap” are the kinds of things you wish you could tell characters in most zombie flicks. But these characters know them and, unlike most other zombie flick characters, are actually relatively smart, although they make a couple decisions that even the casual movie-goer would easily recognize as a bad idea (Doesn’t fleeing from zombies by riding the Giant Drop sound like a terrible idea the second you read it?).

How can you not love this shot?

But that’s just about the only thing that sets them apart. These characters are built up well but also build from other familiar character prototypes: The soul-seeking youth, the southern tough guy, the independent babe and her spunky little sister. They have surprises, but like zombies, they are reliable and seem doomed to their lonely existence. All named after towns and cities in the U.S., the characters spend an awful lot of their time traveling, but find time to enjoy the little things in life, like building couch forts, bashing ghouls’ heads in with banjos and a never ending quest for Twinkies.

Actually, all three of those activities are primarily enjoyed by the aforementioned tough guy Tallahassee played by Woody Harrelson, who just steals the show in this film. His acting here reminds us of why he is a great American actor; his cool composition carries through his characters so strongly that when he does irregular things like have a temper tantrum and break all the windows on a random car or break down crying when he remembers his lost son, we are shocked but accept the vulnerability unconditionally. However, it does help him that he is sorely out of place among the other amateur actors here, namely Jesse Eisenberg (who is essentially Michael Cerra with a shorter resume), Emma Stone (who is essentially Megan Fox with a longer resume) and Abigail Breslin (who just might be the most hyped child actor since the Olsen twins). The only really solid acting to accompany Harrelson comes with the film’s jaw dropping cameo appearance, which I won’t spoil.

Harrelson, designated badass/goofball since White Men Can't Jump.

…But I’ll level, everyone here brings the giggles more than a dozen times. Did I mention this film is a comedy? And it’s hilarious? I know many of you are probably die-hard Sean of the Dead fans and might imagine if another successful zombie spoof is possible. While Sean of the Dead was hilarious, it also had some subtly observant things to say not just about zombie movies but about people. The zombies in Zombieland might have a meaningful existence, but they need not justify the film. By now, zombies are as much a legitimate part of culture as vampires are, and we all know how current vampire appeal is.

Yes, Zombieland is also a satire, and this is good, because we laughed about elements like these when they weren’t even supposed to be funny. But when Eisenberg’s character Columbus wakes in the morning to find the cute girl from down the hall that fell asleep on the couch with him has turned into a flesh-eating monster, we giggle, and then full out laugh when he narrates to us: “The first time I let a girl into my life, and she tries to eat me.” He says it with some tired acceptance, as if it isn’t even a surprise. That’s hard not to both laugh and nod at.

One of many of this film's moments which leave the audience screaming, for whatever reason.

But director Ruben Fleischer takes the elements of zombie film and runs with them, shamelessly having fun. Which is another thing zombie fans love: a little bit of unaddultered violence. For this reason it is more than a comedy with some of the funniest material you have heard all year. It is also an action flick, and there are more heads rolling (as well as doing other gross, over the top things) than there were in Sean. Within five minutes, the film earns its stripes when Columbus begins a long list of zombie busting rules over small vignettes of innocent bystanders getting munched, as well as his own ridiculous attempt at escaping two zombies at a gas station.

What makes this film a success is that it manages to be both familiar as well as surprising, funny in addition to cathartic, without losing its momentum. Yeah, there’s the obligatory bunt to first base and other such calculated cheese, but isn’t that something we see road films for? Why can’t this film be both of those, too? It earns all these rights somehow, be it through its funny writing, shameless shock tactics and a biting self-awareness. You’ll come out of Zombieland having experienced one hell of a synthesis of contemporary film, and it’s likely that you’ll be willing to see it again and again until you can cheer and recite the lines by heart.

32. Enjoy the little things.

Mew – No More Stories / Are Told Today / I’m Sorry / They Washed Away // No More Stories / The World Is Grey / I’m Tired / Let’s Wash Away

I don’t have a lot of energy right now, as it is late and I am back late from a show, but I am now listening to this album and feel that it deserves a shout out. So I’m going to give my incomplete, unedited take on it.

As the year progresses, more and more albums are catching my ear that impress me. I’ll be blunt by saying that No More Stories… is one of those albums. It is different from Mew’s previous LP, And The Glass Handed Kites (which, man, came out four years ago already?) in that it is very much a set of songs as opposed to a long suite. Each song is individual and memorable. This is due in part to Mew’s frequent tendency to experiment a little, and thus we get songs like “New Terrain” (which when played backwards reveals a completely different song. what’s shocking is that both songs are actually good), “Introducing Palace Players” (a fractured, no-tempo stomp), and “Cartoons and Macrame Wounds” (which begins at it’s climax and works backwards). These songs are pretty out there at first listen, but give them a little time and the pieces click into place and they are ultimately enticing. They are just new and different enough to be fascinating but they also have more conventional, melodic elements to them, and Mew are very good at melody. The album isn’t all experimentalism though; there are a couple more streamlined tunes here, but they aren’t by any means radio pop. “Repeaterbeater” reminisces of “Apocalypso” off of Glass Handed Kites in that it is shamelessly riffy hard rock. I’ll put another thing bluntly. This album is loaded. It’s got a lot of really memorable songs, and really no bad songs. Even the longer, downtempo pieces (“Silas the Magic Car,” “Cartoons and Macrame Wounds”) are top notch chamber dream pop despite being a little less involving. After maybe two listens, everything here is as familiar and excellent sounding as on Mew’s previous albums. The selection of songs that are excellent here is pretty overwhelming. Besides what I’ve already mentioned, “Beach,” “Hawaii Dream” (the album’s centerpiece, a tiny interlude. how funny that it ends up being one of the more memorable tracks on the album.), “Hawaii” (this one is just perfect, a charming tropical pop song complete with marimbas and skybound reverberating vocals), and “Sometimes Life Isn’t Easy” are all instantly classic Mew. And on the latter, Mew manage to match their awesome guest spot from J Mascis on Glass Handed Kites’ “Why Are You Looking Grave” with a showstopping performance from Mari Helgerlikova, an 88 year old Danish avant-garde singer. Basically, get this album for Christ’s sake. Mew make music that is, like much great art, just new and interesting enough to be engaging, but isn’t too far out. They are completely unabashed in their pop and rock sensibilities while still having the bravery to utilize conventions of many of their favorite genres such as shoegaze, dream pop, progressive rock and even classical pop. You could make a pretty good case that this is Mew’s best album to date. I can hear the complaint already that some might think that this album is tired, but it aknowledges this in it’s title, and knows it. Life can be weary and overbearing but finding refuge in quality music, whether it is music you can rock out to or curl up on the couch with, is pure satisfaction.

Two Notices

I have a couple important announcements to make. The first is that my radio show, Radio Cure, will return this semester on George Washington University radio, WRGW. It has a new time, Saturdays from 10 PM to 12 AM EST. The show is still a new music rotation show, which means I will play the best new music as well as other music of my choice, just like last semester. I’d have to say last semester turned out to be incredible and I can only anticipate that this semester will be even better. You can stream WRGW at www.gwradio.com, and I believe that you can also stream it through the Radio tab on your iTunes under College / University Radio. I’m really excited to host Radio Cure again, and I hope you all get the chance to tune in. Also, after each show I will be posting the playlist here on the blog for everyone to view.

I would also like to announce a new page for the blog which has a lot of personal significance to me. The new page on my music box collection will from hereon out be updated as I get new music boxes. I hope you enjoy reading about my boxes as much as I enjoyed writing about them.

Thanks, and expect more updates in the upcoming weeks,

-Alex

Kurt Vile – God Is Saying This to You…

I’m going to be honest, 2009. You’re really disappointing me. We’re almost a full eight months into the year, and musically this is one one of the most disappointing years I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s just last year’s utter blowout that couldn’t help but put this year to shame. Even since my end of the year Best of 2008 list was published, I keep on finding awesome albums from 2008. So maybe this year just seems like it sucks in comparison. It’s not like there haven’t been any good albums this year: Animal Collective, Neko Case, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Phoenix and Dinosaur Jr. have all released albums that I have liked a lot, and there are a smattering of other albums that I’ve also enjoyed well enough (Tiny Vipers, Clark, and Matt & Kim have had some of the more low key releases that I’m fond of). But the truth is that only one album this year has really wowed me, and as far as I’m concerned it is the only great album of 2009 thus far that I’ve found. By all means, prove me wrong! Give me some recommendations here! I’d be more than willing to give this album some company, but for now I want to give said album some recognition.

Kurt Vile - God Is Saying This to You...

The truth with folk singer Kurt Vile is self evident; he is a gifted songwriter, and although Constant Hitmaker might be more of a sensible, song based release, there is something special and unique about God Is Saying This To You, a limited release album packaged with the vinyl reissue of Hitmaker. For starters, it is more toned down and acoustic compared to Hitmaker, making it much more personal and understated. Of the twelve songs here, six are fully formed folk songs and they are all excellent, and among the best and most emotionally affecting songs of the year. Of the remaining six, one (“White Riffs”) is a tiny guitar interlude and the other five are short retro electronic experiments. I can anticipate the complaint that the album would seem like only half of a fully formed folk album, the other half useless ham. But those six songs are just too interesting to ignore. They feel like the norm, some strange everyday events, and also further accentuate the folk songs. When Vile sings on the folk songs, he makes every word count, and his lyrics are just as haunting and gripping as his guitar work, mostly because they, like the interludes, feel like regular events with powerful gravity. Often times Vile leaves large instrumental gaps in his pieces, and when he finally speaks subtle words about social anxiety or simple pleasures, they are completely memorable. I wish I could cite them here but I would hate to ruin them for a first listener. And the first time I listened to this, it ended in what felt like just a matter of minutes. Granted, it is a short album, but it strikes a very strange, personal chord. Don’t be surprised if you come back begging for more like I did. I hope Vile’s excellence really is as reliable as it seems. He’s just signed to Matador, and his new album, Childish Prodigy, is due out in October, so keep an ear open. Vile has a two album winning streak going and he’s at a full sprint, so let’s see if he can keep it going.

Lollapalooza 2009: Sunday

On August 9th, I attended yet another music festival, but only for a single day. I didn’t have the cash to attend all three days of Lollapalooza 2009, not to mention the lineup didn’t really excite me this year, but I’d say I got my money’s worth on the one day I did attend. I had so much fun last year that I couldn’t pass up at least one day this time, and although the day was money well spent, it was more of an interesting exploration, as opposed to last years unaddulterated fun.

We started the day in the beautiful/burning hot Grant Park off with Bat for Lashes on the Vitaminwater stage. The singer songwriter Natasha Khan drew a big crowd, and when she got on stage and started playing, her music oddly enough fit the mood of the day. Her style of fairy-tale rock seems out of place in what is usually considered an “alternative rock festival,” but is that really what Lollapalooza is anymore? The dramatic hooks, diverse instrumentation and arcane lyrics had life breathed into them from the hugeness of the stage and the wind that blew over the band and the giant curtains. Also particularly strong was the percussion, which often times took on a sun-baked electronic flair. Khan herself is as attractive of a personality as she is a person. She apologized for the heat and seemed to be only visually suffering from it as much as we were. She stated her worry that dry-mouth might hinder her vocal performance but throughout the show, her vocals were sweeping and impressive.

So why was I bored with the show? My immediate thought on this is probably the most meaningful; the songs sounded exactly like the album versions. Which in some ways is fine, because Khan’s albums are pretty damn good. But I’m reminded of many other festival experiences I have had this year, especially the Pitchfork Music Festival, that had me thinking about what I want in a show. I want my live music to be something that truly benefits me seeing the artist live over just sitting at home listening to an album, and that does not include a pretty face. Khan and her band did bring the goods more than once, enough to make the show worth it. “You might want to dance along to this one,” said Khan before firing into an uptempo rendition of “Sleep Alone” from her latest album Two Suns. Bat for Lashes really benefits when the band try to get their audience dancing. Even on the more hushed numbers, the big beats do their work. But clearly not enough for me, admittedly a head-nodder and an easily bored show-hopper. I’m glad I saw Bat for Lashes, but I didn’t need to see them for more than a half hour.

So we got the Citi Bank stage early enough to see most of Cage the Elephant’s set, who were just awful. Frontman Matt Shultz was stoned beyond the level that a frontman should be, and I can’t tell if it hindered his performance or if his vocals really are that bad without any help. The band’s southern rock songwriting and delivery is almost comically bland and standard, but the audience, now mostly consisting of bros, just ate it up. It is now that I recognize that the crowd of Lollapalooza has drastically changed. Of course, shirtless jocks were just as big a part of Rage Against the Machine last year, but here they seem to have more attitude and majority.

But they all cleared out after that show, leaving a scant few to wait for the eclectic electronic/noise/world music band Gang Gang Dance to start. Most of these people were probably actually waiting for Passion Pit or Deerhunter instead, and I think I was the only one in the early audience to wave my hand when someone else asked “Does anyone else here actually listen to Gang Gang Dance?” This might as well have been the show I was most excited for on this day, mostly because I love this band and am always jumping at opportunities to see world music influenced shows these days (I am the one who has seen Yeasayer three times in the past year).

So I loved this set despite it’s shortcomings, and there were a few. The sound levels seemed a bit off, and Liz Bougatsos’ wonderful vocals weren’t given enough volume. I can’t tell if this was actually because something was wrong, or because we were in the second row, or because it was just one of the loudest shows I’ve ever heard. The only other show I can think of being worthy of comparison would be Animal Collective’s set at the Pitchfork Festival last year. At that show, the sound of the band was sometimes so convoluted and loud that I often couldn’t hear what I was hearing. This simultaneously frustrating and awesome occurrence happened here at Gang Gang Dance a few times, but even though this was clearly the louder and more experimental show, I found that the sound generally had more clarity and punch to it than Animal Collective did, even though the bands might have uncannily similar descriptions in the Lollapalooza handbook.

But fuck all the descriptions and preconceived notions; you can’t really prepare yourself for a Gang Gang Dance show. It’s just something different than most anything you’ve seen before. The band’s songwriting only adheres to the notion that songs should include guitars and drums, but for a lot of the show, three out of four band members were hitting away at drums and samplers and the guitar was used more as a slow burning electronic instrument, making this a very percussively strong show. Some of the band’s more accessible songs came from last year’s excellent Saint Dymphna, such as the high as the sun “Vacuum” and the down-the-rabbit-hole dance burner “House Jam.” The electronic production from Brian DeGraw simply rocked in a way that I haven’t seen an electronic artist do so before, and his noise passages were really fun and fascinating to listen to. In fact, when I compare them again to fellow psychedelic band Animal Collective (who by all accounts played a very mediocre set on Saturday), Gang Gang Dance seemed to be more complex and experimental and yet still so much more immediate and likable. Also, they might have had the most entertaining set of roadies I have seen in a while; Can someone get me an “OH SHIT, GANG GANG” shirt, please?

I didn’t know exactly what to expect for Passion Pit because I didn’t know their music. By the time they started, I was reminded of what kind of shows I don’t like. The crowd was, for the first hundred feet or so, a gigantic, sweaty, pulsing mosh pit. I decided pretty early that I was sick of having man titties rubbed up against me and barely being able to stand, so I worked my way back in the crowd, got some refreshments, and watched from far away. Which I was just fine with, because I don’t know or care enough about Passion Pit’s music enough to endure the newly awakened Bro-a-Palooza. However, this band amassed an incredibly large crowd. Even from hundreds of feet away, the area was still packed, and the crowd was going fucking nuts. And these guys do have a certain minor gravity. Even I found myself tapping my foot from far away.

Easy, unprofessional bro music? Yes indeed, but when I found myself wrapped up in my elitist thoughts – this is just stupid party music – I had to stop and remind myself that these guys drew a massive, enthusiastic crowd. People love this band, and their music is, to these fans, unstoppable. Towards the latter half of the show, a balding man named Josh greeted me and asked me if that was a girl singing on stage. I said that amazingly it was a guy, and he seemed stunned. He kept asking me, “that’s really a guy?” He said he couldn’t get to the festival any earlier than just recently, if I recall correctly because he couldn’t get off of work, and that he was thinking of seeing Vampire Weekend and The Killers. He proclaimed that he really liked what he was hearing at this stage and proceed to walk his way into the inner crowd. I was left just as bewildered as he was seconds ago. Who’s the teenager here?

When Deerhunter hit the stage next, Bradford Cox seemed frustrated and unhappy. It might be enough that his band had to go up against festival juggernauts Lou Reed and Snoop Dogg, and it looked like he was having pedal issues, but he seemed too distressed too early for things like that. During sound check he seemed quite grumpy and kept to himself, though when he did give the audience his attention he charmingly smiled, waved, and greeted. What we found later during the show was that, according to Cox, he has the H1N1 virus and recently got a shot of B-12. Regardless of whether it was the virus or the meds, he was clearly tripping for the vast majority of the show, and after the show got off the ground, Cox’s anxiety turned to ecstasy. He noted that to him the audience looked like a massive ocean of faceless flesh, recounted a hilarious story of his hallucinations that morning in a Holiday Inn that featured a Mayan themed water park, and threatened to play Snoop Dogg and Velvet Underground songs. And they would have fucking done it too; they had three fourths of the band playing “What Goes On” before Cox asked where his drummer was, to which Moses Archuleta bitched that he didn’t know the drum part (and apparently just couldn’t improvise something. Come on man, Velvet Underground percussion is simple shit, and it’s not like Deerhunter’s is that much more complex.) But through all of this, Cox looked not only slightly terrified but also completely giddy. By the end of the show, he looked ready to pass out but was all smiles.

With that said, all of the banter was just as epic as the music, which went on shockingly unhindered by Bradford Cox’s state of mind. Cox is an electrifying stage presence, and he never fails to bring a smile to the audience, even when he is rambling at what may at first seem like a little too long. But Deerhunter’s set was long and strong enough to live up to the almost legendary hype that has surrounded the band since they hit it big with Cryptograms in 2007 and has accompanied them up through their current tour with Dan Deacon and No Age. The band’s pieces are usually long and reverb-laden, and even their earlier, tougher material sounds lush with Cox and second guitarist Lockett Pundt’s work, which ranges from beautiful atmospherics to tough riffing. The drums and bass are often the driving power behind the songs, as simple as their parts can be. Pieces can range almost to ten minutes of squealing feedback and vocals repeated like mantra, and the rhythm section is slow and brooding. All of those elements sound like they should build up to some terrifying GY!BE type shit, but Deerhunter are actually a really beautiful sounding band, and the songs from the albums sound even more uplifting and brilliant live as on record. Although Cox may have playfully played the band down, it’s not hard to see Deerhunter pulling in as big of a crowd as his competition on Saturday within a couple more years.

To me, it was a no brainer choosing between Deerhunter, Snoop Dogg and Lou Reed. I knew in my head that, considering my lack of familiarity with Lou Reed’s solo work and my love for Deerhunter, there would be no reason for me to see Reed other than to be able to say I saw him. But there was still a tinge of disappointment in my heart knowing I’d miss a punk rock ‘n roll legend that might not be around that much longer, despite my expectations that his show might be a little slow. So I was delighted to find that by the time Deerhunter ended and I was walking over to the Budweiser stage to wait for Jane’s Addiction. Granted, I only ended up hearing one song from Lou Reed and his band, but if you’re only going to see Lou Reed perform one song, “Walk on the Wild Side” is pretty ideal. And Reed sounded a lot like I thought he would. Kinda old, kinda slow, kinda fried, kinda awesome. I’m glad I went for the superlative set and didn’t settle for a “kinda” show, but I’m happy that I got to see him play one good song. It’ll be one to tell the grandkids.

But that story will probably be a side note to my accounts of Jane’s Addiction. Granted, seeing Jane’s Addiction headline Lollapalooza seems legendary right off the bat, and I had to give credit to Perry Farrell, a man who has poured his life into fourteen years of Lollapalooza over the past two decades, as well as the rest of Jane’s Addiction, who headlined the first Lollapalooza in 1991. This was Jane’s Addiction’s moment to shine, with their original lineup on the main stage of one of the most renowned music festivals in the world, which they themselves founded.

But I’ll be damned if they didn’t earn it right there and then. Jane’s Addiction really rocked that stage. This show is just about the greatest major stadium show I’ve ever seen, even standing strong against headliners last year like Radiohead, Rage Against the Machine and Nine Inch Nails. Jane’s Addiction delivered the balls out hard rock goods that was exactly what this year needed with it’s otherwise mostly tame lineup. Perry Farrell is still a magnetic frontman who can hype up an audience like no other, Dave Navarro is an incredible and fun guitarist, Eric Avery rumbles the ground with his basslines and Steve Perkin’s is a behemoth on drums (despite the fact that his elbow was fucked up and two specialists said that he shouldn’t play the show). Everything about the delivery here was spot on. What shocked me the most was that the guys don’t seem like they are half as old as they actually are. No one in the band looks or acts older than thirty five. Perry Farrell, originally dressed in sequins pants and vest, still looks like he did twenty years ago, chizzled with nary a wrinkle at a ripe fifty years old. Dave Navarro is even more cut and still seems to not own a shirt, and he’s probably better off. These guys look and sound probably even better than they did at Lollapalooza ‘91, judging from the footage of that performance.

Musically they were spot on, tearing through a set that included classics from the band’s original incarnation in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Songs like “Mountain Song,” “Oceanside,” “Whores” and “Three Days” were given great live treatment that only compounds the energy of the originals threefold, and crowd favorites “Been Caught Stealin’” and “Stop!” got a big crowd response. There was a sort of spectacle to the delivery, yes. Giant paper waves came out of the pit for “Oceanside,” streamers flew over the audience at the conclusion of “Stop,” voluptuous women danced on elevated platforms, and Farrell invited Aerosmith guitarist Joe Perry to join the band for the final performance of “Jane Says.” The general complaint seems to be that these tricks are hammy and overblown, but to me they seem relatively tame. Maybe it’s just because I’ve seen the Flaming Lips twice this year, or maybe it’s because I’m comparing this festival show to the band’s recent club shows that featured fire-breathing strippers. In my opinion, Jane’s Addiction like their audience to have fun just as much as they do, and there is nothing wrong with that. It seems like one of alternative rock’s greatest bands is still under-appreciated.

Which isn’t to say that the band didn’t attract a big crowd; the entire weekend was a complete sellout, like last year, and tens of thousands watched Jane’s Addiction tear it up. But the crowd, mostly consisting of middle aged rockers and young classicists, was awkwardly quiet at encore time and wasn’t giving the band nearly the feedback I would have expected. An especially unnerving moment came early on in the set, when Farrell triumphantly yelled “What the fuck is this!? 80,000 punk rockers?? What the FUCK is this!?” I must have been beaming in affection at Farrell’s words, but then it occurred to me that his calculation couldn’t have been correct.

Lollapalooza was founded in 1991 as being a showcase for what was called then “alternative rock.” Lineup selection has usually reflected this, and when it hasn’t, the choices have still ended up being pretty awesome (Kanye West and Daft Punk come to mind). However, I’m still one of those fans of the music which Lollapalooza was born on, although I’m still not sure that I even know what “alternative rock” means. Looking back at previous years’ lineups, I pretty much salivate over the bands that played from 1991 to 1995, when I was a toddler and couldn’t have possibly attended the festival. I saw a guy in the crowd for, interestingly enough, Passion Pit, who had a Lollapalooza 1993 shirt on. Among the bands that played in ‘93 were Alice in Chains, Primus, Dinosaur Jr., Tool, Rage Against the Machine, Sebadoh and Mercury Rev. It occurred to me that I would have killed to have been ten years older in ‘93. I complimented the guy, and he said that he brings out the shirt about once every five years.

I’ll level; I feel old. I’m nineteen years old and I feel like I’m one of the few people I know that would consider themselves a fan of hard rock. Some of the same bands that were on the guys shirt have even played Lollapalooza since it’s 2005 revival. Hell, Jane’s Addiction, the original spirit of the festival, headlined this year and I loved every overblown, commercialized minute of it. And it was commercialized, because there is still a market for Jane’s Addiction. If there wasn’t, they wouldn’t have played. Lollapalooza, and the entire festival circuit, is now part of the music business. Even though I scoffed at the fact that The Killers were chosen to headline this year, I had no right to scoff at their crowd, which I’m sure was 50,000 strong. Hell, the festival completely sold out again this year, so someone is doing their job right.

In a nutshell, at Jane’s Addiction I felt like an old spirit in a new environment. Just as I’m sure that rock music will never completely leave festivals like Lollapalooza, I’m not completely a classicist; I had just as much fun at Deerhunter and Gang Gang Dance as I did at Jane’s Addiction, and the word “alternative” doesn’t mean anything more to me than the word “indie” does. But it’s obvious and sensible that the nature of this festival is changing, and I find myself watching this happen, a little uncomfortable. But I doubt you’ll see me steering away. I’ll probably have just as much confused fun next year.

Ponyo

Often times, films are marketed as “family movies,” and most times these films put the parents to sleep and only keep the kids marginally entertained. Ponyo, the latest film from Studio Ghibli director and legendary animator Hayao Miyazaki, couldn’t have had everyone’s eyes more glued to the movie screen. Granted, my family consists of Studio Ghibli fans, and maybe it was our adoration of Hayao Miyazaki’s previous work that kept our eyes as wide as the film’s characters throughout our movie experience. But no one in my family that attended Ponyo was under nineteen. The children in the theater, however, were the real judges. And this is reasonable; children are the target audience here. As important as our “oo”s and “ah”s were, their interjections were key, ranging from laughs, sounds of surprise, questions, and if it could make a sound, their amazed silence. I’ll bet close to the same emotions were running through my head as well. Miyazaki’s films often have a way of making a child out of everyone; everything you see is new.

Which is not to say that every Miyazaki film is for children. 1997’s Princess Mononoke, rated PG-13, was intense even when I was thirteen (I feel sorry for all the parents who thought they were bringing their kids to another Disney Princess movie). 2004’s Howl’s Moving Castle was often times violent and melancholy, and probably went over most kids’ heads. Even Miyazaki’s commercial breakout and one of the best children’s films ever made, the 1988 film My Neighbor Totoro, was sometimes a drama about difficult emotions and problems associated with growing up. Ponyo is a bonafide children’s movie, although it may contain some moments that have bigger consequences that children may only understand the basic ideas of (a complexity of relationships, unconditional acceptance of others and a subtle environmentalism among them; and really, who doesn’t like their kids to learn from a movie?). The film, about a small boy named Sosuke and his newly found pet goldfish Ponyo, plays out and even looks like a children’s book, with colorful landscapes and objects that explode with pastel and crayola-esque animation. The story, like that of many children’s books, is basic and fundamental, and yet completely new; I never had any idea what would happen next, and was delighted by each turn of events.

Sosuke (voiced by the youngest, least well known Jonas brother Frankie Jonas) lives in a pretty normal world, in a house on a green cliff by the sea with his mother Lisa (Tina Fey) and sometimes his father Koichi (Matt  Damon), who is a sailor and spends most of his days out at sea (to the great distress of Lisa). Sosuke spends his days at school while Lisa works at the retirement home next door, which is inhabited by perhaps the most charming set of old ladies in the history of old ladies. Once Sosuke finds and subsequently loses the little human-faced goldfish Ponyo (voiced by Noah Cyrus, yet another teen pop star’s younger sibling), his world floods with excitement. It turns out that Ponyo is the daughter of an undersea wizard-type figure named Fujimoto, and thus Ponyo isn’t exactly a normal goldfish. Her character is, like Miyazaki’s other great characters, electrifying and vibrant and can’t help but leave the secondary characters in the dust, as compelling and real as they are. When Ponyo licks a drop of blood off of a cut on Sosuke’s finger, everything changes: Ponyo begins to transform into a human girl, the sea rages with Fujimoto’s search for his daughter and the moon draws closer to the earth, causing a massive flood. Ponyo sets out to find her new friend Sosuke again while a storm brews behind her.

Visually, Ponyo may rest at the top of Miyazaki’s animation achievements. Like virtually all of his other films, Ponyo is done completely by hand and contains no computer animation whatsoever, a labor of love. According to IMDB, the first twelve seconds of the film contain over 1,600 hand drawn frames and I can believe it completely. The grand total is approximately 170,000 separate images, a record for Miyazaki’s long career. This may seem like a colossal amount of material for a one hundred minute film, and it is, but many of the images are charmingly simple, more than any other Miyazaki film to date. Sometimes frames contain mostly solid colors and well defined lines, and some other times the animation rivals the startling complexity of his most involved works, particularly the incredibly detailed Howl’s Moving Castle. Already an expert in the animation of nature, Miyazaki has the entire ocean to work with here, and he does wonders with it: thousands of jellyfish, prawn and amoebae float freely in the water, crabs ranging in size from tiny to humongous sidle along the ocean floor, enormous whales swim slowly through the ocean, waves represented as giant fish terrifyingly crash into the shore and hundreds of Ponyo’s young sister goldfish act both in synchronization and independence.

Ponyo has a startling amount of material and yet feels somehow quaint, like an elongated short film. For that reason, it resembles the surprisingly short 2002 Studio Ghibli film The Cat Returns (another kids film), more than anything. Even at one hundred minutes, it feels like forty tops, and you’ll be on the edge of your seat for most of it regardless of your age. The plot contains a few head-scratchers for Western audiences. Koichi prays to the goddess of mercy, Ponyo relieves an infants cold by rubbing her face against his, and unlike other children’s fantasy films, the adults here seem to be in on the magic too. These hitches probably need no explaining or hard thinking for their homeland audience; we need to remember that Ponyo comes from the other side of the planet. Miyazaki rightfully refuses to compromise his home country’s way of life or his vision for the sake of commercial viability. For that reason alone, Ponyo will likely never receive the success or acclaim that other undersea kids films such as The Little Mermaid and Finding Nemo have, at least in the West, though it stands tall by them in quality. But perhaps these few alien concepts are all for the better. They may only reinforce that Ponyo, like Miyazaki’s other work, is like nothing you have ever seen before, except maybe only somewhat like his other work. Half of everything children see is brand new. We often take this for granted, and even forty odd years into his career, Hayao Miyazaki can still completely engross everyone in the theater, and in the process even the adults are reminded of where they came from.