The first great film of the year is a small, and likely already out of the theaters, treasure written and directed by the genius behind 2004’s brilliant “The Station Agent.” Like its predecessor, “The Visitor” is a story about a journey from loneliness back into the real world of the living. In this case a recently widowed, middle aged professor, stuck somewhere between deep professional apathy and outright depression, is given a totally unexpected shot in the arm. Summoned to NYC to present a paper to his colleagues, Walter Vale played brilliantly by Richard Jenkins from “Six Feet Under,” returns to his largely abandoned NY apartment after years away only to find two illegal aliens living inside. But after an awkward initial meeting, Jenkins begins to really gel with the young free spirited drummer from Syria, who, in the gentlest of ways reintroduces him to the simple pleasures of life. Ultimately the flim becomes more complicated exposing us to the inherent hypocracy of our immigration policy in a post 9/11 world. From the incredibly nuanced portrayal of lasting and fleeting love, to the broader issue of finding joy in life, this movie is a gem that pushes buttons but never tugs too hard. The truth is told in a quiet convincing tone but with a beautifully understated cast. This is a deep diamond in the rough.  

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I am a huge sucker for that occasional ‘big’ sounding rock band not yet big enough for me to immediately discount, yet melodic enough to enjoy as some sort of profoundly guilty pleasure without the guilt. Unfortunately armed with a silly name, sure to polarize audiences, Frightened Rabbit are a Scottish band who seem like long lost soul mates to Ireland’s Frames, Scotland’s Snow Patrol or even the recently pop-afflicted Okkervil River.

But to be clear this is large, emotive, and crescendo building rock record, but I don’t care. If not for the recurrent use of the F word, the song “Keep Yourself Warm” would blow up through the blogosphere right into the dreaded world of commercial radio. Perhaps this is why they jinxed the song in such a way. Of all the finds you are not likely to stumble upon, do seek this out!   
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Popularity: 34% [?]         No comments yet.       

Barely a month into 2008 and we already have a contender for the best record of the year. This is a soaring emotive affair filled with songs as ambitious as those of “War” era U2, and complete with an often oddly familiar sounding guitar riffs and vocals that almost allude to those of a much younger Bono. But having never seen the band live, it is hard to imagine how a two piece band can create songs at this scale. Unlike the other guitar and drum dominated duos like the White Stripes or Black Keys, The Helio Sequence creates complex song structures that remind you more of the shoegazing serenity of My Bloody Valentine, than they do of more stripped down and direct rock outfits. Like the great studio bands of the 70’s (Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan, etc.), there is a purity and a clarity that seems refreshing in an age of electronica.

The ten songs on “Keep Your Eyes Ahead” begin with big rock anthems and end in the form of a quiet folky acoustic numbers akin to what you can hear sprinkled throughout the later career Replacements albums. The band is equally capable on both ends of the spectrum, capturing both the intimacy and emotion but making sure each carefully crafted song leaves enough room for easy joy. Like labelmates Band of Horses, this is a record for people who love melody and harmony, and appreciate bands who study the history of rock and continue to add to the legacy.

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There are some voices so distinctive, so seductive that even though the basic pace and construct manages to stay the same album after album, the music always sounds new. Mark Kozalek (aka Sun Kil Moon, and former Red House Painter impresario) is one of those artists. His voice is deep and oddly flat, his songs are dark but somehow always emotive and epic seeming, and his lyrics smart, honest and poetic. He has been in films (”Almost Famous,”"Shopgirl”), covered everyone from John Denver to AC/DC to Modest Mouse, and has created a legacy of creating some of the finest records of the past fifteen years.

“April,” his first original effort in five years, is an absolute jewel. The ten songs begin with the elegiac “Lost Verse” a ten minute pristinely patient jam highlighting Kozalek’s trademarked guitar strumming, and soulful croons. His songs are stories, mostly topical observations made by people that the singer knows, might know or might have observed. Like most of his House Painters or eponymous recordings, Kozalek’s music is slow and plodding, beautiful and glimmering but only if consumed in the right state of mind. But so many of these songs just seem to slowly rise up into something bigger, longer and louder than you would hav anticipated. “April” is a stripped down affair, but one that sparkles. Cameo’s from Will Oldham and and Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard add perfect little ornaments to the preciousness of another quiet classic.

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Like a swatch cut from a cloth left behind by Nick Drake or the Fairport Convention, Mia Doi Todd’s sublime new album is that inevitable breeze blown in from the underappreciated British folk scene of the 70’s. There is a dark intensity that flows over the ten songs, and on the 10 minute epic opener “River of Life” Todd’s shimmering voice, think a darker Sandy Denny, sails patiently towards some kind of peaceful oasis hidden behind an uncanny “Pink Moon” era guitar shadow. This record is so eerily reminiscent that it is astounding to imagine it being written today.

Like the original brit-folk music that took a Volkswagen commercial twenty-five years later to revive, Todd’s art is so subtle and spare that it will hard for this to appear on today’s music radar directed by myspace and iTunes compasses. But the orchestral, often Baroque, intonations of “Gea” represents what I hope will be a rival in musical songwriting all but abandoned for electronic beats and studio bells and whistles.

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I don’t watch a lot of television beyond the odd HBO drama, but “Mad Men” is the real thing, more an epic mini-series than a cable drama. The sense of time a place - 60’s Madison Avenue - is about as authentic as anything since the real thing, except that the real thing was never captured in such in such vivid colorful honesty. This is a time where cigarette smoke hangs almost romantically amongst the starless but impeccable cast. A place where the midday drinks and bottles are not hidden in desk drawers and consumed behind locked doors, but are accepted and even expected as part of the program, a perk of the trade.

Long gone are the days when advertsing was glamorous, when pretty pictures and perfect words accountable to no one except television coverage and heads of companies who look at the work as art, or at least the product of confident salesmenship. Each character represents a product of a distant dream. This is a time where agenecy men wore slick suits, and even slicker hair, where hipsterism and $200 jeans were not part of the program. Back then women were secretaries and minorities ran the elevators, not the accounts. This is a microscope help up industry that no longer resembles itself. Sure there is creativity but it is of another sort. 

 Today in an era of “accountable marketing” and “measurable ROI,” where pitches are orchestrated with elaborate powerpoint slides, and decisions are made with analytic projections of efficiently delivered impressions, advertsing is a science and not an art. “Mad Men” is reminder of how far we have come, but as much as we can see this as progress, it sure makes you long for the old days.

Popularity: 65% [?]         No comments yet.