(self-released, 2012)

Mere months following the release of BEBETUNE$’ debut mixtape inhale C-4 $$$$$, James Ferraro was back in a different guise, this time as BODYGUARD, with a whole new genre exercise prepped for immediate mass consumption as a free download. Silica Gel veered off from inhale C-4 in that, thankfully, Ferraro’s dalliance with hip-hop and R&B club culture was a short-lived one. (I say “thankfully,” but if you read my review of it, you’ll know I wavered back and forth on its relevance and/or quality, and came to very few solid conclusions. I was along for the ride, as it were.) Instead, the new mix hovered in icy, mellowed-out electronic territory, pretty much an actual chillwave album if there ever was one.

I asked all my genre questions about inhale, so I’m not going to rehash the debate here as to why Ferraro went down this particular path at this particular time, but I do want to mention that he’s set aside his BEBETUNE$ alter ego to focus on BODYGUARD, and word has it that there’s an album in the works for release later this summer, so… get ready for that I guess. Fine, I’ll stop being so halfhearted about it: new BODYGUARD dudes! #HIGHFIVE

BODYGUARD traverses a somewhat mellower path than BEBETUNE$ did, although neither is terribly rambunctious. Ferraro embraces the post-club/high-end late-night party vibe of designer liquor and drugs, and masks it in a sleek haze (oxymoron alert?) of neon in a misty rain. Yeah, he’s still peddling synthesized drama, and it’s the arms length at which he keeps his listeners that is somewhat annoying, as if we’re stuck behind a velvet rope at his soire. The tones are cold and distant, the emotions resemble those of models selling cologne or vodka or watches or automobiles in ads dripping with narcissistic sexuality. Or maybe it resembles the type of music a hyper-advanced robotic intelligence born from self-realization would consider that humans would have enjoyed if they were still around to enjoy it. Like what Skynet would pump over the airwaves, or the I Am Robot … robots … would create. (I just referenced Schwarzenegger and Will Smith in one sentence – somehow I think Ferraro would appreciate that.)

(Speaking of Skynet, “LIQUID METAL #TCIZ4” to end the album – #Illuminati?)

The bridge from BEBETUNE$ to BODYGUARD is intact, though, immediately with the perplexing acronym “H.U.M2.E.R.,” which, I have to admit, I have a hard time getting out of my head. It’s not that it’s got an earworm hook, but a robotic voice repeats the acronym, mantralike, for over seven minutes. It’s like a meditation – all I need is prayer beads and I’m off to … who knows where. But it seems that Ferraro wants to remind us that we’ve been to inhale C-4 $$$$$ and back, we’ve seen club culture (or something), as a sample of “Yeah baby, yeah baby, yeah” is injected before the acronym is repeated anew. I got easily bored with “H.U.M2.E.R.” at first, but it grew on me. I wish I could say the same about “RAIDEN – BLUE LIGHTS # NZT – 48,” an autotuned nodder that grows annoying with repetition, or “FATAL,” similarly long and uneventful.

I guess this is all somewhat surprising given the (relative) packaging, with songs titled in all caps and hashtagged and ready for social media, a seeming attempt by Ferraro to dictate what topics he’d like to see trending on Twitter – maybe a grasp at some illusory “I did that” power. Or maybe it’s a critique of it – I continually ask that question of Ferraro and don’t really get too far out of the middle by way of response. I can’t help but think this is a ploy to sell his mindset, to propagate his worldview of a worldview, as it were, a popularity contest within a bubble. It’s like he wants to be part of the world he sees in those slick ads mentioned above, like “BLACK AND RED” is a new type of martini concoction that all the pretty people just have to have. It’s a song as slogan, meant as a talking point rather than a pleasant listening experience. It’s got a slinky and ultimately pleasant groove, with a woman periodically intoning the title of the song through a slightly distorted filter. (It actually is one of the better songs on the album.) “SEX TAPE” is another standout in this way, a cockeyed wink at our voyeuristic fascination with celebrity culture and the hollow “celebrity for the sake of celebrity” that it breeds. It also helps that the “chk-chk” of a gun chamber acts as a main rhythmic element, like M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes,” but here it’s an almost constant, over-the-top phenomenon that had me LOL-ing by song’s end.

But this sort of instant trend idea gets old quickly, and you’re left questioning the substance behind it. What plays as entertaining in small doses (and leaves scribes like me scratching our heads in the space of a thousand words) wanes in effect over the span of an hour or so, as the sheer humanlessness of the composition wears on the ears. BODYGUARD is nothing if not a clear and precise concoction, and that pristine-ness coupled with the lack of variation is tiring. I want this to be a vibrant, weird, and vital project, but I’m just not seeing it in Silica Gel. Maybe I’ll get it eventually. There’s a new album coming out, remember? #INTERZONE #VIBEOUT #COOLTAG #ICEBREAKER #FERRARI #ETC

RIYL: BEBETUNE$, James Ferraro, Balam Acab

“Psycho War”
Gerry Conway / Joe Staton / Dave Hunt / Gene D’Angelo

In 1958, a story in Adventure Comics #247 told the story of a trio of teenagers from the future that time traveled into the past to meet the hero that had inspired their club the Legion of Super-Heroes: Superboy. They were even kind enough to extend an honorary membership to their muse.

Created by Otto Binder and Al Plastino, the Legion proved popular and made additional appearances in Adventure Comics and Action Comics before earning equal billing with their inspiration in Superboy starring the Legion of Super-Heroes (later “starring” was changed to “and”). From 1973 to 1980, the young Clark Kent went on adventures in the future with Saturn Girl, Lightning Lad, Cosmic Boy and many other Legionnaires, until the boy who would grow up to be Superman finally parted ways with the super-powered teens his example had stimulated.

The “Superboy and” was removed and the Legion of Super-Heroes were featured “in a comic all their own at last,” as reads the cover of issue #259. In 1980, a major change for a comic book usually didn’t mean a relaunch with a new #1 so the numbering was retained even though the title was shortened. There was, however, a #1 involved in the process, as Superboy, having returned to the 20th century now featured in The New Adventures of Superboy, which debuted the same month Legion of Super-Heroes #259 was published.

Before he headed back to Smallville, however, there was the business of his departure to be handled, and that’s the story we find in Legion of Super-Heroes #259. Yes, the first issue without Superboy’s name features Superboy quite prominently, not to mention his rather central placement on the cover (of course, we readers of comic book have long adapted the adage “don’t judge a book by its cover” for our own protection). This is just one way in which issue #259 proves to be less accessible than expected.

“Psycho War,” despite nominally being a new beginning for the Legion, happens to be an epilogue in content. We even open on the aftermath of a battle. As Lightning Lad and other hurt Legionarries are attended to by doctors from St. Croix Medical Center, others that are still up-and-at-’em, such as Karate Kid and Shadow Lass, question the sudden appearance of the physicians: “You doctors just happen to be in the neighborhood…” Superboy wonders aloud.

The explanation has to wait for a relocation to the penthouse of Legion benefactor R.J. Brande since the above mentioned battle resulted in the destruction of the Legion headquarters. What the St. Croix doctors tell them amounts to the following: Rejis Thomak, a colonist of a dangerous planet, accidentally ejected his escape pod in space before his lover could join him and she was killed as a star when nova. Recovering at St. Croix, Thomak spied Sun Boy, the Legion member who wears his namesake emblazoned on his chest, and, reminded of the death of his lady, focused his insane hatred on him and the other Legionarries. Key word: insane. Or “psycho,” as in: “Hold it, Doc. You’re saying we should worry about a psycho? Are you kidding? What can he do to us?” That’s Wildfire’s question to the St. Croix doctors. Sensitivity to mental illness has come a long way over the last few decades.

No sense in summarizing what becomes of Thomak and his attempt to take down the Legion. I’m sure you can guess what happens. Let’s get back to Superboy.

Well, one other thing about the “psycho”: he can manipulate and attack the minds of others. In the course of the battle, Superboy ends up before a facsimile of Smallville Cemetery in the Superman Museum, complete with a gravestone for his foster parents, Martha and Jonathan Kent. After Thomak has been subdued, Superboy reflects upon this experience: “The future has always been like a never-never land to me. It never seemed — quite real. But now it is real, and I know — the past matters.” Odd as it might be that the museum includes a cemetery exhibit, the lesson learned — that playing around in the future risks him finding out details about his own future — seems a valid reason to decide to stop time travelling. Saturn Girl, a telepath, uses her powers to make Superboy’s departure permanent: she plants a suggestion preventing him from returning to the future.

You’re not surprised; neither am I. To mention the cover again, we have Chameleon Boy declaring, “There goes Superboy — flying back to his own time era — and this time he’ll never return!” The caption asks, “Superboy leaving the Legion!? Is this the tragic aftermath to the… ‘Psycho War’?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

One might take the cover as hyperbole; perhaps the surprise of #259 comes upon realizing that the scene depicted on the cover actually happens instead of being a exaggeration of the story contained within. One might, but more likely, one will feel a bit underwhelmed when one realizes one knew everything important in the issue when one picked up the book… at least this one did. Rejis Thomak never feels like a real threat, so to have him be indirectly responsible for such a historic change in his and the Legion’s history seems a bit disproportionate.

Reading a comic from over thirty years ago doesn’t have to feel like a history lesson, but Legion of Super-Heroes #259 doesn’t offer much more than a report on the circumstances that caused Superboy to leave the 30th Century. Unfortunately, these events do little to entertain, so we have a case where the Wikipedia entry would suffice to explain the facts. Unless you can find an amusingly written review somewhere on the Internet. Hmm…

(self released, 2011)

James Ferraro has recorded some wildly interesting music, made such not only by its inherent listenability (or decided lack thereof – and that’s not a bad thing), but also by the sociological debates the albums engender. See, for example, my review of On Air, released as “Jim Ferraro.” Or, take 2011’s divisive Far Side Virtual, a “critic-proof” record if there ever was one: Did it get under your skin, on your nerves, or did you outright hate it? Good, it was Ferraro’s intention, as he used the most annoying and cloying presets and samples on purpose. Did you consider it a critique on consumer culture and, as such, a masterful deconstruction on the rapid disposable pace of modern tech? Good, then the record’s for you, because you “get it.” There’s no middle ground.

So now there’s BEBETUNE$ (which has now morphed into BODYGUARD, more on that in the future). In a boring recitation of what everybody’s already said, inhale C-4 $$$$$ is Ferraro’s take on the hip hop mixtape, injecting his persona into the made-for-the-internet ready-to-download cobbling of ideas dropped as soon as finished to the nearest Tumblr or Twitter feed. (As if daring us to mention it, Ferraro’s Twitter handle is JFerraro_zip.) There are some good ones out there, the mixtape landscape is not the veritable garbage dump it could be (there are some bad ones out there too, for sure), so it’s not as if the delivery method is unjustified.

But is it odd that Ferraro’s even doing this? A noise artist in the past with The Skaters and Lamborghini Crystal (among others), Ferraro as solo entity has veered toward processed gumball-pop send-ups and song cycles, and of course the stacking of Pro Tools and Garageband presets on Far Side Virtual, so it’s often hard to pin down where he’s going to wind up on the spectrum. But even with the man’s many interests, it is a bit strange hearing him tackle club thump on this set. It’s a free mixtape, though, so here goes – and spoiler alert: I’m not going to tackle much new critical ground here. I am going to tell you how I feel about it, so, there you go. Shields up. Click away now.

In short, it’s a disappointment. Without the benefit of having any idea what forces or inspirations are going to inform any given Ferraro release, there’s no anticipation. And while that may work in Ferraro’s favor, when I heard that he was dabbling in hip hop and R&B on this mixtape, I let out a big, fat “meh” in response. I couldn’t see the connection, or the point. Did that cloud my reaction to how I approached the record? I can’t lie and say it didn’t, but I was still somewhat curious. Turns out that I was about half right – I wasn’t that keen on the idea of a “rap mixtape” from Ferraro (I’m pretty picky about them in general), so I was surprised that it wasn’t a bunch of junk rhymes (there are very few vocals on inhale C-4) and stupid beats. The tunes were “pretty bumpin’,” as the kids say (they say that, right?), but I found my concentration wavered not long into any given track. The talent and solid construction of the tracks were evident, but they lacked staying power – inhale C-4’s biggest flaw is the sense of indifference it’s bound to provoke.

Don’t get me wrong, the leaden beats and synth lines won’t fail to rouse your neighbors into calling the cops at 2:00 am, but it’s all background noise – even when the ideas are good, like opener “R E P T I L E ONLINE” or “#GRINDLYFE,” there’s so little variation that you’ve got to wonder if Ferraro should have included hip hop vocals to spice things up. He does a pretty good job of laying the groundwork for a rap mixtape sendup, even inserting a voice pitch-shifted to chipmunk status throughout that intones “BEBETUNE$,” presumably to remind us what kind of music we’re supposed to be listening to, as it parodies (or parrots) the inward-looking self-propping inherent in the genre. These are club bangers that can’t get themselves off the ground – I can imagine a DJ getting a confused and annoyed response after dropping a BEBETUNE$ track into the set. I don’t think I’m wrong about that.

But it gets tricky. I start caring around track eight, “LI$$TENING WITH MY EYEZZZ (feature yung cea$er),” and who knows who “yung cea$er” is, the vocals are tweaked and inaudible. But the beat is tight and the synths are sharp, and it’s probably the first song here that I could imagine hearing over a PA system without that sense of indifference. This kicks off a four-song block that makes me wonder if there’s more to BEBETUNE$ than a mere dorkified mixtape would suggest, as “Pepsi Baby,” “Sahara Jr.,” and “SIRI POP” dabble in cellphone pop and Arabian peninsular sounds, getting away from the heavy G-funk vibe of the rest of the album. These four tracks breeze pleasantly by, and confirm (what we’ve really known all along) that Ferraro has too many tricks up his sleeve to be confined to one sound for too long. We should all be grateful for that, at the very least.

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to learn that inhale C-4 is some Kaufman-esque joke on everybody, and the only person in on it is Ferraro himself, but, let’s face it, that was probably Far Side Virtual. He’s likely laughing his ass off regardless at this point as his songs (at least the titles) resemble Twitter fodder more than anything else, complete with hashtags and underscores, and twitpics of froyo joints pass for transmissions to his fanbase. Whatever. I’m not buying it, considering the relative pleasantness of inhale C-4, and the fact that a ruse that outlandish is pretty transparent nowadays (Joaquin Phoenix’s bizarro year that culminated in I’m Still Here notwithstanding). I’m OK with Ferraro’s seeming niche as the noisemaker who reflects our fucking stupid American culture back at us through carnival mirrors. I’d much prefer to view trainwrecks through that prism than, say, Entertainment Tonight, or something equally vile. But BEBETUNE$, God rest its soul (in favor of BODYGUARD), is nothing but a genre exercise gone “hmph,” with a few decent minutes worthy of reflection to return to.

RIYL: Clams Casino, Hype Williams, Jodeci

“MACCAU CELEBRITIES”

Mythmaking ETC #2: Animal Man (1988) – Issue 1

“The Human Zoo”
Grant Morrison / Chaz Truog / Doug Hazelwood / Tatjana Wood

Crisis On Infinite Earths

Heard of a continuity wipe?

No, it’s got nothing to do with an extended period of time on the toilet, you dirty bird. If you’re reading this, you likely already know what it is, but stay with me a moment while I explain for those that wound up here by Google-ing Jim Morrison: in the context of long-form, serialized fiction such as that found in comic books and television shows, “continuity” means, basically, consistency of characterization and plot, especially when there’s enough story amassed so as to make such a task a challenge. In television, but even more so in comics, further complications come from the number of writers and overworked editors involved. Often continuity becomes so tangled and confused over time that a plot device is invented to clear the slate and essentially start over. Clear the slate or… wipe the continuity.

Over the long history of the company, DC Comics has established itself as a leader in the employment of continuity wipes. Arguably the most famous of these occurred in the 1985: Crisis on Infinite Earths. By the mid-80s, DC’s continuity was thought such a mess that an epic, world-destroying (literally) event was considered necessary to simplify everything. Marv Wolfman wrote it. George Perez drew it. And everything was copacetic… for about a decade at least.

Crisis was massive. It involved everyone and everything in the DC Universe. And it changed almost everyone and everything in the DC Universe (DCU). Even the forgotten, unpopular characters were dragged out, at least briefly, during the Crisis. The odd, the unusual, the just plain ol’ strange saw the light of the sun… exploding. Characters like Animal Man.

Animal Man, or Bernhard “Buddy” Baker, can absorb the abilities of animals and retain them for a period of time. That’s actually a pretty cool, diverse power, even if his moniker seems a little silly. On the other hand, called anything else people would constantly ask him, “Why don’t you just call yourself Animal Man?”

In the hands of Grant Morrison, however, his superhero name is the least of Buddy’s problems. The first issue of Animal Man opens with him rescuing a kitten from a tree, the age-old act of prowess put to ineffectual, but oh-so-heartwarming, use. Not only that, but he messes up and falls out of the gosh darn tree. I mean, how much more embarrassing can you get? Thankfully, Buddy absorbs the cat’s gracefulness and lands on his feet, excusing his recovery to his amazed neighbor Violet Weidemeir as “movie stuntman training.” Lame or not, Buddy gets inspired by Violet’s gratitude and returns home to start talking superheroes, much to the chagrin of his wife Ellen who is supporting their family of two children by drawing storyboards. Buddy is thirty and hasn’t committed to a real career. Buddy wants to go “full-time” with the superhero gig, and Ellen doesn’t even acknowledge his statement of intent until pressed. “Did you hear what I said?” Buddy asks. “Yeah, I heard it,” Ellen responds. “Just like I heard it after we were married. Like I heard it after the Crisis, when you went into space with the Forgotten Heroes.”

Ouch. Guy goes into outer space and still has problems at home. (Also, catch all that continuity coming out of Ellen’s mouth?)

That said, Morrison carefully stops short of melodrama. He’s injecting realism, not angst into the world of spandex. In fact, Animal Man himself decries that “no hope stuff” when Ellen suggests that he work his way up to the Justice League International through groups like The Outsiders instead of aiming for the top from the outset as he seems to intend. (In their original incarnation, the version referred to here, The Outsiders were a sort of black-ops alternative to the Justice League created by Batman.) Buddy hasn’t given up on being a big-time hero, even if his attempts so far have been unsuccessful. (“Buddy, I don’t know what makes you think you’re a super-hero!” Ellen says. “You paid 800 dollars for those Animal Man costumes and they’ve only been out of the closet a half-a-dozen times in eight years!”)

While Ellen’s frustrations get the better of her at first, she later apologizes and supports Buddy as he applies himself to intense training to solidify his control over his powers. He tests how long he can hold his breath, gets some flying practice in… that kind of thing. It’s essentially a martial arts movie training montage in comic form. However, Morrison and artists Truog and Hazelwood use the space to expand upon the Bakers’ marital relationship, showing that the squabble had in earlier pages only constitutes a part of their life together; Ellen shows excitement over Buddy’s command of his powers, and we also see that Buddy’s somewhat naive idealism can sometimes cheer and encourage his wife in moments of discouragement. This is indeed not “no hope” stuff, but, instead a comic written for an adult audience that appreciates the subtleties of an adult relationship; this is the heart at the center of Animal Man.

Much of “The Human Zoo” focuses on the Bakers and introduces Morrison’s take on the superhero; the latter is especially important because the main thing the reader needs to be sold on at a time when Morrison’s name meant much less to comic book fans is that he can do something interesting with this marginal DC property.

We do get a sense of both a major and some minor protagonists, however. About four pages are dedicated to a troubled individual defending himself from a potential mugger with reflexes that are “quick as a snake” and strength akin to that of a buffalo. As Buddy practices with abilities adapted from animals in the surrounding pages, it’s no accident that Morrison’s similes imply a parallel. It’s almost as if an unhinged, uncontrolled version of Animal Man stalks the streets…

Four guys who were probably trouble for their mothers are also introduced on a single page in issue one: good ol’ boys heading out for a hunting weekend away from their wives. Getting the party started early, Ray, the most slovenly of the bunch, shoots down a bird before they even reach their destination. He’s pumped, and I don’t mean his shotgun. Anticipating the time away from his family, he feels “free as a damn bird,” a pronouncement we read with the corpse of the one he just shot in the foreground of the panel. Albeit a bit heavy-handed, the irony of the moment underlines the fact that these guy are a force of violence and a threat regardless of their lack of superpowers.

The fellas will play a bigger part in the next few issues, but, for now, the more pressing concern is the call from S.T.A.R. Labs. Buddy rushes off to help and discovers that their problem involves a massive pile of fused-together lab monkeys…

This should be interesting.

_

“Where Nightmares Begin”
Special Teen Titans 16 Page Preview in DC Comics Presents #26
Marv Wolfman / George Perez / Dick Giordano / Adrienne Roy

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” – Mark Twain.

“Sometimes I wondered if Robin had to ask Batman’s permission to go to the little heroes’ room.” - Marv Wolfman.

While maybe not all teenagers are rebellious, few kowtow completely to authority. For most, it’s a time of questioning. We second guess the rules and restrictions placed by parents, teachers and other adults, we test boundaries, make mistakes and, ideally, learn from them. Rare is the teenager who follows every rule without question.

Yet that’s what Marv Wolfman saw in the comic books he grew up reading: teenagers that, unlike Mark Twain, recognized wisdom and knowledge in authority and obeyed accordingly. No wonder he “hated kid sidekicks”; what fun is that?

When DC Comics Presents #26 was published in the fall of 1980, the free 16-page preview of The New Teen Titans contained something that had not often been seen in a comic book: a teenager talking back. Cyborg lays into his father pretty hard: “You’re always fouling up, old man… destroying everything you’ve ever touched!” He goes on to declare as he storms off: “I never want to see you again, old man — never again!” If you like that, don’t worry, there’s plenty more like it to come in the series; the relationship, or lack thereof, between Cyborg and his father Professor Stone will find echo in that of Robin (Dick Grayson) and his mentor and surrogate parent Batman (Bruce Wayne).

Robin was the first teenage sidekick. He debuted in 1940, which means that he had been by Batman’s side for four decades when DC Comics Presents #26 was published. Forty long years in which Dick Grayson had remained in the brightly colored garb of the Boy Wonder. That’s not much character development. While Wolfman was not the first to introduce conflict between the Dynamic Duo, he would take this tension and use it as a catalyst to grow Grayson out from under Batman’s shadow into his own man.

What’s missing from Mark Twain’s quote above is what happened in those seven years that changed his perception of his father. In only three years (well, forty-three, I guess, if you count back to his debut), Dick Grayson will abandon the Robin tights and adopt an identity of his own choosing: Nightwing. However, in this case, we get to follow the stages of the transformation in the pages of The New Teen Titans, a story that begins here in this 16-page preview.

What better character to put at the center of a series about growing up than the original teenage sidekick. Though three of the other Titans (Beast Boy, Kid Flash and Wonder Girl) were also around before the series, Robin would have been the most familiar. To introduce their new series, Wolfman and Perez plot a story that places the Boy Wonder in a position analogous to the contemporary reader: Dick knows just about as much as the reader would have in 1980. In other words, he is friends with Kid Flash (Wally West) and Wonder Girl (Donna Troy); he knows Gar Logan as Beast Boy, only to find out the green shape-shifter now goes by Changeling; and he, like the reader, knows nothing of the new Titans: Cyborg (Vic Stone), Raven, and the alien Starfire (Koriand’r). Notably, the other Titans are baffled by Robin’s strange behavior.

In this fashion, the reader is introduced to the “New” of The New Teen Titans. Our old friend Dick Grayson shares our wonder as we see Titans Tower, the new T-shaped headquarters of the team and our titillation as he is swept up into the arms of a statuesque, scantily-clad alien princess as she takes to the sky.

We discover as Robin discovers.

Robin’s confusion will carry into the debut issue of the series, as the plot of “Where Nightmare Begins” continues in The New Teen Titans #1. Literally, this 16-page story is where Dick Grayson’s nightmares begin, nightmares that he will still be having when we enter the series proper of a new Titans team fighting a protoplasmic blob… though they are not, in fact, nightmares at all.

At the end of the preview, the mysterious Raven remarks that Robin’s visions and dreams represent his future and that he will soon understand everything. Since we’re clearly meant to identify with Dick Grayson, Wolfman and Perez are making a promise to the reader: don’t worry, all will be explained. There are other promises as well, as seen in the father-and-son conflict of the Stones and in the camaraderie of the Titans team: this will not be the same old Teen Titans; this won’t be about teenagers that you can’t identify with, teenagers that obey authority always and without question; this won’t be about characters that never change.

Previews make promises, that’s nothing new. What makes this one rare is that the series that followed delivered.

… and Mythmaking ETC returns. Unless you’re among the few who have been checking in since 2012 began, you’ll not know that this is a reboot… well, in some ways a “threeboot” of the column. It began as a podcast in January, of which there were six episodes. New as I was to the medium, I didn’t realize what a time commitment podcasting would be, nor that I would enjoy it less than writing. Accordingly, after six installments, I converted Mythmaking ETC into a column, continuing the format: simulating a “pull list” at a comic book shop by reading a handful of titles sequentially, starting with issues published with a cover date of January 1980. Unfortunately, though I still like the idea conceptually, I found it a bit too confining. Obviously, I do this for fun; motivation does not come in the monetary form. In order to write regularly about comics, I decided I needed to loosen the reigns a bit: while I will still mostly be writing about comics from the 1980s and ’90s, I may sometimes not; while I still will often cover several issues of a title in sequential order, those series that are written about concurrently might originate from different years. This will not only make it easier for me to maintain interest in Mythmaking ETC, but will also allow me to make use of some writing I’ve already done, helping me keep ahead of schedule.

I hope you’ll continue to read and enjoy!

_

I’m a mur-diddly-urdler! Quick Takes.

(Witch Hunter Records, 2012)

Hey dude, what’s up. Moving kinda fast there. Got 10 minutes? C’mon. Ten minutes, that’s all I ask. You have ten minutes, right? Here, put on these headphones. No, I didn’t put peanut butter in the earpieces – this isn’t a hidden-camera show or anything. I’ll even let you control the volume, although I recommend you keep it high. High enough so that what you hear will liquefy all the living tissue in your head. You don’t need to turn it that high, actually, for that.

Black Veins, a “power trio” (although not in the classical sense – more so, they’re a trio and they wield instruments that emit a tremendous physical power) from Birmingham, England, combine elements of traditional hardcore, grind, death metal, and sludge into a mean-ass concoction that, to borrow the tired-but-ultimately-literally-appropriate (OK maybe not “literally” appropriate) cliché that also appears in the band’s press, will melt your face. Yes, Black Veins’ …And Hell Followed EP, the follow-up to their 2011 self-titled debut EP, is a face-melting recording.

Not content to blaze through their repertoire at top speed (top volume? Absolutely), Black Veins instead process their listeners through heavy churning machinery, slowly extracting every ounce of discomfort and leaving all within earshot a pulped mess. Then why, you might ask, would that even be something that anyone would be interested in subjecting his- or herself to? I answer: Did I suggest this was for those who didn’t?

One certainly requires a minimum level of intestinal fortitude when experiencing confrontational music of this nature. And what I found when I encountered Black Veins, expecting erroneously a blast-beaten death metal pummeling, is that this type of music can be just as violent when the BPMs are dialed back. Instead of rapid-fire face-punching, …And Hell Followed would better serve as a soundtrack to slow torture, prolonged agony rather than spurts of sharp antagonism. The guitars chug, atonal and vicious, drums plod, and the vocals are strained to an extreme. I can see why “sludge” is an apt descriptor – the sound of its industrial process is clearly an influence, and it’s quite possible that the reason Black Veins’ are named as such is because they have the foul stuff flowing through them.

What keeps …And Hell Followed fresh (relatively, of course) is the actual dynamic changes – “…And Hell Followed” begins with a breakneck hardcore beatdown before drawing the reins, and “Death Crown,” the “jewel” of the release, as it were, cycles from sludge to death blasts to fiery guitar soloing before the crushing weight of song collapses upon itself. But perhaps the album-closing track sums it up best in its very title: “Suffer,” an act that Black Veins attempt to mirror in their own self-immolating fashion, perfectly encapsulates the condition the band is trying to manifest. It works perfectly – these ten or twelve minutes, while arduous, are ultimately satisfying – the band works hard, you work hard, you all have a beer together at the end of the day. You have time for that right?

RIYL: Converge, Napalm Death, Meshuggah

Revenge of the Quick Takes!

(self released, 2012)

I kind of changed my mind about my conclusions to this free EP that the Pixies are giving out to celebrate the event that reunited version 2.0 of the band. Here was my final conclusion, a sentence I wrote before anything else, and now rings hollow:

“It’s hard to fault a free gift from one of your favorite bands, but in the end the curation of the gift leaves much to be desired, and as such is a little insulting.”

Yeah, that’s me, complaining about a free Pixies EP. I’m such a different person now than I was back then … earlier this morning. See, I was initially stoked – I got an email a few days ago from the official Pixies site with a download link – a “celebration” for being “between two consecutive weekends of COACHELLA for the first time ever.” So they “rifled through the vaults” and put this together. I found it a half-assed attempt to cherrypick four tunes from their twenty-song 2004 Coachella performance, the first performance since they had broken up over a decade prior.

I’ll give it to you straight, anyway, even though I’m about to contradict everything I’m moaning about, but here it is. Pixies songs are Pixies songs. There aren’t good Pixies songs and bad Pixies songs, per se, they’re all in the canon, and they all deserve to be. You know what I mean, Pixies fan. So here we have “U-Mass,” “Monkey Gone to Heaven,” “Hey,” and “Caribou.” Before anything else, you should probably realize, “Huh, those are some of the less energetic ones in the catalog…,” and you’d be right. “U-Mass” is fine – no complaint there. “Monkey Gone to Heaven” is fine too – until you realize those are the opening bass notes to “Debaser” at the end of the track, and then you wish it was “Debaser” rather than “Monkey” that made the cut. “Hey” is a momentum killer anyway, a reflective song (and a phenomenal one at that), but look, this is a live sampler, so shouldn’t songs more indicative of the live Pixies experience be included? It was sandwiched between “Velouria” and “Gigantic” on the setlist, if that’s any indication as to what may have been included instead.

“Caribou” is always welcome – except when somebody fucks up the chords on the chorus. You expect rust after thirteen years, but why bring it to the fore?

But while I was searching for more info on the EP, I came across this Pitchfork news item from October 2010 with an active widget for the whole show. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be active or what (the email pointed to where you could purchase the whole show), but I checked it out, and got the whole show. So this is why my whole argument is moot. I was going to blather about bands getting paid, and the Pixies essentially needing to exist on their back catalog, touring it and recording shows for sale, etc., and why bother owning the same songs from a hundred different locations, but that’s an argument for another day, if ever. But if you want the Pixies’ initial show upon reforming, it’s out there still. (Probably.)

RIYL: uh, Pixies.

The return of the Quick Take!

(self released, 2012)

“Hey man, I’ve got a bottle of whiskey. Bring your guitar over.”

“Be right there.”

I’m obviously imagining this innocuous phone conversation from the night Blacks& (pronounced “black sand,” duh) was conceived, but it may have been that simple. Donald Eley and Tiger Smith of The Sea of Cortez (Smith also plays in NazcarNation) hung out one night over a bottle of, let’s say, Dalwhinnie (they don’t seem like the smoky, peaty type, if the music is any indication), and concocted the whole thing. Now, you and I know what a night of whiskey and jamming gets you, and it usually ain’t pretty. Most likely it’ll smell bad and sound awful. So tell me: How does Blacks& get a pass on the whole hangover jam sesh? I mean, c’mon, A Ghost That Follows Me has some of the most pleasant music I’ve heard in quite a while. It’s almost not fair.

Eley and Smith are joined by the secret weapon, vocalist/guitarist Justin Taylor, aka Jutty Shark, whose sublime vocals coast effortlessly over the breezy songs. You know how some singers really put forth a tremendous amount of effort to cultivate maximum tunefulness? I don’t mean that have to try super hard to sound good, they just belt it ’cause they can, and level the room in the process. Taylor’s not like those singers – sounds like he’s lounging on a beat-up couch, enjoying himself immensely in the company of his friends, and laying down take after take of vocal perfection. I’ll say it again, because it bears repeating: his singing is effortless. The harmonies are divine – a little Brian Wilson here, a little Caribbean there (Safe’s C. F. Edley comes to mind a bit on the low notes), and a track like “The Race Is On” shifts from that’s-nice-breezy-tropical-indie to capital-W-Wow-dude as soon as the vocals take over.

The Real Estate–meets–The Clientele beauty of the reverb-soaked “What They Think” “makes me want to burn every book I’ve ever read, it makes me want to seal my ears and never hear no songs again,” that’s how good it is. And I can quote their lyrics to tell you how I feel about the song! Who does that? They’re writing good songs and writing my reviews for me? I’m going to pack it in – I think it’s the end of the road.

So just an EP? Really? Three songs? That’s not enough, guys! I kid of course, but my gosh, I can’t wait to hear a debut LP. Well-attended and well-dressed 1960s-themed cocktail parties will have an all-time soundtrack once that puppy drops. Or top-down SoCal beach days. Both, probably. Blacks& can pull it off, they’ve done it already.

RIYL: NazcarNation, The Sea of Cortez, The Clientele, Safe, Real Estate, “Velouria” (kind of), Lionel Richie

(self released, 2008)

Maybe I should just suck it up and give in. I don’t like Destroyer, or Dan Bejar. But then along comes Jumbling Towers, where lead Jumbler (or Tower?) Josiah DeBoer does his Dan Bejar impression, and I love it. Why is that? Does that mean I should give the Destroyer catalog another listen? Or is it there something else to it, something that Jumbling Towers has that Dan Bejar doesn’t? Why does it bother me so much that no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t dothe Bejar thing?

I’m not here, though, to debate the merits of Destroyer, I’m here to cheer on Jumbling Towers, so let’s get that straight and behind us immediately. DeBoer certainly sounds like Bejar, but he also calls to mind equally over-the-top performers like Bejar buddy Carey Mercer, Roxy Music, and that one song on Velvet Goldmine, “Baby’s on Fire” by The Venus in Furs. The one that Jonathan Rhys-Meyers sings. These are all good spirits to channel, and an energy similar to these projects is palpable throughout this six-song EP. DeBoer plays the prancing dandy, the foppish rogue like a pro (“I want it fast and I want it done right … yes I want to be flagrant” from “Apartments”), wrapping cheeky wordplay around the meaty organ lines and driving rhythms. He affects a wild faux-Brit accent constantly, and it’s a nice touch, an homage to his heroes (or maybe “Heroes” if you catch my drift), and a surreal wink at the audience who realizes he’s from St. Louis. It’s a fabulous put-on.

So what is this “classy entertainment” they’re trying to sell? It’s a pretty targeted satirical stab at first-world problems, I think anyway, as “classy” and “entertainment” should rarely find each other in the same sentence, let alone the same paragraph. The Towers clearly enjoy wrapping themselves around oxymoronic conceit – take, again, “Apartments”: “You want apartments / You want a place to call your own / You want a place you can do your wrong / A place to keep your magazines, your floppy disks, and a stash of all that smut.” Smut, eh? That’s what everybody keeps behind closed doors? OK, I’ll buy that – wander down any alley in any city and pop in any door and I’ll bet the over/under on smut piles is at least 50 percent. (Gotta love that reference to floppy disks in 2008, too!)

It’s not all weirdo pomp, though, as “Sal” is a down-tempo piano ditty and “Gamble” closes the EP in a wheezy, smoky, carnivalesque atmosphere. (Think Man Man on Quaaludes, maybe.) “Fortune” is a riotous glam-punk romp led by wiry guitar, and finds DeBoer in an oxygen-gulping fit, barely able to push enough words out through his hiccupping delivery, even though there are barely any in the song. But the true standout element is the play-acting delivery of Josiah DeBoer, an intoxicating mix of devilish winking and wallowing in the devilish acts he’s winking at – actually, it’s probably what Vincent Gallo sounds like in his own head. But even more pretentious. In a good way.

OK then. Stir well, spill on floor, lick up. Enjoy.

RIYL: Destroyer, Frog Eyes, Roxy Music, The Venus in Furs, what Vincent Gallo probably sounds like in his own head

“CLASSY ENTERTAINMENT (live)”

“APARTMENTS (live)”