Fantastic Body

The weather has changed, seemingly overnight. 


Suddenly there's that cool, fresh feel in the air, despite it still being early August. The oppressive, sweltering heat of summer is already on the decline and we Minnesotans are free to venture out of doors and into the streets. I've been able to slowly start running again, having gotten an immensely helpful brace for my knee. Getting out and pounding the pavement, pulling in the cool air in the morning is exhilarating. It makes me feel alive, despite the knowledge that winter is out there, waiting to send us all into hibernation. In the meantime, we've got to live it up. The Pizza Luce Block Party is tonight and I plan on checking out the scene, as there are tons of great acts on the bill. Knowing there's something so awesome (and totally free!) out there makes me so happy - that it's so popular only makes it better. We've got to get out and seize the day!

To get in the mood for a night out with great tunes, I want to spread the good word about Young the Giant. While some of you may already be aware of who they are and just why they're so great, I want to do all I can to let the world know how fantastic they are. This fresh band from California has been getting tons of praise in the last year. Their single 'My Body' is just the kind of thing you can put on, crank up and really feel like something good is going to happen. Propelled by this passionate single, Young the Giant's eponymous debut album has been selling like crazy. The band has had tons of airplay and made numerous TV appearances in support of it.

This single, with its thumping rhythm and U2-mimicking guitars, is a joyous affair, worthy of all the adoration it has received. The driving hook, with singer Sameer Gadhia wailing "My body tells me no, but I won't quit cause I want more!" is moving and sincere. This positive and unflappable perspective is a refreshing change of pace from the world at large. When life seems overwhelming and stressful, as it certainly can if you watch too much of the news cycle, songs like this can be a re-invigorating reminder not to throw in the towel. It's insanely catchy and well written, the parts all building to a grandiose whole that lifts up the listener. I love everything about it - from the rolling drums to the churning bass to clean and shining echo of the guitars.

While Young the Giant has been riding a wave of success, our fickle and ADD afflicted worlds move on too quickly. Technically speaking, this single already peaked on the charts. That hardly matters, though, as the song is so solid and lovely that it deserves a spot in everyone's playlist, regardless of a spot on the Billboard charts. Do yourself a favor and give it a listen. I'll see you all tomorrow, after I've enjoyed a night full of adventure.

Live Wire

Happy Weekend!

I wrote yesterday about the mixed reaction I had (along with everyone else) about Bush's Razorblade Suitcase. It was an album I loved at the time, but of which I have since become skeptical. In contrast, today's post is about an album with which I was initially quite disappointed but have since warmed to greatly. The suspect in question? On A Wire by The Get Up Kids.

 I've previously given long winded dissertations on The Get Up Kids and how much their music meant to me, especially at a time in my life when music like theirs could really lift my spirits. I was, as a teenager, head over heels for the group, devotedly listening to Four Minute Mile, Something To Write Home About and the b-Side/outtakes collection Eudora. At the time, I was gasping for more material, having worn out those albums in my ears. As great as they were, I could hardly wait for their next album to come out. When the group released On A Wire in the spring of my senior year of high school I was perplexed, to say the least. A quiet album full of unfamiliar sounds, I felt that I had little to relate to in it. Where were the raging anthems and howling cries of anguished teenage angst?

They outgrew them, it turned out. In turn I would as well.

While I scratched my head at the time, I understand now that band had simply gotten tired of playing the kind of music they did, night after night. Shows like that will drain the life out of you, even if you enjoy it, let alone being on the road non-stop. So the band took a step back and examined their perspective, beginning to write songs from a new creative place. The results were more measured, the kind of album you put on while cleaning your apartment, not while enduring the angst of teenage melodrama. Songs were softer. Their playing was more restrained. I was, as a die hard fan, completely confused. Certainly I wasn't the only one who felt this way, given their track record in light of this shift in tone.



But I persisted. 


I gave the album a chance, listening to a song or two, here and there. There were songs that immediately jumped out as solid and enjoyable - the single 'Overdue', with it's soft strumming and cooed melody, or the closer 'Hannah Hold On', which fit easily in their canon. 'Walking On A Wire' really struck me then, and has only grown more powerful as I've grown older, the mixed emotion and tone playing so strongly. Still, though - the album felt like it wasn't written to with my audience in mind. Years later I would get a better sense of why.

As I edge closer to 30, like the band that wrote the album, I appreciate the slowing down. I dig the songwriting on display and the experiments the band made. The Get Up Kids took a hell of a risk with On A Wire and while it may have hobbled their momentum, it was an inevitable and necessary step. They've never really gone back to the hurtling anthems of their glory days, but then who ever does? They've grown older and more insightful and the songs reflect that. There was a feeling I got, listening to this album as I left my entire life behind to leave home, that the band was writing to that idea. A huge chapter in my life had come to a close and the same had happened with the band. They were done being the emo-rockers they had been revered as, and simply moved on. 


Truth be told, I didn't get it when it came out. I felt betrayed and let down, like a magical thing had vanished from the earth. What I found instead, was the band had hidden something in plain sight. On A Wire is actually a great album, I just wasn't ready for it yet.

Heavy Baggage

Salutations.

There are times, as I reflect on what I've written, that I cringe just a bit. I should clarify, I always cringe at what I've written - that's a natural part of reading anything that comes from my own head. What gives the extra little cringe is the realization that I have just given a long, apologist diatribe on something that no doubt will bring scorn from the more discerning or developed part of my readership. I can write all I want on the merits of Haruki Murakami or inspired bits of art that I come across but I still end up sharing just as many words about Cyndi Lauper or some obscure, neglected video game. My imagined response to these pieces is that of upturned noses and scoffs, but thankfully I have yet to hear them.

So I persist.

Today's subject matter is not of the exception but the rule. It is another in a long line of albums and artists from the 90s who have either been brushed aside or given a bum rap. No matter the circumstances, there is so much awesome stuff out there in the world that we just zip right past, never stopping to reflect on. I know I can certainly be as misanthropic as anyone on a bad day but I really do try to give every artistic endeavor the benefit of the doubt before weighing in on it, to see if I can fit it into my ever-growing series of pieces of positivity in an otherwise vitriol-polluted cesspool of negativity we call the internet. So it is with a cautious optimism that I write today's post about a much maligned band's quirky effort to follow up a smash debut, Bush's Razorblade Suitcase. The whooshing sound you hear is any remaining indie cred flying right out of my head.

Bush was huge in the 90s, much to the chagrin of music critics everywhere. Their debut album, Sixteen Stone, was full of radio-friendly grunge-lite, coasting in on a wave of distorted guitars, long hair and growling vocals. Hits like 'Comedown', 'Machine Head' and the huge 'Glycerine' made them famous. So when the time came to follow it up, the did exactly what their progenitors Nirvana did - make a messy, muddled album with Steve Albini. The band's choice rode the thin line separating inspiration from imitation, but the similarity is undeniable. Depending on who you asked, the choice was either fantastic or dreadful - withering reviews from big names called it watered down and messy, while everyone I've asked liked it (at least when it first came out).  Simply from the fact that I'm devoting the words to Razorblade Suitcase, it should be obvious I was a fan. To look back on it now offers interesting hindsight. It was a high point for the band, commercially and artistically. Much like my piece on Garbage's excellent Version 2.0, Razorblade Suitcase was the high water mark for Bush. Ensuing efforts (1999's The Science of Things and 2001's Golden State) never came close to repeating these efforts, with only the odd modest hit to keep the band going.

 So what makes this album work? To pin it down is no easy task, but it seemed to be the familiar case of a band making it big and having room to play, but then later being unable to replicate what broke them in the first place. Sixteen Stone was all fuzzy guitars and radio friendly hits. It would be understandable, then, that when doing a follow-up the band would want more edge, more teeth to their sound, as if to scare off claims of being safe or watered down. Indeed, even the biggest hit 'Swallowed' is a loose, jangley mess of broken riffs and lead parts left to wander the song. It's a great song, but felt broken from the get-go. 'Cold Contagious' was another modest hit, but it feels like the band was too indulged in meandering through a dreary and bleak set of chords and melody. Still, there are some bright moments among the missteps, like the distilled pop-purity of 'Strait No Chaser' or the creepy-crawly vibe of 'Greedy Fly'. There's this intense and dangerous build to 'Insect Kin' that has a great dramatic flair to it. The crumbling and head tilting riff in 'Synapse' is haunting. In fact, the off kilter and at times eerie mood of the album make it a nice fit for the cool fall weather approaching, a Halloween-esque tone pervading the air.

 I know it feels like I just spent the last 700 words kicking an album when it's down but I really do have a soft spot for Razorblade Suitcase, forsaking any indie cred I would have left. It's an interesting bit of music from a divisive band that really spread it's wings a bit on this release. It's too bad they never really found their footing again. Word is they've recently gotten back together to work on new stuff, but I'm not optimistic, to be honest. I dig this album, warts and all. 

Lechuza Love

Hello, hello.

Music changes, as does the weather. While it's getting slightly cooler here, that tinge of fall coming into the air, I find myself unintentionally flashing back to my high school years and the music I listened to as classes resumed. I recall the feeling of crisp fall air as I pulled in to the practice field for soccer, playing my tunes loudly to get myself geared up to run for far too long. One band I adored, who never got proper recognition for their excellent music, was Fenix Tx.

Originally named River Fenix, the group had to amend their name after threats from the Fenix estate. Their first full release, a self-titled album propelled by the single 'All My Fault',  was a middling affair that I loved, warts and all. The songs were kinda punky, but a little more straight forward than anything else I was listening to at the time. When I saw their sophomore effort in the bin at the music shop I frequented (yes, that was still a thing, just a decade ago) I picked it up automatically. Titled Lechuza, this release saw the band go harder and faster, their songwriting developing further and as a result, rocked harder than their first release.

 The thing about Fenix Tx, and Lechuza as a whole, is that the band never really was much of a pop-punk outfit. You'd see that title thrown at, say Blink 182 or Green Day, but there was a harder edge to Fenix Tx, just a tad more grit to their writing and production that gave the group a heavier, more serious feel. Sure, you could have a poppy and pop-culture focused album opener like 'Phoebe Cates' to hook in the casual listener, but it gives way to the fantastic Foo Fighters-aping 'Katie W.' With it's clean/soft, hard/loud dynamics it could easily have been an outtake from The Foo's spectacular The Colour & The Shape. Here, though, it stands out among the tracks as a reason not to dismiss Fenix Tx as just another pop punk band from the turn of the millennium. Further illustrating their growth and divergence from under the feet of their forbearers, the next track, the single 'Threesome', also makes deft use of tempo changes and stuttering riffs. When the chorus whips in with singer Will Salazar wailing "Let's try this all again, only faster now!" it works on a couple levels. It's a great song and was a natural choice for a single.

 Another inspired song that is more the Foo Fighters vein than (ugh) New Found Glory is the grand and sweeping alt-rock 'Tearjerker'. The song, with it's singing guitar lines and heavy rhythms, is a fantastic way to show not all of the music from this time frame was horrible. While so many people were enduring pre-fabricated pop or the horrors of (ugh) nu-metal, I had this album to let my head breathe a bit. It's an album that rocks, but without being balls-to-the-wall, in-your-face about every track. It has energy, but it's not manic. To give a back handed compliment, it's a great album almost for what it's not. It's not over-the-top, it's not aggro, it's not a rip off and it's not just their first album re-hashed. In a sense the almost unremarkable is what makes it so solid.

Lechuza is a straight-ahead, no frills rock record that got too-quickly passed over by an ever changing scene right after the turn of the millennium. If you have any affection for left-of-center rock bands that evoke a Foo Fighters vibe, give this album a listen and see what they were. It's a far stronger outing than their debut and an under-appreciated stealth effort.

Get It While It's Good

Alright, kids. Gather round and listen.


I've written about Toussaint Morrison before, but you need to hustle up and get on his momentum while you still have a chance. His new mixtape dropped yesterday and it's even better than the last.


Hot on the heels of his last outing with Dr. Wylie, last spring's Toussaint Morrison Is Not My Homeboy, this week saw the Middle West rapper let loose his best outing yet. Titled Makin' Mistakes & Feelin' Great, the mixtape is full of the perfect little idiosyncrasies that make Toussaint so unique and fantastic. I hate to fawn but there are times, listening to it, that it feels eerily like it was tailor made to suit my tastes, only with more laser-like precision this time around.

 Lighting right up with an assist by local charmer and songbird K. Raydio, 'Jon Bones Jones' sets up the soundscape deftly. While Morrison whips through his verses like it's a steeple chases, his hooks get a touch of lightness and snap from K. Raydio's melodies. Showcasing the energetic mad-scientist work ethic of Dr. Wylie, 'Veronica Hotel' kicks in with a manic beat that practically knocks your ear off kilter intentionally. When it switches gears about 45 seconds in, Toussaint slips effortlessly into the pocket and you get the best of both worlds - heavy hip hop with insanely catchy dance track synths. Some new-wave-esgue stuff that gets you moving, no matter the office. Toussaint makes cracks about his critics still bringing their ipods to the office but at least I get to bob my head on the bus.


There are fresh new sounds on this mixtape, too. 'N.O.A.' has a fresh feel due to it's throw-back roots - it has an air of soul music and Al Green channeled through modern day thinking man's lyricism. 'F*uck School', a super fun rager with Jus Rhyme, shows that Morrison knows how to write a hook, making you want to shout out the title whenever it comes up. Despite the fact I've not set foot in a college in five years, it still feels fresh and rebellious. 'Favorite Game', featuring vocals by local legend Lucy Michelle, is a classic example of Toussaint at his most introspective while spinning yarns and name checking heavy hitters on the Minneapolis scene. The tone of the keys is so smooth and slick, it's a great track. 'Freedom Cobra', featuring Mayda, makes great use of a sample from The Strokes, while 'Mutant After All' has a hooky bit from Natalie Fine, adding to both track's dance-ability. From the construction and production of the track 'Ashley', there are times it feels like marketing execs wrote it just to appeal to every divergent taste in my brain.

My favorite track hands down, though, has to be 'Uppercut', with a guest spot by my favorite underground rapper, Homeless. Homeless, as you may or may not know, granted the first ever interview for this site. His back and forth volley with Morrison on this track is fantastic, their distinct but complimentary voices playing well off each other. I love the references they both drop, from Minneapolis landmarks to special moves in Street Fighter. 


It's easy to see why this mixtape is great. If you were lucky like I was, you were able to catch a download while they were available. If not, you can still stream it, but your best bet may be catching the man live, in action. Follow his twitter feed to see what's up and when he has a show coming. You'd do well to keep your ear on the ground.

Nobody Wins, Ever

What's up, gang?


Book Worm Week is over and done. I feel pretty good about it. In hindsight I don't feel like I made a total fool out of myself or betrayed a complete lack of comprehension. If I did I certainly wasn't aware of it. To thank you for stick around during the theme week, I thought I'd share a bit of a tale about music and the ebb and flow of bands. Something a little literary and a little musical, perhaps. 


Here goes.


After a tumultuous senior year of high school my parents made the kind suggestion that perhaps I'd be better off with my uncle Chuck on the west coast, where I could make a little money in his tavern and get away from unsavory influences. I figured my life as I knew it, up to that point, was ending, so what the hell? A single suitcase later, I was heading to Federal Way, Washington to live with Chuck, the two of us sharing his lovely suburban home. I toiled away in the tavern and spent my free time either chain-smoking and reading on his deck (I've long since quit - youthful indiscretion) or wandering local galleries and taking in the Seattle sights.

Being a young man with no friends and little family in the area (Hi Gail! Hi Ben!) I was at a loss for what to do while in the area for the four months I lived in the Pacific Northwest. Unlike my recent obsession with Twin Peaks, this was a sunny, adventurous time of my life, full of punk music and sunshine. So imagine my delight then, when my cousin Jason (and boss, let's be honest) offered a ticket from a friend to the Warped Tour. I was stoked. Only catch - it was three hours away in the Gorge amphitheater and I had no one to go with. This being the days before Craigslist, I decided to just say the hell with it and hopped in the car with a couple packs of smokes and some soda, making the three hour drive through the mountains to see the show.

It was a beautiful drive - we have nothing like the mountains in the middle west. There's just nothing that compares to the clear air of the coast. The Gorge is a hell of a place to see a show, I should say. A natural amphitheater, a whole slew of stages were set up, too many bands to see at any given time to take it all sufficiently in. Aside from the mainstays like NOFX, Bad Religion and Lagwagon and some local band that did a great cover of 'Holiday Road' from National Lampoon's Vacation, there was one little band that caught my ear.


Nobody Wins.


I asked some pierced and tattooed girl near me who they were and she could only offer a name. In my pre-wiki days I thought I'd never hear them again, so I paid rapt attention to their heavy yet melodic show, damn energetic and passionate. I thought I had stumbled on something fantastic and unknown. Plunking down what little money I had at the time, I picked up their only CD - a single with two B-sides, title 'Words Unspoken'. I loved it.


But that was all I ever heard from them. 


Even now, I can only find this bare bones Myspace page. How is that possible? Listen to the tracks they put on their page and tell me there aren't countless inferior groups that get more airplay every day. How did I hear this band once, and then never again?


It's stayed with me all these years, this secret awesome single that no one else seems to have any knowledge of. Anyone with any info on the band, throw it in the comments. All I know is they were based out of Seattle and may have put out one more album that I've heard, but it was like a rough precursor to the single. What connection do they have to this other group, The Four Color Process? There seemed like so much promise, but instead they vanished into thin air. 


Damn shame.

Noses in Books

...and so ends Book Worm Week.

It's been a fantastic journey into the imagination, gang. I love reading, there's nothing quite like sitting down with a great book and whiling away an afternoon, especially when it's raining outside or if you've opened a nice bottle of wine. You just kick your feet up, sit back and get lost in a world that assembles gradually in front of your mind's eye, bit by bit. As much as I enjoy TV or a good movie, the written word is so simple and essential, such a vital part of being human that has such a profound effect on how we see the world. Books are able to transport us, both through stories and new ideas, to places we would never dream of. It brings me so much joy to know there are people out there who still love a good book. Hey, doesn't even have to be a book - the first thing I bought for a kindle was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, appropriately enough. Although I suppose my phone would be The Guide, instead of a kindle. Regardless, people (even American people) still love to read. To wrap up Book Worm Week here's everything I've posted about the written word:

Sleepwalk With Me - Mike Birbiglia's hilarious and touching stories about sleep disorders, interspersed with comedy.

Simpsons/Futurama Crossover Crisis - a bizarre and super-fun comic that sees two great things mashed together.

Calvin & Hobbes - the smartest comic strip ever to grace the funny pages, in my humble opinion.

A Dirty Job - Christopher Moore at his best, in a tale of a man having to do horrible things to save the world.

The Stand - Stephen King's take on an American Lord of the Rings. Simply phenomenal.

Fluke - Another Moore novel, this time about whales and secrets and hidden evolution. Mind bending.

Sin Titulo - A free web-comic that tells a trippy and engaging story, absolutely worth a look.

Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami, the rock star of Japan, tells a sad and poignant tale of loss and love.

A Wild Sheep Chase - More Murakami, this time a surreal gum-shoe story about missing sheep.

Dance, Dance, Dance - The sequel to Sheep Chase, just as good and just as weird.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle - Still more Murakami, now even weirder and more emotional.

House of Leaves - The trippy meta narrative about a book about a book about a movie about a house.

Bossypants - Tina Fey's hysterical and insightful memoirs about being the boss of everyone.

Next - Michael Crichton's bleeding-edge look at a harrowing future full of ethical genetic dilemmas.

Batman: Year One - The best Batman comic ever, told in a believable fashion. Really. I swear.

The Long Halloween - The followup, which served as a basis for The Dark Knight. Phenomenal.

World War Z - The best damn book about Zombies and the end of the real world you'll ever read. I swear.

That is the full list of my verbal devotions. I love reading, as long as I have time for it. I hope you do, too. It feels like, when you really get hooked by a good book, you're feeding your brain, giving it sustenance that TV and pop culture can't. Then again, half of that list is comics and comedians, so what do I know? Regardless, I'm happy to know anyone would take a recommendation. Thanks for sticking out another themed week. Tomorrow it's back to the usual tricks. I'll see you on the flip side!

The Zed Word

Beautiful weekend, kids. 


Book Worm Week is drawing to a close tomorrow, so let's get right to it by switching gears yet again. Today's book is the one and only World War Z by Max Brooks.

Serving as a conceptual sequel and an extrapolation of the concept presented in Brooks' premier effort, The Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z is a sprawling account of the global catastrophe that occurs when an outbreak of the living dead goes out of control. But before we get ahead of ourselves here, a word of explanation - the Survival Guide was written as just that, a guide or instruction manual on how to survive and what to do when plagued by the undead. World War Z is a book that plays off of the rules established in the guide - that the zombies are in the Romero line of work, i.e. no running, no thinking, just relentless shuffling following by flesh-eating and you getting your day wrecked. While Brooks could have simply b.s.'ed a couple of short stories about outbreaks similar to the coda of the survival guide, he instead went for broke, creating a fictitious series of accounts of a global outbreak and the near-extinction of all humanity. 


It's crazy stuff.


Broken up into sections for every stage of the pseudo-apocalypse, World War Z breaks down the events into digestible (forgive the word choice) bits of story. What starts as a virus reanimating the deceased in rural China spreads via the black-market organ transplant business, exploding into an epidemic after a series of riots and out breaks in South Africa. Soon after, the world begins crumbling - in the most affecting passages, Brooks creates detailed anecdotes about humanity collapsing in the face of death. We are clearly a society that struggles to work together and this occasion is no different - riots, looting and a failure in military strategy on the national level. Abroad, things get just as bad - Russia clamps down in abhorrent military tactics while Pakistan and India fires nukes, obliterating each other. Ecosystems are destroyed, cities are overrun. It looks like time is up for mankind. 


But not all is lost.


Soon a plan is hatched to regroup and refocus military efforts, at the cost of large segments of the population. As unthinkable as it may be, letting huge sections of the world go in order to save the rest is the only workable option. Soldiers are re-trained to make slow, deliberate head shots and are re-equipped with the proper equipment. When the tides turn, the soul crushing tale starts to become a thing of remarkable optimism and cheer. It's actually a remarkable twist of narrative.

The sheer scope of what Brooks has done in World War Z is amazing. The manner in which he breaks down a global catastrophe into comprehensible segments is not unlike some of the History Channel's longer exercises on tragedies like Katrina or the September 11th attacks - events that were so massive in size that you have to approach them on a smaller, human level to begin to understand them. A zombie apocalypse would be similarly unwieldy - to huge to wrap one's head around and too many unforeseeable results. Yet somehow, through an overwhelming amount of research and homework, Brooks has lain out an impressively detailed and well-crafted series of events. The scope is staggering.

If by any means you have an interest in Zombies or horror, you have to read this book. In fact you may well have already. But that should not limit it's appeal in any way - there are fascinating insights into politics, economics and sociology as well, not just from a fictional stand point. Countless times I found myself marveling at the plausible consequences presented by Brooks. Slated to start production as a major Hollywood movie soon, you'll be hearing more about this astounding book in the future. Just be ready and do your homework. Tomorrow, we wrap up Book Worm Week! See you then!

Batboy

Happy Weekend, everyone!

We're still in the midst of Book Worm Week. In the interest of switching genres abruptly, let's go completely outside of the box and look at something fun and easy for a Friday night thing, shall we? Today's post is on Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli's stunning Batman: Year One. 

I know what you're thinking. Comics, for real? I know, I'm another in the long line of emotionally stunted men who still read comics as adults. Some are more like actual novels, like the sprawling and long form Y: The Last Man. Others are completely whacked out, like Hellboy or anything involving the X-Men. Batman, I honestly believe, falls somewhere between the two. Sounds insane to say, but hear me out - Bats has no superpowers to speak of. He's just a very wealthy, well trained man with an over-accentuated sense of justice. Nothing supernatural or completely far out, depending on the story you're reading. My preferred tales of the Batman are all closer to reality than some of the more fantastical story lines and continuities. So this excellent tale of how the Dark Knight got his start grounds itself in that same sense of reality. Let's take a closer look. 

I've got to assume that if you're reading this, you have at least a passing familiarity with Batman's origin. As an child, Bruce Wayne witnesses the death of his parents at the hands of a desperate mugger, the tragedy creating a void in his life that can never be filled. As a young man he travels abroad for 12 years, studying martial arts and along with a wide range of studies, preparing himself for cleansing corruption from Gotham City. The opening of the book sees him returning to the city and setting about the process of figuring out what to do. The plot for the book essentially follows the arc of Bruce Wayne's first year in his foray in donning a cape and cowl to fight the corruption threatening to destroy Gotham City. Simultaneously Detective Jim Gordon deals with transferring into a corrupt police force and has to face the task of combating crimes from the inside while holding on to a struggling marriage. The two men and their divergent methods of dealing with the problems they face make for an excellent read, the contrast in their dramas making for an engaging back-and-forth storytelling style. What many would dismiss as flights of fancy for teenagers and kids is actually a well written and beautifully drawn book that tells a believable tale of vigilantism taken to the extreme. 

The wonderful power of Year One comes not only from the images but the script. Too often you find hammy and over-the-top writing can pull you out of what could otherwise be a great story. Frank Miller's script, though, is fantastic - the dialogue and action are, given the circumstances, fairly grounded and true to life. Sure, it's hard to suspend you belief to accept a man dressing as a bat to fight crime, but if you read the scene in that sees Bruce finally deciding to use the likeness of a bat in his quest it really can be powerful. Likewise, the scene in which The Batman finally makes his presence explicitly known to the Mob families of Gotham is a tense, dramatic scene that plays incredibly well on the page.

The artwork here is simply gorgeous. They style of Mazzucchelli isn't one of over-exaggerated muscles and impossibly proportioned women with too little too wear. Instead it's all grim and grit, the smoke of the cigarettes wafting off the page, the rain making you feel chilled. The tone of the visuals is a bit of a throwback, drawing influence from old-school yarns that originated the format, re-contextualized in the style of the time (late 80s). It's a tale told in the shadows and gloom, yet it never gets lost in the dark - the dynamics make for a remarkable piece, all pops of color and highlights that draw attention to key elements. For men who work in the shadows, it's incredibly bright work.


No matter your stance on the format, you owe it to yourself to read one of the finest tales the medium can offer. If you've never read a comic, or anything about Batman, it's the perfect place to start. If you're passingly familiar with the world, it's an example of how high a standard the form can set. If you're a die hard, you already know just why you should re-read this classic. Batman: Year One is gospel. Do it for justice. Do it for the art.

Bleeding Edge

Exclamations! 

We're still in the midst of Book Worm Week, just passing the halfway point. So where does that leave us? Which genre can we jump to next? In a convenient twist, Next is the book du jour, a startling and strange look ahead by the late, great Michael Crichton. 

It was a sad day in the literary world when he passed away - Crichton was fantastic. His books vacillated between science fiction thrillers to cutting edge techno-parables that fueled their pace with frantic and dire warnings of progress run amok. Like anyone alive during the 90s (except paleontologists) I loved Jurassic Park - even re-reading it on a plane ride during the first decade of the millennium I thought it aged pretty well. It's a great story. Crichton had this relentless energy and nerds-pushing-glasses-up-their-noses aggression that added a level of seriousness without pomp. In short, I really dug his work. So when my (eventual) mother-in-law happened to leave a copy of his last finished published work on their coffee table, I eagerly borrowed it and got down to business. What I read was an interesting if uneven tale that Crichton made accessible despite the jargon within. Since my last read of any of his works was about five years prior, I was pleasantly reminded of why I love his work. 

Next, published in 2006, is technically a novel about a loosely connected group of people in the genetic-research industry and the implications of their actions. In the same sense, though, the book functions more as a collection of interconnected vignettes about out-of-control and unchecked advances in the legal and ethical realm of scientists at the front of their field. Beginning with the tale of a man who loses the rights of ownership of his own cells (due to not understanding the language of a research waiver while being treated for a leukemia), Crichton begins spinning yarn after yarn about potential developments due to court-enabled precedents. The man loses the rights to his cells, which a university uses for research and eventually profit while barring him from any information, let alone profits. This ties in with a story of a geneticist who inadvertently creates transgenic specimens, one of which is a chimp that is blurring the lines of humanity in unnerving ways. Further concepts such as genetic predispositions to risk-taking and chimera genes are brought into the story as both plot points and parables. The collection of stories hold together well, but from my understanding Crichton wasn't aiming to do so - Next is intended as a single, cohesive novel and yet it comes across as segmented and uneven, some passages feeling too heavy handed to be legitimate fiction, while some fiction comes across as to much of a lecture to be engaging. Despite this uneven nature, I still enjoyed the book, if not for the diverse range of characters than for all of the startling and accurate developments in science and the legal system.

 One gets the sense, coming late to the Crichton party, that his books are not always read for their rich stories and characters but for the concepts and execution. I enjoyed reading Prey when it came out (Xmas of 2004) but I can't recall the characters. Similar story for The Lost World, save for Ian Malcolm. In fact, were it not for his science and adoration of boundary-pushing, would I have any inclination to read his books? Probably not. But that's neither here nor there. What really tickles my brain is that, having read this book just a few years after publishing, so much of it has come to pass that it becomes unnerving. We may not have full ownership of our bodies, given certain circumstances. Following a multitude of science and tech blogs (Hi Giz!) plus being obsessed with science fiction (Hellooooo io9!) I'm startled to read about the bizarre and incomprehensible discoveries and developments that occur on a daily basis. Just the other day I read about a lab that was creating a whole slew of transgenic animals and just wasn't telling anyone, just because they wanted to do it to see if it could be done (and supposedly what we can learn in the process). Or how we can cultivate bacteria to eat the oil in the Gulf or break down plastics in the Great Pacific Garbage Heap. Or everyone's favorite - the mouse with the ear grown on its back: 

Next is a bit of a hybrid itself - an imperfect development that spans multiple worlds. Crichton was a visionary, predicting both good and bad from this rapidly changing field - the main lesson to draw from it seems to be that we need to be judicious and cautious in our approach. It's not the most engaging story he's told (*coughcoughdinosaursrunningwildcoughcough*) but man, if it isn't crazy science. maybe I'm just a nerd who's suckered in by geeky subject matter and a pulpy story. Maybe I'm being to hard on a great author, now that he's gone. Tell you what - you read Next and weigh in. Am I a jerk or what? While we're doing homework, read these five summarizing conclusions Crichton made after writing this book:

Stop patenting genes.

Establish clear guidelines for the use of human tissues.

Pass laws to ensure that data about gene testing is made public.

Avoid bans on research.

Rescind the Bayh-Dole Act

...and read this critique on his reasoning, then weigh in. Test tomorrow. Okay, no test. It's Friday.