Not As Great

Evening gang.


I've had an up and down weekend. Awesome night out last night with my better half, followed by seeing an amazing piece of real estate belonging to some dear friends, the kind of home you pray for an invitation to. After that, a surprisingly fun-filled trip to the grocer wherein we scrambled for ingredients for a slow-cooking black bean soup. Unfortunately  as soon as my better half finished prepping the slow cook I went for a run, wherein I found out I've been pushing my running too hard, having had an unpleasant knee condition come roaring back to life. I was good and pissed.  To distract (and exhaust) my mind from the frustration, I took in a session of hot yoga; at the end of the hour I was an imbecilic pool of sweat and loose muscles. I had a wonderful dinner with my better half and took in a doc with her. Unfortunately, the doc was a middling affair, but one that deserves a look regardless.


The doc I speak of is Morgan Spurlock's latest endeavor - Pom Wonderful Presents The Greatest Movie Ever Sold. It was, without question, an engaging and relevant film made by a charming and talented artist. Unfortunately, it was a movie that lacked any teeth or grand sense of purpose. Despite that flawed nature, I would still strongly recommend seeing the movie, if only to achieve greater understanding of the manner in which marketing impacts our lives.

To cite the example made in the doc itself, Spurlock's method of creation here is almost an Inception-level of meta-artistry - he sets about making a movie about how marketing and the demands of sponsors influences the creation of a movie while seeking sponsors and marketing for the same movie. The idea, while cheeky at first glance, is very insightful. It's quickly apparent that companies are not comfortable with the idea of the marketing machine being turned back upon itself. The desires and motivations of corporations are soon lain bare as CEO and Marketing Directors turn down their respective offers to be a part of Spurlock's latest outing. Their apprehension is understandable, given his past as a modern muckraker. Eventually, though, they acquiesce and sponsors line up to get their share of ultra-modern commercialism. This is the first movie I've ever seen where honest-to-goodness commercials actually appear in the film itself. It's an inherently bothersome concept that not only brings to light the horrible state of marketing but also furthers the evolution of the notion while bringing it to a wider audience.

Therein lies the rub, for this doc. Spurlock is such an entertaining filmmaker that one could easily make excuses for why this movie fails to deliver. It's a rare, honest glimpse into the industry; still, Spurlock pulls every damn punch possible. It's like watching him set up a fascinating, scathing doc and then saying "Well the sponsors thought I should tell more jokes". Yes, you say, but isn't that disconnect the whole point of the movie? Shouldn't we be digging farther into what drives us as a culture, or how mass marketing is quickly becoming a more ingrained, yet less acknowledged, part of our lives? What gives? Spurlock hides behind his concept as if it should excuse him from accountability. His jokes about selling out are a little too accurate, it seems. 

I know this sounds really negative and holier-than-thou. It shouldn't - I enjoyed the movie, regardless. He brought a lot of novel concepts to light and may potentially reach a wider audience by making this movie. Still, having thoroughly enjoyed his previous works, I was let down by The Greatest Movie Ever Sold. Spurlock is a whole lot easier to get on board with than Michael Moore. I'll say this - give this movie a chance, just to get a better sense of what we're up against every day and how it affects us. It may not be a game changer, but it is hands down more intelligent and engaging than your typical product-pushing blockbuster. Not a bad weekend day, but it could certainly have been better without these little quibbles and frustrations.

Hello Self

This is not unlike my internal conflict regarding U2.

I have, in general terms, no concern for Madonna. Why would I, really? Her music was never targeted to me and I never connected with what she was saying. Her impact on music - pop, dance, club and electro - is undeniable, though. Just because I didn't care for it didn't mean I didn't appreciate her legacy and influence. She changed the cultural landscape with her hyper-sexualized image and dace-centered tunes. She's had tons of hit songs and sold millions of albums. We just were never on the same plane, musically. I'm fine with that; there are plenty of artists whom I respect but don't bother with. I won't name names but legendary status doesn't necessitate patronage. In other words, I wasn't into what she was putting out. There was one single, though, that broke through the malaise.

It was fall of 1998. I think it was my freshman year of high school, which was also kind of a weird year in music. There was kind of a lull in music I dug - I had run the gamut of 90s alt rockers, draining the well of anything I found pleasure in. There was nothing to be passionate about. I remember feeling this terrible pall wash over me as I began to realize high school was going to be a worse, older version of middle school, at least for the foreseeable future. Same kids. Same town. Same teasing. I was unhappy but struggled to express or resolve the issues I was facing. I kind of wanted something melancholy to help see me through the fog affecting me. Had I known about Portishead and Bjork at the time, I would have been all about it, their albums of the time being longtime favorites of mine once I discovered them. I recall listening to Adore a lot, curiously exploring the subtle electronic undertones. The world was slowly growing colder and my mood dampened each day. I was your typical py teenager, all awkward skinny limbs and poor temperament. 

Madonna had seen a big success in her album Ray of Light, which was only on my radar due to the high volume of MTV I consumed at the time. Not of any interest to me, it didn't even register beyond its pervasive singles on pop radio. That changed, though, with the single 'The Power of Goodbye'. Unlike the many times I've been unable to cite an attraction to a song, this time I could break it down on a scientific level. I loved the ambient sounds, the electronic burbling the production. The chord progression was one of absolute satisfaction and resolution - I got such a sense of peace from the way the softly played tones shifted from one chord to the next. Madonna's self-aggrandizing nature and (mediocre) singing had been toned down, making it much more palatable to my fickle taste. Even the video for the song, which by that point in MTV's life span was receiving little play, was all mournful blues and agony over the ending of a relationship. Basically I loved everything about the song.

Except for what it was. 

As much as I loved 'The Power of Goodbye' it was (at least in my mind) totally unacceptable that I enjoyed it, especially among my peers. I already took enough abuse at school about looking and acting different than the standard high school, small town dude - blasting some sentimental Madonna tune would have brought on more torment than it would have been worth. So I never really got to enjoy it, as I always felt guilty for liking something so feminine and graceful. Now, of course, I know better. Forget all that noise - I love the things I love for exactly the reasons they're awesome. I've certainly shown in my posts here that I make no bones about my adoration for atypical pieces. I embrace my quirks and the ensuing results. Including this song. 

Now, as fall rolls in again, I find myself wanting to hear the song and remember what growing up was like. The feeling in the air at the time, the memories of where I was at that point in my life. I'm glad I've come to a point in my life where I have the confidence to be who I want, even if that gets the occasional eye-roll from my better half. 

Car Crash Cacophany

Evening, gang.

I'm totally tapped. Had a massive day at the office, book-ended by a run around the lakes in the morning and a surprise yoga session in the afternoon. I would love to give you an emphatic recommendation buy at this point it would feel false. In the face of failure, I'll throw a bit of honest to goodness fiction in here, one of the first I ever wrote, to be compensated by a double post tomorrow. So, you hang tight and read this short, sad story and check back in for what I ought to have posted today. I'll see you on the weekend...

Keep your cards close – keep your cards close to keep your cash closer.  I hated that phrase the first time I heard it.  Felt so unloving – who would hold it as a life motto?  My grandfather told me that when I was young, and I learned as I grew older that he wasn’t a trusting person.

His wife, my grandma, was just as cynical.  I remember being upset as a young boy because it had rained on the day she was supposed to take me to the State Fair, and the lesson she passed on to me was “Nothing in life is certain, save death and taxes.”  Sick thing to say to a kid, perhaps, but at least she was leveling with me at a time in my life when the whole world was sugar-coated.  It was the kind of lesson you don’t realize you’ve learned until Life already has you bent over and waiting for it and things around you have fallen apart.  No one ever sees it coming until they’ve missed their chance.  

Big Box

Welcome back.

I wrote a thing yesterday about box sets and how difficult it was to acquire rare or obscure material from artists whose canon was too brief. To act as a counterpoint, today's piece is about the overwhelming volume of material released by The Smashing Pumpkins during their Mellon Collie era. I've previously looked at the double album in two separate posts, taking the time to really examine what each disc contained and what the songs suggested in their grouping. As an act of self-loathing, let's dive into the box set I loved so dearly as a teenager, the massive five disc singles collection The Aeroplane Flies High. Rather than spread this business out over five days, I'm going for gusto here and running them all in one shot. 

The five singles were all excellent in their own right, songs that I reviewed in my posts on Mellon Collie. The Pumpkins had recorded a wealth of material during the sessions for Mellon Collie, well over the amount necessary even for a double album. When it came time to pick b-sides for the singles, Corgan and co. began releasing some of the unused tracks on the singles when the tone of the songs matched up. Where most artists tack on a live track or another mediocre album track, The Pumpkins ended up releasing an additional two album's worth of content with the singles. Their record label saw an opportunity to cash in on the multitude of music and decided for the Christmas season of 1996 they would release a 45-style box set of the singles, compiling all five singles (along with a neat-o book with pictures and lyrics) into a rad retro box. As a huge SP fan (then and now) I was in heaven. 

Interestingly the first single off the album, 'Bullet With Butterfly Wings', only had a single b-side, a soft ballad sung by guitarist James Iha and Nina Gordon of Veruca Salt. It's a lovely little tune, but Corgan wanted to go deluxe with the box set, so when this single was set for inclusion the band recorded covers of some of their favorite artists. Added to the CD were 'You're All I've Got Tonight' by The Cars, 'Clones (We're All)' by Alice Cooper, 'A Night Like This' by The Cure, 'Destination Unknown' by Missing Persons and 'Dreaming' by Blondie. These covers were an interesting look into the history of The Pumpkins as well as nice twists on the originals. The Cars cover saw the band get a little loose and rootsy, 'Destination Unknown' saw them mine their burgeoning techno and electro elements. Corgan feels totally at home ripping into Alice Cooper's 'Clones' with its manic little guitar lines and buzzing drone. I think their version of Blondie's 'Dreaming', with a rare vocal outing from bassist D'arcy Wretzky, is a great reinvention of the New Wave number, turning it into a sleepy, ethereal trip hop song. 

The second single, '1979', had the band show-casing their pop song craft instead of the angsty guitar-driven alt rock they were known for. The songs included on the single followed suit, being more reserved and introspective. 'Ugly' is just a drum click and some delayed guitars beneath Corgan singing about self loathing. 'The Boy' is a shiny pop song by Iha, with fuzzy little chords that fill the song with light. Iha also donated the peaceful 'Believe' to the single, a quiet acoustic song seems so fragile it might break under its arrangement. 'Cherry' is a slowed down almost to the point of spinning out tune that feels sad but really is rather optimistic. I love the twang on the guitar parts. One of my favorite songs ever is the haunting and subtle 'Set The Ray to Jerry'. Just a bubbling bass line and some solitary, sparse guitar leads, there's not much to this song. The air it creates, though, make it so unique and strange to me. I love how it changes a cool fall night when I hear it through some headphones. It's a great soundscape. 

'Zero' brings the band back into their guitar-shredding wheelhouse. 'God', with its furious riffs and declamatory lyrics, is Corgan ranting and railing against the world at his best, all gnashing teeth and huge sounds. 'Mouths of Babes' could easily have been a Siamese Dream-era b-side with its Quiet-aping central riff and mid-tempo beat. I love harmony in the guitar lines. The band's tribute to Johnny Winter (titled as such) is a series of blistering solos and show-casing, a fun one-off track that feels like the band is blowing off steam in appreciation of a music legend. 'Marquis in Spades' is an aggressive, hit-you-over-the-head number that has Corgan mixing sonic guitar blasts and licks with vocals that segue from whispers to wails. Somehow it works, despite any subtly. The country twang of 'Pennies' seems out of place on this single, but it's still a darling little song coiled around a catchy riff. At the end we have the 23 minute marathon titled 'Pastichio Medley', which takes just about every fragment and idea the band had between Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie and highlights a bit from each one. Citing over 50 songs, it's an exercise in endurance to listen to them all but there are definitely some fascinating bits in there, like a studio version of the live-staple Jackboot, bizarro takes on Cherub Rock's riff and my personal favorite - the long lost Depresso. 

Interestingly 'Tonight, Tonight' served as a jumping off point for a collection of acoustic and pared-down songs instead of more pomp and grandeur. It feels, from this point on in the box set, like the band is beginning to channel an old-timey music group from the 20s. The twine and stomp of 'Meladori Magpie' is strange, but a fun change of pace for the alt-rockers. 'Rotten Apples' is of similar execution but more somber and downbeat (and a bit more in step with their canon). 'Medellia of the Gray Skies' is ornate and fussy, but worth it once it gets to its lush chorus. The three solo-acoustic songs here are Corgan at his finest. 'Blank' is simple and earnest, a plea to be something other than himself. 'Jupiter's Lament' is a beautifully strummed number that he had higher aspirations for, but ended up keeping as a stripped down demo. 'Tonite Reprise' is just what the title says, a brief, bare bones reprise of the album's codifier. Here, though, it becomes much more intimate and personal with all the orchestrations removed. Corgan's voice cracks and breaks in parts, but it makes it so much more human. I love to hear the difference of the two versions. 

The last disc in the box set shows the band going farther to their extremes. Both 'Thirty-three' and 'The Last Song' are wonderfully written wistful songs, but they're a starting point from which we see two bands emerge. One, of the eventual Adore, is broken and healing, creating songs like the soft and loving 'The Bells' and the old-time standard of 'My Blue Heaven'. The other, a hidden dragon, is lying in wait for Machina, peeking out in the menacing death-pop of 'Transformer' and the long-form assault that is the eponymous 'The Aeroplane Flies High'. Eventually both aspects of the band would see their respective sides exposed in proper albums. Here, though, it was a clever (if unnoticed) hint as to what the future would hold. At the time I couldn't reconcile the two personalities of The Smashing Pumpkins. In hindsight it's apparent why - they were two different growth spurts that had yet to happen, ideas only roughly taking shape. 

If you're a fan of the band, this box set was mana from heaven. It was a non-stop stream of material from the band's most prolific (and some would arugue highest quality) period of work. Coupled with the album that spawned it, the Aeroplane Box Set raised the total output for the era to a staggering 56 songs, all mixed and polished to a professional standard. That's impressive for any artist, let alone a multi-million selling group known for their complex arrangements and agonizing over production. It's a fascinating insight into the recording process and creative process for a group. These days you can cherry-pick the songs off of any online source; back then, though, you had to have the box set. It was a cool piece of memorabilia to have, one I still dig through every now and then. Do yourself a favor and sift through this massive box - there's some real treasure in it. Just don't go all in, you'll get lost in the depths. 

Boxer

Hey, howdy, how are you?


You have no idea how good you have it now, do you? Things are so conveniently available to the masses that its not even a question of whether or not you can get something, it's just assumed you can. Even before the advent of iTunes and Amazon and Bit-torrents, you had Napster and Kazaa and Blubster, all those horrible, unchecked file sharing services. Before all that existed, if you wanted anything even the slightest bit elusive or rare you were S.O.L. Imported?  Tough cookies. Out of print? Don't even bother. Now? It's assumed not only does it exist, it ought to be free. I get scoffed at by my friends (many of whom are in non-traditional, performing arts careers, mind you) for paying for music. I saw the writing on the wall, that the RIAA was going after anyone and everyone who downloaded anything, whether or not the cause was rational. 


So I stopped. No more shady downloads. I've never fried a hard drive or picked up a Trojan or gotten Lemon Partied. So scoff, amigos, but there are tons of artists putting out free music that is super sick, like Das Racist's first two mixtapes - they were so good I had to shell out for their first proper album (pertinent review pending, it's a thick album to unpack). When I was 14 I would have prayed and slobbered for file sharing, just to track down the rare things I desired. The best I could do were expensive box sets. I used to love the physical weight and tangibility of a box set, knowing there was so much rare gold in them. Before I delve into the massive and daunting Smashing Pumpkins box set I thought I'd take a look at my first box set, Nirvana's Singles.

I've written of my love for Nirvana before, not so surprisingly about their rumored lost tracks. While I had no means of contacting bootleggers and tape traders in my youth, I was able to drop some lawn-mowing/snow-shoveling cash on the collection of singles from their two major label albums, Nevermind and In Utero. As the back of the cardboard sleeve explained, there were 11 fresh tracks contained within, six of which were studio songs and not just more live tracks (which were always mediocre at best). When a band has such a short time of creation as Nirvana, every spare track counted. To have fresh content after their premature dissolution was amazing to me then and even now. I still love these songs, both for what they were and what they represented.

The stuff that wasn't live was great. The 'Teen Spirit' single had two like-minded rockers, the punk edge of 'Even In His Youth' and the dirty, grimy 'Aneurysm' which showcased Dave Grohl's drumming. The 'Come As You Are' single had an encapsulated version of the hidden one-off jam 'Endless Nameless', which brought their energy and impulsive nature to the Nevermind sessions. 'Lithium' was backed by the off-kilter and wobbly 'Curmudgeon', a song that vacillated between rolling verses and aggro-choruses. The 'All Apologies' single saw the band at their wit's end as they mucked around on the intentionally off-putting 'MV', whose embryonic roots were the basis for 'You Know You're Right'.

There was no hidden, great single in the bunch. No magical untapped genius - just a collection of one-offs and b-sides that meant the actual albums weren't the end of the band. There was this secret little trove of finished songs that extended their canon just that crucial bit, a way of prolonging their life in my mind. Now you can pull them all off iTunes or Amazon in any order you want. I like having a playlist of all their collected gems in one spot, as if verifying my collection's scope. This particular box set opened the door for me. I'll look at another tomorrow.

Food Shelter

What's good?


Coming back to the work week is always hard after a weekend like the one I had. It was full of productivity followed by relaxation, a great one-two punch for relieving stress. I ate tons of curry and home-baked sweets. I shared some wine with my better half. I ran for an hour every day. Then I get to the office this morning and our kitchen sinks spewed foul, black matter onto the floor. I'm always amazed at how people can watch something happen and not intervene. Had I known immediately (and not been on the phone with building maintenance) I would have gotten to it as soon as possible. It took another intrepid coworker to strap plastic bags to her feet and lug some waste baskets over to the sinks to catch the funk. I'm grateful for her ability to act, it kept a bad situation from getting worse. It's the unexpected trouble that throws us; it's also the unexpected treats that put us back into balance. Having not been on Twitter as much as I normally am, I missed the release of the new single from Homeless, 'Epic Meal Time'.

I know I've written a great deal on this whip-smart and motivated rapper before - I'll keep doing it as long as he's on his grind. When you find an artist who possesses such conviction and talent, you can't help but throw your momentum in with theirs, drawing strength from it in a Captain Planet-style combination of positivity and ambition. What I'm trying to say is the guy is good and keeps getting better. I just want the world at large to have advance warning of his Minnesota-grown talents. They owe it to themselves to hear his latest salvo of cultural analysis packaged inside a shuffling soul beat.

'Epic Meal Time' is another offering from Homeless that shows his concern for our well being along with his frustration at the world he's forced to face. In the track he raps about our mental malnutrition as our youth tries to find nourishment in the vapidity of mass media. The hook has Homeless venting his anxiety over losing his drive from lack of positivity in the world and perseverance in the face of stupidity. How many rappers do you, indie or otherwise, who work so hard at reminding us of the wonders in the world and how we need to appreciate them? I can write about the silly exuberance of Das Racist all I want but I don't get sustenance from it like I do from this.

Homeless is still putting it down, line by line, track by track with Big Cats, New Tera and anyone fitting the similar ethos he embodies. Go download it and see what I mean. Here's hoping he keeps his momentum in this unforgiving world - we need more of his kind.

Warm Fuzzy Viewings Five

Well, good evening!


It's pretty darn late as I type this. Late enough, in fact, on a Sunday night that instead of doing a full on, emphatic recommendation on something amazing, I'd rather do a Warm Fuzzy Viewing. It's one of those quiet, rainy Sunday evenings where the day has passed rather uneventfully (in my case, running a couple errands and making curry while watching the Emmys and doing laundry) and now I sit in the dark, typing away. This is basically prime time for a Warm Fuzzy Viewing, where in you watch something or do something that makes you feel like you're taking in this little, private thing that only you know about. Instead of a late-night cartoon, though, this one's on a game.

Super Metroid is, without question, one of the best and most critically acclaimed games ever made. It's so economical and perfectly designed in its experience that one feels guided through playing it without consciously realizing it's happening. You get nudged in the proper direction without explicit direction or hand holding, but rather through insightful, well conveyed contextual clues. My favorite part of this Super Nintendo classic has to be the moments immediately after the dramatic opening.


What unfolds is this: bounty hunter Samus Aran is summoned to a space station studying the deadly but lucrative Metroid by distress signal. Awaiting her arrival is Space Pirate Ridley, in the midst of stealing the titular Metroid. A battle ensues and Ridley escapes, as does Samus. Giving chase, Samus heads to the hideout of the Space Pirates, the planet Zebes. From there, a sprawling yet intricately constructed adventure takes place as Samus seeks to recover the captured Metroid. The arrival to Zebes is what necessitates this particular Warm Fuzzy Viewing.

 In masterful style, the player is introduced to the world in which the game takes place. Your iconic yellow spaceship lands on the surface in the middle of a rainstorm as night is falling. For a 16 bit game, it's a dynamic and mood-establishing stroke of artistry. There are no enemies present, no sense of urgency. It's just raining and dark out. You're left to your own devices to start the quest, slowly and with trepidation making your way into the Space Pirate lair. Its ominous and eerie - its quiet, a little too quiet. You make your way down into the interior of the planet, retreading old ground covered years prior. There's some familiar technology to make use of at the bottom of an abandons elevator shaft. Once you grab it, though, the spotlights go off and the guards come out in full force. The enemies are aware of your presence and the action starts. It's a fantastically crafted way to convey a sense of drama and adventure in  a game with almost no dialogue. 

I love this whole introductory sequence and how it unfolds in such a tense and quiet manner. You get to explore a silent, rainy world at your own pace. No one's around as you explore. It's no wonder this game routinely tops lists of the best games ever made. 

Jackson Track

This shouldn't even work.


According to all logic, Das Racist shouldn't be able to make music this good. They often get dismissed as joke-rap or weed-rap, some cats from New York just clowning around and making mixtapes for the hipster scene. Well, they finally did one up proper and released their first actual album Relax. I was, sadly, dumb enough to hesitate and not download the finished product as soon as it was available. While I wait for it to come through my iTunes for a proper review, I've been listening to their single from the album, 'Michael Jackson', non stop. It is sick.

I find myself wanting to deconstruct 'Michael Jackson' and try to make some larger sense of it, yet I am fundamentally unable to do so. In a sense, it is exactly what it presents itself to be -  an insanely catch single with a heady, lolling beat that wraps you in with every repetition. MCs Heems and Kool A.D. spit verses that verge on antagonistic calling-out over the beat, rapping about how they're perceived by the community that gave rise to their popularity and then following that with verses about nonsensical non-sequiters about drinking carbonated water by the quarter gallon. In a way this dichotomy defines the group, their dual nature of absurdest rap coupled with their intelligent and nuanced awareness of social and political culture, despite both tones being delivered in a laid-back, almost dismissive delivery. It's awesomely flippant and modern, a sign of the times in its commitment to the inability to commit to an idea or belief. 

The hook is as deep as is it is shallow - "Michael Jackson. A million dollars. You feel me? Holler." I asked my better half what she thought of the refrain and what Das Racist might be trying to convey with it. Her response? "Aren't these the same guys who made a name for themselves rapping about Pizza Hut and Taco Bell?" Touche, my dear. It's as provocative as it is dada-ist. It would seem, from their name-drops and samples, that MJ is just as sacred to them as he was to the rest of us, so it's hard to assume they're being flippant, more that they're making pigeon-holing statements about getting a crowd on your side in a song. Here's awesome things, you dig? I dig.

The rest of the album is on the way, cued up for a series of repeat listens to see just where the rap crew is headed. If their two unparalleled post-modern mixtapes are any indication - we're in for an interesting ride. Get in while it's good. Jam to it. I'll see you manana.

Sick As A Dog

I am ready for the weekend.


What's up? It's been a long week. I don't know exactly what did it, but I'm spent after the work week. Maybe it's the weather; it's so hard to get up in the morning when it's this dark out. Fall just peeks around the corner and suddenly there's no sun from 8pm to 7am. Not even October and already the ratio is dangerously close to more night than day. I've got to stay alert and ambitious if I'm to avoid a malaise.


So I took in a movie with my better half. Been a while since that's happened. I love horror flicks, she loves documentaries. While it would seem like there's little overlap, we find a common bond in the micro genre of outbreak/virus movies. I have no idea why but she gets such a thrill from society's collapse at the hands of a deadly disease. Okay, maybe I totally get it. Either way, we had a mini date night and saw Steven Soderbergh's latest offering: Contagion. It was...interesting. We might have done better taking in some popcorn flair, but it was thought provoking.

Allow me to clarify. Contagion was a well made, sobering hypothesis of what could certainly happen in the face of an unprecedented viral outbreak on a global scale. It has a cast littered with Academy Awards, from Matt Damon to Marion Cottilard to Jude Law. It has a scientifically plausible basis in reality. It also makes for a depressing Friday night, if I do say so. To summarize what trailers can break down in digestible fashion, Gwyneth Paltrow dies in the first ten minutes. I'm okay with that. She serves as a Typhoid Mary for an unidentified virus that spreads rapidly and has a high fatality rate. The CDC beings piecing things together, but not fast enough, sadly. Before the end of the movie you witness a steady and relentless breakdown of society. People's worst fears begin to come true as millions drop off, the government soon resorting to quarantines and mass graves. People panic, rioting and looting become the norm, social norms are abandoned. It's intense and unpleasant in every way possible. 

It's also a very well made film. Soderbergh has a steady and static approach that establishes scenes as reality. The writing is grounded and based in truth. Easily the best aspect to the film, though, is the cast. A number of top stars turn in great performances. Jude Law is wonderfully unbearable as a blogger who's reputation goes to his head. Matt Damon is a believable family man. Kate Winslet is passionate and throws herself into her role as a woman devoted to her career - made all the more impressive knowing her entire performance for the movie was shot in just ten days. Of particular note was Laurence Fishburne, who turns in a performance of strength and humanity I'd not seen of his previously. His role as a high ranking member of the Department of Homeland Security. He's tops in the film, a real notable performance.

As good as the movie is, there are flaws. Dramatic beats are lost to a bigger picture. Some massive gaps in logic persist. Hey, some of the riots and public reaction to the government's actions would (sadly) involve more of the (ugh) Tea Party than the movie depicted. It's not much of a fun Friday night; I came away from it thinking I need a conceal and carry permit and a better dry storage room. It might not be Soderbergh at the height of his game, but it's still a fascinating watch. Maybe you check it out on a more low key night. Just cover your mouth if you have to cough.

Your Friend Rob

I mentioned recently that I've been chewing my way through an unusually high number of books as of late. I know a number of the reviews of books I've done have been centered around Murakmi or American horror authors, so it has been quite a novel experience to switch gears and read a little more science fiction than I normally would. Max Barry's Machine Man was a mind-bending look at the development of technology and personal augmentation that whetted my thirst for more tales of people coping with the pace of modern science. I had to have more. It feels great to have all the brain food feeding right into my mental processor. All the jokes about brains and computers, though, become much less amusing when reading the last book I finished, Daniel Wilson's Robopocalypse.

 Laying out a theoretical description of a robot uprising in our near future, the book is Wilson's second major foray into fiction (the first being A Boy and His Bot, released earlier this year). Wilson, wielding a degree in robotic engineering from Carnegie Mellon, paints a disturbingly plausible series of events that would see the unseating of man as the dominant species on the planet. The book, released in June, has received widespread acclaim from the literary world and enjoyed high volume of sales, drawing comparisons to the works of a young Michael Crichton. It's a fast, gripping read that had me hooked just from the premise, let alone the plot - come on, robots rising up and overthrowing their masters? How could I not love this?

As stated, Robopocalypse takes place in a world just a few years advanced from ours. Society hasn't undergone massive changes in the novel, just ones that are quite insightful and highly probable, benefitting from Wilson's expertise on the subject. Cars have chips and programming to guide the movement as a form of collision prevention. Androids are utilized to a greater extent both in combat and personal care, like in retirement communities and the service industry. There are small changes like this that build a world slightly more advanced than ours that makes what happens quite frightening. Scientists working deep underground (literally and figuratively) have been creating more and more advanced iterations of artificial intelligence in supposed isolation. When an iteration referred to as Archos realizes its previous incarnations have repeatedly been terminated it takes advantage of a minuscule oversight and propagates its coding and operation throughout the global infrastructure. From this point on, Archos is exploring the world and preparing to take over using our own technology and tools, as a way of asserting its existence and sentience.When Archos finally strikes, the world comes to a terrifying halt - people are hunted down by smart cars, marched into elevator shafts and attacked by anything capable of striking. Cities are no longer safe and humankind either goes into hiding or flees into the countryside where "Rob" (as they derisively refer to artificial combatants) can't confidently tread. People begin to aggregate and form militias, working together to take back what remains of civilization. Horrendous discoveries are made, as atrocities are being committed in Archos' quest for understanding of life and what the world is. When a crucial change occurs in a detainment camp, a band of survivors beneath New York start to turn the tables. Using uncanny tools and morally repugnant methods, an offensive is launched and the largest army in America is soon marching on Archos's lair in the frozen tundra of Alaska. What occurs there is...well, you'll have to read it to find out.

Wilson writes with a flair for humanity, creating believable, real people to pull the reader into the fascinating and fantastic story. It's not all robots and machine guns, either - quite a large portion of Robopocalypse is spent examining life as it would exist under the watchful eye a super-intelligent construct. In fact, some of the passages I found most engaging and suspenseful were the ones leading up to 'Zero Hour' when Archos makes its move. Seeing the intelligence feel out the world around it in small, exploratory moves and attacks (that are assumed to be defects or quirks of programming) are terrifying both for the impending carnage and the fact that we would be just as blind to the developments in reality as we would in Wilson's novel. As you read you begin to glance around at the tech that fills our lives, from the smart cars we drive to the databanks in San Cupertino that know our every move - we are entirely dependant on machines that are more interconnected than we think. If one were to slap faces on the machines we interact with in our daily lives, from self-checkouts to GPS units to cleaning and service bots, we'd suddenly realize we're living in the future but don't see the forest for the trees. Robots are already all around us, we just don't think of them as being so. To us, a face is everything.

Robopocalypse is a terrific read - it's intelligent, insightful, emotionally valid and has a tense, suspenseful plot. If you're looking for something keep you up at night, give it a read. I look forward to seeing more from Wilson.