corazine reviews

All That's Behind

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 09:03:24 GMT

Italy brims with power metal, and even black metal thrives well there. At least, that's what I gather from the stream of Italian-based promos I receive. That being said, Vehement is probably the first thrash metal outfit from the boot of Europe that I encounter.
My Kingdom Music always feels like the maecenas of extreme music and faceless bands - offering new talent a first climb on the ladder toward world domination. And so Vehement got their debut released. The band propagates a pure thrash spirit, although it's partially muddied by an underground feel... or wait, is that supposed to be part of the whole thing? The production is metallic (oh, the irony) and simple - I'd say 'flat' but that isn't quite the word. Just fitting for equally metallic and candid songs. There's a raw, murky sauce poured over the whole - almost as if the distortions of the guitars draw a faint veil over the other layers, too. You love it, or you don't.
About the songs I can't tell you anything spectacular: if you've heard thrash and its affiliates, you already (almost!) for sure how you'll feel about Vehement. They're a tad more modern than eighties thrash, tending to 'screamify' and 'rhythmify' more than once. The fundamental structures are the familiar ones, though. Vehement is a band not at all conspicuous among their peers, but they manage to throw some nice licks and grooves. You might as well lend them a few minutes of your time, for starters.

One Way Ticket

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:59:02 GMT

An energetic and feisty dosage of straight-to-the-strings electric jangle of protopunkesque garage rock. Fans of the tunes emitting from garages, basements and warehouses everywhere back in the 60s (and then in the 70s when those who continued the punk rock groundwork were cranking 'em out) will likely be fans of this. If you have any rock comp in your CD collection with the words "Garage Rock" on it, then this disc is apt to end up right next to those, along with all your Troggs, Paul Revere, Stooges, Chocolate Watchband and Standells CDs. Straight punked up (pre-old school old school!) tunes to throw you back into the era before punk was punk when it was just egalitarian rock - rock for anybody, by anybody, before proto-punk became punk and punk became a "style" and it strangled on its own self-consciousness. Thwacking, jittering guitar strings, raucous but not too ruff, fun with a touch of edge, enthusiastic vocals and pumping rhythm section. The Nerves ARE one of those 70s bands that were keeping alive (thanks Alive Records for this release!) the old rock-is-rock fun, the kind of stuff that arose from the classic 60s R&B-to-rock conversion. You know, the kind of stuff inspired by the Beatles before they went all artsy-fartsy - the kind of hey-we-can-do-this-too! shenanigans that erupted from a scene in which the Isley Brothers soulful grooves co-existed alongside rock-and-freakin'-roll music. Yea, The Nerves won't get on your nerves - they'll rock 'em the roll out!

Mad Max

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:49:51 GMT

Yay, Metal Mind and Roadrunner. Three re-releases (which you can nab by way of Music Video Distributors) continue recent jaunts into the realm of vintage German power metal/hard rock. Here we have the works of Mad Max represented on a re-issue of the band's first three albums: "Mad Max", "Rollin' Thunder" and "Stormchild." Sound-wise, you know what to expect. I can't say Mad Max broke the mold, but if you like 80s-style hard rock/metal (that doesn't go to the pop cheese excess of the likes of, say, American pop choppers Poison) but drives right down the middle of this still cult-beloved genre, and, further, if you want to delve into unexplored corners - then this is another chance. MVD has been making available a number of fringe acts from back in the era and this is one of those batches. Germany, though it might not have gotten as much press once you strayed away from The Scorpions, et. al., was certainly a purveyor of metal. Still is. Europe has stayed more faithful to its classic metal styles (while still evolving) than has the States. But, hey, we ain't talking about today's stuff. We're groovin' on the old school, and Mad Max is that. These guys know and love the genre and knock a line drive cranking out their own dose of it. Mondo melodies, sweet guitar licks, rockin' rhythm sections and soaring tenors all align for a dose of the kind of stuff I used to dig on when I first got into metal in the late 80s (yeah, for my age, I was kind of late getting on this bandwagon, but get on it, I did). Are there better bands from the era/genre doing this kind of stuff? Yea, but you've heard them. Time for something new (sort of, ha ha). Check these guys out. Further your classic metal education.

Born in the Garage by Greg Shaw

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:39:00 GMT

OK, so this book was put out AFTER Greg Shaw's death. So he didn't COMPILE it. So what. He still wrote most of the wonderful stuff in here. Shaw was king of the rock-n-roll fanzine. At least A king. I don't mean to suggest that he was the one and only royalty of the scene; he wasn't. But, damn, read this stuff and you'll agree his fanzine work deserves to land in the rock writing pantheon.
Shaw wrote a number of fanzines (not all strictly about rock) and they all demonstrated his eclectic knowledge, his thorough understanding of the rock scene (even if his opinions were sometimes a tad rigid and fundamentalist aesthetically), his intelligence - and the scope, man, the scope!
And the passion. Shaw totally got the garage rock thing. He was a prolific (this is Volume 2, after all) writer, cranking out fanzines like Who Put The Bomp and others for his eager readers to peruse and from which they could learn, find new stuff to agree with and argue about, and just overall wallow in.
This second volume Bomp comp is a WEALTH - and I do mean WEALTH - of material. It could take you, like, forever, just to read through all this. Which isn't a knock, man. What this means is that you've got all the reading you want. This book will last you for-freaking-ever! Keep it on your coffee table or on your nightstand - or, if you're like me and the bathroom is your reading sanctuary, keep a copy in there.
Doesn't matter - JUST DO SOME READING IN THIS PUPPY!
The extensive info rolling around Shaw's head and his equally extensive opinions are a testament to the fact that he got - totally GOT - the whole rock fan thing. I mean, really, the whole fandom/fanzine thing was as much about the fanship as the rock itself. You could almost say the rock was just a McGuffin for the fanpower to have something to focus on.
But, of course, that wouldn't be fair, given the power and significance of the rock. Shaw loved - LOVED - the garage rock scene. And "garage rock" is one of those terms that spreads far and wide its net. So much stuff falls into this category and there's just a TON of great tunage on tap for discussion in this book's generous offerings.
Shaw waxes eloquent about the rock, the fan scene, what makes a fanzine a fanzine, what defines fannishness and so much friggin' more.
An enthusiastic publication of enthusiastic writings by one of indie rock's most enthusiastic supporters! Come on, dude, this stuff is from back in the day when fanzines didn't have the internet. SHAW USED MIMEOGRAPH MACHINES AND SUCH!
This is a document of true devotion. Grab it and go for it!

Big Deal. What's he Done Lately?

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:33:34 GMT

Contemporary throwbacker album "Big Deal. What's He Done Lately?" by Brimstone Howl shows off the chops of a band that knew damn well what to name itself. I love bands whose name reviews their music, but I'll add a few words of my own. Within the revved-up hullabaloo of the Howl's louder-than-life sound (I can only imagine what they sound like live), one can easily detect the kind of rock-where-the-car's-supposed-to-be-parked sound that infiltrated the niceties of less rebellious 60s tunage and perpetuated through the 70s punk-making scene. Around the uber-energy of Brimstone Howl's licks, thumps and vox is a sizzling burst of distortion (but not so much battering you about the head) that suggests what the kids these days are calling stoner. Heavyish psyche rock it is! But stoner tendencies aside, this has more in common with the psyche-tinged rock-roll of days past - a sound that is still going strong thanks to strong bands like this.

New Rituals

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:23:50 GMT

Mondo Drag means mondo high - and you don't have to toke on or drop a tab of a damn thing! The prog-psyche inclinations (heavy on the psyche) with a dash of heady headtrip folk is instantaneous gratification and you needn't wait on your dealer to arrive. A swirl of sound fleshed 'round vintage rock flavors gives your ears a lovely head change, indeed. It's the kind of rock that absorbs you. Take a bath in it! Splash some around. You won't regret it and you'll be glad I made the suggestion for sure. It's a full submersion in psychedelia the likes of which hasn't dominated for a few decades. But that's okay - those of us who know this style ain't dead know where to look for it. Starting here!

Walking Out On Love (The Lost Sessions)

Corazine — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 08:17:44 GMT

Post-Nerves 70s proto-rawkers The Breakaways continued on in the same vein with fun, vibrant, exciting rock that resurrected (or kept going, depending on your vantage point) the kind of rock-for-the-people indie-underground stylings that helped revolutionize the rock scene after the very presence of rock itself was a revolution from the blues-R&B, white boys borrowing and revamping the goods from the black folks (no wonder the stodgy white peeps from the day ranted and railed about rock - how wrong they were). Bob your head, stomp your foot, sing along, jam to the goods and grooves. The Breakaways know how to slap the strings, belt the vocals and ride the rhythms just fine and dandy. They capture in streamlined fashion the essence of what made rock-n-roll rock-n-roll. Exuberance, energy, good vibes and a touch of artistic and even social rebellion. Good music with lots of verve, in other words.

De Rerum Natura

Corazine — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 07:17:49 GMT

Sokrovenno, an Italian black metal outfit, is attached to Bleak Art Records, a fairly young label (about ten releases so far). New customers are always interesting, for they always bring about diversity: new bands, obviously, and with a bit of luck some variety in genres, influences, geographical origin and whatever might appeal to the underground fanatic.
"De Rerum Natura" - or, on the nature of things - is a epos of black pagan metal. I haven't got an awful lot of info on this band, but since they used a poem over two millennia old for their album title, I'm guessing that's the lyrical focus, too. The booklet dedicates an entire page to Lucretius, the poem's author. Better look up what Epicureanism stands for - if you're in any measure interested in what Sokrovenno goes on about, and in case you can't comprehend the Italian lyrics. I usually couldn't care less for lyrics, so I don't know why I lingered on that part. Probably because the literal incorporation and reproduction of Roman philosophy isn't a run-of-the-mill metal ingredient.
Sokrovenno produces a very clear style of blackened metal. I say blackened and not black, because "De Rerum Natura" doesn't quite fit the picture of raw, grim and evil - not in image, not musically. The album is flowing at a relaxed pace, sometimes more brutal and massive like the continuous droning of a waterfall, sometimes as melancholic as a picturesque creek at sunset. And, just like a stream's flow, Sokrovenno's compositional mechanics are uncomplicated and quotidian - but they feel all the more natural and whole-heartedly. Warm, embracing tunes (what a strange thing to say about pagan metal) and a gripping, well-constructed atmosphere go side by side, turning "De Rerum Natura" into an inviting and wholly enchanting experience.

DVD review

Corazine — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 08:03:27 GMT

Supervan is super kitschy if not a super movie. But who expects 70s drive-in cinema to be truly great? Sure, there are a few, but they are indeed a few.
Supervan is a quintessentially 70s film about a quintessentially 70s phenomena - van culture!
Yep, as the copy on the back of Cheezy Flicks' release of this hokum on wheels film hints, cultural marginalia got their 15 minutes of fame by way of the drive-in flick. Who'd have ever thought that van culture would warrant its own crazy movie?
Our van aficianado Clint is out to win $5,000 at a van contest; see, he's trying to get out from under his dad's plans. Clint has bigger dreams than just owning a service station or garage or whatever it is that Dad does. Along the way, he meets (through nefarious circumstances) a woman who is also on the lam from her dad - this Dad turns out to be the villain of the piece. He's a rich, amoral bastard, the head of a motor company that sells shitty vehicles, etc., to make a buck. He's been too controlling of his daughter and is trying to find her. She's fled Daddy, you see.
Hooking up with Clint turns him into a target for Daddy, though the bigger reason is that Clint - friends with a genius nerd that works for the lady's Daddy - has procured the nerd's latest work of vehicular genius, Vandora. Vandora is sort of the van of the future (at least the van of the future as 70s cinema would see it).
She also makes an obnoxious high-pitch noise when she's driving around, which tends to grate, however much one may be digging the cheesefest unfolding on the screen. But I'll forgive the flick that. It satisfies the junk food cinema nodes of the mind.
She's also equipped with a laser (not rockets, as the packaging falsely indicates) that comes in handy when Clint is on the verge of getting the shit knocked out of him by some bikers he pissed off earlier. They were about to rape the motor boss' daughter when Clint rolled through, trashed a bike, saved the girl (these were the nefarious circumstances of which I spoke), and then saw his own van (this is before he gets Vandora, you understand) smooshed in a junkyard crusher.
Probably just as well; his van wasn't as cool as some of the vans in the contest, but Vandora was the coolest van of all - at least for this film's reality.
The film is doofy as hell (check), moderately exploitative (wet T-shirt contest, check), has bikers (check), a futuristic vehicle (check), over-the-top 70s culture (in the form of van-mania, check), has a silly if menacing boss with an idiot sidekick (check) and police (called bears in this movie, a vintage term) who are made to look silly (since this is all counterculture and what-not, check). So, yeah, we're in total drive-in mode.
Supervan is a singular and singularly silly 70s low budgeter but therein lies the fun. From car chases to scenes of revelry at the van fest and back again, this is full of the staples of cheese cinema mayhem.
Hence its release on Cheezy Flicks, of course.
70s drive-in fanatics and van aficianados (if there are any of those still around), check it out.

Domino-Consequence

Corazine — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 14:05:23 GMT

I'm currently chewing through a My Kingdom Music batch that features quite a few acts of the rock/dark/gothic/prog variant - as opposed to extreme, balls-gripping metal, that is. En Declin is the third or fourth soft band I've heard recently; though still no expert in - or fanatic of - the genre, I can easily relax to soothing beats, nu-metal-distorted guitars and clean vocals.
And such is the case with "Domino-Consequence" too. The production is fairly bright, allowing you to feel how all instruments are neatly stacked, vocals on top. The bassguitar almost seems to lunge out of the speakers toward you - what a great mix! The production is just the auditive presentation of what En Declin is really about, though. But when discussing the band's efforts, at least a mild degree of enthusiasm remains in order. Melancholic and emotional tunes are En Declin's essence, and there's always that extra layered guitar or that vibrato note to keep the songs floating in a dreamy atmosphere - only on the most intensily rocking riffs (as in "Domino"), the feet touch the ground, albeit fleetingly.
Given references are Anathema, Tool and Klimt 1918, in case I'd been all too vague before. Depending on your angle of approach, En Declin might sound a bit heavy or a bit wimpy. In either case, it's best just to try - chances you'll like it are existent. Just don't let the cover 'art' scare you away.

Snowblood

Corazine — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 15:37:31 GMT

Scottish formation Snowblood seems somewhat of an arcanum: no info on the (very classy) chipboard sleeve, the minimalistic outside artwork is nothing but a few lines, and the inside artwork feels esoteric. The album's self-titled, or rather untitled, which is somewhat odd considering it's the band's third release. And there must be an interesting story hidden somewhere, as Snowblood seems to have decided their moment of splitting up at the band's foundation.
"Snowblood" is an album that balances doom/sludge and post-metal on a pair of scales, sometimes panning left or right without letting the other side go completely. The hourlong album features a mere four tracks; the average fifteen minutes per song should be quite indicative of the spun-out, slow-paced nature. Don't expect a brainless monotonous dragging and droning, however. Despite the length, all tracks build up tension and atmosphere step by step - starting with whispers and harmless twanging, hardly insinuating any direction at all. The soundscape inexorably turns overcast with ominous beats and usually end in a full-scale storm of distortion and (high-pitched) screams. Fifteen minutes of Snowblood only seem like seven, and the hymns feel hardly composed. They're like a raw, pulsating force improvised and guided by inner emotion.
In general attitude, style and perception, I could say it's the Scottish/UK counterpart for our Belgian AmenRa, but that's about the only comparative remark I can provide. Whether you want to space out on the best drug possible (music!) or need an outlet for frustration: Snowblood will take care of the problem.

On Evil Days

Corazine — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 13:14:58 GMT

To be honest, I'd skip this release immediately if I would see it standing in a CD shop. The moniker doesn't ring in one's ears and the cover is the same old skyline-with-grunge-brushes like I've seen a thousand times before. A pity, really, because on paper, Liquid Graveyard seems a quite interesting combo.
This quartet incorporates shreds of death metal, progressive, gothic and even psychedelic rock. Add a female vocalist to the equation, one that can both sing and scream, and suddenly, there are plenty of ingredients to make a delicious stew - only if the cook knows his business, though. Songwriter John Walker isn't a three-star chef, but experience has clearly imparted him with the tricks of the trade. Every composition has a balanced feel and avoids the obvious pitfalls. There's plenty of variety too, both in the vocal and instrumental lines: from double kicks and grunts to acoustic jamming and soprano. The tracks spend most of their time in the prog/gothic section, though, with intermittent but adorable hints of doom. Heavy, slow-paced riffing with clean vocals that hit the sweet spot are always bingo. Oddly enough, Raquel's screams are manly as fuck and, regardless of style, more powerful than her clean chants. Eat that, Angela Gossow.
All these features allow the listener to cope with the flaws of "On Evil Days". While somewhat inherent to the genre(s), the riffing is both slow and simplistic. Not a bad thing, and Walker finds nice variations to the basic scheme, too. But towards the final tracks there's the almost inevitable "been there, done that" feeling. The novelty of Liquid Graveyard's sound wears off too quickly. "On Evil Days" is not one to spin more than once in a while (unless you're inseparably hooked on the genre), but it is a fair release that could prove essential in the conception of the albums yet to come.

Chroniken

Corazine — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 08:12:29 GMT

German combo Altvater has yet to celebrate their third anniversary, but they've already completed a first album (or rather, a demo that could pass for one). "Chroniken" stands for half an hour of epic pagan metal - at least theoretically. The reality isn't too far off, either, but I'll be damned if this isn't the most symphonic pagan metal I ever heard.
The album consists of a four-song saga, the remainder of the disc being a few stand-alone tracks. Mostly a thing for the, in this case, German-speaking lyric-freaks. I'm not one of them, although the pagan concept is perhaps most intensely expressed - and experienced - through the lyrics. Altvater could be placed somewhere on the chain between viking and folk metal. The first can summon up visions of grandiose bloodbaths, the latter a more peaceful, cosy medieval atmosphere. Because of the heavily symphonic approach, Altvater can swing both ways without much difficulty. Tracks like "Seelenschmiede" and "Gewitter", with harsh grinding and solemn synths, articulate an eldritch, epic atmosphere. The band can tone down its aggression, too, the instrumental "Kindheit" being the prime example: if you'd put that into midi, it could serve as an old school Final Fantasy village soundtrack.
While the band shows itself capable of writing intelligent and compelling melodies, the compositions remain in need of some final editing or added finesse. The layers of keyboards sometimes just overdo it, and the guitars too often get stuck in muddy, uninspired chord progressions. In a few years, a better production and more experience for the band as a unit should be able to put Altvater's next release on a pedestal.

Teatroelementale

Corazine — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 09:01:56 GMT

I've started quite a few reviews with musing about the ever so creative genre descriptions bands and labels come up with. And I don't intend to make a habit out of it, but this one is just too beautiful not to mention: "emphatic music" a.k.a. "folk-progressive-black-gothic metal". I'm not making this up, and I'm not going to say anything about it: let's have the music do some of the talking.
The hourlong album starts off with a gentle discourse, but that's just a clever ruse to put you off balance: the next track isn't the snoozer you might expect. Instead, the waves sweep out of your speakers and the combination of instruments is temporarily overwhelming. I was briefly reminded of Thurisaz, who mix blackish-symphonic instrumentals with clean and screamed vocals. In Tormentata Quiete (ITQ) is perhaps less technical, but makes up for it with a doses of progressiveness. With a near perfect production, every other track floats in the spectrum between, believe it or not, progressive, gothic and symphonic black (props to the promosheet for actually having this right). A blend of styles means a blend of emotions, another element for which ITQ has found the equilibrium: the fierce parts sound both ominous and seducing; the proggy passages are simultaneously stinging and soothing. The wide array of vocal variety probably deserves the most credit here. The odd-numbered tracks are all 90 second "monologues" - they don't just add to the total length, but mostly provide great transitions between songs. There might be a story behind it, but only for those who speak Italian.
"Teatroelementale" sounds fresh and fascinating in its entirety. Somewhat unconventional and eclectic, too, and not afraid to possibly narrow its audience to the more open-minded metal fans out there.

Death Penalty

Corazine — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 12:29:44 GMT

Brit-metallers Witchfinder General were members of the second wave of stoner metal as well as part of the much-lauded New Wave of British Heavy Metal (a role they shared with bigger, more famous acts like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden). I'm more interested in their contributions to the 80s doom rock resurgence. Black Sabbath (and others) kicked off the whole stoner rock thing back in the early 70s (building upon the foundations left by blues-based psyche rock outfits of the 60s). At the same time, they helped kick off heavy metal itself. And they were rooted in blues. I didn't expect my W.G. review to deteriorate into an analysis of Sabbath's cornerstone status in heavy music. But it gives some historical background for Witchfinder General's contributions to both the stoner rock scene and the heavy metal movement. Probably, General's efforts mean more to doomsters than to metalheads, unless the metalheads in question are of the enthusiastic old school variety. There are plenty of lesser known metal bands from the era for straightforward metalheads to dig into. But the more elite stoner scene (elite because there are simply fewer bands of this nature from earlier eras than general metal, IMHO), Witchfinder General represents one of the obscure (outside this fandom) acts that resurrected the whole classic Sabbath sound. Sure, Sabbath was still around in the 80s when W.G. cranked out its two albums, but Sabbath was in the midst of a power metal renaissance, having kept the slow, driving, heavy riffs that are Tony Iommi's trademark but having swerved to a more power metal mien, albeit of a doomy variety. General came along and, lo and behold, the old school Sabbath sound was back, but not from Sabbath. It is fair to say that General's take on the sound wasn't quite as snazzy as Sabbath in its heyday and was, by definition, derivative, but nonetheless, General's music was worthy, having upstepped the thoughtful occultism and mysticism of early Sabbath into the posturing devil rock with which the 80s was rife. Some bands, like Slayer, employed the imagery on a satirical platform. Others did it largely as pop shock darkness. Still others took it quite seriously, especially many in the black metal underground of the time. But W.G. falls into the posturing category. Their silly devil lyrics had all the depth and seriousness of a horror movie. Think of it as horror movie turned metal. Witchfinder General is a fun band that sings about the kind of stuff you watch in those flicks. Same difference. And not even all their songs were about that stuff anyway. Really, this isn't a band to whose lyrics you pay attention. It's all about the riffs and psyche-metal melodies. And when it comes to that, it rocks. Witchfinder General stands proud in the succession of doom rock bands that extends from the likes of Black Sabbath way back when, all the way to, say, Clutch and Queens of the Stone Age.

Left for Dead

Corazine — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 12:22:41 GMT

Here is a more traditional punk flavor. UK Subs unleash the energy in this 86 live show in Holland. It's raw, feisty, fast and hard (though not blistering hard like heavy hardcore or something). It's enthusiast. Guitars rip, drums beat, vocals holler their marble-mouthed who-needs-to-sing-when-I-shout audio viscera. The viscera bit is more in reference to the CD's energy than lyrical content, but the easily offended need not apply. This isn't anywhere near the most vulgar music I've ever come across but it does have its crude humor streak and the sensitive had best look elsewhere. But, then again, what terribly sensitive person is going to be listening to the UK Subs to begin with?

The New Too Much Junkie Business

Corazine — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 12:17:20 GMT

Thunders, for those in the know, is due respect for his work in the New York Dolls. For those who don't know who Johnny Thunders is, you do now. He also performed with The Heartbreakers (not to be confused with Tom Petty's band). And he also performed solo. His solo work isn't a clone of his Dolls work, but at the same time, I think it's safe to say fans of the Dolls will find something to dig pretty heavily in Thunders work. He also, attitudinally speaking, bears more than a passing resemblance to Lou Reed and Iggy Pop, though his music isn't as experimental as psychedelic as Reed's. Though the sound isn't the same, Thunders lies a little closer to Pop'/s work with The Stooges. But I'm belaboring a passing comparison. The point is, this is pure rock-n-roll standing atop the gritty concrete of punk. It's charged with attitude and its rawness only fuels its energy (which, in theory, is how any punk music is supposed to work). It isn't the rawness or brutality of hardcore punk. It isn't the silliness of The Dickies or The Dead Milkmen. It is punk as punk is - two-fisted renegade rock-n-roll.

DVD Review

Corazine — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 12:13:09 GMT

"Attraction" is another of Cult Epics' Tinto Brass releases. Here, the sensual side of the filmmaking is a step along the path to Brass' vision. Not that it's reduced to the periphery (could that ever happen in a Brass film?), but it is not the end focus. Sometimes, Brass' cinema is a celebration of the sensual laced with humor and sincerity. Here, though, the focus doesn't stop with that but instead uses it as a tool to satirize.
Typical in many ways of European surrealism but yet distinctly Tinto Brass, "Attraction" is essentially a film made by crafting a collage of linked "musical videos" that segue trippily into each other. It sounds disjointed, perhaps, but it's not (at least not any more than surrealism typically is). It isn't as though Brass rounded up some random musical sequences and strung them together into a copy-and-past flick.
No, this film is organic and whole, a single and singular work of art whose various scenes of surreal sensuality (and more) accompanied by psyche rock band Freedom, a band that rose from the ashes of Procul Harem. This is the late 60s and its more-challenging explosion of ideas and lurching, progressive advances in sociological morality all filter through to the viewer through an appropriately psychedelic collage of visions and sounds.
The central theme (hard to call it a "plot" - this is vintage Eurosurrealism) is a coming-together of archetypes blatantly designed to rattle the cages of the then-traditionalists and to vivify liberal filmgoers. The archetypal bored white housewife transcends her usual cultural boundaries by becoming involved with the equally archetypal virile, strong black man.
While it would be easy to write this off as a treatise on why interracial relationships are OK - a concept that certainly exists and is touted here - the truth is that "Attraction's" scope is broader than that. By latching onto what was most definitely an incendiary topic for the late 60s, Tinto Brass challenges glacial moral traditionalism as a whole. The specific moral "transgression" on tap here is merely a foil to question the resistance of the old guard as a whole. It's moral offense as a righteous moral statement, a battle cry to those pushing for change.
And, it's a downright stylish, sexy movie to boot, augmented by energetic psyche rock tunes you probably haven't heard on your local oldies station.
Bear in mind, though, this film may challenge you, even decades after its initial release.

movie review

Corazine — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 12:02:24 GMT

A lot could have gone wrong with such a specific sort of film. It's underground. It's two claims to fame are more known for music than acting (though one went on to bigger things, by which I mean a David Cronenberg film). It's over-the-top and campy. The whole cast derives not from the cream of the crop of thespians. It appeals to an esoteric audience.
But, everything this film did, it did on purpose. It doesn't take itself any more seriously than it has to. It's a case of deliberate camp working just fine. Camp typically "works" best when it is the result of sincere but misguided efforts at making art or popular art, regardless of medium. Hence, the best camp is often unintentional. Efforts to deliberately make camp probably misfire as often as not.
Here, it works. This is, after all, a movie about punk rock. In effect, this is a punk movie. The same attitude and approach that goes into the best punk went into this. It's a small cult film, pure and simple, and it hits its target (and target audience) dead center.
Now, on to the plot: A terrible band named Hindenburg wants so badly to get heard that they kidnap their punk rock idol, an arrogant, narcissistic, drug glutton named Spazz-O. The band doesn't know what the hell it's doing. Spazz-O lives up to his name. The cops are blunderers, too, and in the midst of all this is Adam Ant as Spazz-O's manager, who, with his ex-porn star girlfriend (Spazz-O's wife), is plotting to off Spazz-O. Ant stands to benefit because he tricked Spazz-O into signing a contract giving him control of the Spazz-O empire. Enter an assassin who just can't seem to get the job done, thanks in part to the antics of the idiots in Hindenburg.
But when Debbie Harry, playing Thor (not the god), a record label exec, steps into the picture, the scheme changes. Spazz-O's kidnapping, publicized through a video Hindenburg shot (masks on faces, reminscent of Slipknot visually if not audio-wise) to prove Spazz-O is still alive, has skyrocketed his dwindling popularity.
Suddenly, he's worth more alive than dead.
It's everybody against everybody.
There's not a competent character in the bunch and the plot goes from simmer to intentionally idiotic boil as nutcase after nutcase runs amok, each with his own agenda, and none of them smart enough to pull it off right. To complicate things, a nationalist terrorist group that incorrectly gets the blame for the kidnapping decides to be guilty of the accusation. So EVERYBODY wants Spazz-O and Spazz-O wants none of them.
The zany-upon-zany approach to the movie and the sincerity of those involved results in a truly enjoyable film. It's fun and is as punk as the bands in the scene it so obviously loves.
This mid-90s late nighter is worth a look for those into underground cult cinema, punk rock and new wave and aficianados of weird cinema generally. An interesting note: This was directed by the Adam Dubin, who co-directed The Beastie Boys' videos "(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (to Party!)" and "No Sleep Till Brooklyn".
Incidentally, the Cronenberg film to which I referred was "Videodrome," featuring James Woods and Debbie Harry.

Better Living (Through Chemistry)

Corazine — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 08:11:11 GMT

I'm not too sure whether "Better living through chemistry" is a hermetic, poetic expression for "I compose better music when I'm on drugs". It might be, but it's probably not. I'm usually not one to philosophize about music, but this album has a very specific sound and style, that can be interpreted, experienced even, as a calculated determination.
Methadrone takes you on a spacey journey, but it won't be the most pleasant cruise you've been on. On the contrary, the soundscape they create often feels distant and forlorn - even at the most accessible moments, a certain melancholic aura remains omnipresent. What I've called calculated determination is exactly that: it feels like every layer, instrument or beat is a prop or a piece of scenery placed meticulously in the backdrop, so you'll experience just what Methadrone intended you to. "Better Living" is constituted of simple elements, but the result is far more than the sum of its parts. Drone, doom and ambient are melted into one atmosphere-laden whole. The songs' composition and execution feels immaculate: no matter how sober or solemn, the addition of acoustic guitars and vocals broaden Methadrone's repertoire beyond bass, synths and beats.
"Better Living" is stuffed with ingeniously woven tracks that should keep any interested listeren enthralled on many levels - and what else is an album's ultimate goal? Thumbs up.