The Skunkeye Consumer Guide

Heys, I’m just trying to catch up here… at work, getting some sort of life back, with this little site, and with my reading.  Caught this little bit of Feist love in the New York Times.  Keren Ann (arg..) and new darlings Nouvelle Vague are mentioned  of course, but the piece does also highlight Emiliana Torrini, whose second album, Fisherman’s Woman saw Stateside release last week, I believe.

I heard Emiliana Torrini’s first album a few years ago, and despite her Icelandic lineage (props to my heritage!), it didn’t quite gel with me at the time, as I found it a bit Bjork-derivative and I was getting over the whole trip-hop vibe. 

However, I did fork over for Fisherman’s Woman a few months ago based solely on a Guardian review (must stop being so compulsive!).  In the beginning, again, I found it a bit derivative, but this time in a whole new direction.  Fisherman’s Woman at first reminded me more than a bit of a very spared down This Mortal Coil/4AD production, especially with the sort of Lady sings the Nick Drake kind of vibe on several of the songs.  Also, the lyrics are a bit weak.  However, Fisherman’s Woman grew on me slowly but absolutely surely and I have a new respect for Torrini’s songwriting and singing.

I was kind of saving my Fisherman’s Woman comments for a tandem entry on Emiliana Torrini and newcomer Tara Angell, whose debut, Come Down, over several listens I have also quite warmed to, and whose work is also quite distinctively intimate, but in the interim, go out and add Fisherman’s Woman to your collection.  By no means the party album of the year of course but is a lovely complement to those quieter, more introspective moments, and it will catch you off guard.

Torrini, for all her earthiness, oddly enough, wrote Kylie’s recent hit single, “Slow.”

NYT article after the jump.

So I noticed today that Feist’s Let it Die finally has Stateside release.
Tower Records had it priced pretty cheap too.
I highly recommend the investment.
The European edition has two extra tracks but this is basically the same album I’ve been enjoying all year!
Except for the cover art.
Which is so blah I barely noticed it on the shelves.
This is it.
Looks like a generic stock photo from a catlogue, half-assedly edged up; no budget for more than two-color separation? The art direction does nothing for me – very early nineties actually – and fails brilliantly to sell the multi-faceted vibrancy of Feist.
Are they trying for a Goth image or something... if so, that is so off the mark.
I’m actually kind of glad Feist’s US label, Interscope, is seriously screwing up big time in the marketing department because I like to keep my music sacred and under the radar.
I’m a selfish elitist that way.
And I pay way too much attention to art direction all the time.
I was really worried that Feist would explode into a Norah Jones kind of the thing in the US since she has such fresh appeal and crossover potential. Not to mention exceptional talent.
But so far, any buzz its going to have to result from word of mouth or careful placement or, blah, from the blogosphere.
Geffen/Interscope/Cherry Hill's marketing and promotions department, not to mention their art directors, seem to be doing dick-all with Feist.
Meanwhile, I'll continue with my guerilla marketing and implore you to buy Feist's Let It Die this weekend!

I received an unexpected and pleasant call from my father the other night… the folks really enjoyed a film I had DVRd for them and had to let me know right away!

When they repatriated back to the US this summer they signed up for Comcast digital cable with the On-Demand and DVR features. Which surprised me because my folks are notoriously cheap about these things and tech-phobic. Sure enough, it didn’t take my father long to claim he had been hoodwinked into the service once he received the bill. He keeps on threateneing to terminate.

Of course I completely enjoy the service and take full advantage when I housesit while babysitting my dog (the Kid can’t handle my downtown house). The folks need me there a lot - they enjoy a jet setting lifestyle (which is completely killing me with envy right now – especially since my Asia trip next month is most likely not going to work out because of obligations and financial constraints here in stoopid DC.)

Whatever.

But God forbid they cancel the digital cable!

So I’ve made valiant efforts to justify their subscription and to warm them up to its joys and myriad entertainment possibilities.

Of course it would help if they could figure out the remote and how to navigate the guides. All three TVs in their house are DVRd to the max (by me, of course) with a variety of selections for their possible viewing pleasure and in my not so discrete efforts to lobby and on hold on to the digital.

The folks are often difficult in taking me up on my recommendations but when they do, it’s clear I’m the ultimate arbiter of taste for them and I never fail to hit the mark.

So far, the winners I have programmed for my father have been various BBC mystery series, a select foreign films, and thrillers of the more intelligent variety. Also Dad likes The Sopranos, having missed much of the run while overseas, and I keep on fudging the truth in saying the new season will start soon.

While I personally prefer the IFC, Sundance, & BBC- but don't lose the HBO!!!!

My House in Umbria was a big hit with them. A student exchange experience in Italy was the reason my dad became a diplomat and we have spent some time there. And I figured I hit the jackpot formula.

So for their entertainment, I DVRd Pane e Tulipani (Bread & Tulips), a whimsical, somewhat surrealist, unconventional middle-aged love story which takes place in Venice and that I had enjoyed at an International Film Festival in Manila a couple of years ago.

So my father calls me the other night to thank me for taping it for them and to tell me how much they enjoyed it.

And we get to talking a bit about German actor Bruno Ganz, who plays the “romantic” male lead in Pane e Tulipani, but plays an Icelandic (?) émigré in the film, and I am reminded about how much I always enjoyed his work. Especially Ganz’s work with Wim Wenders. Ganz is the Man.

In fact, there is a Bruno Ganz retrospective going on in DC right now, sponsored by the Goethe Institute, which I need to partake of before it is over the second week of May.

And it is this the roundabout sort of thinking that often leads me to poor film choices:

Bruno Ganz is in Downfall, currently playing in DC. I’d read mixed reviews about the film, mostly negative. Also the subject matter is very depressing. Bruno Ganz plays Adolph Hitler in his last hours in the bunker. I don’t need any more awful stuff in my world right now. But some people told me it was good. (I should have known better not to trust them.) And I dig Bruno Ganz. And the actor has been sort of a recent “topic” in my life.

So I went to see Downfall last night.

I did not like it one bit at all.

Got nothing out of it – not even a lesson in history, we all know what happened. Downfall was banal and boring and long and played like a bad TV docudrama and I really can’t find anything redeeming to say about it. I was so turned off by the whole thing but not in a thought provocative way. Are we supposed to sympathize with these monsters – see them as human beings? Apparently, the film has been a big thing in Germany and is helping the nation reconcile, acknowledge, come to terms with, whatever… the “past.”

I highly don’t recommend.

And absolutely will not DVR Downfall for the folks.

That would KILL the Digital.

In recent years, since I moved back to the States, I’ve become a total magazine junkie. (Actually, its not an entirely new development in my life - prior to leaving the US in the late nineties I got rid of a good ten plus year’s worth of vintage Interview, NME, Melody Maker, Paper, ArtNews and Art Forum that I had been accumulating since my early teens. I was one of those possessed kids who haunted record stores from the East Village to small towns in Connecticut to Silver Spring for dusty rock and roll magazines that mentioned my favorite punk rock bands (and especially Debbie Harry my goddess)

Granted, in recent years having been working in the media and for some time with popular lifestyle periodicals I’ve justified my magazine consumption as keeping up with the “industry” and “trends” and as a way of keeping my finger on the pulse.
But that’s what the internets are for now, no?

In transitioning stuff out of my grandmother’s house and all the stuff I had stored there and also making space for the furniture and items that had been passed down to me, I find myself having to let go and make some space once again. And the magazines were taking up a lot of space.

For years and years I was book reader and buyer and I have quite an extensive, eclectic, specific, and completist library (which I’ve had to make space for in my small city space these past couple of weeks) and since I refuse to throw out the majority of my books, many of which I searched long and hard for at considerable expense, the obvious choice was to get rid of the piles of magazines in my storage areas.

The ironic thing is that my recent magazine stockpile comes as a direct result of my fear of acquiring more books to clutter up my space. And also my attention span has become tragically short in the new century and all its grown-up distractions and magazines have been just about all I’ve been able to digest in recent times. The internet has made me lazy. Also, its very easy to get cheap, often free, periodical subscriptions these days. Especially if one works in the media.

I always assumed I’d read the rags and send them out to the trash. But I always get so many ideas from the magazines and it would be a pity just to throw them out before I try that recipe, design idea, save that article about a band or an illustration that I like… you’d think after so many years of keeping journals and scrapbooks it would occur to me just to clip and paste!

Throwing away things has never been my strong point but lately I’ve become quite ruthless in letting out the old. (The new, I’m sure, will be even more crap.) I’ve been able to reconcile it, as difficult as it to fathom for me, by realizing that maybe some kid will happen upon my used magazines, books, cassettes, Sonic Youth t-shirts, and various hipster threads at the Goodwill or wherever and whole new worlds of discovery might open up. A curse perhaps.

I mean, in the last two weeks, I’ve donated out to the general public entire oevres on cassette – complete The Clash, X, Siouxsie, Buzzcocks, The Cure, New Order, Bunnymen, J&MC, Bauhaus, um, a decade of Dischord, etc…karmic good maybe? Some lucky child will benefit. Wishful thinking no doubt.

At any rate, the magazine pile-up had to go. Tossed away several year’s worth of my Metropolitan Home, Wallpaper*, and Dwell subscription pile, because who am I kidding, with this crazy housing market, the only thing I’ll be able to afford is studio anyways – doesn’t leave much room for design inspiration. Straight to the bin was this year’s run of Cargo because I need that shit anyways and the magazine sucks. I’ve actually stopped even breaking the plastic wrap and send the issues straight to my more materialistic housemate - I'm sure his Sugardaddy/my Landlord will treat him to the stuff. Ditto the latest incarnation of Details, which I also got suckered into a subscription to. Organic Living/Style or whatever those magazines are called I got them for free and boutique healthy eating and lifestyle is expensive as hell. Bye-bye, Conde Nasty Traveler, Food & Wine, Gourmet, Bon Appetit… I never use recipes when I entertain and have more than enough of my own creative ideas when I do and exotic traveling is not in my cards right now. Stacks of New York magazines that relatives forward to me out of faithful tradition are much apprecited but … um, when was the last time I even visited The City?
So it feels kinda refreshing to be rid of all that stuff.

I’m becoming a born-again minimalist.

However, when it comes to magazines, the two titles I’m not giving up are The New Yorker and Entertainment Weekly.

The New Yorker is an essential part of my family tradition; I started out enjoying the cartoons as a kid and the magazine has been a huge part of my growing up and has shaped my cultural sensibilities and it continues to be vital reading for me. Went to school with the children and garndchildren of its founders, writers, and staff. My grandmother and I discussed each issue every week to the very end.

EW is my weekend iced-coffee in the sun guilty pleasure. And I’ve finally been catching up… housemate has been filching my issues in the midst of the chaos.

This week’s issue is the the Summer Film Preview edition – and I’m looking forward to having some fun in the coming months…. Well, the bandwagon is rolling and there is a featurette on my fave Feist (pictured above) in the musica section.

DC residents, Feist will be opening for British Sea Power (adored their first album, meh about the second), Thursday May 12 at The Black Cat. Don’t miss. I may be in the Philippines though. Hopefully.

Ay, and speaking of magazines…

I got rid of a bit of my Magazine (the band) collection on vinyl and cassette recently - my contribution to the searching hipster young souls at Goodwill
and don’t woory I got it ALL backed up on CD.
My all-time favourite Magazine track is “Song From Under the Floorboards.”
(Longtime DC music scene folk would know Strange Boutique covered it – Monica Madhouse was an early crush).
On Sunday I had the rare experience of investigating what’s under the floorboards of my 1890s row house block with a neighbor friend who is renovating his kitchen.
Spooky.
Pics.

Yikes! Where did April go? I’ve gotten through some MAJOR hurdles lately and I’m feeling there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and I can breathe easier for a bit. The exam is over and done with, I’ve turned in my keys to now empty grandmother’s house, and my health is back on track. After some time being detailed with the big brass upstairs, I’m back at my regular desk. Frankly, I’m a bit bored after being under so much pressure and working round the clock for so long.

I may be travelling to the Philippines next month – at long last, gasp, for a holiday! Of course, this trip is contingent on a variety of elements, but I’m hoping things will happen. It’s the perfect time to go. Although I’ve been sworn to secrecy on certain details, my visit will be timed with a dear friend and former editor’s book launch. Lemme tell ya, this “novel” will be ruffling some feathers in the media and entertainment world, and I don’t want to be missing this party. Hilarity will ensue! I’m also trying to arrange some downtime at the beach in Palawan or Bohol. There’s a lot to pull together in so little time! There are so many friends and “family” I’m dying to see.

I’ve had the French pressing of Benjamin Biolay’s A L’Origine for about a week and a half now and haven’t really had a chance to give it a thorough listen. A L’Origine drops in the US, I believe, tomorrow. My first impression is that it sounds kind of “one note” (like his past few releases) and Biolay’s lyrics are becoming increasingly irritatingly polemic and the overall tone is a bit heavy, but I’ve only gotten through it barely. Francoise Hardy makes several appearances but they are pretty much lost in the mix. I hate to say it but maybe a compilation of Biolay’s catchier work (especially tracks from his stunning debut, Rose Kennedy!) might serve as a more appealing introduction to US audiences. At any rate, Benjamin Biolay should be a more difficult "sell" than Keren Ann stateside.

I made some rather odd movie choices last week – mostly because they were convenient showings and I needed a refuge to battle out my illness between the busy office and the chaotic house. Both Walk on Water and The Upside of Anger were rather heavy-handed and mawkish affairs and their endings were absolutely ridiculous, but both films were redeemed by solid, nuanced and charismatic performances by their casts. I never, ever, thought I would be saying this, but actually really took a shining to Kevin Costner!

My dad is all over the press right now for doing the “right thing” and setting certain records straight. I won’t be going into details, in fact, my mother won’t let him appear on the news talk shows - and they have been calling - for fear of what this administration is capable of doing to people in this town, but I am very proud of him.

Pretty in Black drops in the US on May 3! Sample tracks, watch new video, get news here – it all sounds pretty fantastic and a nice fleshed-out departure from their one-key schtick which was getting tired.

DC residents, if you rush - I got mine yesterday morning -  to Melody Records, you might be able to pick up the complimentary A Touch Of Black, featuring two unreleased cuts and a cover of Buddy Holly’s "Everyday."  Brilliant.

The duo are joined on this effort by legends Moe Tucker (Velvet Underground), Ronnie Spector (!!!!!!!) and Martin Rev (Suicide).  This is going to be my summer soundtrack.

Oh, by the way, these antibiotics are AMAZING.  Haven’t felt this on top of things in ages!

Okay gotta cram for tomorrow's big exam right now.

Guess I really was getting sick... spent my Sunday evening in the ER...

I kinda knew I had strep throat Thursday when my throat swelled up and the pain and inability to swallow and non-stop foaming began but I figured I’d kick it on my own and besides I had too much work to do!  And I haven’t seen a doctor in years.

And I’m not surprised my immune system is shot after all the heavy lifting, stress, lack of sleep, food, and an unusually demanding period at the office and all sorts of craziness at my city house (landlord, without consulting me, decided this would be a good time to bring in those loco and muy thorough Mexican contractors do major work like rebuilding walls and replacing sinks that were fine to begin with.)

However as my family and I were doing the final “heave ho” clearing out my grandmother’s house it became very apparent to all that I needed some treatment.

So I’m on anti-biotics for the next ten days.  Work will quiet down after Wednesday so I might take a breather and recoup and prepare for my big exam on Saturday.

This strep thing I wouldn’t wish on anyone.  Nasty.  At least I’m slimming down for summer….

Things have been out of control busy for the last week and a half – I don’t recommend clearing out a treasured family house that has been occupied for forty+ years without professional movers  - and a without a therapist on call.  Yikes.  I’m exhausted and now I’m getting sick.  Will post soon.  

The French Invasion continues….

Today’s Village Voice heralds "the chanteuse nation."  oh, this Keren Ann lovefest is getting so tired, she's got some aggresive PR people - yikes, the shark is so jumped.

The Nouvelle Vague collective will officially make their grand entrée with the New York fashionista and tastemaker set with a live showcase April 12 at Joe's Pub. I’ve had the import Peacefrog pressings of Nouvelle Vague material for well over a year now but I’m not sure what will be on the US "compilation" coming out soon but I assume it’s the EP and LP combined. It’s a brilliant and fun concept, marrying New Wave and Punk classics with 60s pop, jazz and bossa nova and a peppering of electronica, but many of the tracks fail to transcend their novelty appeal. Featured vocalist Camille (one of several gamine-voiced ingenues contributing to the project), delivers a memorable l’ennui-laced interpretation of the Clash’s "Guns of Brixton" and her giddy take on the Dead Kennedy’s classic "Too Drunk to Fuck" is fantastic. I hope US distributors are smart enough to package the album with the artfully lo-tech and retro original artwork/printmaking by designer Giles Deacon featuring moddish euro chicks. I'm so old school...

Complete text version of Village Voice story after the jump:

I highly recommend catching Robert Rodriguez’ adaptation of Frank Miller’s graphic novel series Sin City. The trailer looked kind of iffy and annoying to me – lots of Jessica Alba and body dysmporphic Brittany Murphy writhing around coyote-ugly stripper style (I don’t care for either actress) - and I was expecting the film to be over-stylized and vacuous.

Based on stellar advance reviews and knowing that it would be faithful to Frank Miller’s vision, I braved the pimpley geek boy crowd and saw an afternoon showing at The Uptown. 

I haven’t had this much fun since The Incredibles  and this is due for the most part by the amazing, thoughtful art direction and excellent storytelling.  Actually, Sin City and The Incredibles have a great deal in common.

The audience, filled mostly with teenagers on Spring break, many barely 13 years old, was in silent rapture for the entirety of the screening.  Much to my relief.

Sin City is well-cast too – I could stomach Brittany and Jessica for the most part.  Benihana heiress Devon Aoki, snaggletooth James King, ultra-fine Rosario Dawson, even that weird little Gilmore Girl – the chicks all kick ass magnificantly! Bruce Willis, Benecio del Toro, Clive Owen are all great, but its Mickey Rourke who steals the show with his nuanced and compassionate performance as Marv – this could well turn his career around. 

Sure, the film is violent and maybe not for your mother but it is beautiful, clever and often poetic and has a real heart at its core. Sin City is a fully-realized, highly engaging, and exquisite production and it is the first must-see films of the warmer season.

Oh, and I appreciate that Sin City has an original score, although it is not particularily memorable or haunting (director Rodriguez composed much of it), but it kept the action running along and set the appropriate moods.  It was such a relief not to hear arbritary tie-in tracks from, say, Incubus or Marilyn Manson or, fear, Evanesance, just to sell some records while the game is going.  In many ways, Sin City is decided non-commercial.  But I'm sure its going to make a killing.