Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in pekaresque's LiveJournal:

Sunday, May 21st, 2006
1:28 am	so he resumed, as though no time had passed since he last wrote in it ( So I saw the DaVinci Code. ) Current Music: Wide Open - Growing (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 9th, 2005
1:30 am	SIN CITY Probably plenty of you have seen Sin City. It's a stunning film, and Frank Miller's graphic novels are great, but I'm not going to make this an evaluation of either: rather, I'm going to discuss Sin City's significance in the advance of filmmaking technology. Sin City is one of the first movies to be shot without the use of any film whatsoever, and also one of the first to be shot almost entirely against green-screens, with backgrounds added in post-production. While it is not innovative in the sense that it is the first movie to use these technologies, it is innovative in the sense that it is the first movie to use them as well as it does. This is a result of one key difference between Sin City and movies like Sky Captain or the Star Wars prequels: Sin City doesn't try to look realistic for a second. It revels in the exaggerated fakeness of it all. Characters fly about the screen against intensely dramatic backdrops that suit the pulp-noir story far better than any set could – and it doesn't try to look realistic for a second. Now, while I am a person fan of shooting movies on film, I am not going to make a case against shooting movies digitally here. However, I am going to make a case against shooting digital movies when it doesn't suit the aesthetic of the picture. What I mean by that is movies in which the setting is computer-generated, even in scenarios in which nothing extraordinary is occurring that would preclude the use of a normal set. Special effects were first explored to create visuals which were not possible in real life, and when we cross the line into needlessly digitizing what could easily be created with ingenuity and craftmanship, I think we have taken a step too far. When movies are endlessly digitized, they end up looking fake, bottom line. It doesn't matter that the computer-generated Neo used in the Matrix fight scenes matched Keanu Reeves perfectly, pixel-by-pixel, in still images – when he started moving, we could all tell it was fake. The instant it switched over to CGI, everyone knew, and it just looked disgustingly fake. This isn't to say that any of the other special effects in the Matrix movies necessarily looked real, it's just that when we see outlandish images of bullets slowing down or people walking through walls, we already know they're fake. We expect people to be real. We expect the streets they walk on to be real. Why, then, do I think Sin City succeeds where these movies fail? It's because it makes no pretense of believability. The characters of Sin City are immensely larger than life, and the world they walk in is similarly contrived. The completely digitized setting works because it matches up with everything else – it matches the over-the-top dialogue, it matches the grotesque violence, it matches the hyperbolic and magnified characters. The same is not true of movies like the Star Wars prequels. Even though the characters of these movies inhabit a science-fiction world, we are asked to accept that, in such a world, this is how people would really behave. And when Luke Skywalker was running and flipping through the intricate sets that we believed were Dagobah, we could believe that that's how people would react. When we saw Han Solo vanish in steam, we could believe he was being encased in carbonite. After all, to be cheesy, that's part of the magic of a really well-made movie. But when I watched the prequels, I just saw Ewan McGregor walking around on a blue-screen soundstage; not Obi-Wan Kenobi wandering the streets of Coruscant. This difference was made amazingly evident by the new Yoda. When Frank Oz was pulling the strings (or rods, or whatever), I could believe in Yoda. When what I was seeing was reflections of light from a real puppet captured on celluloid film, I could believe it. But when all I'm seeing is the tireless work of some programmer to try and conjure a real being out of nothingness, I just see pixels and megabytes. As hard as they may have worked at getting the expressions right, as much power as they might have put behind generating that image, it's not real in the same way Yoda used to be for me. A notable exception I'd like to point out here is Gollum. I feel like the reason I liked Gollum so much was the intense effort that went into producing him in comparison with the production of the new Yoda – Andy Serkis had to actually go out on real location shoots wearing a motion capture suit and actually act with the other actors. They didn't try to replicate human motion, because they realized that you can't replicate human motion and have it be believable. They actually had somebody move, and captured it. Essentially what it comes down to is, what is the purpose of digital effects? My answer would be: to create and alter real images of real actors on real sets in such a way as to make them more incredible. A perfect example of a well-known movie that does this is Forrest Gump. For this picture, they simply used digital effects to alter what we were seeing in an incredible way, without filling the screen with total artifice. Another, more recent example would be Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Michel Gondry used special effects to assist in creating his bizarre vision of a Philip-K.-Dickian mindscape of forgetting and loss, but he never shoves it in your face. When you completely computer-generate something, you just end up with something that looks cartoonishly inhuman, which is precisely why Pixar has been so successful; they understand that if you try to make computer imagery look to real, it's just off-putting and weird. Because really, when it comes down to it, a completely computer-generated setting will never look more real than the Grid from Tron. So why try? Just build a set. Current Music: With Branches Bare - Hood (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 27th, 2005
11:54 pm	Talk Talk Laughing Stock This album means so much to me by now, that it feels intimidating to even try to tackle it so soon in my writing experiment. Still, I think it's possibly one of the most overlooked and under-appreciated albums in recent rock history, so I'm going to write about it, because I feel like it's a crime for people who say they love rock music to remember Talk Talk as "the band that did 'It's My Life.'" The greatest bands (and artists of any kind) are never content to rest on their laurels, and continuously evolve. Talk Talk's progress shows one of the most dramatic examples of such an evolution that has occurred in the history of rock music. They were first signed by EMI as a new wave band in the New Romantic mold of Duran Duran, and were handled for their first album as such - they were dressed up, made up, and paraded around as the next big hair thing. Their sophomore album, It's My Life, was still fairly typical new wave, but belied both a deeper songwriting talent that existed within Mark Hollis (the group's leader), and what would come to be a key collaborative relationship with producer Tim Friese-Greene. Their next album, The Colour of Spring, found them straddling a stylistic gap between their previous work, and a new, more adventurous sound. It is this sound which is fully realized on Laughing Stock, which is arguably one of the greatest albums of the 90s, or any other decade. It's a sound that's hard-to-describe, but one that has had a profound impact on the movement that has become known as post-rock. It isn't based on pop sensibilities at all (contrasting greatly with their earlier work), but rather is built on textural and structural composition. Many have described their sound as a type of jazz-rock, but it seems almost pointless to bring up the idea of influence with this record - its sound stands completely apart from the rock canon that led up to it. It is this boldness that makes the album so exciting. It's filled with an amazing energy and drive that propels every song, from the furious build of "Ascension Day" to the textured minimalism of "Myrrhman" and "Runeii." While you can find jazz influences on some of the organ work and softer guitar playing, and rock roots in the album's basic instrumentation, Talk Talk create music on this album that seems informed by little besides their own passion and creativity. While Mark Hollis's later solo recordings take a decidedly minimalist path, this album is a more complex case. While certainly minimalist in some senses (Hollis's notorious one-note guitar solos, the instrumentation of the quieter songs, the album's 6-song length), Laughing Stock manages to say a hell of a lot with what seems like a little. When examined closely, compositions like "After the Flood" which seem simple in their progression and melody are incredibly dense and layered. The use of horns and organs, as well as numerous guitar tracks on many songs, really give a sense of texture to all of the compositions on the album. Even the simplest chord progressions found here are relentlessly creative, and refuse to be bound by rock and blues standards. Even the element of the album which seems most minimalist and simple at times, Mark Hollis's guitar playing, speaks volumes with each note. His solos sound otherworldly, and it hardly sounds as though he's plucking the strings of his guitar to get notes from it - he somehow coaxes out moaning, otherworldly tones, which sound more like the cries of some otherworldly, forlorn animal than anyone playing an instrument - and he never overuses this haunting sound by noodling complex figures, but uses it to spell out simple, elegant figures. As strange and without precedent as some of the sounds Talk Talk create on this album are, it never manages to be impenetrable and dense in the way much art rock is. The plaintive melodies on this album are immediate and approachable from the first listen, and each successive listen reveals more and more to be heard. The music's apparent simplicity makes it easy to grasp from the start, and gives the album lots of room to grown on you (as almost all the best albums do). And perhaps most importantly, this music doesn't just play to your head the way lots of art rock does. This is the music you will turn to when there are no people you can turn to for comfort; this is the music you will listen to with the lights off all by yourself; this is the music you will connect with; this is the music you will fall in love with. Current Music: Ascension Day - Talk Talk (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 20th, 2005
11:15 pm	I don't care any more why you run around First off, thanks to Greg for making this icon. Now, on with business. Today, the focus of my unadulterated praise will be Steely Dan's sixth album, Aja. This record was the first that I listened to in its entirety when I got my turntable, and is one that has meant a lot to me for a few years now. Whereas plenty of bands would have lost steam and started churning out rehashed versions of their previous albums by this point (and why not, since they had produced (at least) 3 amazing albums already), but Steely Dan were clearly not content to give up yet. Steely Dan's overall sound, as a rule, became more jazz-oriented with each album they produced, and Aja is essentially the logical conclusion of that progression. It takes the crystal-clear, highly produced approach the Dan had taken with rock, and applies it to 70s jazz fusion. The result could be described as smooth jazz (since it is, in fact, jazz that is smooth), but that would be a misleading way to describe this killer album. Still, as much as I love this album, there's not getting around the fact that it does sound cheesy at times. Still if you can get over the tinkling electronic keyboards and echo-laden saxophone lines (which you should be able to), you can see that the construction of the songs on this album is really amazing. Each composition is multi-segmented, but they never fail to achieve the unity of the Dan's greatest pop songs. As is always true with Steely Dan, the real strength of this album is in its production and arrangement. Gary Katz's hyper-clean production suits the jazzier sound of this album even better than it does their earlier albums, and the instrumentation is top-notch. Steely Dan always find interesting and slightly unexpected ways to express their melodies, often through marimbas and other assorted percussion. The horn arrangements are also noteworthy, as well as the drumming (particularly during the breakdown sections of the title track, which features some of the best drumming I've ever heard). As much as I can analyze the production and instrumentation, I find it difficult to express what makes Steely Dan's music some of my favorite, and not just extremely well-made and precise. Something about the cutting, incisive, and often surrealistic lyrics; something about Donald Fagen's completely un-singerly voice; something about the expressive chord changes; something about everything on this album really breaks my heart every time I hear it. "Deacon Blues" is playing as I write this paragraph, which is really fitting, since it's both the obvious standout track from the album and one of the most emotionally gripping songs anyone's ever recorded for me. It's got the kind of chorus that makes it an immediate classic, that doesn't dwarf the verses, but just takes their momentum and runs with it, totally destroying you with soulful backup vocals and expressive horn melodies. It's just gorgeous. I was going to type out the lyrics to it, but looking at them on the screen made me realize why it's a song and not a poem. And don't think I've forgotten "Peg." As much as I love "Deacon Blues," it can't come close to being as fun as "Peg" is. Few songs are nearly as danceable as "Peg," and I'm surprised more songs haven't sampled its percussive keyboard intro, or the completely phasered rhythm guitar. It's the kind of song that's completely funky in a really un-funky way – you know that the song was recorded by a bunch of big-nosed white guys with long, natty hair in a studio, and was obsessively re-re-re-recorded and overdubbed, but it still maintains the completely spontaneous, off-the-cuff feel of funk improvisation. I guess it's the perfect pick-me-up after "Deacon Blues," and it follows the rule of the first song on the second side of a record being the most fun (a rule which I've found is surprisingly wide-ranging). Current Music: Black Cow - Steely Dan (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 9th, 2005
10:51 pm	Well, it seems that I only really feel the urge to write something substantial in here the night before I have to get up at 5:30 to DJ, when I have significant amounts of work left to do before I sleep. I'll probably be better able to focus on my paper after this, so you guys get to reap the benefits. The Blue Notebooks By Max Richter Max Richter's The Blue Notebooks has been growing on me quite a bit lately, and is becoming one of my favorite albums of 2004. It's probably the first vaguely classical work to really grab me in a long time, and probably the only one by such a recent composer besides perhaps Philip Glass or John Cage (although this is probably more attributable to my ignorance of classical art music than of its quality). Classifying it is a bit problematic, even though its strong basis on string ensembles and piano work seems to place it clearly in the realm of classical music. Still, Max Richter himself (according to the AllMusic Guide, anyways) refers to his own style as "post-classical," so let's go with that. It's a term that makes sense, really. His compositions are clearly based upon the classical canon, but move beyond it. He uses found sounds, recorded dialogue, and a bevy of electronic synthesizers to add texture and depth to what could have been a much drier work. Richter's compositions are distinctively sentimental, and breed a vaguely nostalgic feeling. Shorter piano-based pieces (featuring Richter's playing) anchor the album, setting up melodic themes which are explored by the tight string ensembles and ambient synthesizers of the album's more expansive segments. His melodies are immediately gripping and seemingly basic, but metamorphose in fascinating ways throughout the album. Especially of note is the piercing violin work, which gives a consistent sonic texture to many of the pieces, and helps hold the album together. Which brings us to what this album is really all about - texture. As wonderful as his melancholy piano melodies are, it's really in his textures that Richter achieves laudable success. His tools are minimal - just a small string ensemble, his own piano work, and various synthesized elements and samples, as well as a chorus on some pieces. Richter's programming is straightforward and frequently repetitive, but to great effect. His recurring samples and plodding thumps (which can hardly be called "beats") bring to our attention the subtle changes in his pieces and serve as an effective backdrop to the rest of the music. Worth mentioning are his samples, especially his use of an actress's reading of various passages from Kafka's own Blue Notebooks (as well as from writings by Czselaw Milosz). If overused, this could have proved a tiresome gimmick; but its sparing use augments the distinctive atmosphere of the album. As much as The Blue Notebooks is certainly art music, it's probably the most accessible example I've ever heard. Less dense and repetitive than Aphex Twin's ambient work, it stands on its own as a work of ambient music, and it is probably the most ingenuous example of "classical," string-based music I've ever been heard. So look out for it the next time you're record shopping. Current Music: On The Nature of Daylight - Max Richter (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005
11:07 pm	Despite the fact that I have developed some sort of greatly unpleasant sickness during the evening, have 40 pages of a Dickens novel to read, and have to get up at 5:30 in the morning, I'm going to deliver on my promised music piece, because I don't want to start this experiment off with a broken promise. The beauty you see before you is my copy of Evening Star, a record by Robert Fripp and Brian Eno. For those of you unfamiliar with either of these musical geniuses, allow me to introduce you to them: Robert Fripp is primarily known as the guitarist for the seminal prog rock band King Crimson, but you may have heard his extraordinary playing elsewhere - on the Talking Heads song "I Zimbra," on the David Bowie song "Heroes," etc. etc. Brian Eno got his start as a keyboard player for the band Roxy Music, but is probably better known to you as a producer, having produced such bands/artists as U2, David Bowie, the Talking Heads, and a multitude of others. He also has some excellent solo albums which will probably be the topic of further writing here. Apart, they have both left indelible footprints on modern music. Together, they create some of the most hauntingly beautiful music you have ever heard. Their Fripp & Eno records have their basis in a technology that I'm not sure I understand fully, Frippertronics. Created by Brian Eno, it essentially involves creating tape loops of Fripp's guitar playing, so that they repeat and decay as they are being recorded, so that as each song builds, his guitar parts loop on top of each other, creating immense sound waves more textured even than his guitar work with the 80s incarnation of King Crimson. This makes up the basic palate of their work, with only spare synthesizer and some overdubbed rhythm guitar added in. (EDIT: A friend tells me that this tape looping procedure isn't unique to Brian Eno at all, but has been in use for many years. Also, the cover of another Fripp & Eno album, "No Pussyfooting," reveals that Eno uses modified Revox A77 tap recorders in the process.) However, as the worst electronic music shows, you can have all the technology in the world right at your fingertips and still make terrible music. It's not necessarily the interesting technology that makes these records gorgeous; it's Fripp's bizarre ideas of phrasing and unique techniques. As Fripp's guitar parts layer on top of each other, you almost get the sense that he's somehow creating each individual phrase with the entire rest of the song in mind, almost like brush strokes in a painting. He never cheats, either; none of his phrasing is a tired recycling of blues scales or stereotypical rock riffage. All of his guitar lines are born from his own unique sense of melody, which has plenty of space to stretch out on the songs of these records, some of which stretch out over more than 20 minutes. While his speed-woven, maze-like King Crimson parts are certainly wonderful, his playing is more gorgeous when he lets it lazily stretch out in slower phrases. Eno's production and synth work, which is just as warm and soft-edged here as on any other album he has produced, really completes the package. His mixing is impeccable, bringing out all the ambient textures of the music and highlighting the playing while never bringing anything too far out of the sonic tapestry. Addition regarding the selection of this record specifically: I almost chose Fripp & Eno's first recording, "No Pussyfooting," to write on. However, the fact that its two compositions are both side-long can be a bit daunting, and Eno's textural production isn't really up to par there with what he accomplishes on "Evening Star." The first side of "Evening Star" has some excellent shorter pieces, including a couple highlighting Eno's synthesizer work more than the typical Fripp & Eno piece. While the record works within the admittedly somewhat limited sonic range of Fripp & Eno's work, it shows a bit more diversity than "No Pussyfooting," with a more engaging first side to contrast the almost total ambience of Side Two's "An Index of Metals." So really, there's little else to be said about this record, other than this: Get it. Current Music: Wind on Water - Fripp & Eno (3 Comments |Comment on this)