EL-P

I won’t recommend David Keith Lynch’s most recent film, Inland Empire, but I need to discuss it. It’s a complicated movie, over three hours of distortions and inner-workings and peculiarities. Hopefully this discussion can staunch my flood of reactions. Mr. Lynch’s mode of story-telling tends to ignite my brain in ways most things don’t. It makes me talkative. I appreciate his art for just that purpose; it’s totally inspirational. It’s also consumptive and, judging by the reactions of the moviegoers around me, not pleasurable for everyone. But I still need to sort it out, to calm my mind so I can let more in. Writing is my taming mechanism; I meditate and move on.

Mr. Lynch made a career of the metaphysical, using mediums as his medium. He began as a student of the arts, interested in painting with Frances Bacon as his beacon. He entered the film industry by making exactly the films he wanted to: dark, mutant experiments. Inland Empire is a grand continuation of these traits: we get a film within the film, as well as many (more than "normal") oblique, nightmarish abstractions. The film within Inland Empire is On High In Blue Tomorrows, a wistful southern-style romance. The leads of the On High are Laura Dern and Justin Theroux, with Mr. Lynch showing the fringes of their characters’ on screen affair. Mr. Lynch then introduces another one of his favorite themes—this one seems to be defining a period in his career—as the filmic world of On High begins to leak into the other realities of Inland Empire.

What remains is a story about character entropy. Ms. Dern’s character in On High begins to possess her character in Inland, which Mr. Lynch manipulates further by creating a reality for the On High character that doesn’t exist in the On High script. Ms. Dern, the blonde stork that she is, seems to discover and command the genes for schizophrenia; I can’t think of another performance by one actor flushing out so many conceptual designs. The first time we meet her she’s a calm, veteran movie star, introduced by her placid Hollywood mansion, the face of success that it is. It’s flamboyantly adorned and palatial. We see her get work and go to work; she’s excited and eager to work hard on the set This is all a part of hour one, the most linear hour. In the second hour the entropy begins as the actors learn that On High was nearly made once before—decades ago in Poland. The Polish actors “found something in the script” and were killed. “Something” is a weak word in the creative world—except in the hands of Mr. Lynch. The “something” discovered by Ms. Dern takes her all the way across her own psyche until she’s traveling across the mind of her character’s character. It’s hard to follow.

Which is why fans of Mr. Lynch are amateur symbologists, hunting for fissures in truth and meaning by pointing to blinking lights, recurring colors, and unusual objects. I can recommend the Inland Empire message boards if this sort of sleuthing is your thing. I like symbols—especially Mr. Lynch's: the nine dancing women, the domestic rabbits, the “unpaid debt”, etc.—but care more for the themes. From my seat, I heard Mr. Lynch asking: “What happens to characters?” It’s an enormous question. It's also savvy question that, on film, can’t be contained by any sort of conventional story telling. It allows Ms. Dern to hear herself inside of the movie set when she hasn't yet seen the set completed. But is that herself? By the third hour—more than 40 minutes after the guys behind me exclaimed “it’s only been two hours!”—it’s hard to tell which of Ms. Dern’s characters is stabbed to death with a screwdriver on Sunset Blvd., but it’s even tougher to know which of her characters gets up off the pavement when Mr. Lynch pulls back the camera to reveal the film crew for On High (who haven’t appeared on screen for two hours).

I have not seen all Mr. Lynch’s movies, but I’ve watched Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Mulholland Drive at 3 a.m., which is a fine hour to drop into the Lynchian portal. His films are dark, but glossy. In Mr. Lynch’s hands this is not a reassuring combination and his films are nervous because of it. Conventional horror and suspense films are used for other purposes in the Lynchian world: the camera slowly creeping down a dim pink hallway towards an eery green light. These shots will last for minutes, creating real tension. Sometimes Mr. Lynch is kind. In Mulholland, he eased the audience into the darkness, with the help of a shiny, optimistic Naomi Watts. A dominant difference between Mulholland and Inland is the amount of time it takes for the glamor to be overrun by the fear. Inland Empire the takeover is instant; the film begins inside the darkness, in a space with a faceless prostitute, digitally blurred and indecipherable. Mr. Lynch is earnest with fear and he lets it permeate Ms. Dern's unhinging until the penultimate fear becomes the film itself.

Brooklyn, NY MC El-P gets an honorary BRILLIANTMP3 for a couple appropriate reasons. One, he released a solid album called I'll Sleep When You're Dead. Two, the album begins with dialogue sampled from Mr. Lynch's seminally creepy TV show, Twin Peaks. El-P's song is called "Tasmanian Pain Coaster" and features The Mars Volta at their recent best. It's great track with a great hook that's simple, dark, and very Lynchian: "This is the sound of what you don't know killing you." MP3 below. Scout that.

The official Inland Empire trailer.

To promote Laura Dern's performance in Inland Empire, director David Lynch posted up pm Sunset Blvd. with a live dairy cow and a sign that read: "Without cheese there wouldn't be an Inland Empire."


On David Lynch's art.

For good measure, here's El-P's video for the track "Flyentology" featuring Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails. This is a cool video.

Right click-and-save to download an MP3 of “Tasmanian Pain Coaster,” from the album I'll Sleep When You're Dead by El-P.




El-P's WEBSITE.
El-P on MYSPACE.
El-P on LAST.FM.
El-P on WIKIPEDIA.
El-P on YOUTUBE.
El-P on WIKIPEDIA.
El-P on HYPEMACHINE.
El-P on ELBO.WS.
El-P on AMAZON.
Support El-P's LABEL, which El-P owns.

FUJIYA & MIYAGI

Another busy day at the office.

The state government of California offers many employment opportunities. There’s all sorts of paper-pushing career positions for people who love the benefits, the office parties, the savings plans, the rideshare networks, Sacramento, and the U.S.A. A majority of these people don’t mind the idea of being a biddable cog in the byzantine conduit that is government.

There are also opportunities for students and temporary workers. Being a temporary worker for the state is, six times out of seven, like having your sanity tested by a community of monkeys that control how often you get to go to the bathroom. I’ve had these jobs, though my current job as mailboy extraordinaire is one of those special, lucky exceptions. It's an easy, lackadaisical carnival ride for one of the most-profitable state agencies. I've been at this job for about a year. In that time I’ve banded together with a team of student-assistants and younger coworkers. Together, we form a commanding in-the-office cool-crowd. I have friends; it’s nice.

Part of being friends nowadays means you send each other surveys. Before this job, I’d only seen these things on Myspace and in spam. Sometimes the survey’s are themed, as in “Take This Survey If You Think You Have A Wicked Tattoo!!!!!”, other times they are not themed, as in “Take my Survey!!!!!!!!” I’ve always avoided surveys, just based on how tedious they were to read. My office-friends have complained about my survey-ignorance in the past. Sensing the time was right, my eyes lit up last week when I found an unread 71 question behemoth in my inbox. I read the questions. This thing is like the Moby Dick of online surveys, even though questions 34 and 35 have been mysteriously omitted. In the future I'm going to continue avoiding these things, but I'll admit that the majority of this one was fun to do. Here’s how I answered:

SURVEY SUBJECT: RE: you brats!

1.What are your initials?
A.A.D.

2. What is your favorite thing to wear?
At the moment, when in Sacramento, I like the light cotton comfort of American Apparel shirts—it’s just about all I can tolerate in the heat. If I’m in the Bay, nothing feels better than my Ben Sherman Military jacket. I also have these new Nike Vandals and a shirt from the artist Geoff McFetridge, but I’m saving those for an EXTRA special moment in my life. (Turns out Mr. McFetridge actually designed a pair of Vandals. Wow.)

3. Last thing you ate?
Broccoli and chicken.

4. Bang bang click click bang bang click…who died?
My interest in this question.

5. I say Shotgun, you say?
Wedding!

6. Last person you hugged?
I think my dad last Sunday, or my friend Eric last Monday at Press, because I love my dad and I only get to see my friend Eric every couple months when he’s on tour.

7. Do YOU want to be a paperback writer?
What’s a paperback writer?

8. How many U.S. states have you been to?
Oh! They have those maps that you can click on for this! You can do it at this site. I’ve been to 35 states. Man, what a reminder of how much I’ve yet to do.

9. How many of the U.S. states have you lived in?
Just one. So far.

10. Does anyone you know wanna date you?
Probably Roz from Frasier. As my producer she’s always been there for me, but I never really looked at her like that until that one night after she made me laugh so hard that some ’87 merlot came out my nose at the station’s Christmas party.

11. Name something you like physically about yourself?
I like my face.

12. Who is your best friend?
Probably Rachel from Friends. She’s always been there for me, especially since Monica and Chandler tied the knot and everything is became, like, them, them, them all the time.

13. Have you ever ran away?
Only from certain commitments.

14. Why are you still up?
I took one sip of a Rockstar yesterday. That shit is gross.

15. Who/What made you angry today?
Honestly: Hillary Clinton. There’s so much about her that I can’t get behind, and it didn’t help that she paraded most of those things in my face yesterday. She says that “The best thing I can do to continue my very vigorous support of the troops is to begin to bring them home.” Only she said that in justification of kowtowing to the president on war funding. That situation is so fucked: the Republican’s seem happy with their skybox in Hell and the Dem’s are still worried about toeing the middle ground with rhetoric that might have meant something in early ’02. I want to know that candidates are people, not puppets for strategy teams mitigating polling stations for an election that’s a year and a half out. This is what irks me about politics: the established parties campaign for who can be the least smear-able. I don’t understand what that has to do with the principles of government. Those principles are divisive by nature—someone will be smeared, but then something will actually be accomplished, too. That would be nice.

16. Favorite Food?
My mom’s secret recipe baby back ribs. I also like sprouts.

17. Favorite holidays?
I like holidays, but religion makes me nervous (I’m not sure how to care about processes that were invented in, like 54 A.D.) so I kind of prefer non-religious holidays. Besides, how cool is Halloween?

18. Do you download music?
Exclusively. Right now I recommend Klaxons, Fujiya & Miyaga, R. Kelly, and Maroon 5.

19. Do you care if your socks are dirty?
Yes. Especially my green Lacoste’s that I got for $2.50. I hate it when they are dirty, as they are mind-bogglingly comfortable.

22. Has anyone ever sang or played for you personally?
Bono dedicated “In The Name Of Love” to me in the ‘90’s on that tour with the big lemon. Prince sang me “Purple Rain” in the womb in early ’83. Michael Jackson got offended and dedicated “Thriller” to me in ’84. There’s too many to count, really.

23. Do you love anyone?
I love my family and my band for putting up with my oddities.

24. Do you like Bush?
Not the president, no.

25. Have you ever bungee jumped?
No.

26. Have you ever gone white-water rafting:
Yeah. Snake River level 5.

27. Has anyone ten years older than you ever hit on you?
Yes.

28. How much money ya got in ya pocket?
$10.

29. Have you met a real redneck?
Yes. We played in Texarkana, right on the boarder of Texas and Arkansas. Wow. Stayed with this guy who had a homemade catfish pond, which is not to say that he was a redneck at all—he wasn’t. But we got lost and asked for directions at a church, which was like a buglight for rednecks.

30. Dark and cold...and watery?
Next.

31. What are you listening to right now?
Police “King Of Pain,” I’m learning this song with my vocal coach. Sting is a really good doppelganger for my voice. Did you hear that Stewart Copeland call Sting a “petulant pansy?” Burn.

32. What is your current fav song?
Fujiya & Miyagi “Collarbone” (BRILLIANT MP3 below). The hook goes like this “Got to get a new pair of shoes/To kick it with her/To kick it with you/Sock it to me!” I (always) want a new pair of shoes to kick it with you, so I can really identify.

33. What was the last movie you watched?
Inland Empire. It was really good.

36. What are you afraid of?
Inertia.

37. How many piercings have you had?
One.

38. How many pets do you have?
None.

39. What's one thing you've learned recently?
Puma is trying to sell their company to this corporation called PPR for over €5B. That corporation owns some really high end lines like Prada.

40. What do you usually order from Starbucks?
Double espresso.

42. Have you ever fired a gun:
I kinda hope I never have to. I think it’s a pretty outdated mode of protection/communication. But I might try it once in order to justify my desire to never do it again.

43. Are you missing someone?:
Yeah.

44. Fav. TV show?
30 Rock! And Entourage! And Twin Peaks, if I’m allowed to take it to the vaults like that!

45. Do you have an iPod?:
Yes. I haven’t had any problems with it until this week, when all 60 gigs of music just disappeared. I didn’t really know what to think. Nave told me that when the same thing happened to his iPod, he found it surprisingly "liberating.”

46. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celeb?
Yes. Sometimes it’s so flattering (Adrian Grenier) and sometimes it’s so confusing (Lenny Kravitz). (I guess Kravitz is handsome, but oh my god, what a schmuck.)

48. Who would you like to see right now?
I can’t believe Shannon is gone on Lost. I feel like we barely knew each other.

49. Favorite movie of all time?
I’m not sure. I really like Rushmore. That one is up there. I think Purple Rain is phenomenal, too, though I’ve only seen it 3 times. (I’ve seen Rushmore 10 times or something.) Also, it’s worth mentioning that I love David Lynch. He writes busy storylines. Mulholland Drive is up there.

50. Do you find yourself loved?
Yup yup.

51. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren't supposed to?
Watching porn in the high school.

52. Favorite flower(s)?
Wisteria, which we had a lot of growing up. When those things are healthy and blooming they create the coolest canopy of green and purple.

53. Butter, plain, or salted popcorn?
Plain with fresh pepper.

54. What magazines are you reading?
I subscribe to The Believer, which focuses on, I don’t know, that busy fringe where lit culture meets pop culture? The current issue has an interview with a toy inventor who’s spent twelve years inventing colored bubbles that don’t stain, which no one’s been able to do until now. I also subscribe to Interview, which Andy Warhol invented. It’s kind of ridiculous, movie stars and industry types and writers and music peoples all interview each other. But I love it. I had a subscription to the New Yorker in 2005, and I miss that. Also, my parents only get the New York Times on Sundays and they save me that magazine. Haughty as that sounds, it’s really interesting. I also love Tokion, Flaunt, Fader, and all those silly, expensive glossy’s that I can’t afford.

55. Have you ever ridden in a limo?
Yes.

56. Has anyone you were really close to passed away recently?
Shannon from Lost.

58. What's something that really bugs you?
Politics.

60. Do you like Michael Jackson?
Yes. I imagine he’d like me, too.

61. What's your favorite smell?
Home cooking.

62. Favorite baseball team?
I used to love the White Sox for no real reason. I still have like 250 Frank Thomas baseball cards. Now, whatever. I’m going to see the Giants and the A’s in SF in a week. Thanks dad.

63. Favorite cereal?
Grape-Nuts with milk and honey. I’ve always wondered about the name Grape-Nuts. Even with this wikipedia description, it’s still a mystery: “Neither nor nuts have ever been ingredients in the cereal. The original formula for Grape-Nuts called for grape sugar, which is composed mostly of glucose unlike most other sugar sources and food sweeteners which are principally sucrose. This, combined with the "nutty" flavor of the cereal inspired its name. But some employees at Post claim that the cereal got its name because the tiny nuggets resemble grape seeds or grape "nuts".”

65. What's the longest time you've gone without sleep?
I’m guessing 40-50 hours.

66. Last time you went bowling?
With Pacey and Dawson. Jen and Joey weren’t talking at that point, so they didn’t show.

67. Where is the weirdest place you have slept?
I could write 1,000 words on this one, easy. The storage closet in my first apartment comes to mind, as does the drivers seat of our van. There’s been so many gross truckstops. I’ve been under a few kitchen tables. The smallest couch I’ve ever fit on was in a dorm room at Columbia. It was about four feet long. I worked at a summer camp when I was 18 and we slept under the stars a bunch. I felt really vulnerable, but really awesome, too. Shooting stars do not get old.

68. Who was your last phone call?
My dad.

69. Last time you were at work?
I am at work. Is this the best they could come up for question 69?

70. What's the closest orange object to you?
Is the best they could come up with for question 70? Tangentially, did you know that Prince has a line of cologne coming out? Finally. I’m reading this about it: “As for the perfume, Prince will make the world just a little more funky July 7, when he launches 3121, his very own fragrance collection. (Sadly, the perfume is not called Purple Rain or Black Sweat.) According to his website, the fragrance is comprised of "a refreshing sparkle of crisp bergamot, opulent jasmine and gardenia." Alas, "opulent jasmine" isn't exactly "sex and sin," but it could be the jump-off.”

71. What did you drink today?
The coffee. Major Dickason’s roast.

The video for "Collarbone."


Live.

Right click-and-save to download an MP3 of “Collarbone,” from the album Transparent Things by Fujiya & Miyagi.


Fujiya & Miyagi's wonderful WEBSITE.
Fujiya & Miyagi on MYSPACE.
Fujiya & Miyagi on LAST.FM.
Fujiya & Miyagi on WIKIPEDIA.
Fujiya & Miyagi on YOUTUBE.
Fujiya & Miyagi on WIKIPEDIA.
Fujiya & Miyagi on HYPEMACHINE.
Fujiya & Miyagi on ELBO.WS.
Fujiya & Miyagi on AMAZON.
Support Fujiya & Miyagi's LABEL.

WALLPAPER

I was having trouble finding a photo from the Sacramento show, so this is from THIS girl who went to the San Francisco show, took pictures, then left them as comments on Wallpaper's Myspace. Shout out to McShanAttackAsaurs Rex!

My friend Kim does this thing when he really likes something: he acts vaguely offended, like he can't believe it, like he's completely aghast and thinking “how dare they” at the band he’s hearing. On Monday, during Wallpaper's 40-minute set at Club Pow, Kim stood across the room from me. Every time I caught his eye he shook his head and made some sort of signal with his arms and hands that I interpreted to mean something along the lines of "I'm done." The movement kind of resembled a baseball umpire calling someone safe; Kim shakes his head and does the "safe!" motion over and over again.

At no point did I doubt how much Kim was enjoying Wallpaper. Everyone was. Wallpaper—for this tour, at least—involves two guys. The project is the intelligently sleazy electro-outlet for Eric Frederic, the singer and writer for the prog-pop band Facing New York. In Wallpaper Mr. Frederic is accompanied by a live drummer—Arjun Singh—and an iPod. The iPod drips out melt-y, Ratatat-style keyboards over fizzy beats, with Mr. Singh bolstering the electronic percussion with his kit. Mr. Frederic filters his vocals—both live and recorded—through a tolerable amount of autotune, or vocoder, or something, giving his voice that pitch-corrective, robotic "One More Time" effect. Live, he plays no instruments.

Which leaves all sorts of room for gimmicks. For Monday’s show, Mr. Frederic dressed like he was trying to dress like an indie-rock Casanova: a green lumberjack shirt, white shoes, and cheap-o neon sunglasses. Between songs he sat in a chartreuse pleather easy chair, sipping courvoisier. These words (chartreuse, pleather, easy and courvoisier) sufficiently paint the art-decco mural of Wallpaper’s intent. Progressive rock tends to succeed when intent is most obscured, which makes Mr. Frederic’s Wallpaper both his alter-ego and his super-ego.

Mr. Frederic is a card-carrying music geek and discerning ears will hear the pleasing complexities in the vocal harmonies, melodies, and phrasing. The rest of the ears will hear Hellogoodbye-ready hooks like, "I am a million dollars," and “This is your ringtone.” The effect is funny and, shitty PA be damned, catchy. Without the overbearing sonics of a full band, Mr. Frederic embraces the lack of obstacles between his voice box and the audience. It’s a pleasant infection; Mr. Frederic’s lyrics are Destiny’s Child-simple and oft-repeated. (One of Wallpaper’s two cover songs included Bell Biv DeVoe’s ‘90’s boy-band gem “Poison.” The other was an interpretive R. Kelly homage.) Watching 40 strangers laugh and dance gave the band’s name a literal feel, as if Wallpaper really was all around us.

Every Wallpaper song is two minutes and thirty three seconds long. It’s a silly, suspicious boundary, as though Mr. Frederic has case-studied Pop music to a distant, precise decimal place. In the context of so many flushed out ideas, the uniform song lengths add to the ultimate mystery: what makes pop popular?

I ask that question because I feel that Wallpaper provides some answers. Every moment of Monday night’s set felt relate-able. It wasn’t so much that I’d seen it before as much as immediately wanting to see it again. There’s an answer: Pop music presents us with the desire to become familiar, to be included. Inclusion seemed paramount to Mr. Frederic’s stage character; he constantly checked his cell phone throughout the set. In doing so he seemed at once too-cool, reasonably curious, and sort-of-desperate. Launching into the track "Text Me Your Love," Mr. Frederic responded to text messages while singing a song about receiving text messages. I texted “Big time! My love!” or something like that. I just wanted to be a part of the moment, to feel included.

And I did.

Wallpaper covered this song, Bell Biv DeVoe's "Poison." Both versions (the original and the cover) are remarkable.

Right click-and-save to download “So Hot,” from the Million Dollars single by Wallpaper.



Wallpaper on MYSPACE.
Wallpaper on LAST.FM.
Wallpaper in THE EAST BAY EXPRESS.
More Wallpaper mp3s on ELBO.WS.
I meant to support the opening band, a great, Pele-inspired math rock duo called Silian Rail, but I had to support Wallpaper, so next time. Until then check out Silian Rail's MYSPACE.

AIR

They don't make 'em like this anymore.

I watched two great movies so far this week: Wassup Rockers and Little Children. I also watched a Fellini's La Dolce Vita.

Wassup Rockers is a film by Larry Clark. He made Kids, which, I imagine, was the sort of film best seen the week it was released, amid the amber waves of cool people joining together with the critical hype. I saw Kids when I was twenty-something years old (it came out when I was 12). In Kids, I thought that many of the stylistic decisions were smart, but I grew weary of the story. Wassup Rockers is different. The crazy faux-reality style used in Kids seems to develop some modesty, some balance between light and impenetrable dark. Kids told bleak stories; Wassup Rockers tells bleak stories, too, but intersperses a wider pallet of moods and humor in its anecdotes. Even during an early drive-by homicide, it didn't immediately occur to me that this story was being acted: the people on camera just looked like people, fighting through an urban landscape I've scene in dozens of towns. Most of the first half of the film buries that drive-by under the cast of real people using their real names acting out their real daily experiences. The tragedies of the second half—the two-faced glamour, the racism, the death—seem refreshing, albeit in a dark way. Wait, this isn't real, I thought, as a millionaire alcoholic tried to keep from slipping into her bathtub by grabbing a low-hanging crystal chandelier. Her electrocution pantomimes the societal detachments I enjoy watching Clark explore. For the most part, Wassup Rockers is fiction starring nonfiction. Genius.

The Wassup Rockers preview.

This is a video interview with Larry Clark. It's great. He has real devotion to the particular slice of America he's concerned with. His interest in making films began when Francis Ford Coppola told him: "If anyone should make films, it should be you."

Little Children is a film by Todd Field. He made In The Bedroom, which I don't remember anything about, save for Marissa Tomei looking slammin' and my dislike for the movie. Like Wassup Rockers veering away from Kids, Little Children makes the same swerve away from In The Bedroom. The style takes over and gets rid of some of the heavier themes. The best things about Little Children were: 1) the narration, and 2) Jennifer Connelly. The narration reminds me of the elegant, precise narration in Y Tu Mamá También and, come to think of it, The Royal Tenenbaums. Narration seems like a ballsy choice to me, because filmmakers have a tough enough time as is making whatever happens on screen interesting. To add another, non-visual element is risky. Especially when the narration chooses to go beyond what's happening on screen, as it does in these three films. I love how all these movies narrate tiny, useful emotions and thoughts. Like when Ms. Connelly realizes the sexual tension between Patrick Wilson (unbelievable in Hard Candy; the new Christian Bale?) and Kate Winslet; or when a blank expression from Ms. Winslet's character is augmented by the narrator's description of her purposefully hidden surprise. I loved the narrator's voice (it was Will Lyman, a seasoned narration expert). He sounds like God in the '50's or something. Also, Ms. Connelly's never looked better.

The preview for Little Children.

I watched La Dolce Vita last night, too. Great costume design. It seemed to be about pervasive, unsolvable boredom. Past that, I need to let it marinate—possibly for the rest of my life. It will sit in the sauce next to 8 1/2, which seemed to be about pervasive, unsolvable failure.

None of these flicks had anything to do with the French band Air, who have at least one great song on their most recent album. I'm a big proponent of Air's high-class, expensive-haircut music, but Pocket Symphony seems a little drowsy to me. Not this song, though ("Mer Du Japon", brilliant MP3 below). It taps into the space-station-hipster-oxygen-bar-vibe that I'll never get enough of. While these films didn't have anything to do with Air, I doubt that will be true with my next Netflix: Viva la Marie Antoinette!

Air performing "Mer Du Japon". Sounds crisp.

The video, directed by Guillaume de la Perrier.

Right click-and-save to download “Mer Du Japon,” from the album Pocket Symphony by Air.


Air's WEBSITE.
Air on MYSPACE.
Air on LAST.FM.
Air on YOUTUBE.
Air on WIKIPEDIA.
Air on HYPEMACHINE.
Air on ELBO.WS.
Air on AMAZON.
Support Air's LABEL.

CORNELIUS

I look like Rich Costey just shook my hand and said, "I've never been more excited to be recording anyone in the history of my life." Which is to say: I look happy.

Never have I conceived and sponsored a personal vacation—I’ve always traveled with my family and my band. I just took an independent vacation and it was exactly as fun as I imagined it might be. I was in Southern California a few weekends back (from Saturday through Tuesday) for the tri-purpose of seeing my sister perform, visiting my grandparents, and seeing Cornelius. There was also the infinity of friends, boutiques, and restaurants to visit.

The independence of being in a different cultural hub—alone—with just my wallet and my know-how and my wide-eyed sense of giddiness no doubt assisted the pleasure I experienced with Southwest Airlines. At some point along the way, I realized that I enjoy flying. My recent airport experiences both began in Sacramento, which hosts a nice facility. It doesn’t get that crowded and the wireless internet is great. Flying solo, I boarded my flight and sat in the front row next to a young family heading to Disneyland for the first time. I savored the legroom while reading the new Interview cover-to-cover. When I finished reading, I wrote and doodled on the Gucci and Dolce advertisements. My iPod, stocked with about 35 new albums, randomized 500 songs for the 120-minute flight to Irvine, CA.

It was a perfect beginning to an excellent long weekend.

In place of touring constantly, I’ve been saving money. I intend to update my guitar rig and move to San Francisco. All this will take an indeterminate, but surely large sum. I’ve been doing well—at the somewhat-expense of my social life, rather, my near-ridiculous social life of six months ago, where my weekly temp-agency checks were funneled directly into seeing four or more shows a week, many of which in SF. No regrets, but I’m proud to have simmered down a bit. I’m the type who’s always found solitude to be the busiest part of my day. I mean that in a good way. I feel thoughtful and productive on my own and, because of the band’s recent-ish touring schedules, I’ve really needed some downtempo-type time to reconnect with my greater goals and intentions.

I don’t want to entirely sacrifice my social self, however, and, after running some figures by my online banking statement, I rationalized a modest vacation budget. I figured I could travel to and be in the Los Angeles area for about $300. I barely went over budget, even after impulse buying a pair of THESE (only mint green).

I landed Saturday at one in the afternoon. George picked me up. We went out for Korean food; he called it a “soft tofu” place. Amazing. Herring. Tofu soup. A raw egg. Pickled things. Then we rolled up to UCLA, where my McSweeney’s friends were tearing down their booth at the book fair. On our way, George parked in the middle of Chinatown and said: “We need to make a stop.” I thought I might be coming up on some illicit pets or weapons or something, but no. We were checking out the Lion’s Den. Every other storefront on this block is a market with live catfish and wholesale-amounts of raw bok choy. Then there’s this tiny streetwear boutique, all negative space full of A-Life’s, next season’s Ice Creams, and all sorts of $82 t-shirts. The interior looked as though Kubrick’s set designer needed a spot to sell Umbro.

That night I finally got to see my sister perform. She’s a dance major at UCI and she’s been immeasurably supportive of my musical passions. I don’t mean that lightly; I hate when writers use terms like “countless,” “needless to say,” or “immeasurably,” because almost all of the time whatever they are writing about can be counted, measured, or said. But Molly has been at every show she could make and we’ve spent days talking about our futures and sharing ideas. I was a little nervous for her performance. The last ballet I went to I might have fallen asleep. It’s tough to say.

But Molly was doing a “modern” show. Her group performed some wild Aztec-inspired tribal number, and she had this crazy “arm-solo” thing. Most of the performers and performances were tops. I was entertained all the way through.

We spent that night (and the next day) in Palm Springs. Not my favorite desert oasis, but it was great lounging by the pool with our grandparents. I was also one exit from THIS. Tantalizing.

Rolled back to LA on Sunday night with George and without Molly. We stayed at a hotel at one end of Sunset (in Bel Air, I think) called The Luxe, courtesy of Dave Eggers and co. The clock alarm had an iPod doc; this place was beautiful, all dark and modern.

Everything is as huge and as soft as it looks.

Tried to find Cinespace but couldn’t, so we went to Canter’s, the famous Jewish deli that Mötley Crüe and Guns ‘N Roses after-partied at in the ‘80s. I was too full to eat, but I turned George red with a single Irish Car Bomb.

The next day felt perfect, like master-craftsman’s rendition of a normal day. Breakfast, shoe-buying, and crazy-boutique-ing in Silverlake. Then more of the same—plus a second Canter’s trip—in and around Fairfax. Tried on a couple of the nicest blazers I’ve ever tried on at Fred Segal on Melrose, priced between $1,368 and $5,000. I asked why the new Air album cost $27 and the aspiring actress working behind the counter told me that “it costs that much because when you buy it you actually become one of the guys in Air.” She was really informative.

Oh, then there was this store: Family. Go there. Wild books, unhinged comics, cassette tapes, shirts, all sorts of homemade desirables.

At this point it was time to visit my friend Matt at Barefoot Studio, where he’s been working with my pals The Audrye Sessions. He gave me a tour and geeked out with George about The Warriors pissing all over everyone’s expectations. Barefoot was purchased by Eric Valentine in 2000. But it’s been a studio for decades: Stevie Wonder recorded there, as did Hendrix. That sort of thing really sinks in once you are actually standing in the room, touching the walls and hearing the sound of a strummed guitar. The Audrye Sessions songs sounded like a couple spots on next years Top 40.

George’s dad was in town with a bunch of his Cultural Revolution pals. We ate with them. We had one thing in common: the Chinese hate cold drinks. Now, I’m still a DIT (Diva In Training) for the most part; I’m still working on earning those bedazzled wings. But one of my few, already-established Diva habits is that I hate ice water. It’s not particularly good for the voice. And I hate it. Serve it to me and I instantly transmogrify into Diana Ross. Whether or not I actually told you “water with no ice,” I will say “I said no ice” and then you will be covered with ice and water.

Then, finally, it was time for Cornelius. We located the gorgeous El Rey, I donned my new kicks and we were in. Cornelius released a record in 2002 that I bought based on THIS Pitchfork review. I missed seeing Cornelius back then. I’ve been waiting for him to return to the states, especially since George (who is one of my top three cultural centrifuges) claimed that Cornelius in 2002 was “the best live performance he’d ever seen.” The goal was to see him at Bimbo’s in SF, but we were booked to destroy Chico and couldn’t make it. By the time I began considering contingency plans, Coachella was already sold out. And then I conceived my vacation. It was perfect.

Actually, it was perfect. Cornelius is beyond unbelievable—immeasurably, innumerably, needless-to-say-ing-ly spectacular. Keigo Oyamonda is the mystical Japanese elf that controls Cornelius. His band—two other multi-instrumentalists and a cute, precise drummer—performs for 80 minutes in synch with about 20 high-concept music videos (I’m embedding as many as I can find below).

Cornelius benefits from fervent fans, hundreds of folks from every ethnic and social denomination. This is what makes minute-one of a Cornelius show so insane. The red velvet curtain rises and 800 people go apeshit. Cheering. Screaming. Crying. Jones-ing. The curtain reveals another curtain, this one the consistency of a thick fog. Mr. Oyamonda hits a perfect note and a rectangle of red light silhouettes his pose. Then the drummer hits a cymbal and is silhouetted by a blue rectangle, then the other instrumentalists by yellow and white. The rectangles correspond perfectly with crisp sound stabs and poses, crescendo-ing with the curtain disappearing to reveal the band, now waving at the crowd and feedback-ing. Everyone is much happier and warmer and in all ways more emboldened than ever to do good in the world.

A video and light show begins with a visual announcement informing the crowd that this is the “Cornelius Group” performing the “Synchronized Sensuous Experience.” The song selection is a wonderful menagerie of work from all three of Cornelius’ albums. At one point, Mr. Oyamonda brings up a girl from the crowd and uses her arm to solo on a Theremin. She looked to be crying and laughing and having an orgasm all at once. Before re-entering the crowd, Mr. Oyamonda hugged her, the bassist gave her a lay of flowers, and the smiling stagehand helped her off stage.

After the show my friend Dave South told me he’s seen Cornelius three times, and for his money it’s always been a better show than Bjork or Radiohead. I’ve never seen those bands, nor doubted their capacity for awe. But Mr. South's a stable dude who doesn’t just talk to hear his voice. What if he’s even remotely right?

If he’s remotely right, then Radiohead and Bjork would also provide some of the best live performances I’ve seen.













Right click-and-save to download “Beep It,” from the album Sensuous by Cornelius.


Right click-and-save to download “Wataridori,” from the album Sensuous by Cornelius.



Cornelius' WEBSITE.
Cornelius on MYSPACE.
Cornelius on LAST.FM.
Cornelius on YOUTUBE.
Cornelius on WIKIPEDIA.
Cornelius on HYPEMACHINE.
Cornelius on ELBO.WS.
Cornelius on AMAZON.