‘The Russian Wilds’, by Howlin Rain

The Russian Wilds, by Howlin Rain
Producer Rick Rubin has done some great things: Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond…and now Deep Purple.

…and then I realised that ‘Howlin Rain’ isn’t the album but the name of the band. I remembered – with some sadness – that it is 2012 and that I’m not stoned.

From the wailing vocals and guitar of track one (Self Made Man) to the wailing Lordian organ of track two (Phantom in the Valley), Howlin Rain open The Russian Wilds as an exceptional cover band. [Perhaps a 'Coverdale' band!] Deep Purple have certainly rediscovered their mojo.

Unfortunately, my first listen to the remainder was predictably informed by just how much the band deviated – or didn’t – from Fireball or Stormbringer.

It was only on my second spin that the cool latin coda of Phantom in the Valley jumped out and ‘called me, called out to me’ that these stoners were at least trying to get their own sound in there somewhere.

With new ears, I found a lot to like: the occasional tough guy falsettos and harmonies, the slick and faithful James Gang cover, even the subtle shift to adult contemporary of Beneath Wild Wings. All this amid a more than decent dose of groovy, hard folk-rock psychadelica. Nothing much wrong with any of that.

And if Wolfmother can do Zeppelin with a straight face, I’m equally happy to suspend judgement and just rock on to these howlin’ trippers. I’ll file them under 1974, and hope they deal with the looming 80s a bit better than their contemporaries.

Recommended? Only to the obvious folk, who’ll know who they are.

Out of 10? 7

My monkeys suggest:

  • Think about a Joe Cocker cover of Plex Reception and/or Dark Side.
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‘Midnight in Paris’, by Woody Allen

'Midnight in Paris', by Woody Allen

I’ve always wanted to make a film that brought Van Gogh’s The Cafe Terrace at Night to life. Woody Allen has beaten me to it. I’m glad he did.

Woody knows romance, fantasy and longing better than the poets, and he’s laid each of these on thick in Midnight in Paris.

While essentially a remake of the delightful Purple Rose of Cairo, this film will enthral Woody Allen fans from its first frame. The opening montage alone is enough to lull the least sentimental into an ethereal soft focus. It can’t help but strike a chord with those of us who want more time and creative control of our lives.

Gil (Owen Wilson) is perfectly relatable and understated, with his soft southern drawl adding to the dreamy melancholy of the plot and the vulnerability of his character. Wilson creates enough space to keep you perpetually hanging on his next line.

Inez (Rachel McAdams) is a paper tigress, but a convincing one. I expect Woody has read Sartre’s Huis Clos, in which Inès is one of the nightmarish ‘other people’ from whom there is no exit. If Inez and her family are hellish, Gil’s counterlife – whether real or imagined – is a heavenly escape to a world in which Woody plays his nostalgia card to perfection.

There’s a message in there too, and a good one.

A delicious mix of lightness and unbearable emotional weight, Midnight in Paris is Woody Allen at the top of his game. I hesitate to call it a masterpiece, but it’s difficult to argue that it’s not.

Recommended? Of course.

Out of 10? 10

My monkeys suggest:

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‘Django Django’, by Django Django

'Django Django', by Django Django
The electro-synthetic chorus that introduces Django Django will make your pulse race with anticipation. It’s as if Elvis is about to land his spaceship for a final night in Vegas. It’s as if the future is at war with the past. It’s earth versus electricity.

When the pop harmonies of ‘Hail Bop’ kick in, we’ve already been won and can’t believe how unselfconscious we are around a band that we’ve never heard of. Did they slip something into our drink?

My second, or third, impression is that this is where the Dandy Warhols should have gone after Thirteen Tales…

There are influences everywhere, but twisted ones. ‘Firewater’ is Canned Heat on a happy pill at a dance party. ’Hand of Man’ is Black Sabbath singing Planet Caravan at the same gig. Then there’s Dick Dale, The King of the Surf Guitar.

Of course every track hints at The Beach Boys on the positive side of a psychedelic mood disorder.  These boys aren’t going to sleep any time soon.

OK, so by ‘Zumm Zumm’ the 80s computer game backing track has done its time, but we’re still dancing.

Django Django is/are 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s and – definitively – right now. It’s as if they’ve always been here.

Recommended? Absolutely, to anyone.

Out of 10? 8, with room to age well.

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‘Saturday’, by Ian McEwan

'Saturday', by Ian McEwan
Like Enduring Love and other McEwan success stories, Saturday is founded on madmen, violence and falling aircraft.

McEwan measures time in moments, and plot appears to evolve from a multitude of sub-consequential introspective decisions: “A second can be a long time in introspection”. Is action a matter of chance or “biological determinism”?

Saturday is about fragility and relativity. It is the squash game that protagonist Henry Perowne simply must win, but doesn’t.

It is also about success and failure. ”Status anxiety” versus “false sense[s] of superiority”. Confronted with a street sweeper, McEwan suggests that “Henry feels himself bound to the other man, as though on a seesaw with him, pinned to an axis that could tip them into each other’s life”. McEwan has charted this territory before, and often. As has Martin Amis. As has Julian Barnes. It’s second generation Angry Young Men stuff.

Through Perowne, McEwan exhibits his now typical preoccupation with the finely balanced tightrope of thought, perception and emotion. Consider the “accidental nature of opinions” and the way that Perowne’s state of mind can change with the slightest recalibration of neuro-chemicals: “a modest rise in his adrenaline level is making him unusually associative”.

What has the potential to annoy some readers is the apparent contradiction between such randomness and a plot and structure that is arguably pre-determined and contrived.

Not me. I thought ‘Saturday’ was profound, assured and eloquent.

Recommended? Yes.

Out of 10? 8

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‘Madame Bovary’, by Gustave Flaubert

Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert
Madame Emma Bovary doesn’t make it easy to like her, but is this novel really about her?

Flaubert takes us on a journey that changes pace and direction like a fugitive. Who is the protagonist? With whom should our sympathies lie? Just when we’re close to an answer, he takes us deeper into his patchwork assortment of introspections and interactions. No answers; just set pieces that we’re left to decode.

While Emma Bovary is “dreaming between the lines”, Flaubert’s reader is enticed to find meaning there. For example, the two key seductions of this reputedly saucy tale are entirely hidden from view, first by a councillor’s political rhetoric at a country fair, and second by the drawn curtains of a 19th century taxi: ”Let it be stated that no untoward incident occurred to disrupt this family occasion”.

On the other hand, the two key grotesqueries (a club foot operation and, ultimately, Emma’s demise) are presented in vivid technicolour.

The romantic banalities of bourgeois culture is Flaubert’s joke; the grotesque underside is, perhaps, his point.

It is finally Charles who steals the limelight and, equally, our affections and our pity. Like the Charles of Martin Amis’ The Rachel Papers over a century later, he slowly loses the girl that he’d so longed to win. He is, beautifully and helplessly, “like a man inside a falling house”. Aren’t we all?

Recommended?  Not if you’re after a page-turner. But yes – and definitely – if you’re willing to do some work.

Out of 10? 8

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‘Smother’, by Wild Beasts

Smother, by Wild Beasts
There are some moments of sublimity here. ‘Plaything’ is the standout, but also ‘Bed of Nails’ and perhaps the trip-hoppy ‘Deeper’ and ‘Reach a Bit Further’.

Reach too much further, though, and the album loses its edge and replaces it with vibronic melodrama that starts to take itself a tad seriously. By midway through the album, I was more interested in finding puns for my review than actually tapping my feet. I barely noticed ‘Invisible’.  ’Albatross’ was a chore.  ’Burning’ had me blushing.

After some promising moments, the end couldn’t come soon enough.

Given the high points, ‘pretentious’ would be too cruel a word.  But this album, and this band, is not for me.  Sorry.

Recommended?  If you like Massive Attack (I do) and Rufus Wainwright (I don’t), then Smother could be right up your alley.

Out of 10? 5

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‘End of Animal’, by Jo Sung-Hee

The post-event murmurs of those leaving the theatre suggested that folks had tried but failed to understand this intriguing Korean psycho-drama.

My take: I think perhaps some may have tried too hard.

My best bet is that the film depicts the post-apocalyptic mindspace following an aborted child, and that the  landscape and its inhabitants represent a psychological – rather than a supernatural – modus operandi. The real world is lost in the margins.

But to try to pin down the specific metaphor(s) further would be to reduce the mysterious quality of the film.  Things just happen, seems to be the main point. And, like Sisyphus, or any derivative existentialist, we continue.  There are no explanations and there is no rest stop.

Once comfortable with the fact that the film is not trying to say too much in particular, you’re left with a gripping forward thrust, as the protagonist – Soon-Yung – escorts us through a labyrinth of horrors and emotional dead ends.

There is menace at every turn and within each of the character portrayals, but never so much that we lose the capacity for empathy.

This is Lord of the Flies, on crack, in Korean.

Recommended? Yes, if you’re open to Albert Camus and/or Cormac McCarthy.

Out of 10?  7.  This could go up – or down – if the film really does ‘mean’ something that I’ve missed!

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