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Pages tagged “issue 26”

Trey Anastasio

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As a member of Phish and as a solo artist, Trey Anastasio has come to be known for his instantly identifiable guitar sound, and for using his compositions and improvisations to expertly meld a vast array of genres and forms—from funk, bluegrass and calypso to Zappa-inspired orchestration and atonal fugues. His latest solo album, Bar 17, is no exception. This time out, the songs encompass traditional jazz, fusion, blues, folk, soul and psychedelia. When recording such a myriad of styles, it can help to enlist some top-notch talents to get you thinking outside the box. So for the new album, Anastasio called on more than 40 guests, ranging from old Phish bandmates to new collaborators such as the Benevento/Russo Duo, Todd Sickafoose (Ani DiFranco) and Stephen Bernstein (Sex Mob). Anastasio spoke with Paste about the five keys to fostering creative collaboration in the studio.

Be Open to Surprises: “When someone comes into the studio, I usually don’t know what song they’re going to play. Some of the horn players on the song ‘Dragonfly’ were people I hadn’t worked with before, and we wound up making up the arrangement as we went along. I like to work that way. It’s a high-energy experience.”

Get to Know the Players: “When I first played with [longtime collaborators] Tony Markellis and Russ Lawton, I told Russ to play the first five drumbeats he ever learned, then I did the same thing with Tony on the bass. As [each] played, I’d decipher that person’s musical DNA.”

Play, Don’t Think: “Most musicians play better when they’re not thinking too much. My goal is to create an atmosphere where they feel comfortable, then I can unravel everything they played later, after they’ve left.”

Aim to Inspire: “My heroes are bandleaders like Duke Ellington, Miles Davis and Frank Zappa. What they have in common is that the musicians they worked with played their best music in those bands. That’s the ultimate goal—to create an atmosphere where people can rise above anything they’ve done before.”

Get Into Their Heads: “I read a biography of Ellington, and it had a story about troublemakers in his band. One night, a couple of them got into a fight over a girl and wound up in jail. The next night, Ellington made them share a music stand, so when it came time to solo, they’d be sitting together and would try to kick each other's butts on the solos. He was like a psychologist and knew how to get the best out of people.”


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Eric Matthews

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Do it yourself. It’s a credo Eric Matthews now lives by—whether playing every note on his latest, Foundation Sounds, or renovating the old Oregon church he and his wife call home. “I’m a creative person,” Matthews notes. “I have sort of a never-ending burst of creative energy, and it needs to be fulfilled somehow.”

After turns in the ’90s semi-spotlight—in short-lived band Cardinal and a with pair of well-received chamber-pop albums (It’s Heavy In Here and The Lateness Of The Hour) on Sub Pop—classically trained handyman Matthews has since hammered out a life working on others’ music (that’s his trumpet on records by Ivy, Tahiti 80 and the Dandy Warhols) and making his music on his own terms.

Not that he doesn’t miss former collaborators like Jason Falkner, now playing guitar with Paul McCartney. “I actually made myself a bracelet, just as a joke,” Matthews reveals. “‘What would Jason do?’”

One thing Matthews has in common with both McCartney and Falkner is an ability to be utterly self-reliant in the studio. Those kinds of albums, Matthews says, “for me, mean more. Not because [the artist] played everything, but there’s a mysterious, sort of invisible element that occurs when one guy who came up with all the parts is actually playing all the parts.”

The result, on Foundation Sounds, is a basic but beautiful statement—carried out with rock instrumentation, augmented by touches of brass, woodwind and harpsichord and accompanied by Matthews’ breathy, oft-multi-tracked voice. And not only did the multitalented Matthews play and sing every note, but he had a hand in building the home studio where it was recorded, as well.

“I’ll probably be able to build my own house in 10 years,” the well-rounded musician says. “I’ll probably learn how to do everything. We’ll see.”


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Jack M. Balkin/Beth Simone Noveck

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Jack M. Balkin and Beth Simone Noveck(Eds.) — The State of Play: Law, Games, and Virtual Worlds

Do the laws of meatspace role-play in virtual worlds?

The frontier days of virtual worlds are clearly coming to a close. Oh, you’ll still be able to shoot Stormtroopers without your neglected meatspace body ending up in an all-too-real jail. Life remains cheap in most virtual realms. But a new pair of Nikes for your avatar can cost you the kind of credits recognized by brick-and-mortar banks. And where there’s property, inevitably there’s law.

“For better or for worse, it is now possible to work in a fantasy world to pay rent in reality,” write F. Gregory Lastowka and Dan Hunter in one of the essays collected in The State of Play. More than 20 million people subscribe to the virtual world’s MMORPGs (massively multiplayer online role-playing games) like EverQuest, Star Wars Galaxies, Second Life and The Sims Online. Into these worlds, people are pouring ever more of their identities, their time and their money.

So should real-world states protect the rights of avatars? If so, what legal system applies and who has jurisdiction? And what might the study of alternative virtual-world legal systems reveal about our associations in the real world?

With diverse essays from game designers, social scientists and legal scholars, The State of Play is a provocative consideration of virtual jurisprudence.


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Courtney Love — Dirty Blonde...

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Courtney Love — Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love

“Oh I will make myself so beautiful…give me one reason to sell my soul.”

In the author’s note for Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love, Love states that she will never write a book (by this, assume “autobiography”). Instead, what she offers is more a scrapbook than diaries; a collage of sketches, photographs, writings, rough drafts of lyrics and journal entries, arranged chronologically from her early childhood on. Few of the entries are dated, and Love and her publishers make the correct assumption that most readers will know enough of her history to guess the time lines.

What emerges from the book’s impressionistic style is a sense of Love’s contradictory persona. She’s the Bay City Rollers fan turned feminist punk rocker turned Versace-clad Oscar presenter with an A-list social circle. Her parole reports show a neglected, rebellious teen in search of the structure and affection missing from her family life. Some note-to-self and proto-lyrics reveal a lust for success and fame, others show the desperate insecurity that drives her. In one note, she wonders if her lovers find her ugly.

She displays a canny ability to identify those who can help her get ahead and a shark-like instinct for survival, moving through different social scenes from Liverpool, Minneapolis and Portland through to Hollywood, absorbing what she needs, then moving on. She can appear callow. At one point, presumably soon after husband Kurt Cobain’s suicide, she rattles off a breathless rundown of that day’s celebrity callers.

However, those looking for her to dish the dirt on her relationship with Cobain will be disappointed. A gentler side emerges in her references to him. “Things I want. Brilliant & Best & Most Honest Songs. Kurt’s happiness. Solid relationship. True Love. KIDS.” Her most emotional moments are saved for their daughter, Frances. The lost drug years are just that, an unsurprising absence.

Carrie Fisher’s sympathetic introduction gives the book a well-needed overview, but the arty faux-punk layout and hard-to-decipher handwritten notes eventually make Diaries feel repetitive and impenetrable.

Love makes a fascinating subject, and somewhere out there the definitive book is waiting to be written on her. This work will provide some of the source material for it. (Perhaps Fisher should take the job.)

Few writers manage to turn the mirror on themselves successfully, and here Love chooses to show us only glimpses of her own fractured reflection.


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U2 — Zoo TV Live From Sydney

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Bono’s “Fly” image—where he strode about clad head-to-toe in leather and wraparound shades—was, we learned, a send-up: he was parodying rock-star poses by creating the ultimate post-everything shamanistic frontman. It was part of a disinformation campaign that included the massive Zoo TV tour, which grew like a horn from the forehead of the band’s outsized ego.

As seen here in a concert filmed in late 1993, gargantuan video screens were everywhere, projecting images of static, slogans, news and Lou Reed, all in an attempt to say, uh… something about media saturation. I guess.

The idea that U2 thought overexposure problematic is laughable, but the astonishing grandiosity on display has a certain grotesque charm. And the set list and performances are ace, drawing heavily from Achtung Baby and the underrated Zooropa, cherry-picking from the best of the ’80s output, and throwing in some interesting covers. U2 may’ve been confused and more than a little ridiculous, but you can’t argue against these songs.


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Our Brand Is Crisis

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Director/Writer: Rachel Boynton
Cinematography: Tom Hurwitz, Michael Anderson, Christine Currill, Jerry Rosner, Gonzalo “Goni” Lozada
Studio Info: Koch Lorber Films, 87 mins.

Bolivia, like most Latin American nations, has been attempting true democracy—not only on paper but also in practice—for several decades. In one of the poorest Latin American nations, the indigenous remain politically and economically marginalized, desperate for education, employment and housing. And the majority campesino class is silenced while presidents like Gonzalo “Goni” Lozada — who held court from 1993 to 1997 — make decisions to capitalize the nation by selling off its natural resources.

When Goni decided to run for president again in 2002, he called in a team of American political consultants to advise his campaign—a team that promotes globalized, market-based and capitalist democracy. Rachel Boynton’s poignant, heartrending film investigates the lives of those trampled in this process of globalization, and the questions that arise are timely, reminding us we should be more actively seeking to understand the unseen ramifications of a homogenized global democracy.


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Stranger Than Fiction

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Director: Marc Forster
Writer: Zach Helm
Cinematography: Roberto Schaefer
Starring: Will Ferrell, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Emma Thompson, Dustin Hoffman
Studio Info: Columbia/Mandate Pictures, 113 mins.

What’s strange about this fabulist concoction is how familiar it is. Writer Zach Helm seems to have picked his favorite elements from a recent spate of meta-comedies, in which the characters serve as pawns in a surreal chess game. Sort of Eternal Huckabees of the Spotless Malkovich: An Adaptation. Sharp dialogue and a stellar cast redeem this Charlie Kaufman manqué.

Will Ferrell plays it straight (a la Jim Carrey) as a stiff-collar IRS man whose dull existence goes haywire when he begins hearing Emma Thompson’s voice in his head. She’s a famous novelist and he may only be a figment of her imagination: the star of her new tragedy, a decade overdue. As soon as she conquers her writer’s block, she’s going to kill him off. Hello… Fate? Get me a rewrite! Wacky literary theorist Dustin Hoffman does his darndest while Ferrell’s accurately named Harold Crick falls awkwardly for a sensuous hippie baker (Maggie Gyllenhaal). Their unlikely chemistry, and a stray Wreckless Eric tune, compels despite some overwrought stunt work.


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Magnolia Electric Co. -- Fading Trails

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Magnolia Electric Co. leading man Jason Molina speaks volumes with his tortured croon, without even actually saying anything. On “Don’t Fade on Me,” the somber opener of this second proper album under the MagCo. moniker, Molina sing-hollers, “You faded on me!” He could be addressing a former lover or a recently deceased family member, but the sentiment is so strong listeners will likely feel the sudden need to apologize for lacking the strength to pull through. Even though it’s not their problem. Molina revels in this aura of mystique on Fading Trails, consistently referring to roads, ghosts and other typically lonesome images. But unlike previous MagCo. releases, it finally feels like the band has achieved a unifying cohesiveness. While we may not understand Molina’s fragile headspace, Magnolia Electric Co. is starting to make sense. It’ll be exciting to see what the band does next.


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4 to Watch: Tobias Froberg

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Hometown: Gotland, Sweden
Fun fact: The first album Froberg received as a child was a live recording of an Elvis show in Las Vegas. “I loved it because the name ‘Elvis’ was written in tiny, tiny stars,” he says. “I thought it looked really cool.”
Why he’s worth watching: After touring in support of fellow Swedish folkie (and brother-in-buzz) José Gonzalez, Froberg just finished his first headlining North American tour.
For fans of: Paul Simon, Sondre Lerche, Damien Rice

Tobias Froberg recently relocated from Gotland, his Swedish island hometown, to Stockholm, the country’s political, economic and cultural center. According to Froberg, this sort of move is inevitable for a Swedish artist. “Everybody moves to a big city sooner or later,” he says.

Froberg describes his latest release as “a city record” shaped by experiences in Stockholm, New York and London. Straightforwardly titled Somewhere in the City and recorded with friend and producer Linus Larsson, the album mixes a folky singer/songwriter vibe with subtle elements of genres as diverse as Motown, country, pop and gospel. Froberg goes from spiritual (“God’s Highway”) and romantic (“Love and Misery”) to celebratory (“What a Day”) in a 40-minute span, giving listeners a stripped-down glimpse of the ups and downs of his new single life in Stockholm. And a testament to his moving on: There’s only one song about the elusive Elisabeth, the inspiration (and subject) of his entire last album.

Despite Froberg’s newfound metropolitanism, touches of Gotland appear throughout Somewhere In The City’s songs—in his unpolished voice, squeaky-clean lyrics and the birds chirping in the background of “The Features of a Human Face.” Froberg says he isn’t ready to move too far from his hometown, where he still often visits his parents. “I saw an interview with Bono from U2 where he explained that [while] nobody else could hear it, The Joshua Tree was, in a way, very Irish to him. I don’t know if anybody else can tell, but I can tell that I’m from Gotland.”


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Badly Drawn Boy -- Born In The UK

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Badly Drawn Boy’s last effort, One Plus One Is One, was an intricate, beautiful piece of jazz-tinged folk, looking inward and downward. Quiet and introverted, it represented a peace sole-proprietor Damon Gough desperately needed at the time. But after this period spent “finding [him]self,” his songs begged for thrashing pianos and huge walls of sound. Lucky for us then, that Gough has decided to turn his view outward and upward, with Springsteen-esque mini rock operas encompassing the hard-to-grasp idea of growing up British. Though still personal, the sound is bigger and fuller, from the Burt Bacharach orchestration on “Nothing’s Gonna Change Your Mind” and “Long Way Round” to the ’70s-musical feel of “Welcome To The Overground.” Moving ever farther away from the kitchen-sink sound that made him the critic’s darling with The Hour Of Bewilderbeast, this is Gough’s most succinct album to date—fluid, eloquent and timeless.


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4 to Watch: Jamie Lidell

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Hometown: Berlin, Germany
Fun fact: Lidell has joined the ranks of the Scissor Sisters and Ryan Adams as one of Elton John’s favorite new muses, with the veteran pop star lauding the neo-soul vocalist in his Interview magazine column.
Why he’s worth watching: After an auspicious opening stint on Beck’s spring tour, a remixed version of his sophomore album, Multiply, and multiple U.S. TV appearances, Lidell is on the verge of escaping his “hipster-secret” status.
For fans of: Sly & the Family Stone, Al Green, Jamiroquai

As he openly admits in “What’s The Use?,” Jamie Lidell is a musical question mark. (“A walking, talking question mark,” he sings.) After gaining recognition as one of the most gifted producers in experimental British electronica, the 34-year-old studio savant embraced a different direction for his solo career: blue-eyed soul, as seen on last year’s buzz album Multiply, which looks to Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder instead of recycling the eclectic dance music Lidell made in his late-’90s group, Super_Collider.

“I wasn’t so thrilled by the prospect of doing another electronic album, something abstract, something hard to get,” Lidell explains. “[I wanted to] make some songs to put on with your corn flakes in the morning, something to wake up to.”

Multiply is an alternate-universe soundtrack of U.K.-bred funk (albeit after a long Motown layover). Unlike other contemporary soul searchers Joss Stone and Jamiroquai, there’s a gritty, bluesy bent (and lower register) to Lidell’s soulful, oft-falsetto voice, belying an appreciation for the Southern soul of Otis Redding, alongside obvious Sly Stone and Marvin Gaye influences. “There’s always a magic moment for Otis Redding to come into a person’s life, and it definitely did in mine,” Lidell recounts. “Music travels. Growing up as a white boy in England, I did a good job of pushing all of that music into my ear.”

Lidell will be touring throughout November before heading back into the studio. Considering his recent past, Lidell’s “musical chameleon” approach is keeping all doors open and everyone guessing.


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The Hold Steady: Boys and Girls in America

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The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn comes across like an Americanized version of The Fall’s Mark E. Smith, taking his audience hostage with brilliant, relentless ranting about drinking, drugs and religion, but also about coming of age among jags of AC/DC guitar. He never tires of the nuance between hormonal urge and emotional need, or the distortions that come with intoxication. As Finn puts it at the album’s onset, “Most nights were crystal clear but tonight it’s like it’s stuck between stations on the radio.”

The Hold Steady’s third album (its title copped from Kerouac’s observation through On the Road protagonist Sal Paradise that “boys and girls in America have such a sad time together”) may be another journey into young America’s blurry identity battle, but the band itself—tight, focused and firing from all points—is never in doubt. It built its sound on the tough two-guitar attack of Finn and fellow former Lifter Puller guitarist Tad Kubler. Here, they add orchestration while keyboardist Franz Nicolay expands his role, providing E Street Band piano flourishes to most tracks, while channeling Uriah Heep-like organ for “Same Kooks” and settling on dinner by piano and candlelight for understated power ballad “First Night.”

The gentler surroundings encourage Finn to calm down and sing with a lilt of compassion. He’s a smartass by nature, skilled with language and able to convey the pathetic nature of a situation while retaining the gallows humor that comes with seeing a scene played out too many times. Whether he’s paying a mixed compliment (“She was a damn good dancer but she wasn’t all that great of a girlfriend”), explaining his attraction to pharmaceuticals (“We started recreational, it ended up all medical”) or capturing the beauty that aches in the permanently lost (“She was golden with barlight and beer / She slept like she’d never been scared”), Finn flips lines with his middle finger fully extended. There’s compassion in his heart, but don’t you dare provoke him.

He discusses poet John Berryman on opening cut “Stuck Between Stations,” but he could be talking about himself—“She said, you’re pretty good with words, but words won’t save your life, and they didn’t, so he died.” Finn knows a rock band can’t rely solely on a smart lyricist. The cut-out bin is littered with tone-deaf but capable poets. So Boys and Girls in America never settles for the complacent. “Stuck Between Stations” begins quoting Pavement’s “A Date With Ikea” before exploding into larger arena rock. “Hot Soft Light” locomotes with a Thin Lizzy shuffle. “Southtown Girls” is heartland rock down to its Eagles-style harmonies. And “First Night” drips with the musical sentiment of senior prom. Nothing is off-limits and the rest of the band chimes in occasionally with backing vocals that give these dire situations a festive air. Two kids who overdose on drugs at a rock festival in western Massachusetts, meet and have sex in the “Chillout Tent,” are ignored because “the other kids were mostly in comas.” Then they never see each other again. But Finn remembers them. He’ll be writing about them for ages.


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Skin Treatment

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Lindsey Buckingham’s life has changed dramatically since the release of his last solo album, Out of the Cradle, in 1992. First, he returned to Fleetwood Mac after a nine-year break, then in 1998 he married for the first time (at age 48), and now he’s a father of three. What hasn’t changed is the impulse that’s driven Buckingham to create fiercely unconventional music over the years, starting with Fleetwood Mac’s 1979 oddball classic, Tusk, and further revealed over three adventurous solo albums. This rigorously idiosyncratic work has made Buckingham a one-of-a-kind cult hero, even as the indelible body of work he fashioned with Fleetwood Mac has turned him into a rock icon.

But until piecing together Under the Skin, his sublime, fourth solo album, Buckingham had been blocked from completing a project under his own name. During the mid ’90s, he’d recorded a sizable bunch of new songs with Warner Bros. staff producer Rob Cavallo, but before he could finish them, his former bandmates and emissaries from the label joined forces in what he laughingly calls an “intervention,” resulting in his rejoining Fleetwood Mac. After the 1997 tour (documented on the album The Dance), the pressure mounted for a new Fleetwood Mac studio album, and Buckingham’s precious work-in-progress was cannibalized for 2003’s Say You Will.

Undeterred, the resilient artist started planning his next solo project. For Under the Skin, he decided to continue developing the instrumental premise he’d foreshadowed on the ’97 reunion tour with a nimble-fingered solo-acoustic performance of his song “Big Love.” “I wanted to trim away as much as I could,” he explains, “and yet not have it sound like an ‘unplugged’ record, but have it feel like it was sonically sophisticated and surreal.”

During Fleetwood Mac’s most recent tour, in 2004, Buckingham made fruitful use of the endless hours spent in hotel rooms between shows—writing, recording and mixing several thematically related new songs. Using only his acoustic guitar, an old Korg 16-track portable recorder, a microphone and a Roland guitar delay (to give his vocals a dreamlike quality), Buckingham concocted virtual pocket symphonies, thanks to his celebrated dexterity and acute sense of time. What’s more, these intricate yet intimate soundscapes seemed to naturally cohere with Buckingham’s very personal subject matter.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
The act of writing these songs proved therapeutic. “You can examine your pluses and minuses with a little more clarity and put the past in a healthy context, which—believe me—took a long time to do,” he says, opting for the protection of the second person. “You can also reflect on the irony of the fact that what you are doing and the motivation for why you’re still driven to do it are based in ancient history. You still want to follow the path, but you recognize that those urges are less appropriate for things that are in the present moment. And how you strike a balance between all that and something far more important, which is family.”

When he got back to L.A. after the tour, Buckingham fired up his home studio and continued down the same musical and thematic path while surrounded by his wife and kids. Out of that experience came the album’s scene-setting opening song, “Not Too Late,” which introduces the parallel themes of reaching outward and looking inward in the context of being silently observed by his curious offspring.

“In the bridge section,” says Buckingham, “I wrote, ‘My children look away, they don’t know what to say.’ Kids are so observant and intuitive, and there were times when they walked into the studio when I was working at home and wondered, ‘What’s he doing?’ At a very young age they can recognize the self-absorption of it, and possibly even the narcissism of it, and there have been times where they seem to be thinking, ‘Hmm—what’s that all about?’”

FAMILY MATTERS
Six of the 11 songs reference children, and he name-checks his two daughters and son in “It Was You,” a touchingly straightforward expression of late-coming fulfillment. Similarly, in the enchanting “Show You How,” over a drum machine, electric bass and his syncopated backing vocals, Buckingham portrays his former self as a “madman out on a bad-man route / Looking for paradise,” only to be redeemed by the soft words of the woman who will change his life: “She says slow down, baby, slow down now … I’ll show you how.” And in the final verse of the closing “Juniper” (he refers to it as the album’s “Love Boat coda”) he offers, “If we forgive ourselves we might be whole,” while playing open chords with such life-affirming forcefulness that the sound coming out of the speakers will blow back your hair. Throughout the aptly titled Under the Skin, Buckingham eradicates the distance between process and content, between art and life.

“All the prototypes for rock are young and rebellious, so you find a lot of people who get to a certain age and try to be someone they’re not,” Buckingham points out. “I just don’t think anyone ever thinks of rock ’n’ roll as having a valid period in which you could come to a point where you are comfortable with the perspective and the experience that you’ve gained and try to put it out there without masking it. So I felt like this was a really true presentation of someone who is 56 years old, and thinking not that it’s a bad thing but actually a plus. And the fact that the record is all one thing, with no lead guitar or drums, seems to work with that idea.”

The intersection of these musical and psychological vectors makes Under the Skin a “boutique album”—in other words, one with limited commercial potential—but that designation hardly diminishes its validity or significance. This is no vanity project; it’s a candid, insightful self-portrait of the artist as a middle-aged striver for aesthetic and emotional authenticity.


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Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars

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From 1991 to 2002, the tiny West African country of Sierra Leone—a diamond-rich former British colony and one-time base for the transatlantic slave trade—was disfigured by civil war as gruesome sparring between Revolutionary United Front rebels and government forces led to the murder, dismemberment and displacement of nearly two-million civilians.

Refugees—most leaving family behind and many now missing limbs—promptly fled to UN refugee camps in neighboring Guinea and Liberia. At Sembakounya Refugee Camp in rural Guinea, a small group of supplanted musicians began churning out a beguiling mix of reggae, African goombay, rap, and folk/roots music, hugging beat-up guitars and homemade drums, lamenting losses and detailing the trials (“Today you settle / Tomorrow you pack”) of their newly transient lives.

Their music, with its shaky rhythms and tight, infectious choruses, had instant legs: The Sierra Leone Refugee All-Stars, now 11 members strong, were celebrated in Living Like A Refugee, Zach Niles’ and Banker White’s acclaimed documentary, and their debut was promptly picked up in the U.S. by Anti- Records. Last summer, the group played for its largest audience to date: nearly 75,000 at Bonnaroo. Frontman Reuben Koroma—whose heartbreaking grin shines big in Living Like A Refugee—explains, “I like the United States because of the approach of the people. They are accepting of our music, and they received us with ease, and we really appreciated it. We enjoyed the hospitality of Americans. They were nice to us. We had good food. We made good friends.” Koroma, now back in Sierra Leone, hasn’t returned to Sembakounya since he left. “Many people are still coming from the camps. One of our members is still in the camp. He refuses to come back to Sierra Leone because of what happened to him during the war.” Still, Koroma remains cautiously optimistic about the future of his country. “I am so much happier now. There is no more war. People are not fighting. You can travel around the country without fear. The only problem we are having is extreme poorness. [The] people are very poor.”


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School Of Linklater

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Illustration by Kyle T. Webster

Despite much public fervor over the U.S.’s failing health, us American consumers keep cramming our collective maws full of nugget-sized chicken bits and fistfuls of fries, dumbly bemused by the inevitable damage to our tired little hearts. Austin-based filmmaker Richard Linklater—one of independent cinema’s most beloved auteurs—is now tackling America’s preoccupation with grease, elbowing aside the physical ramifications and probing the grim political pitfalls. Turns out that big, bulbous bellies and goo-filled arteries aren’t the only consequences of a mass fast-food obsession.

Based on Eric Schlosser’s bestselling book of the same name, Fast Food Nation focuses on a fictional anyplace named Cody, Colo., home of an internally corrupt meatpacking plant, highway intersections, packs of disaffected youth, working-class families, illegal aliens and a bevy of other newly American symbols. The film’s script, which was co-written by Linklater and Schlosser, dares to translate the book’s impeccably argued, strictly nonfiction polemic into a character-centered narrative focusing loosely on three disparate strands of the fast-food industry: the kids who slap cheese and pickles onto burgers, the undocumented immigrants who hack the cows apart and stack the patties in boxes, and the executives who package and market the fat-addled chow. Schlosser’s statistics and indictments are traded for personal histories, and, suddenly, the academic becomes emotional. “That’s how Eric and I instinctually approached [the story],” says Linklater, whose diverse filmography—from Dazed and Confused to Before Sunrise to Waking Life to School of Rock—confounds genre purists. “The book did what the book does. If that was our hope for the movie, we would have made a documentary. But that wasn’t what Eric or I was interested in. He knew that there was another kind of movie to be made, one that concentrated on the people who populate this world. And that’s an interesting way to tell any story. You drop the facts and figures, but you can do something that cinema does very well, which is to find a way into people’s lives and stories, and hopefully care about them. This film is asking you to care about people and things that you’re not supposed to care about, that you’re not supposed to think about.”

Appropriately, Fast Food Nation skewers more than just cheap hamburgers, plastic ketchup packets and the crooked machinery sustaining their production. The film also revels in America’s blatant self-consumption—Linklater, his camera hovering along the side of the freeway, quietly parades big-box stores and fast-food huts, restaurant chains and theme bars, an endless expanse of parking lots and colorful signs, each more painfully anonymous than its predecessor, faceless, homogenized and cold. This is the new American wasteland; Author James Howard Munster—in his book The Geography of Nowhere: The Rise and Decline of America’s Man-Made Landscape—describes suburban overdevelopment as “depressing, brutal, ugly, unhealthy, and spiritually degrading,” sharing his horror at America’s devolution into “a landscape of scary places … that has simply ceased to be a credible human habitat.” Fast Food Nation may be peppered with grim visions of immigrant exploitation, sexual abuse, slaughterhouses, shit-riddled meat and human dismemberment, but Linklater’s franchise pageant remains one of the film's most disturbing sequences. What Happy Meals have done to our arteries and waistlines is disconcerting; what fast food has done to our country is heartbreaking.

“That’s America,” Linklater sighs. “That’s our whole country now. Outside of the few people who live in urban bubbles, where there’s actually some personality, or older towns, where there are still little shops and restaurants—by and large, it’s all one big box, one big strip mall. It’s sad, but it’s so ubiquitous you don’t even notice it. That’s why I liked putting it in a shot, so you kind of have to look at it. Whereas, in life, you don’t even notice it.” He pauses. “It’s not like it’s not functional, it’s always useful. On a real-estate level, that’s the easiest way to serve people in a certain suburban community. Strip malls are effective. You pull off the road, it’s right there. There’s a reason it exists.”

Linklater—whose sophomore feature, Slacker, inadvertently pigeonholed an entire generation of flannel-clad dilettantes— has extensive experience tackling the relative numbness of American suburbia, from Dazed and Confused’s desperate condiment hazing to the aptly titled SubUrbia, an adaptation of Eric Bogosian’s off-Broadway play about kids hanging out near a dumpster. “It seems like a force in the world, to be taken on or at least acknowledged,” Linklater explains. “There’s kind of a suburbia of the soul, too. Is your consciousness going to be suburbia? Are you going to be autonomous and your own person, or are you going to be a strip mall? It’s a mental landscape, as well.”

Fast Food Nation is, in many ways, also a global story: The film meticulously details the trials of undocumented Mexican workers, many of whom employ coyotes (human smugglers) to lug them past the U.S. border, slumping through the desert and stuffing themselves into filthy vans emblazoned with ridiculous slogans, only to be rewarded with constant degradation and unsafe, unregulated factory jobs. Accordingly, nearly one-third of the film's dialogue is spoken in Spanish. “We wrote in English, and it was translated into Spanish. And then we worked with the actors and a dialect coach, so the Spanish was really worked through. But it was very important for the movie. No matter where you are in the country, if you’re in the meatpacking industry, you’re in a Spanish-speaking environment,” Linklater explains.

In the film, Wilmer Valderrama, Catalina Sandino Moreno and Ana Claudia Talacón play Raul, Sylvia and Coco, young Mexicans who score illegal and treacherous jobs in Cody’s meatpacking plant. While the most vocal protesters against the meatpacking industry tend to focus on the plants’ excessive cruelty to animals, they still—for the most part—overlook the ritual abuse of humans who work there. A vegetarian since 1983, Linklater didn’t avoid grisly slaughterhouse scenes (Fast Food Nation’s final moments are packed with stomach-wrenching gore), but the film focuses more heavily on the human toll. “[Portraying animal cruelty] has been done to a large degree. It’s in our movie, but we wanted to show what’s behind the murder, which included the workers. I admire PETA and everybody who’s bringing attention to the plight of any element in our culture who can’t speak for itself,” Linklater says. “And I think that goes for workers who aren’t documented and have no voice, and certainly animals, and our environment, too.”

“I don’t make a lot of distinctions—[for me], it’s easy to jump from animals to people. And by the end of the movie, there’s not much difference,” Linklater says. “With Catalina’s character, we were really trying to make the point that she’s not much different from the meat she’s cutting up. The system is certainly not seeing her any differently. When Upton Sinclair wrote The Jungle a hundred years ago, he really thought people would be outraged by the treatment of the workers. He made a joke, saying, ‘I aimed for their heart’—thinking people would care about the horrible treatment of immigrant workers—‘and I hit their stomach.’ All people cared about were contaminants in the meat.”

Greg Kinnear—who worked with Linklater on 2005’s Bad News Bears—plays Don Henderson, an executive for invented fast-food monolith Mickey’s, sent to Colorado to investigate reports of high fecal content in the chain’s ground beef. Henderson is strangely sympathetic. A smiling, well-intentioned marketer who refuses to succumb to broad, corporate clichés, Kinnear never flashes toothy grins or guffaws at the plight of the factory workers. Instead he shuffles around Cody with his hands in his pockets, chomping on burgers and trying his very best to understand and remedy the problem. “Kinnear is a wonderful actor and a really interesting guy,” says Linklater. “It’s an understated part, and it’s the hardest kind of thing to do, to take [a character like Henderson] and make him sympathetic, make him a real person,” he adds with a nod. “Don Henderson represents all of us. Personally, my way into this movie was creating a character who represents me and a lot of people of a certain age who really aren’t putting our asses on the line. You incorporate dissonant information that you’d rather not know and then you go about your life. You move on through it. But you still define yourself as a somewhat honorable person. You can’t step outside of it completely. We’re all complicit as taxpayers and citizens. Are you really doing all that you could? Each of us has to look in the mirror and say ‘No, you’re really not.’ You try in whatever way is convenient. I have a lot of sympathy for him because I think he represents so many.”

Financed without any U.S. industry cash, and completed on a relatively low budget, Fast Food Nation—not unlike A Scanner Darkly, Linklater’s 2006 adaptation of a Philip K. Dick novel about crisis-driven government surveillance—serves up big ideas about contemporary American injustice. While the fast-food industry is certainly not free from investigation and concern (see the success of Morgan Spurlock’s documentary Super Size Me), Linklater is still upset by what he calls the “end-user approach.” “It’s an unhealthy, exploitative, cruel system, but [the most upsetting part for most people is that] the final product is bad for you,” Linklater says. “[Like] it would be different if, at the end of the road, it had a positive result. We accept bad systems in the world—oil, for instance. We know it’s an ugly business, with geo-political ramifications. But hey, you put gas in your car, you get to go visit somebody, you get to take a trip. But when you eat crappy food that’s really bad for you, then you’re poisoning your family and yourself.”

Exposing that kind of flawed ideology has been one of Linklater’s long-term goals as a filmmaker. “For years I’ve been trying to make some version of this film,” he says. “I was always going to make something like this.”


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Big in Berlin: U.S. Roots

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Being an American in Europe isn’t easy nowadays. Six years of the Bush administration’s approach to foreign policy have made Americans more unpopular overseas than they’ve been in decades—unless those Americans happen to be touring roots musicians. Artists like Ryan Adams, Calexico and Lambchop, who have only achieved middling to cult success in the U.S., often play sold-out shows across Europe.

“I think there’s a genuine curiosity for American music—meaning music that’s uniquely American—throughout Europe,” says Kurt Wagner of Nashville collective Lambchop. “There’s an innate fascination with this country and the amount of culture that flows out of it, whether it’s music or Coca-Cola.”

Of course, Europeans have appreciated American music more than Americans for a long time. In the ’60s, The Rolling Stones and The Who sent American blues back to the U.S., and in the process became far more popular than the artists who influenced them. And as the country and roots music that breaks through in the States becomes increasingly slick and homogenized, Europe keeps many of our best bands solvent. “Multiculturalism is more accepted and celebrated in Europe,” says Joey Burns of Tucson, Ariz.’s Calexico, a group known for fusing American roots music with the border sounds of its Arizona hometown. “In many parts of the U.S., our music gets pigeonholed, and certain kinds of songs in our sets don’t connect as well.”

In fact, Burns says Calexico streamlined its sound and became more guitar-focused on its latest album, Garden Ruin, in part to appeal more to American audiences. “Europeans seem more receptive to experimentation,” agrees Lambchop’s Wagner. “I think they cherish music more, or are at least more open in their affection.”

For Ian Ball of Gomez, a British band heavily influenced by American blues and classic rock, the European interest in American sounds has a simpler explanation. “Everybody likes stuff that’s not from their own backyard,” he says with a laugh. “My lady’s a big Anglophile. She buys anything that comes from England regardless of quality. She just likes cute English boys.”

And all the artists agree that while Europeans may protest U.S. policies, it’ll take a lot more than George W. Bush to tame the passion of overseas music fans. “Music transcends that kind of shit,” says Ball. “You can never underestimate the stupidity of the public, but if they’d stop listening because of that, then they don’t deserve to hear the music.”


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Director Richard Donner

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After The Omen (1976) and Superman (1978), 1979 should’ve been director Richard Donner’s year. With consecutive blockbusters, he’d convinced moviegoers that the Antichrist lived and a man could fly. With production almost finished on Superman II, Donner seemed to have hit the trifecta.

Then it unraveled. The producers—Alexander & Ilya Salkind—fired him and hired Richard Lester (The Three Musketeers). Lester reshot the movie using a stand-in for the unavailable Gene Hackman and edited Marlon Brando out. The result was a popular sequel, but many spotted Lester’s sloppy stitches and resented the tonal change—from respectful to camp—while wondering about Donner’s cut. As the sequels worsened, the lost II became a cause celebre for Man of Steel fans. With the November release of Superman II: The Richard Donner Cut, worry no more. Donner, who later helmed the popular Lethal Weapon quartet, has reconstructed—as best as he could—his original conception. It was worth the wait.

Donner’s somber take not only adds menace to villains General Zod and company but restores the essential father/son dynamic via a Brando/Christopher Reeve confrontation that’s the dramatic highpoint of the franchise. Flawed? Sure, including an ending that, dramatically, doesn’t make sense. But, as a palimpsest of Donner’s honorable intentions, it’s invaluable.

Recently, we got to speak to the affable Donner about his DVD do-over.

Paste: Were you involved in the casting?

Richard Donner: With the exception of Brando and Hackman, yes. The Salkinds made a deal with both for big money that validated the project. They didn’t even have a script. Both actors had fixed shooting dates. I came on when the production moved from Italy to England. The Omen made me the flavor of the month so they came to me.

P: Were many stars offered the lead?

RD: [Many] before I came on board. I wanted an unknown. We found Christopher [Reeve] in New York. He was skinny—to bulk up, he wore a huge sweater. As he spoke I put my horn-rimmed glasses on him. I asked if he could put on some weight. He said he could. I totally believed him. He had such amazing sincerity and his screen test confirmed it.

P: Did you work with Mario Puzo [The Godfather] on the script?

RD: He wrote the [the original story] way ahead of me. Then the Salkinds hired Robert Benton and David and Leslie Newman to write the screenplay I read. They missed the boat. It had no respect for Superman and Americana. So I brought Tom Mankiewicz to do a rewrite.

P: What was the shooting schedule like?

RD: It was established I was doing two pictures back-to-back.

P: When Superman premiered, how much did you have left to do on II?

RD: A third. The scene where Margot Kidder [Lois Lane] realizes Clark is Superman. For this version we cut Margot and Chris’s screen tests together. All the Zod action scenes. In this version, I cut much of that out because instead of being worthy adversaries they were treated foolishly.

P: What happened?

RD: Because of the rush to get Superman out, we shot everything with Brando and Hackman. Tom and I had stolen the original conclusion of II—Superman turning back time—to finish [the first film]. So we were working on II’s end when my lawyer called. He’d gotten a telegram that said that my services were no longer needed. … I feel if [Superman] had been a failure, [the producers] would’ve demanded I come back. Since it was a success, they felt they didn’t need me and they could control it more. Foolishly, they didn’t keep the scenes where Brando confronts his son. Instead they used Susannah York (Lara) so they didn’t have to pay Marlon.

P: Did you see Lester’s film back then?

RD: Yes. I had an option to go to the Director’s Guild to put my name on it. They sent me the print. I got as far as the Paris scenes. I stopped the projection and said ‘Forget it; you can take my name off of it.’

P: How did this opportunity for the DVD arise?

RD: This was a forgotten issue. Then the editor Michael Thau called and told me ‘go on the Internet, the fans want to see your version.’ I went, thought it was nice but didn’t believe it would happen. Then Michael said that with the new Superman coming out, Warner’s wants to release your version. I guess it was the fans that swayed the studio.

P: So how close does this DVD come to your original intention?

RD: Oh man, I couldn’t even answer that. Listen, when Lester made that film, that’s the way he saw it. If I had made that film, everything, every piece of film that’s in there would’ve been totally different.


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A Good Year

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Director: Ridley Scott
Starring: Russell Crowe, Albert Finney
Studio info: Twentieth Century Fox, 118 mins.

In A Good Year, Russell Crowe’s character knows that a stock’s price will peak when the line reaches the top of the computer screen, hence the smirk, hence the suit. “Sell,” he says with shamanic gravity. He then leaves his London boiler room for what he expects to be a brief trip to Provence, where he’s just inherited a chateau and vineyard from his uncle, played by Albert Finney.

The characters keep reminding us that the key to comedy—just like stock trading—is timing, but director Ridley Scott hasn’t taken the lesson. He undermines what humor and momentum the familiar story might otherwise allow by chopping the pastoral setting into headache-inducing celluloid confetti. Crowe looks like Benny Hill bumbling through France—ogling women, driving his tiny car in fast circles and turning vaguely misty when a whimsical flashback is due, which is often. His supply of quips and pratfalls is inexhaustible, even when he’s trapped at the bottom of a swimming pool surrounded by peat and dry leaves. Alas, he escapes.


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Copeland

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Even though Copeland frontman Aaron Marsh sings “I think I’m safer on an airplane” on his band’s new album, it doesn’t mean he has any easier time getting his 35,000 winks. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m in any way incoherent; I’m like 30 hours without sleep. I was hoping to get some sleep on the last flight, but I didn’t. I thought about having a few drinks to just totally top it off.”

The Copeland guys are lounging in a mall-like airport terminal in Dallas, waiting for a plane to carry them to Japan where they’re playing a sold-out club date and a couple Lollapalooza-type festivals. The band is accustomed to grisly touring schedules, having played 400 shows in the span of a year-and-a-half.

It’s sleep-deprived moments like this, however, when Marsh probably wishes he’d stuck with his ambitions to be a classical brass player with a steady, predictable orchestra gig. He had the training to make it happen, after all, playing trombone in a 150-piece orchestra while attending a performing-arts high school in Lakeland, Fla.

But along the way a Soundgarden fixation happened. Then, during Marsh’s senior year, braces happened (“my tone went to hell”). Then an affair with the guitar happened. After that, rock ’n’ roll just took its course, culminating in the formation of his indie-rock outfit, Copeland, whose 2005 album In Motion hit #1 on Billboard’s Alternative New Artist Chart. The band also won Yahoo! Music’s 2005 “Who’s Next” competition.

Marsh’s classical background explains quite a bit. In Motion teemed with complex harmonies and arrangements that sidled up to bombast without hurtling over the edge. And the band’s latest, Eat, Sleep, Repeat, welcomes a more pronounced orchestral flair; a small brass ensemble rounds out the breezy tune “Love Affair.” Where In Motion’s lead track cartwheeled out of the gate to churning, distorted guitar, the new record opens with a moody combination of vibraphone and Marsh’s pristine tenor.

“[‘Where’s My Head’] just took up a totally different mood than any of our other records have been able to capture, so right when I conceptualized that song, I was like, ‘oh, this has to be the first jam.’” Eat, Sleep, Repeat is an audaciously subtle, otherwordly recording, even if the second part of its title is occasionally easier sung than done.


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Joey Lauren Adams

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Joey Lauren Adams’ acting has always been marked by casual elegance, coming from her instinctive ability to capture the insoluble complexity lurking in everyday people. In a breakthrough role as Chasing Amy’s Alyssa Jones, Adams took the emotional tempest within the pint-sized lesbian protagonist and outgunned the script’s inherent potential for melodrama with a performance that was as believable as it was stunning.

The same sort of effortless honesty marks Adams’ first turn as a writer/director in Come Early Morning. Shooting in her Arkansas hometown (literally in family homes and haunts), Adams paints a simple but layered character sketch of Lucy Fowler (Ashley Judd), a 30-ish woman whose steady career and resolute independence are uncomfortably mirrored by a steady flow of booze and one-night stands too rote to even be transactional. Ensconced in a dysfunctional family network she handles with both dutiful reverence and starkly sublimated rage, Lucy reaches to break through to her emotionally crippled father while struggling awkwardly to engage the possibility of love with the handsome new guy in town. Consciously shot simply and peppered with roots music, the film conveys an unmistakable sense of place—a small-town America that’s both dignified and bleak in its insularity and paths of habit.

“I really wanted to make a movie that was similar to my life experiences,” says Adams, who freely characterizes the film as “emotionally autobiographical.”

Given Adams’ commitment to the character, the connection she forged with Judd is palpable onscreen. “Working with her was one of the most amazing experiences of my life,” says Adams, “It must be like when a sculptor gets a piece of good clay and gets something going. I couldn’t believe how unbelievably talented she was.”

While making the film, Adams and Judd refused to let Lucy learn any particular lessons too quickly or completely. “It’s very small steps we take in growing,” says Adams, who admits that the hopeful cinematography of the film’s closing shot was meant to counterbalance the plainly stated realism of the plot’s refusal to offer any fully satisfying resolutions to Lucy’s struggles with the men in her life. There’s truth in the messiness and Come Early Morning is unflagging in its emotional naturalism.

For Adams, it’s an impressive start to a new phase in her career, and perhaps a harbinger of what’s to come. After almost five years of struggling to make Come Early Morning a reality, she is rightfully more than a bit enamored with the results: “I can’t tell you how empowering it felt to walk on the set and what once was a blank piece of paper was there come to life. It’s just such an amazing feeling.” Smacking of both personal catharsis and universal wisdom, Come Early Morning is a compelling new step for a long-regarded talent.


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