Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Crushing On

#MusicMonday: “Electric Twist” – A Fine Frenzy

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That I’ve been playing the syncopated backbone of this song all weekend from a newly purchased sheet music book is all the proof in the world that cover art can make a difference in selling a record.

I was forever hearing A Fine Frenzy’s name on the wind, but never a song. I assumed she was one of the bevy of artists sampled by Grey’s Anatomy or similar. I gave her a rote 30-second preview, and that combined with the little girl image on the cover of her One Cell In the Sea promised a pleasant-but-simpering cross between Ingrid Michaelson and Regina Spektor. Since I can barely get through an entire treacly disc from either without heaving up my most recent meal, I decided to take a pass.

(Before all of your Ingrid and Regina lovers get up in arms, I own many five-star songs from both artists, but they’re just a little too cutesy for me in 12-track format.)

When I spotted the cover of Frenzy’s followup, A Bomb in a Birdcage, I was intrigued. I recognized the name, but the black and white cover image looked more sultry than sugary.

Always willing to have an excuse to pick up a new album, I employed my tried-and-true method of sampling Track 3. (If your third track isn’t good, there isn’t much hope for your LP.)

“Electric Twist” is a five-star song. Its circular stutter of power chords are fuzzy and rich like fudge, while artist Alison Sudol’s voice goes from kittenish whisper to impossibly pure high coo. The primal, hip-thrusting rhythm eventually gives way to a satisfying sprint of straight-forward dance rock on the 1s and 3s.

I love acousticish indie rock that manages to be dance music, because that’s kind of music I want to make. The song had it’s hook deep into me before I even had a chance to hit “replay.”

“Electric Twist” was my doorway into Bomb in a Birdcage, a fantastic album that’s strong from front to back. Even E adopted it into her daily playlists, a sure sign of a deep disc with some obvious delights.

Moral?

Maybe you think it should be “don’t judge an LP by it’s cover,” but that’s the whole point of selling an aural experience with a visual one. Album titles and cover images are what get consumers to sample sounds – it was true fifty years ago in a record shop and it’s true today on the internet.

I’d say the moral is: keep the promise your cover makes, and make it a good one. The best album covers are like a perfect still frame from a mega-mix music video of your album.

Case and point: I’m pretty sure A Fine Frenzy is doing the electric twist on that cover.

DC New 52 Review: Red Lanterns #1

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As I’ve been writing these reviews I’ve been studiously staying away from everyone else’s reactions.

I don’t want to be influenced by other readers. This process is about my read as a DC newbie and dedicated X-Fan. I catch a single tweet review on Tuesday nights from @CheapGNsdotcom, and do some debating with @Matropolis over the course of the week, but otherwise I don’t peek at other ratings until I’ve set mine into writing.

On a few occasions (Batgirl being one), when I feet in my gut that a book was so incredibly amazing or awful, I can’t help myself but to check to see if everyone agrees with me.

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t.

Red Lanterns #1

Written by Peter Milligan, art by Ed Benes & Rob Hunter

Rating: .5 of 5 – Terrible

In a Line: “The universe’s rage… is my rage.”

#140char Review: Red Lanterns #1 is a nadir of #DCNew52 reboot, a bad 90s flashback to XTREME bad guys like Carnage headlining pointless blood-bathed books.

CK Says: Skip it!

I feel the need to caveat that I have never read a Rainbow Lantern book before and may have entirely missed the point of this entire endeavor.

Red Lanterns #1 is a comic full of interesting elements that work against each other as a whole. Peter Milligan can be terrific at manipulating oddball teams. The Ed Benes art was consistently awesome. Even the concept of a revenge-powered Lantern corps isn’t a turnoff for me.

The execution was simply off. Milligan’s been there before on his stultifying X-Men run. No amount of awesome art can save a badly conceived comic.

The opening torture scene can’t decide if it wants to be dire or comedic, and introducing a violent space-faring attack kitten with rippling muscles who is bleeding from his mouth would seem to peg this as a offbeat humor title, a la Lobo. The kitten continues to cough up blood all over its captors in what seemed like a mildly funny scene until it is saved in a display of over-the-top violence by a good (bad? (good?)) guy named “Atrocitus,” who proclaims, “What are you doing to my cat?”

Clearly a humor title, right?

Nay. Not when the unbearably lugubrious Atrocitus then launches into a totally emo inner monologue that takes up half the issue. It becomes obvious that this is not meant to be a laughing matter. Also, apparently all of the Red Lanterns exhale blood all the time, or blood-like red energy? That’s the impression I got when we saw a slew of them on panel, each more silly-looking than the last and all breathing blood. This includes a sexy blue-skinned babe with bone wings and a dental floss bikini bottom who can only speak in single word growls.

So, it’s a serious, violent, ultra-bloody, emo humor title with an unintelligible hot babe who craves only range and showing showing off her ass like it’s a trend? Well, they’ve got the pubescent boy demo locked down.

(The irony is that right now Marvel’s hands-down best book is the similarly-themed Uncanny X-Force, except there blend of brainy humor and continuity references alongside the blood, guts, and skin-tight outfits is done to dizzying perfection by Rick Remender. But, maybe a DC fan would hate it.)

Milligan’s scripting failures aside, Benes art is hard to deny – he’s really enjoyable throughout, especially on a tease of Hal Jordan in a flashback. However, the red on red on red color palette really begins to wear after a few pages with the RL gang. An Earthbound b-plot is a snooze, though I suppose it’s setting up an Earthling to be a Red Lantern.

DC returnees and longtime readers might really delight in the side-story behind Atrocitus, but without existing affection for the concept I think it really falls flat.

#MusicMonday: “Electric Love” – Victoria Spaeth & The Spaeth Cadets

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One of the amazing things about discovering a local music scene is that you realize that your next most-favorite song in the world could be walking around on the streets of your city, waiting for you to discover it.

Over the past few years my ratio of beloved favorite tunes has tipped in favor of local, with the incredible songwriters in Philly’s scene lodging melodies in my head again and again. On Friday I was a terrible delinquent friend and fan and fell asleep on my futon before I could drive to Old City to see three of those songwriters – Dante Bucci, Andrea Nardello, and Victoria Spaeth – play a show at the Tin Angel that I had been looking forward to for months.

Seriously, I should never be allowed to sit by myself on that futon after dark without a guitar in my hands. Nothing but narcolepsy can come of it.

Luckily, technology has saved the day – there’s a video playlist of Victoria Spaeth’s entire set from the show, which includes her breath-taking tune “Electric Love.”

I remember the first time I saw Vicky play “Electric Love” song, as well as “Breath and Release,” which is on her debut CD. It was as if she sucked all of the air and light out of the whole room and surrounded herself with it, so that you couldn’t survive in the vacuum unless you were right there with her in the moment. Both songs are instant classics – they sound like lost Joni Mitchell tunes with their sighing vocals, string-slapping rhythms, and easy sensuality.

It has been amazing to watch Victoria grow from a girl who played Jewel songs at open mics to a serious artist with crazy guitar chops who is penning some of my favorite songs. I’m so very proud of her progress, especially because it means I have even more favorite songs to fill my ears with.

Crushing On: You Know What I Hate?

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A few weeks ago I was cruising my Facebook feed and I noticed a link to a blog post entitled, “#32: People who confuse karaoke night with American Idol auditions.”

Being that person, naturally I clicked through.

Unfortunately, the post I discovered was not on a blog titled, “Stuff That Makes People Awesome.” Nay. It was called “You Know What I Hate?”

I bristled, awaiting the salvo against my karaoke perfectionism. You know what happened instead? I laughed. I laughed because the post was right-on, and it wasn’t only about me wanting to sing one song well at karaoke – it was about people who consider themselves performers due to their karaoke prowess.

Also, it was really fucking funny.

I kept reading. The author doesn’t just hate annoying people (like #15: People who are good at running) – her biggest category is actually moments of intense expectancy violation; times where she isn’t sure why something is happening or how she should react.

Her writing swerves from confrontational second person to babbling interior monologue, all delivered as a stream-of-consciousness with a delightful, seemingly-compulsive frankness. Even when the thing she hates is something I endorse (#19: Expensive first dates, for example), her argument is still so salient and caustic that I can’t help but agree a little bit while giggling. I found myself heading back to Thing #1 so I could read her entire screed in one go.

Last weekend I lucked upon the opportunity to meet the reclusive blogger – and it took some digging to get her to admit her authorship. Once I had dragged a confirmation out of her and confessed my major crush, she asked to me deliver a dramatic reading to her small crowd of friends of a draft in-progress with the title “#34: Not knowing what to do when you wake up in someone else’s bed.”

In my shameless attempt to get you to read You Know What I Hate?, please allow me to present a recording of my reading of said post.(NSFW content, but language is clean)

#MusicMonday: “Hot Stuff” – Donna Summer

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One of my favorite things about attending my friends’ weddings is dancing with a group of people with whom I would typically never share the floor.

As E can tell you, my typical first concern after the couple has their first dance is, “when do the fast songs start?” I want to get some dancing in before the entree arrives, and for at least an hour after. Anything less constitutes a failure, no matter how beautiful the venue or good the food.

While I am not typically a musical Luddite eschewing new stuff for golden years, when it comes to dancing most newer tunes (Gaga aside) simply can’t get my body moving on the floor like oldies. I’m not even talking about the 80s. Motown and disco, that’s what makes me want to shake my groove thing.

The wedding we attended last night featured a seven-piece rock band. I typically don’t like wedding bands, because they have cheesy singers, nothing is in the right key, and everything turns into a medley. However, this was a real rock band, and when they played something funky the band got downright dirty.

I’m known for being an uncontrollable freak on the dance floor to begin with, but last night when the band medley’d out of “Disco Inferno” into “Hot Stuff” it was like someone flicked a switch in my brain. I went into berserker mode. I was breaking out moves I probably last saw my mother do in our living room in 1984 – things that always seemed to defy the laws of anatomy and physics. It was like I was Neo in the Dance Matrix.

As great as almost all Donna Summer songs are for dancing, re-listening to “Hot Stuff” makes me realize it has something more. It’s not just that scorching riff, but the overall rock stomp of it. It’s disco, but it’s heavy.

(Also? Extremely satisfying to hear a live band seamlessly segue from “Express Yourself” into “Born This Way” as if the latter was written for that specific purpose.)