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From The Beginning: WildStorm Universe – Stormwatch (1993) #11-13

November 15, 2016 by krisis

[Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug][/Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug]Stormwatch’s grim countdown to issue #25 is underway, with 14 issues, a special, and a .5 issue between here and calamity.

stormwatch_v1_011 That’s the maximum lifespan of Battalion and Diva. While there is always the chance for a late-stage bait and switch in comic books, seeing them both dead in #25 seems to drive home that the fate will be inescapable for at least one of them. Every moment is filled with danger – you half-expect everyone to explode into a million pieces just for talking.

This trio of issues is about politcal intrigue, both within Stormwatch and from outside of it via the UN Executive council. They’realso our first stories focused on the taciturn Winter and the underused Hellstrike. We begin on Stormwatch One (Battalion, Diva, Fuji, Winter, and Strafe) mopping up Russian rebels in Siberia, which the council seems to take extra glee in interrupting to call a spur-of-the-moment meeting on sanctions for Battalion’s actions in Gamorra in issues #6-7 and in Japan in #10.

In the wake of the meeting (and Weatherman’s dismissal), Winter will have to return to quell the remainder of the conflict while others work desperately to prevent Hellstrike from blowing up all of SkyWatch!

Ron Marz has a firm grasp of the team and their personalities. He intercuts more nimbly between stories that Choi, which puts almost the entire Stormwatch cast into play in these issues. Finally, all of the various energy-projecting dudes are starting to feel distinct from each other!

Specifically, Cannon settles into being a decent guy with a hot-tempered streak, whereas Flashpoint is full-on awful (though, that could simply be Defile’s torture via Deathtrap working as planned). Sunburst is mostly silent until a final scene of him transmitting details of the WildCats to Defile. However, the women are given short shrift – Diva remains a cardboard cutout of a reliable #2, and Fahrenheit and Nautika are complete cyphers.

Fuji has been the source of so many low-key laughs along the way so far that he’s the perfect character to deploy to lend depth to the shallow Hellstrike’s medical challenges, which I had honestly forgotten about since #7. Things really do grind to a halt in #12 for a deep dive into Hellstrike’s psyche – not only because he’s a fringe character in this drama, but because #25 gave us no hints of his relevance to the longer plot line. It’ll be interesting to see how his transformation into a being of pure energy like his colleague Fuji will affect Stormwatch in the long run.

Winter proves to be a more satisfying point-of-view character, as he’s come through for the team so many times in the series so far. While his Cold War enemy is straight from a standard-issue Iron Man plot, seeing Winter pushed to his limits both as a super-human and as a leader is satisfiying.

stormwatch_v1_013_08 Meanwhile, the twist of letting go our bald-headed Weatherman, named Henry Bendix, is a shocker … but not as much of a shocker as Synergy taking up the mantle, complete with the shaved head! Even with the preparation of knowing she was Weatherman in #25 doesn’t prepare you for the abruptness of the change.

New artist Mat Broome takes only a few pages to settle into his take on the team. He draws a ridiculous, hulking Battalion. seriously, he is almost as big as Hulk!

On the whole, his pencils are satisfying and still of the caliber you expect from Image. All of his faces have a slightly pinched quality, but he’s good at expressions that sell the dialog – a pretty rare delight from a 90s superhero artist. Also, the digital coloring makes a leap forward here, with some complex shading and gradient skin tones.

Taken on their own, this trio of issues could fairly be called Stormwatch’s weakest arc so far. However, in the context of the grander story being told, these stories provide some essential context and humanity for characters beyond just Battalion – suddenly necessary, with his death looming over the book. Marz and Broome successfully maintain the tone established by Choi and Clark as our countdown to doom ticks inexorably forward.

Need the issues? You’ll need to purchase single issues – try eBay (#11-13) or Amazon (#11, 12, 13). Since further Stormwatch series hit these same issue numbers, be careful to pick up issues from the 1993 series.

Here’s the schedule for the rest of this month’s WildStorm re-read – tomorrow we add a new title to the mix Whilce Portacio’s Wetwork’s #1-3!

35-for-35: 1997 – “Shame On You” by The Indigo Girls

November 15, 2016 by krisis

[Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug][/Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug]I do this thing where a band floats around on the periphery of my world for many years until, finally, one of their later singles becomes my touchtone and doorway back through their catalog.

I did it with Ani DiFranco, with Tori Amos, with Radiohead, and in 1997 I unknowingly did it with The Indigo Girls – it just took another five years for me to really feel the impact.

I had heard of the Indigo Girls before, in passing. My friends sang “Closer to Fine” in a talent show and I had to have heard “Least Complicated” at some point to explain my later familiarity with it. Yet, it was “Shame On You” that clicked in my adolescent brain in the fleeting years of when alternative rock radio that would still play an acoustic song by a female singer.

Even before I was a guitar player I appreciated the utter simplicity of this three-chord tune with it simple I-IV-V progression. It reminds me of Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl,” and every time Amy Ray says “la la la, shame on you” I always want to shout back, “sha la-la la-la la-la la, la ti da!”

(I swear, I had no thoughts of how politically relevant this pick would be when I made it a few weeks ago. That’s folk music for you.)

Despite hitting all the right Lilith Fair influences to make me love it, the song resonated with teenaged me on another level because it was one of the few songs on the radio at the time aside from Rage Against The Machine that was making a statement about anything. The song starts with Ray relating the story of her friends the window washers.

My friends they wash the windows and they shine in the sun
They tell me wake up early in the morning sometime
See what a beautiful job we done
I say let’s put on some tunes sing along do little all day
Go down to the riverside take off our shoes wash these sins away

The river said, “la la la,” it said shame on you

This was a different sort of blue collar nod than you’d expect to hear in a Springsteen tune. Ray wasn’t saying she was an every-woman, or bemoaning the plight of an underclass. She says “my friends” as she introduces these people who hang from the sides of tall buildings while she’s on the road as a rock star.

Her friends want her to appreciate their windows like they appreciates her music. She wants to take off her shoes with them and head down to the river, where they’re all the same and they can hear the water burble “shame on you” as their sins wash past downstream.

In retrospect, is this sort of romanticism of blue collar ideals from someone far outside their sphere more of a downward punch than Springsteen similar everyman vibe? Usually I’d say “yes,” but Ray continues…

I go down to Chicano city park because it makes me feel so fine
When the weeds go down you can see up close in the dead of the winter time
But when the summer comes everything’s in bloom and you wouldn’t know it’s there
The white folks like to pretend it’s not but their music’s in the air

And you can hear ’em singing, “la la la,” they say shame on you
And you can feel them dancing, “la la la,” they say shame on you

She has now identified herself, the narrator, as an outsider to all of the beauty that she witnesses. Is that patronizing or is it acceptance and affection for the other?

I was particularly struck at the the time at the gently accusatory way she says, “the white folks like to pretend.” Isn’t she a white folk, too? Or, maybe that’s only a label for those pretenders, and everyone else are just people.

And who is now admonishing “shame on you”? Is it the white folks, clucking at the Chicano culture? Or, the Chicano clucking in response that the white folks refuse to enjoy it even when it puts a smile on their face.

Or both?

My friend Tanner she says you know me and Jesus we’re of the same heart
The only thing that keeps us distant is that I keep fuckin’ up
I said come on down to Chicano city park wash your blues away
The beautiful ladies walk on by
You know I never know what to say

And they’ll be singing,” oo la-la-la-la-la, shame on you”
They’ll be dancin’, “la la la,” they say shame on you, shame on you

Wow. Had I heard anyone on the radio before so casually state their attraction to someone of the same gender? Who’s the shame on now? Ray for being attracted to them, or Ray for never knowing what to say?

That’s why I am so convinced this song isn’t punching down, not even punching up at the white folks. It’s not about punching. It’s about dancing, and finding those shared little moments of humanity with people who aren’t like you in the slightest. It’s about the shame in not admitting how much you just want to kick off your shoes and dance along.

Oh, wait, there is the one punch…

Let’s go road block trippin’ in the
Middle of the night up in Gainesville town
There’ll be blue lights flashing down the long dirt road
When they ask me to step out
They say, “We be looking for illegal immigrants can we check your car?”
I say, “You know it’s funny I think we were on the same boat back in 1694.”

And I said, “oo la-la-la-la-la, shame on you”

That line has always stuck with me, and it has never before felt so relevant as it has this year. Or this past week.

How can you turn your nose up and close your doors completely to the immigrants who want to forge a life in America when that’s how all of us got here … except for our indigenous people, to whom we all owe a debt that we can’t ever repay for destroying their land, their people, and their culture? Who are we to want to build a wall between us and Mexico when they have an actual, persistent culture to bring into our melting pot of customs imported from afar?

I wasn’t ready to really love The Indigo Girls until I borrowed their older CDs from my first boss, Laura, back in 2003, but as soon as I heard those records I realized that I already loved this band, and I probably always will.

(And, in a fun tie-in to yesterday’s post: E and I walked up the aisle together to a cello version of “Least Complicated!”)

35-for-35: 1996 – “On The Way Up” by Peter Mulvey

November 14, 2016 by krisis

[Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug][/Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug]How do you remember the moments that changed the course of your life? Can you replay them perfectly over and over in digital crispness? Did time stand still? Do you feel like you were standing outside of yourself, watching, so you can rotate the entire scene around you like a panorama?

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the first time I saw Peter Mulvey play it altered the course of my life. There’s some other timeline where young Peter stayed at dinner at Serrano’s a little bit longer and skipped seeing the unknown opening act for Susan Werner and missed him entirely.

If you have Amazon Prime you can stream this AMAZING record for free! Just click!

Would I have still heard his music down the line? Maybe, but it would not have had the megaton impact on me as seeing Peter Mulvey at the height of his youthful powers from less than ten feet away.

At the time, male singers comprised approximately 1% of my CD collection, so seeing his name on the bill had no special meaning for me. My friend Rachel and I took our reserved seats at a table in the front of the house and waited for the opening act to take the stage.

He was everything I loved on guitar and something more – all of the DiFranco tunings, all of the percussive, staccato strumming, plus other things – partial capos and half barres over open strings. My songs like “Icy Cold,” “Lost,” and “Relief” could never exist without him.

One of the less show-y songs in his set was “On The Way Up,” a song from his seminal album Rapture. It didn’t have the pyrotechnics of his half-capo, mega-detuned “Love Is Not Enough” but it still left its mark. It’s a simple tune in three, a song about constantly rising but never feeling like you’re enough – not for yourself or for the partner you love.

I think it was the song that won my mother over to Peter later, listening in our tiny red kitchen, so that she became my companion for future shows. And, later, it became one amongst E’s many favorites. We used to refer to it as “our hypothetical, eventual first dance,” for an equally hypothetical, eventual wedding we weren’t discussing seriously.

Which brings me back to Serrano’s and The Tin Angel, 11 years later. Peter Mulvey was playing there on a Friday night, and E and I were attending with both of our mothers for their birthdays, which were 11 years apart. I had reached out to Peter earlier in the week to see if I could stop by during his soundcheck and have him finally teach me the proper way to play his song “The Wings of the Ragman,” which I had approximated here on CK in Trio but never quite could get the hang of.

E did not want to join me, but I insisted. “He’s my guitar idol,” I pleaded with her. “This would be like if you got to sing with…” I sputtered, “I don’t know. Pat Benatar. What if you were going to sing with Pat Benatar? I would come and witness that moment, and maybe snap a photo for you.”

E finally acquiesced, and so we found ourselves upstairs in the Tin Angel just after 6pm on a Friday, the room empty save for the two of us, Peter, and the sound man. Peter came back and said hi, shook our hands, and asked me if I wanted to get out my guitar and run through “Ragman.” I complied, just barely, my hands shaking so much I could barely get into the right tuning. He started walking me through the song, explaining in his easy way why certain voicings were different and why he was using the dominant and so forth before eventually realizing I was ready to faint and saying, “You know what, maybe I should write this down for you.”

And that is how I sat and watched while Peter Mulvey tabbed out his own song for me.

That is not the end of the story.

After we were through with my lesson, he said, “You know, you ought to stick around while I sound check. I might play a few things I won’t be doing during the show.” E and I found ourself seated in the first row of chairs behind the door of the Tin while Peter walked up on stage and began working with the sound guy to get his guitar EQ just right. After playing the portions of a few songs, he began to play “On The Way Up.”

I leaned over to E.

“We should dance,” I said, in a husky whisper.

“Dance?” she replied, incredulously. “You want to dance?”

It took some coaxing, but I convinced her to get up out of her seat and waltz subtly with me at the back of the club.

“You know, while we’re here and he’s playing this song, maybe we should ask him to play our hypothetical, eventual wedding.”

“Peter,” she hissed into my ear while we waltzed, “that is crazy.”

“You’re right,” I said, slipping my hand into my pocket to draw out a tiny black box, “that why I asked him to play our engagement instead.”

And that is how E and I became engaged. You see, I had been trading emails all week, first with Peter’s management, and then with Peter himself, to arrange this setup, having already obtained a ring which was proverbially burning a hole in my pocket. To his eternal credit, Peter tried mightily to talk me out of my plan to make sure I wasn’t doing something silly or fannish, but I eventually prevailed upon him how much the Tin Angel and his song meant to me and to us, and so he agreed to play along.

Also to his eternal credit, when Peter saw that the deed was done, he effortlessly segued into “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

Here is Peter Mulvey playing “On The Way Up” during his set that evening: [Read more…] about 35-for-35: 1996 – “On The Way Up” by Peter Mulvey

From The Beginning: WildStorm Universe – Deathblow (1993) #5-9

November 14, 2016 by krisis

[Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug][/Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug]Today we’re back to Deathblow, which I found to be wildly uneven on our last go-round. Now, Tim Sale has taken control of the artwork with Brandon Choi still scripting. Is the change enough to flip my opinion on the book?

Before we begin, a quick mea culpa: Lynch is still with IO in this arc, so this should’ve been read before Gen13. Oops! In fact, it might occur entirely between Gen13 #1 and #3 given the time that elapses and based on Lynch departing #9 directly for Gen13 #3. This arc also happens after Stormwatch #9, which means the arrival of the time traveller in Gen13 #1/2 misses Stormwatch #9 by at least a week.

deathblow_007 Deathblow is different than all of the other WildStorm books. It’s not just the desaturated colors or the religious overtones, but the small cast combined with sense that the plot is paramount. It feels as though the story might keep heaving onward even if Deathblow decided not to show up. At points in this arc it feels like he’s an anchor dragging behind the good versus evil aspects of the story, until the final pages of issue #9 manage to reel him in.

All of the plot points teased in issues #1-4 collapse into a single story here – Deathblow’s faith and his cancer, Travis’s untrustworthiness, the miracle boy in Philadelphia, the Black Angel, the Order of the Cross, and more. They felt like a lot of random information, but it turns out they’re all part of the same plot.

There’s an inherent tension between the scenes with Deathblow, terse and rippling with muscle, and the supernatural plot, which could be ripped straight from… well, Supernatural, to use a modern example. The sense that Deathblow himself isn’t of this paranormal world is tangible, even as we learn those closest to him have already been inducted.

Add to that the constant suspense of how Deathblow’s Gen-Active powers will present themselves (aside from being impervious to gun shots and stab wounds, that is), and this mystery has suddenly become almost as much as a page-turner as Stormwatch.

This leads me to marvel at the incredible powers of Brandon Choi, perhaps for the 15th day in a row. This man was plotting the entire WildStorm Universe, with each book wildly different in style than the last. Choi really settles in to the terse vibe of Deathblow here. It feels like it has its own voice moreso than the initial run.

Now the permanent artist (save for covers), Tim Sale imbues the book the sort of stark, crime noir look it’s needed all along. He deploys Lee’s style of fine detail only when warranted. While you’ll immediately be yearning for Jim Lee’s over-the-top version of Deathblow himself just because it looked so damned good, everything else about the book is a better fit for the story. Seen through a noir lens, it all makes more sense.

New with issue #6, colorist Linda Medley keeps the desaturated color palette but loses the sickly photo-negative greenish cast. This could be hindsight talking, but digital colors pull attention away from Tim Sale’s stately art. What I wouldn’t give to see a modern colorist like Matt Hollingsworth apply a vintage palette and lack of gradients to these issues. They deserve even plainer colors and starker contrast.

By the end of the arc, all of our characters (including a nun cop, the angel of death, and Director Lynch!) converge on a convent outside of Philadelphia for a bloody battle that entirely alters the course of Deathblow’s life – and definitely his comic book!

I’m not sure if I should recommend this book to you or not! Choi and Sale have made a remarkable turnaround with this arc, but I won’t be sure it was worth the ride until we see how it begins to be resolved.

Need the issues? Deathblow #5-9 (and on through #12) were collected in a 1999 TPB titled “Sinners and Saints.” DC issued a revised, expanded, and re-ordered HC and TPB of #0-12 that both are still readily available. For single issues try eBay (#5-9) or Amazon (#5, 6, 7, 8, 9) – and note that Amazon offers these issues digitally(!) through Comixology.

Here’s the schedule for the rest of this month’s WildStorm re-read – tomorrow we’re back to Stormwatch (already!) with #11-13.

35-for-35: 1995 – “Lump” by Presidents of the United States of America

November 14, 2016 by krisis

[Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug][/Patreon-Nov16-Post-Bug]Strap in for a story, folks. In fact, both songs today come with lengthy stories, but that makes sense – we’re really into my formative years at this point.

This isn’t necessarily my favorite song from 1995, but sometimes art reflects life, and when it comes to the songs of 1995 this is the one I wound up with all those years ago.

presidents-of-the-united-states-lump My burgeoning rock fandom really exploded in my Freshman year of high school as Gina and my loose cadre of middle school nerds coalesced into a group of rocking teenagers. Though I had the claim to fame of having seen Madonna as my first rock concert, I was growing jealous of our peers and their live music escapades.

I remember seeing Gina in her first play at Masterman sitting behind an entire row of kids from our class who had just been to an Offspring concert – the height of cool.

After what I’m sure was some amount of campaigning to my mother, she lamented and for my birthday purchased me a pair of concert tickets (one for me and one for Gina, of course – we weren’t quite inseparable yet, but quite a music-loving pair). Since my prohibitive favorite LP of 1995 was Garbage, my new favorite band, and since Garbage would be in Philly playing one block from Gina’s house, obviously that would be my mother’s selection.

Right?

Well, apparently I sang “Lump” at the top of my lungs out the car window one too many times, because the tickets were to see Presidents of the United States of America one night before Garbage.

I begged. I pleaded. I would find someone to buy the PUSA tickets. I would pay for the Garbage tickets, too! Please, for the love of Bowie, would she relent and let me see Garbage.

The Mother of Krisis was unyielding. She had done me a solid and not only granted me permission to go to a concert but bought the darn tickets and there were no takesies backsies going to happen. I would go and see “Lump” and like it.

(Let it be known that Mother of Krisis has never lived this down and still is reminded at least annually (plus whenever Garbage releases an album or I see them live, again) that it was her biggest parenting mistake of all time.)

(Which, credit where due, if this is your parent’s worst mistake of all time they are probably a slightly better than average parent, at minimum.)

the-presidents-of-the-united-states-of-america-4fd31761f15c2 I might have looked that gift horse in the mouth when offered the tickets, but when it came to the show – my first rock show – I was fully committed. We were in line early and in the second row of bodies from the stage. Gina and I still talk about the insane opening act, Supernova, and their gum-chewing, pogoing set that included the ridiculous tune “Chewbacca,” which we can still shout at you on command.

The Presidents were great. Honestly, as first rock shows go, you couldn’t do much better. It was a group of young, energetic dudes who played their instruments well and wrote inane songs about kitties and peaches – yes, another early influence on our totally weirdball songwriting.

As for “Lump” – what is she? A dead body? A stupid girl? A Gen Xer sleeping her way through life in more ways than one unless there’s an awesome band on stage? I tend to subscribe to that last one – Lump as a metaphor for someone stuck in the mud of life, circled by piranhas of bad decisions.

(“Totally emotionless except for her heart,” is the right answer, by the way.)