Since We Last Spoke

By RJD2
(Album)



NEILL says:

Okay, so you've made a couple of records of near-perfect downtempo instrumental hip-hop, blending hard-edged breakbeats with melancholy, oddly beautiful soundscapes. But what do you do NEXT? It's a question that has, I am sure, troubled us all at some time or another. All of us, at least, who have produced a couple of records of near-perfect downtempo instrumental hip-hop, blending hard-edged breakbeats with melancholy, oddly beautiful soundscapes. (Myself, personally, I have not. But occasionally I like to pretend that I have in bars to impress girls, so I find it is best to have an answer prepared.) It is, however, an inordinately difficult question, whose answers are many and various, and always strangely unsatisfying. Some, like the UK's Rae & Christian or the Herbaliser, opt for slightly 'lite' attempts at making 'proper' soul / funk music. Other's, like Japan's DJ Krush, spiral off down an interesting if ultimately unfulfilling path of increasingly reductive sonic minimalism. And then there are those, like Luke Vibert / Wagon Christ, who just sort of.... carry on. To my mind only one guy has ever really got this right, the guy in question being 'Legendary San Franciscan Weirdo' DJ Shadow with his magnificent second album 'The Private Press'; a toweringly engaging record which balanced eclectic experimentalism with beat-heavy funk almost perfectly. But not perfectly; there were just enough massively bizarre and annoying failed tracks to make it interesting and, ultimately, loveable.

So, what then for Texas-born producer RJD2, whose previous recorded works to date (2003's excellent 'Deadringer' album and the frankly stunning collection of remixes and rare tracks, 'The Horror') have given him the not-unprofitable claim to fame of sounding more like DJ Shadow than DJ Shadow himself? To his credit, on this his second full-length solo LP, he offers a new and adventurous answer to the question: he goes FUCKING INSANE. Seriously. This is one of the most messed-up records I think I have ever heard. If you ever wondered what the sound of someone losing their very sanity was like, I urge you to buy this record and satisfy your morbid curiosity. It's certainly extremely hard to sum up in words. Bizarre. Uneven. Massively confusing. Surprisingly funky. In places the weird and seemingly arbitrary combination of disparate musical ingredients just fires perfectly, on tracks like the awesomely funky '1976' and the rollicking intercontinental mindfuck 'RingFinger'. But in places it just all gets a bit... unfocussed. And then... oh Jesus Christ, then there are the vocal tracks. It seems young RJ may have lost his heart to a young lady recently, because this record features several songs of love and loss, given voice by a singer of such jaw-dropping unskilled awkward badness that I can only presume it is in fact the writer/producer himself. (I would confirm this by perusing the liner notes, but unfortunately I don't have any. See, music piracy really IS wrong.) The freakish sad-sack wank-melody of 'Making Days Longer' is so embarrassing that at first it is almost impossible to actually listen to it. And then you come to 'Through the Walls', which finds Mr. D2 on a heroically thankless one-man mission to fuse cutting-edge dance music with terrible, terrible 80's pop-rock. Why? Fuck alone knows! And yet the more I listened to this record, and make no mistake, I could not fucking STOP listening to this record, the more these tasteless aural misbirths became my favourite thing on it.

As I think I may have mentioned, it's quite a strange record. But I think I am a little bit in love with it. What can I say, I like 'em mental.

7.4/10

http://definitivejux.net/ - Def Jux home page

The Good Life

(No, not that The Good Life)



JAMES says:

Philosophers, as well as all the abstract stuff about who we are and whether if you dropped a stone it would fall, have been attempting to describe the best way to live your life. By various maxims and lines of reasoning they have presented the method of living that provides most happiness, satisfaction or utility. Now, I’ve never read any of these, but I’m going to present my ideas now and assume they are entirely original and groundbreaking. That’s the kind of guy I am.

First of all, there is no right way to live your life. While some might enjoy never going out and staying in on their own watching Hollyoaks all day, others might prefer Holby City. I cannot therefore tell you how to live. But I can tell you that nothing can be done to make life perfect. Every day will involve some form of struggle, either with other people, your own feelings, or a panda. Whatever path you choose, whatever profession, it’s never going to be easy. The only time when life stops being a struggle is when you’re dead.

The only way round this is to accept that all there is is a constant juggling act, trying to solve one problem before the next one comes along. Appreciate any moment of peace. Remember that noone has the answer to all life’s problems, but most people have the answer to at least one. And if you want any more practical advice, try Leonard Nimoy’s Spock thoughts. It’s all in there.

7.1/10

Van Helsing

(Film)
Dir: Stephen Sommers



NEILL says:

Van Helsing is a true heir to the 'classic' Hammer horror movies of the 1970s in that it is actually completely shit. I consider it a bad sign that I spent long portions of the running time mentally organising my bank account, and even longer seeing how many adverbs I could come up with for the word 'stupid'. I lost count in the end, but my top 3 favourites were: 'heroically', 'monumentally', and of course the classic 'un-fucking-believably'. The whole thing resembled nothing so much as an extended version of the cut-scenes that you get between levels on PS2 games, and had all the depth, intelligence and artistic subtlety that implies. It is a very strange thing to sit through an entire film feeling an overpowering instinct to 'press the start button and skip this shit'. I will share one choice snippet of dialogue with you, and that will tell you all you need to know about the heroic, monumental and quite un-fucking-believable stupidity of this movie. Whilst hunting down a vampire, or possibly a werewolf (I forget - I think I was running through my standing orders at the time), one character asks Van Helsing about his motivation: he has no personal or family connection to the fight against vampires (or possibly werewolves), so why does he do it? What is he looking for? And what does he reply, this nineteenth-century Vatican solider?

"I don't know... maybe some self-realisation."

I mean to say, for fucks sake.

4/10

Tintin at Sea

National Maritime Museum, Greenwich
(Exhibition)



NEILL says:

Ah, Tintin. If there is one sight that makes me happier than anything else in the world, it is.. well, let's be honest, it's a big pie. But if there's anything else that even comes close, it is the back of a Tintin book: miniature versions of the covers of all the other books in the series, arranged in a perfect grid, their bright colours and dramatic scenes promising adventure and intrigue and... you know, all that good stuff. Many happy childhood afternoons were spent staring at these back covers, trying to imagine the grass-is-greener excitement to be found in the volumes our local library didn't have in stock. For example: to this day, I don't think I've ever read 'Flight 714'. But I'll tell you this: it looks DAMN exciting. I would go so far as to venture that the back covers of Tintin books must be one of the most successful cross-promotional marketing ventures in the history of publishing. A quick google tells me that the series has sold over 200 million volumes worldwide to date. Which, to put those figures into perspective, is a little bit better than dumbass comics has been doing lately. Little bit.

So, what is it about these books that has such enduring appeal? Why have readers around the world been gripped for the last 75 years by the globe-trotting adventures of a young boy in plus-fours, his live-in salty seaman pal, and his little alcoholic dog? It seems unlikely, you have to admit. Well, after admiring the superb 'Tintin at sea' exhibition at the Royal Maritime Museum in Greenwich, which displays many of Tintin creator George Remi's original pages of artwork for the series, I think I have the answer: it's because they're really, really great. It's very easy these days to knock Herge for the appalling imperialistic racial stereotypes on display in 'Tintin in the Congo', for the bizarre and disturbing attitude to animal rights which sees Tintin, in same adventure, insert dynamite into a rhinoceros for shits and giggles, or for the fact that he was, indisputably, a Nazi collaborator. And to be fair, no-one likes a Nazi collaborator. But the fact remains, the guy could work a pen like few other mortals. He was a true artist and a true professional, studying the world with an intense and passionate observational eye and transforming it through his graceful linework into a unique, coherent and beautiful body of art. His gift for narrative is all the more breathtaking when you consider that he was basically making up the rules from scratch as he went along: laying the groundwork for an entire medium. The chance to see his original drawings at this well-designed and thoroughly engaging exhibition was by turns humbling, fascinating, genuinely inspiring... you know, all that good stuff.

What can I say, I like Tintin. Also, afterwards I got to have a big pie. Score!

8/10

Adverts that contain the line ‘There is an easier way to…’

(Adverts)



JAMES says:

You’ve all seen them. Someone does something comically over-the-top, then the voiceover announces ‘There is an easier way to wash your face/win a chocolate bar/commit suicide.’ Is there? Really? Wow, thank you Mr. Advert for pointing that out. I swear if all the ideas produced by the advertising industry were put together, there wouldn’t be enough originality to power a robotic cat.

1.2/10

Heart of Darkness and Other Stories

By Joseph Conrad
(Book)



NEILL says:

A simply incredible piece of writing, possessed of devastatingly powerful insights into human nature, civilisation and morality; executed in prose that is thrilling in its grace and poetry. And two other stories, which are shit.

5.7/10

The smell inside a Macdonalds

(Smell)



GUEST REVIEWER CHRIS says:

Now, the received wisdom among the liberal community of London is that Ronald McDonald is the Antichrist. Ronald is to the left-wing as East European migrants are to Daily Mail readers, polluting our country, destroying our society, and perving about with little kids. Well, even Daily Mail readers might draw the line with the kids reference. But, as a fully paid up member of the London liberati, I’ve got to admit my vice, publicly, here in front of you all, our dear readers. My name is Chris and I enjoy the taste of McFlurrys.

I know it’s wicked and wrong. Trust me, on the rare occasion that I do feel the urge, I flagellate myself for several hours afterwards, and whenever I pass over actual cash for one (Crunchie flavoured naturally), I don my hair shirt beforehand. But I simply can’t help myself. I would prefer it if a jingly-jangly ice cream van tootled past my office window every day and I could sate my cravings with a far superior Mr Whippy (with a flake and raspberry sauce, naturally). But in these days of lack of community and capitalist high street shopping, this simply is no longer the done thing. I need the vegetable fat creaminess of a Mr Whippy substitute and damn it all if under the Golden Arches isn’t the only place to find a quick fix.

Yet there is one thing that even in my more Whippy-crazed moments, when I’m actually convulsing through the cold turkey, that prevents me from buying a McFlurry. And that’s the smell inside of the McDonald’s. It’s like an aromatic slap in the face and a pungent “Pull Yourself Together Man and Look Around You.” As soon as I walk in the door I’m confronted by the rancid smell of indistinguishable meat frying in unmentionable fats, mingled with the overpowering sterility of bleach and cleaning products. My stomach churns and all thoughts of food products vanish from my previously befuddled mind.

In may ways, this should merit an appallingly low mark of, say, 0.4/10. However, for the sheer fact that this has probably saved me, oooooh, several pounds over the years and prevented a mid-20s coronary problem owing to the sheer amount of cholosterol clogging up my arteries, I am grateful. Not too grateful, mind.

1.8/10

Versus

(Movie)



JAMES says:

This is without a doubt the best Samurai/Horror/Yakuza/King-Fu/Zombie/Sci-Fi movie I have ever seen. And that includes Attack of the Zombie Gangster Samurais from Outer Space with Fists of Fury.Anyway, without giving too much of the plot away, largely because I didn’t understand most of it, I have made the following observations-

1. Japanese Gangsters are really gay. (Note to any Japanese gangsters, I am basing this entirely on the film, not personal opinion. Just relax, eh?)


2. This film seems to have quite improbably been the inspiration for both the policeman character in Catterick and Jonathon Ross’s dress sense.


3. Blair Witch Project would’ve been much better with zombies.


4. For a self confessed feminist, that guy sure seems to enjoy hitting chicks.


5. Fully 1/5th of the budget must have gone on fake blood.

Within the first two minutes of this film you know you’ve made the right choice, and from there onwards it’s a magnificently violent, slightly odd, chuckle inducing master piece.

7.8/10

Zoo weekly

(‘Lads Mag’)



JAMES says:

After my recent tirade against women’s magazines, I feel I must redress the balance by saying that men’s magazines are shit as well. Especially this one. Shots of Izzy from Hollyoaks in a bikini does not make up for the pages and pages of artless writing and utter bilge. Still it was only 50p.

1/10

Year 3000

by Busted
(Pop Tune)




JAMES says:

Busted

It’s very trendy these days to knock the logic of this song, pointing out that if the person’s great-great-great granddaughter was still alive and sexually attractive in the year 3000 his family must procreate on average every 200 years. However, what they’re forgetting is that if it’s possible for Busted to travel to the year 3000, by the great-great-great granddaughter’s time the time travel technology would if anything be more effective. Also, have these people never of cryogenics? Anyway, it’s a spunky power pop dystopian vision of a nightmare world that would have PG Wodehouse crying into his cornflakes if he were still alive to hear it.

6.1/10