|
 Cinematic
Explorations
By
David King
Trent
Reznor and Atticus Ross
The
Social Network
Trent
Reznor and Jay-Z have a lot in common. No, Reznor didn’t run
the dope game back in the day (as far as I know), and Jay-Z
likely never has and never will end up in debauched backstage
situations with Marilyn Manson. But both men are getting on
in the years, putting them further and further from their
original sources of inspiration. And both have done their
best work in recent memory under the inspiration of cinema.
Jay-Z found himself on American Gangster, an album
with the same name as and tied into the release of Ridley
Scott’s story about the rise and fall of real-life heroin
kingpin Frank Lucas. And on The Social Network, Reznor
channels the sinister, bleak, and vapid souls of the characters
featured in David Fincher’s fast-twitch look at Harvard’s
power circles and one man’s lust to be part of them.
It helps that Reznor doesn’t sing on these tracks—the rhyme
schemes on his last few albums were Facebook poetry, beyond
threadbare. But its not just what isn’t there that makes the
soundtrack worth a download. Reznor and longtime collaborator
Atticus Ross are on their collective game. Sure, there are
some old ideas here, but they are put to good use. The noisy
beats swell and purge, sci-fi synths sparkle on top of bloated,
loping bass lines that cascade into soaring guitar lines that
hurt in the nicest way possible. It seems every meticulous
detail of Fincher’s film—the superb architecture of his shots;
the immaculate, glowing colors; Aaron Sorkin’s rapid-fire
yet profoundly dark script—has been condensed into this audio
companion. From the lonely Harvard dorm room to the exclusive
fraternity houses, the sleek dance clubs and the new-age boardrooms,
this is an audio tour of one of Fincher’s finest works.
The competing themes come together on “Intriguing Possibilities,”
where a sci-fi-movie bass line keeps sinister time as hopeful,
twinkling keys pulse and flicker like lines of data on a screen,
repeating robotic motion only broken as emotional feedback
tears over everything, building into a fantastic apex of man,
machine, and something intriguingly in between. Yes, bands
like Mogwai have been releasing albums worth of this stuff
for years, but Reznor’s tact as a soundtrack composer is dead-on.
(Maybe that’s why he’s been looking to produce a television
show based on his last semi-inspired album, Year Zero.)
It’s been a long time since Reznor has had this kind of creative
clarity. Not since The Downward Spiral has he been
so concise, so purposeful. Here’s to hoping he finds another
muse, and quick. The Social Network shows that the
hardware that allows Reznor to be a grand composer is still
quite intact; it’s the inspiration software that needs some
updating.
 Fol
Chen
Part
II: The New December
Fol
Chen’s second album continues the obscure song cycle commenced
two years ago on their debut. While their modus operandi of
aliases, masks, and fictitious bios brings to mind the masters
of that realm, the Residents, Fol Chen’s utilization of this
presentational layer seems distracting. Their vocals are warm
and present, not disembodied and filtered like that infamous
eyeball-headed combo. These 10 songs move back and forth between
beautifully articulated pop and a handful of funk-based numbers.
On the former they are lyrical, mysterious, inventive and
completely convincing. The latter come off as posing; they
sound like tourists in a foreign land. However, when they
get it right, as they do on two-thirds of this disc, the unshakable
musical smarts make the mystery of it all an alluring place
to linger.
—David
Greenberger
 Interpol
Interpol
Interpol’s self-titled release is a cruel joke. Abandoning
the death-disco drumming and pulsating bass lines for rhythm
lines that sound like the rock setting on a Casio keyboard,
Interpol replace their funk and sass with dreadful vocal experiments—and
a sense of seriousness that chokes with pretension yet slumps
forward like a bored, heroin-addled hipster. Try on pair of
headphones to uncover loads of vocalist Paul Banks’ half-assed,
croaking attempts to add complexity to his long-derided Ian
Curtis impression. Banks also takes on a more nasal tone that
fuzzes out the instruments under him like unintentional feedback.
And a number of the vocal tracks are absolutely cringeworthy.
Opening
track “Success” bops along like a good Interpol song should,
with Banks pleading “Someone make me say no” until he finally
answers himself, “Yes.” But things are downhill from there.
“Memory Serves” is reminiscent of “NARC” (from Antics),
but it gets overwhelmed by pretentious, out-of-key la-la-las
and flat vocal harmonies that make what would have been an
otherwise decent song flat-out terrible. “Summer Well” is
half-interesting, until you realize it is a blatant ripoff
of “Love My Way” by the Psychedelic Furs. The last four songs
of the album don’t even bother with rhythm: They just float
and moan and languish as you count the minutes left on the
album.
The problem is all the band’s tart majesty falls apart without
playful basslines and snappy but powerful drumming. Their
arrogance needs an accessible, rock & roll counterpoint.
Without it they just suck.
—David
King
 Wyatt,
Atzmon, Stephen
For
the Ghosts Within
This
remarkable triumvirate had their origins four years ago when
violinist Ros Stephen invited saxophonist Gilad Atzmon to
join his jazz-infused tango group for an album and tour. This
was followed by an octet project that combined Stephen’s string
quartet with Atzmon’s jazz ensemble. Wanting to further explore
string-based music, they decided to add a singer, which is
where Robert Wyatt enters the picture.
The set focuses primarily on standards, as well as revisiting
Wyatt’s back catalog (“Maryan” and again covering Chic’s “At
Last I Am Free”), with a couple new numbers bearing Alfie
Benge’s lyrics. Wyatt’s musical career has followed the path
of an artist, always poking, prodding, wondering, and growing.
He’s embraced a range of standards over the past decades,
and hearing him in this setting is a showcase for the subtly
nuanced control of his unique voice. This utterly confident
disc shows both the fearless individuality that is his singing,
as well as the roots of his own identity as a musician. You
may think you’ve heard “What a Wonderful World” as many times
as you need, but Robert Wyatt reminds us that it’s more than
movie-soundtrack window dressing, as he inhabits it as comfortably
and completely as his own home. For the Ghosts Within
is a most beautiful hour of music.
—David
Greenberger
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