Mooncake & The Buddhist Suicide

Life throws unexpected curves at unexpected intervals. You wake up expecting sunshine and you get dark clouds dropping rain. A dog comes running for a bone and gets a slap on the muzzle instead. Salty sits down to follow a link to a video by Mooncake (a Russian experimental outfit) and finds himself bearing witness to something horrifying and tragically moving at the same time.

At the end of the piece, the voices in my head agree: this is a fitting soundtrack to a suitably presented act of powerful intention. Eyes watering, I bow to the subject and his inconcievable symbolic act even as my skin tingles, raising in goose-bumps at the elegant and resonant notework.

Mooncake & The Buddhist Suicide

Paganella: Is "Bubble-Crunch" Even A Genre?

Three things in combination here: super-bright and energetic vocals I can't really follow because my French is as rusty as a big chunk of rusty stuff; a driving background of buzz-saw guitarwork that really really gets my body hopping; just the right amount of layering and depth to make the whole thing feel nice and thick. The band behind the music is Paganella. And the music is pretty damn good.

Yes, they're another French act - leave me alone, I manage to get myself on a Francophilic kick now and then.

This trio - made up of Delphine Audevard, Sylvain Sentenach, and Nicolas Arnaudet - caught me in the midst of aimless surfing and sucked me in with their unique sound. I don't know what they call their style, but to me it is so bubbly and crunchy that I'm stuck on "bubble-crunch" as a name for what I'm hearing. What else to say? Not much, I'm going back to bouncing in the darkness.

Paganella: Is "Bubble-Crunch" Even A Genre?

Mannequins, Stiff Lovers & Sweet Cibelle

I'm not sure exactly what it is that I enjoy about this little musical-cinematic vignette, but I enjoy it to a degree that has kept it on repeat for an inordinate amount of time. Perhaps it is the oozy-drippy 1960's cocktail party sway punctuated by that crazy woodwind whatever. More likely that it is the vocal contributions of a breathy and seductive Cibellewhich drives me crazy. Whatever the reasons, whatever the appeal, whatever keeps my attention, I think it's lovely.

Mannequins, Stiff Lovers & Sweet Cibelle

How should I describe the music of Gaspard LaNuit? There are occasional elements of countrified Americana twang here and there. Smooth cohesive steady rhythms and laidback flow - except when things turn suddenly cruncha-chunky and dissonant and filtered. It is what it is. Which is to say - it seems to know what it's trying to be.

And for the most part, I think that it's trying to be its own thing - an end which it achieves except for those times when it feels like things have taken a hard right-hand turn into derivations a la Serge Gainsbourg. Not that I mind a little of that sort of thing. In fact, when LaNuit is nodding toward the elder musician's style, I feel it works a bit better than the original. Or at least, it's less overtly sleazy and boozed-up sexual. It has a smoother voice of seduction and a more respectable swagger.

Morning Discovery - Chapelier Fou

There are times, sitting at the desk in the cold of a November morning, watching the coffee cup steam and the strangers stroll by down the sidewalk outside, when the best kind of music is the kind that helps a person to chill and think. Not infrequently, I search for new tunes which can fill this role, which can aid me in getting down into an a.m. groove. Today, I found just the thing.

Chapelier Fou (Mad Hatter in English) - terrific slowed down and subtle French electronica from the city of Metz - is the work of Louis Warynski. And Salty Von Brickel is now officially a fan.

Morning Discovery - Chapelier Fou

Steve Zissou - A Model for Modern Manhood

Unlike many of my peers, I view Steve Zissou as a compellingly iconic - hardly a ridiculous - figure. Clad in his signature red cap and powder-blue uniform, he is a real hero, the kind of accessible hero which any American male worth his salt should hope to emulate. And why do I say this? Why am I bothering with a post on such a potentially lame subject? Because I can't stop thinking about the ways in which watching this man, documented fantastically in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, activates my most uninhibited imagination, my desire for an adventurous, rollicking, unpredictable, yet defined life.

Though it's easy enough to laugh off Captain Zissou as just a character created to depict an aging, over-the-top, self-deluded fatso, I feel compelled to look deeper. And when I look just beneath what could easily seem a laughable exterior, I see the portrayal, the manifestation of masculine qualities which many of us desire so strongly, as well as those facts of male life which none of us delight in considering. The bottom-line is that Steve Zissou - though he at times begs mockery, dismissal, and a kind of laughing pity - is a self-defined man, he sees his story in large print down the path ahead of him, sees clearly how he wishes to act, interact, appear, project, be remembered. And despite failing in the eyes of many casual observers, he is ultimately successful because he is completely authentic, completely unique, completely intentional. He is what we should all strive to be - Homo Sapiens Sui Generis.

Steve Zissou - A Model for Modern Manhood

Agony & Ecstacy at Doug Fir

Well now, I've waited a fair stretch before saying anything about the sorta-recent Alela Diane show at Doug Fir. I suppose I've been letting my impressions percolate and settle into place. In reality, I needn't have waited so long to sermonize on what I experienced there at the round table with a small group of intimate, and largely like-minded, old friends.

The opening act was one Ms. Marissa Nadler, a singer-songwriter whose somewhat tripped-out space-cadet, vaguely Mazzy Star'esque music the album Little Hellshad caught my ear in late summer. I was quite excited to see her play and - to my later shame and embarrassment - shared this fact with my companions over dinner. Little did I realize the boredom which was to ensue once she took the stage and embarked upon a set of epic tedium. She has a lovely voice, is good at coaxing beautifully shimmery sounds from her instrument, but apparently lacks the gene responsible for variety. As I listened, not sure whether to sleep or hurl my bottle of PBR against the far wall, she went on and on, playing songs which sounded painfully, similarly dirge-like. In the end, I'll stick to the descriptive phrase I coined mid-set - "music to bore the stoned."

Luckily for the modest crowd, the entire tone and energy changed when Alela Diane (accompanied by the none-too-shabby-herself Alina Hardin) appeared beneath the lights. With vocals projecting perfect clarity, she sang her way through a list of some great material. Rolling through wonderful compositions from White As Diamonds to The Rifle to Tatted Lace, Diane showed that - in contrast to the aforementioned opening act she manages to convey a totally distinctive, unique, easily identifiable style, yet still mix up her rhythms, cadences, and emotional tones in a way which elevates the experience of the audience. I'll be running out to buy To Be Stillthe one album of her's which I'm missing and can't wait for another show.

Agony & Ecstacy at Doug Fir