BeatRoute Magazine B.C. print e-edition - October 2016

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film This Month in Film Paris Spence-Lang Halloween at The Rio – Oct. 31 Couldn’t find the sexy Swamp-Thing costume you were looking for? Skip the clubs and haunt the Rio’s Halloween triple-bill instead. Start off by jamming to Harry Belafonte with Beetlejuice. Next, the power of Christ will likely compel you to watch one of the scariest movies of all time, The Exorcist. Chase off the chills by finishing with the light hearted Rocky Horror Picture Show: Halloween Edition. It’s the perfect excuse to dress up as an alien transvestite. Jim Jarmusch finds a kindred connection in The Stooges’s rare brand of keeping it real. Upcoming Releases Everyone’s on the lookout for the next big horror flick, and what could be scarier than Being 17? But this highly acclaimed movie is far from the shits how your Shins-year was, following two warring teens who are forced to live with each other—and with their complicated desires. (October 7) In the realm of uncomplicated desires, Inferno sees Robert Langdon once again wanting to unravel a mystery— until he wakes up with amnesia. The desires are uncomplicated further when his doctor turns out to be an attractive, intelligent, single woman. (October 13) But Langdon’s troubles with the church can’t hold a crucible to the fraternal feuders of Oasis. Supersonic is a documentary from the Academy Award-winning producers of Amy and weaves concert footage with candid interviews in what could be the biggest sibling rivalry since Cleopatra and Ptolemy (October 26). Gimme Danger Detroit’s most badass tattoo that will never quite stop itching Jennie Orton There is a group of people, both larger than you expect and smaller than deserved, who cite The Stooges as the greatest rock band that ever existed. There are glossier entries into this title competition, but as Jim Jarmusch lovingly demonstrates in his rockumentary Gimme Danger, none as steadfast in their conviction to be themselves as this band. In a candid and surprisingly soothing gravely delivery, a voice flavored overtop of years of relentless vocal theatrics and bouts of substance courting, Iggy Pop details the long but refreshingly genuine tale of The Stooges and not only their many rises and falls, but the cultivation of their very selfaware presence in the rock pantheon. Though the surviving founding members were present at time of filming and accounted for in one recorded documentation or another (guitarist Ron Asheton died of a heart attack in 2009, his brother drummer Scott Asheton died of a heart attack in 2014, and saxophone player Steve Mackay in 2015) they all begin to turn into dads before your eyes, while waxing romantic about the journey that both made them and broke them over the years. It is only Pop, who retains his appearance as a Velociraptor, who outlives the rest, both literally and figuratively, to tell the whole tale. As a music documentary, this film does a somewhat orgasmically detailed job of chipping away at the sedimentary rock that is The Stooges’ growth as a musical entity: from Pop’s early influences of Soupy Sales and the “mega clang” of the metal puncher at a car manufacturing plant he visited on a school trip, to their decision to not follow John Sinclair and his disciples down the primrose path of white panther madness in the late sixties and the wild ride that was Ziggy Stardust’s ever pluming wake. But it is Jarmusch’s skill at finding the surprise in the story that mines the beauty out of this band’s relentless loyalty to not only each other but their roots (Iggy Pop, believe it or not, cites living in close proximity to his parents, who let him have their master bedroom for his drum set, as one of his early life gifts). Jarmusch succeeds where others have failed; those who tried to, as Pop puts it, “penetrate the tangled web of our career”, only to “drop out in horror”. This is a tale from the ever topical front lines of Detroit, where people are made from steel wire, and music has a certain work ethic attached to it the dwarfs other venues. The Stooges may not be cited in the same annals of the likes of the Beatles or the Stones or even the Thin White Duke himself, but they knew how to shake shit up in a way that endures. “I think I helped wipe out the 60s,” Pop admits with a grin; the type of grin earned after years of inducing primal squirms from those just one inch away from total freedom. Gimme Danger will be released October 28. 30 film October 2016
Bon Iver 22, A Million Jagjaguwar Records Justin Vernon, or Bon Iver, is an endlessly memeable cultural character. From the now self-parody narrative of Justin Vernon retreating to an isolated cabin in the woods to record For Emma Forever Ago (2009), to his upset Grammy win and the resultant “who the heck is Bonny Bear?” backlash. The weight of expectation plays heavily into a major music release, but few artists with as much mainstream success seem to be as dedicated to move beyond what has driven their success, as Bon Iver. Folks who pine for the passionate guitar-folk of tracks like “Skinny Love” and “Lump Sum” were somewhat left in the dust for the misty and layered second record, the sultry, Bon Iver, Bon Iver (2011), but it’s hard to lament the change too much. That said, the more low-tempo, atmosphere-centric tonality that characterizes Bon Iver, Bon Iver, and carries on into 22, A Million doesn’t come entirely out of left field. Vernon has released two records under his own name, the second of which, the wispy Hazeltons (2006) features some of the same vocal doubling that would go on to characterize Bon Iver. The long-winded, post-rock inspired Volcano Choir, and specifically their 2013 record Repave, also pushed Vernon’s penchant for experimentation. What seems to separate Bon Iver from Vernon’s catalogue is one thing: Vernon’s voice. Falsetto vocals, creative auto-tune, and beautiful, but obfuscatory lyrics permeate all stages of Bon Iver’s discography, and true-to-form, on this new release, vocals are somehow even more prescient. The lead up to the release of 22, A Million has done the record a palpable disservice. The unpronounceable tracklist, ambiguous title, and Vernon’s obnoxiously public bromance with hip-hop Godhead Kanye West manifested a disingenuous narrative of ‘Bon Iver goes electronic.’ But that is not what 22, A Million sounds like. Instrumentally, the record is divergent from its predecessors, especially in its earlier tracks, but it never strays tonally from what has been established. Opening cut and early release “22 (OVER S∞∞N),” opens with what sounds like a lo-fi vocal loop, with a cute auto-tune sample suggesting ‘it might be over soon.’ It’s a unique and gripping introduction, but as soon as Vernon’s falsetto vocals begin spewing pleasant, but incomprehensible lyrics and a disaffected electric guitar accented by floating horns enter the soundscape, the track reveals itself unapologetically Bon Iver. This cut, and the rhythmic, compressed, “10 d E A T h b R E a s T ⚄ ⚄” that follows are among the most sample-driven songs. The latter’s squelchy drum loop is possibly the most ostentatious movement for the entire duration. Not to say that the smaller movements are boring, but there are moments that are staged a bit like adult contemporary. There is a softness and a smoothness that ques accessibility. “8 (circle)” is perhaps the best example, a track that opens with an airy ‘90s vintage synth, flute, and some delay-heavy snare rims. It borders on cheesy, but holds onto a horn-fronted swagger as it builds. The track also holds a tonal and melodic similarity to Frank Ocean’s perfect “Thinking About You,” which serves as a reminder of Vernon’s hip hop connections, without ever getting his feet too wet. The closest Bon Iver gets to stepping out of his own skin is the strangely affecting “715 – CRΣΣKS.” Vernon’s vocals are multiplied and pitched up and down to create robotic harmonies with himself. It works to such great effect, that the relatively clean piano that opens “33 “GOD” immediately thereafter feels a little awkward, especially when the cringe-worthy lyric “I’d be happy as hell if you stayed for tea” jumps out early in the song. This track eventually redeems itself when a fast and complex drum track breaks the rhythm, but this transition, and several others like it, hurt the flow of the record. 22, A Million starts and stops frequently in this manner all the way through its first half, but after “29 #Strafford APTS” kicks in with its familiar acoustic guitar picking and distant pianos, the record settles into a flow that is much more reminiscent of Bon Iver, Bon Iver. The closing track “00000 Million” bookends the record as only Bon Iver can, with a sparkly major key piano ballad intercut with a fitting Fion Regan sample. Once again, the lyrics feel subservient to the soaring vocal melody, but in doing so it removes any inherent cliché in the song’s otherwise pop-standard structure. It’s hard to tell if 22, A Million is the record we wanted from Bon Iver. The production is strange, and often disjointed, but the songwriting is familiar in all the right ways. The textural horns, frequent pianos and hazy synthesizers that permeate the record all feel like Bon Iver at this point, and the few acoustic guitar and banjo features are similarly comforting in their familiarity. The moments where Bon Iver commits the hardest to his new electronic aesthetic and lets samples and modulation define the tone are the most successful, if only because they come the closest to fulfilling the promise of the “Bon Iver goes electronic” narrative. 22, A Million is listenable from front to back, an album through and through, and although not without its awkward moments, is one that should help make your winter another good one. • Liam Prost • Illustration by Greg Doble October 2016 film 31
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