Cake In 15

While watching a Cirque du Soleil show, it’s sometimes difficult to detach to a point of reflection – Cirque is the stage version of an action movie where lots of stuff blows up and there are a few obligatory “romance” scenes to hold your senses at bay and let you recover in order to send you down the next weird camera angle with vehicle debris flying at it.  

Because it’s such a visceral experience, it proves a difficult subject to review.  Much in the way you can’t really review a sporting event (“They sucked tonight.”), the show is the show.  I think it’s fair to say if you enjoy circus, you’ll like KOOZA.  

The basic story-line (thin at first, barely there in the second act) follows an “Innocent” (read, child, or in this case, very small man; one of many very small performers featured in Cirque shows) as he flies his kite unsuccessfully.  A package is dropped off and when he opens it, the Trickster erupts with a flash and smoke, and off we go.

Suffice to say, the acrobatics are stunning and occasionally seem truly death-defying – some to the point of having to fight the urge to look away.

And yes – it is expensive, but if you have the money, it’s probably worth your money.  And if you need some help, follow this link to win tickets to the show (just for giving them your email address, fair trade I’d say) or go here to take advantage of a 30% discounted offer to select shows.  

KOOZA is extended through August 9th, with shows every day except Mondays.  

Tickets range from $50-$125.  Go to koozainstpaul.com for tickets and times.

I admittedly attended Walking Shadow’s regional premiere of Robots vs. Fake Robots this past weekend with relatively low expectations from a play with such a title – It sounds like an easy concept, right? 

And having seen it, I can attest to it being a simple concept, yes, but also surprisingly poignant, occasionally startling, and an unmitigated success.  

Working from the fairly recent (first performed in 2008) new script written by young L.A. playwright David Largman Murray, the play envisions a future set in the year 6000 in which robots – sexy robots – rule the Earth.  The few humans who remain alive have little left to hold on to but their humanity, as the robots refuse to have anything to do with them due to their mammalian scent.  At the heart of the thing, if you cut through the smoky dystopian outer shell, is a remarkably simple little story about two humans, Joe (an excellent John Catron) and Sammie (a heartfelt portrayal from Lindsay Marcy).  They are, or at least were once, in love.  As we meet them, Joe has began to fantasize about the robots, so much so that the only way he can find his partner arousing is when she pushes the “robot fetish” button.  

And who wouldn’t react in such a way?  The androids of Robots vs. Fake Robots are a culmination of vapidity, runway beauty, pop culture as understood by Paris Hilton and American Idol, and very very sexy.  They also intermittently break into sexy robot dance (choreography by Ariel Dumas, also one of the robots) that is both off-putting and hilarious.  They can smell however they want – and Joe wants to be one, or at the very least, sleep with one, although he hasn’t any idea of how to go about it, as humans have never witnessed robot sex; they only know that it is infinitely more interesting and sexy than their own awkward attempts. 

The genuine joy of the production is not the play however – it is the players.  The acting is uniformly solid, and the company seems to enjoy working and playing with each other – they operate as a finely honed ensemble, each complimenting each other, and with no one hogging the spot light.  There are a few who try to over-work the wonky robot text a bit, but for the most part they attack the action with relish, moving the show quickly along to an unexpected climax.  Especially fantastic is the work of Nathan Surprenant as Kneepad, the robot king.  His performance evoked (for me) a mash-up of Rocky Horror Picture Show and the movie Blade Runner in a completely effortless and transfixing manner. 

There are some holes to be sure – the script is a little clunky in places, and there’s some confusion as to the “rules” of the world – who can touch what (the humans are warned not to touch the robots lest they be killed, and the robots “never” touch the humans nor other aging and diseased robots – a staging conundrum mostly ignored by the director), but these are minor complaints.  

Overall, if you came to see dancing sexy robots, you’ll leave happy.  If you came to see the excellent work of the actors, you’ll also leave happy.  If you came just because the title sounded interesting, you should be completely satisfied and then some.  If you don’t often see work on the smaller stages of the Twin Cities, this is a perfect introduction to some of the fine young actors working in the city today.  Go see it. 

There is a pay-what-you-can showing TONIGHT, June 15^th at 7:30 pm, and the show runs through Saturday, June 27^th at the Cedar Riverside People’s Center.  Go to www.walkingshadowcompany.org or call 612-375-0300 for tickets and dates.

This article could also have been titled A Reaction to the Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures. But that would have been an over-lengthy title.

Observation: Now if you google “intelligent homosexual” you get a series of hits on Tony Kushner. That must be nice for him.

Two things before we get into it:

1. Tony Kushner has a Pulitzer Prize. I do not.

2. The show I attended was a preview performance – one of the actors was still carrying a script for a few scenes (one of which apparently was completely new material), and theater ethics prevent me from really reviewing the show, since I didn’t really see the SHOW – I saw a very public rehearsal. Therefore, I’ll offer more of a reaction to the things that won’t change between now and tomorrow – the core ideals, the strength of the performers, and what basically to expect if you go.

It’s exciting to be present at the beginning of something important, and the opportunity to see the first run of a new play written by one of the best and brightest American playwrights is, in and of itself, all the reason I think one needs to attend Tony Kushner’s The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures, playing now (Opening May 22^nd) through mid-June at the Guthrie Theater.

Secondarily exciting is to then engage in a battle of wits with the imaginary Tony Kushner in your head – You can ask him such questions as, “Why do you think it’s necessary to write a play that’s three and a half hours long?,” and “You just came up with a really long and provocative title and then wrote a play to match that title, didn’t you?,” or possibly “What happened to the angels?” Even imaginary Tony in my head won’t answer that last question.

But I must admit – I did miss the angels. Not in the literal sense, as they present themselves in Kushner’s absolutely ground-breaking Angels in America, but the meta-theatrical device and mechanisms they (or something like them) provide. There is a moment in Intelligent Homosexual in which a mysterious item is found in a wall, and my hopes rose – What Brechtian disruption would this contain? But there are no angels in this America, only a longshoreman and his crazy-ass family in a Brooklyn brownstone on the verge of great bubble-burst of 2007. For those of you who prefer their theater Chekhovian, this may come as a relief – but I love the risk and ultimate reward of throwing your audience up against the fourth wall and pulling them through for awhile. This play lives firmly behind its fourth wall and cheerfully churns away at a fistful of big issues such as life, death, family, sexuality, commodity, capitalism, the housing market, communism, divisions of labor and class, fidelity, and ultimately…

And here’s where I’d ask Tony in my head, “What is this play about, really?”

Because for all the brilliant scenes and massively challenging dialogue, for all the intellectual psychology, for all the history and mythos contained within this sprawling story of a family in Brooklyn, I still couldn’t uncover the prevailing and enduring reason for their story to be told. The characters are magnificently realized by the actors playing them (even as some of the character arcs are still falling into place), but the over-arching logic and sense of what is at stake is hiding somewhere unseen and never uncovered. Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the level of stakes back to that old Play With Angels, but in that world, SHIT WAS FALLING APART! Angels were plunging through ceilings, people were dying left and right, heaven itself was eroding and abandoned. And it was only with that level of incredibly immediate and heightened stakes and reality that a seven-hour epic play could gather and build such a gripping momentum and inevitability.

To me – now – here – little old non-Pulitzer Prize winner me – easy for me to talk: For me, it seemed like no matter the amount of research and thought that went into the creation of Intelligent Homosexual, it ultimately was written around and on top of a series of philosophy and ideas that Mr. Kushner cares deeply about but is unable to bring onto stage with immediacy. It’s a study – Intellectual, psychological, beautiful, and messy. Admire the craft, for it is masterful. But the play itself? I’m not sure.

I’ll probably go back and see it again sometime in June, see if things have coalesced a bit more. In the meantime, I highly recommend that you see it – maybe you’ll find the key that I was missing.

A few weeks ago I found myself at Treehouse Records browsing through their “New Arrivals” bin and contemplating change. This was me, seven years ago, except you’d have to substitute Cheapo for Treehouse and substitute “Used CD’s” for “New Arrivals” and substitute the album I did buy (Mountains, Choral) with a used God Street Wine disc that I still have, somewhere, and have probably listened to all of three times. I should sell it back to Cheapo and see if the quarter they offer me for it is any less insulting than it used to be.

I was reminded of this past me mostly by the familiarity of the activity – fingering through album after album, stopping at the ones that seemed interesting (although I couldn’t tell you why), and often leaving the store having purchased something by a band I’d never heard of. This can be risky but ultimately quite rewarding if it’s the music you’re after. I suppose if you’re more of a music-as-apparel buyer (“Oh yeah, I bought that album, it’s great, I like it a lot. You can come over and I’ll burn it for you!”), you’ll already have planned out all the records you would consider buying and we’ll leave it at that, but occasionally it’s a good idea to grab something you’ve never heard of, which is what I did at Treehouse that day.

Here's a picture of the album cover.

Hard to say what it reminds me of, or tells me, but it got my attention for some reason (and interestingly, I would later find it as one of six images in Entertainment Weekly, the game being that three of the images were album covers and the other five were wall paper samples and you were intended to identify which was which – I got this record and Animal Collective right, but didn’t know the third one.) The band was called Mountains, and the album entitled Choral, both of which seemed fairly safe, given my general love of mountains and my over-all enjoyment of choruses. The back of the record informed me that it was a Thrill Jockey release (not a bad sign), and among the list of instruments used I found that a glockenspiel was utilized, which sealed the deal.

“Ever heard of these guys?” I asked the guy at the counter as I spent $17 blindly.

“Nope,” he said.

Or maybe it was the “Limited Release – Only 2000 printed” sticker than enticed me, because clearly some barely known School of Art Institute of Chicago graduates named Brendon Anderegg and Koen Holtkamp (friends since childhood) are going to make a record so monumental that by having a first-edition copy of it will propel me into the upper echelon of the rare record society. Only 2000 printed = Fame & Fortune, does it not?

So how was the album? Good, actually. Really good. Recorded mostly live and utilizing field recordings from a thunderstorm on the Arizonian desert, it’s slow and vast and aching – great late night writing music, which, frankly, is harder to find than you might think.

A day later, enthused by my gamble, I did it again in a different format. I don’t even remember how I got to the web page, but I found that the atmospheric rock orchestral one-man band known as Eluvium is in fact a gentleman named Matthew Robert Cooper, and that he had recently released an album called Miniatures, which I impulsively purchased using my almost forgotten Paypal account.

Again, perhaps it was the “Only 2000 printed – 1000 on French Vanilla colored wax” that got me, or perhaps it was my sudden recollection that sometimes it’s FUN to not quite know what it that you’re getting, but I hit purchase almost before I had time to contemplate it.

A week later, I got the record (French Vanilla colored wax… yum. It sounds like it’d taste good, doesn’t it?) and took it home and gave it a play, and while equally minimal to the afore-mentioned Mountains album, it’s more forlorn, less warm, more A.M. radio static at three in the morning. Echoing piano phrases travel through the dense space of MRC’s compositions un-impeded until they vanish into the darkness, only to be followed by another chord. A few of the tracks bear close resemblance to an Eluvium track, but it’s the solitary wavering piano chords being fired into the void that resonate with me the most.

The album is issued by Gaarden records, it’s a vinyl-only release, and last I checked they have ONE in stock at Treehouse. If anyone goes out and buys it, let me know if it’s French Vanilla or not – I couldn’t help but wonder.

Be adventurous. Buy something you haven’t heard of this week.

Or if not, read about those who have and follow their examples.

I bought Dark Was the Night a couple weeks back on vinyl – it was sort of an impulse buy, and the vinyl was $28 while the CD was $15, but I got it anyway. I took it home, opened it up, and discovered that despite my extra $13 expenditure, the package did not come with a digital download.

Which takes me to my second point first, and then I’ll talk about the record.

No, let’s talk about the record now. It’s great. Here are the reasons why.

a) The National’s “So Far Around the Bend” is my favorite song of 2009 so far. I haven’t any idea why, except it just sounds… right. Upon arriving home from Chicago last week on the first 60-degree day and the true arrival of spring in Minneapolis, I was driving over the 35W bridge (which is still fun to drive over – new feeling) in the bright sunshine and this song came on the radio. Every time I hear the song, I want to go listen to the whole record.

b) Sufjan Stevens has a ten-minute track that’s very interestingly out of character, but also very much in character. This is to say, it sounds a bit like his first couple of recordings, the music going anywhere he wants it to, including large pauses and noisy crashing dissonance.

c) The New Pornographers do a cover of an A.C. Newman song (“Hey, Snow White”) that culminates pretty much everything I like about both A.C. Newman and the New Pornographers all in one three minute track – drama, big choruses with lots of vocal tracks, and a strange sense of comfortable sugar intake… It’s not too sweet, just sweet enough.

d) And really, practically each track is like that. The normal expectation of a compilation release is a bunch of critically touted groups doing strange sloppy covers, or throwing an outtake into the mix. Instead, Dark Was the Night is a collection of songs that each artist would be wise to build an album around – for the most part; they are quintessentially the essence of what makes each group unique, interesting, and relevant. AND, they all play well together. (Mostly.)

e) The money goes to charity!

So go buy it already, if you haven’t already.

And here’s my second point, which could easily be a separate blog post but I’m on a roll now so I’m just going to keep going. VINYL RELEASES SHOULD HAVE DIGITAL DOWNLOADS! Or at least, the option of a digital download for, I don’t know, $3 extra. Essentially, I am done with CD’s. They are cheap, yes – typically a couple bucks more than download only, which I am happy to pay for the artwork and the physical sensation of having the album in hand (it helps in a High Fidelity sort of tracking methodology as well – to remember where you were and what was going on when you bought a certain album is at least 25 % of the draw). However, CD’s just don’t feel right anymore, and their recession has been well documented. Vinyl, on the other hand, is experiencing a modest uptick in popularity – helped, I’m sure, by more and more new releases getting issued both on vinyl and CD. The record is cooler, right? It feels heavier – there’s more room for art work – there’s some sense of “value,” that perhaps if no one else buys the album, or maybe they’ll all destroy their copies accidently, and then your record will be worth something. This may well be as untrue as my sense that the baseball cards I spent thousands of dollars on between the ages of 9-16 would be worth more (try $0.04 a card on average) in the years that followed, but the feeling persists. I am making an investment. I will hold onto this for awhile.

All those good feelings! Except, you can only listen to it in your living room, or where the record player is. Given that the trend is unmistakably swinging back towards vinyl, and given that most people have shown that they’ll spend an extra $2-5 to get the record (over the CD), why not just add another $2 onto that and guarantee a digital download with every record? Some have it, some don’t, and some don’t inform you either way – it’s like opening a plastic Easter Egg that you get from the mall and finding the quarter you paid to get the egg in the first place on the inside.

No, it isn’t like that. That doesn’t even make sense. But you get my point.

Here’s what I’m saying, really.

a) Buy Dark Was the Night.

b) On vinyl.

c) But don’t expect a digital download.

In Walking Shadow Theatre Company’s regional premiere of Albert Camus’ Caligula, all the emperor wants is to possess the moon – to have what cannot be had, to turn impossible on its head and in doing so, to show people the truth of life (or at least, his well-thought out but perhaps ill-conceived interpretation of such a truth.)  It’s an intriguing take on what is historically viewed as a reign of madness and cruelty, but I couldn’t help but feel that the production fell somewhat short on delivering us the moon, instead choosing to precisely stage an essay as opposed to aggressively pursuing the deeper implications embedded in the text. 

Caligula, third emperor of Rome and only 27 years old, is missing in the opening moments of the play.  Upon his return, he is seized with a feverish desire to play fate, to turn logic into disarray, and it is his unique ability given the unchecked power he possesses to use the Roman citizens as his play-things in a ballet of madness that quickly de-evolves into cruelty, rape and murder.   Alliances are formed and broken, poets are much abused, and (I’m not giving anything away here, it’s historical,) Caligula finds himself in the possession of his death before the moon. 

While the first half is pretty slow going, the play begins to find some tension and conflict in the second act as even Caligula’s closest allies begin to fray at the edges when faced by the terrible reality and consequences of the emperor’s actions.  A key scene between Helicon (Charles Hubbell) and the writer Cherea (Sam Landman) jacks up the stakes momentarily, but that momentum slowly fades into an ending that, while inevitable, fails to land home. 

I highly recommend seeing the show in order to enjoy the solid performances from a number of the cast members, with Sam Landman, Charles Hubbell, and Sid Solomon standing out in particular.  Dave Gangler’s portrayal of Caligula is interesting and energetic, and it is certainly a challenging role, but I found myself pleading him to push it farther – past the bounds of logic so carefully argued throughout, and into a more transcendent and dangerous place so as to earn some of the catharsis in the climatic moments of the play.  To answer the “why” question – why did Caligula act as though he did – is to end the play.  Once we know why, there’s no reason to go on.  I felt as though the script presented the possibility of a hall of mirrors, in which each “realization of truth” would fracture into a thousand smaller questions, and so on and so forth.  This production doesn’t dwell quite long enough in this dramatic hallway, instead choosing a faithful and careful route that feels more clinical than explorative. 

Still, it’s difficult material and I find it hard to discourage such ambition.  The set is beautiful, the actors find a few wonderful moments to shine, and perhaps with time momentum and tension will find their grip early and not let go. 

Caligula, written by Albert Camus and directed by Amy Rummenie, plays February 12-28, 2009 at the Red Eye Theater.  Ticket prices are $14-$16.  For reservations, call 612-375-0300 and/or visit www.walkingshadowcompany.org for more information.

Some few months before the swollen floodwaters of the Red River would overtake the Empire Theater and a fire would rage next door, ravaging a portion of downtown Grand Forks, Leo Kottke played there. It was probably January or February of 1997, the snowiest and coldest winter I can remember (although our current season is beginning to come close), and for Christmas my mother gave me two tickets to go see Leo, whom I’d never heard of. I was perhaps begrudging, being asked to go see a folk singer, really? We had gone to see Boiled in Lead a year or so prior to be sure, but that was different. They were inspired in part by Metallica, and their fiddle player had long wild hair and played on an electric blue fiddle. That was cool. This seemed boring.

“I could go with you if you like,” my mom said. “I’ll take Robin.” I said. Robin was my closest friend at the time. I had just transferred to EGF Senior High School and didn’t know anyone all too well, but Robin would go with me – she had a boyfriend so it wouldn’t seem like a date, and she was pretty much up for anything, which made her a safe choice to accompany me to go see the unknown folk singer. The coming flood would wash her house all the way out into the country next to mine. Not literally, of course. The water filled her century-old house up to the ceiling of the first floor but didn’t destroy the foundation, and her family would pull it out of the ground and move it by truck six miles out into the country but just one mile from me, making her my closest and only neighborhood friend. (more…)

A couple days before Christmas, Minneapolis packed the Cedar Cultural Center to the brim, standing room only, people pulling chairs this way and that, scurrying around trying to find the best possible view. As Chastity Brown took the stage, I suddenly imagined myself as John Cusak in that scene in High Fidelity where Marie De Salle takes the stage – it’s that moment when a really good singer-songwriter first opens his or her mouth and the first word sort of rolls across the audience and everyone perceivably locks into focus – the kind of moment that makes you wish you were John Cusak in some movie falling in love (however momentarily) with some blow-you-away folk singer up there on the stage. Chastity Brown scores high marks in all the Marie De Salle categories. She’s a little mysterious, a touch aloof, she’s got great hair, she plays guitar well, she plays saxophone even better, and despite nursing a sore throat on the night in question, her voice wraps you up and doesn’t let you go. Her set bounced around between your fairly straight-forward singer-songwriter fare and some jazzy bluesy full-band numbers without much effort, and while I enjoyed the slower and mid-range numbers (her voice carries you through the whole experience), I thought that her set closer really revealed her full potential – a jangly, bluegrass number that lifted the stakes for the remainder of the evening.

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Listening to Western Fifth’s recent release Stand Like a Thief is a little like dancing that achingly fleeting slow dance with the girl (or guy, depending) that you almost but never quite asked out in high school. This is not to say by any means that the music itself evokes high school – it feels more like the late nights spent on porches across America at the end of a party where those remaining are a little too drunk to get home and so sit, smoke cigarettes and wait for sobriety or dawn, whichever comes first. Add those two (somewhat disparate) elements together and you’ll get a basic approximation of this encompassing and enjoyable debut offering.

When put onto I-Tunes, the Genre listed is “Country,” which lead me to wonder who makes the determination of the genre. Does the band get to decide what their genre is? If asked to pick a genre for Western Fifth, I’d probably offer up some strange hybrid like post-country shoe-gaze indie rock, which doesn’t fit in the genre box on I-Tunes, so it’s probably best that no one asked me. The band has an interesting and rewarding way of reminding the listener of a different band with every listening. Upon repeat visits, I have uncovered sounds and songs influenced or reminiscent of Wilco, The Walkmen (see below for why this isn’t an influence), Okkervil River, and surprisingly upon my most recent listen – a dose of early Jakob Dylan and the Wallflowers. Listen to the burst of organ on the their third track “In the End I Went Away” and see if you can disagree.

Cake in 15 was lucky enough to secure an exclusive email interview with Western Fifth’s singer/guitar player Ryan Holweger! While the fact that the questions are mostly longer than the answers might call into question my journalistic abilities, I will respond by saying that a) I’m a writer, not a journalist, and b) think of it as an interactive interview/review and you’ll be just fine. Enjoy!

Cake in 15: The first time I listened to the new album all the way through, I was driving between Chicago & Minneapolis, having dropped my fiancée off at the airport to fly off to New York, leaving me on my own for three long weeks. My Ipod got in a fight with the car stereo system and froze. I had brought the “Stand Like A Thief” album along to see how it felt on the road, and due to the sudden loss of Ipod (at 10 am, I might add – Two hours into a six hour drive) I put it in and sped through the Madison area. Would you consider this the best way to listen to the album? If you could chose, when & where would you recommend a listening party for maximum aesthetic & emotional impact?

Ryan Holweger: Although I think listening while driving is a good way to hear this record, it might be better suited for a dimly lit room, a couch, some liquor, and a good set of headphones. I think a good place for a listening party would be a small, cozy dive-bar, or maybe in the living room of an old house.

C15: Do you hate being compared to other bands? For instance, if I said that upon first listen I was instantly reminded of Okkervil River’s *Down the River of Golden Dreams*, would you be annoyed or pleased? Would you rather be compared to The Walkmen?

RH: I’d be very pleased with a comparison to Okkervil River (one of my favorite bands). I’ve never heard the Walkmen, so I guess I’m not sure about that. I don’t think I’d ever be annoyed with comparisons to other bands, as long as it holds some merit. I feel that it’s a very effective way to give a reader a good idea on how a band might sound.

C15: Name one band you’d love to be mentioned in the same breath with, as well as one that you’d rather never be compared to again.

RH: I’m not sure if there is one single band I want to be compared to the most, but we are pleased with the different comparisons we’ve had so far (Wilco, Band of Horses, The Replacements, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, Okkervil River, etc). As far as a band we’d never want to be compared to again, I’m not sure I can answer that. I suppose we’d have to be compared to a band that we don’t like before we can hope it never happens again. That being said, I hope no one ever compares us to The Eagles.

C15: The air of melancholia pervades the album – Seeps through the cracks, and many of the lyrics deal with death, love, defiance, or a combination of all three. As artists, do you find that writing in a certain mood helps to articulate your work?

RH: I find that for the most part, the mood definitely has an effect on the writing, in that I typically don’t write unless I’m in a certain mood. If I’m not in that certain mood, then the songwriting doesn’t happen. I rarely just decide to sit down and try write a song – it usually only happens after an idea comes first. That’s not always the case, but generally that’s the way it is.

C15: Do you seek to immerse your listener in the world that you’ve built, or is it enough to simply offer up a song for the listener to react to however he or she chooses?

RH: I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about like that. For the most part, we just hope the listener will take the time to enjoy the music, and hopefully get something out of it if they choose to – if they become immersed in the song, or the album as a whole, that is even better.

C15: What’s next? Where can the Cake in 15 readers find Western Fifth in the near future?

RH: Well, we’ll be playing out around the Twin Cities as usual, hopefully getting some people interested in the new album. We’re also promoting it a bit in Europe and getting some airplay, so we hope to build on that as well, maybe sell some records over there. We’ll probably do another tour sometime next year. This past summer we hit a bunch of Midwestern & southern states (Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, Kansas, Missouri) so hopefully we can go back to those places, and maybe to the East Coast, too.

C15: Thank you! Readers can access the band’s Myspace page here and the album is out and available and highly recommended.

My sophomore year at the U of M, I enrolled in an upper level Cultural Studies course called “Music as Discourse.” We spent the large part of a winter digging deep into pieces of music – Laurie Anderson’s O Superman, a version of Oh Danny Boy as sung by an Irish folk singer whose name has faded into the unreadable makeup of my memory, Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska, even Sir Mix-a-lot. We discussed authenticity versus superficiality, and how two almost identical songs can leave the listener feeling wholly different based on a variety of almost indeterminate factors. I took a test, got a B+ (which I am legitimately proud of, as my CLA adviser was taking the same class and could only manage a C), and moved on with college life. I have not directly applied the skills I was taught in that class in life, but if there was ever a chance to do so, I give you the new Of Montreal album, Skeletal Lamping.

To start with the title – Kevin Barnes (who pretty much is Of Montreal, at least in the studio) says, “This record is my attempt to bring all of my puzzling, contradicting, disturbing, humorous…fantasies, ruminations and observations to the surface, so that I can better dissect and understand their reason for being in my head. Hence the title, Skeletal Lamping. Lamping is the name of a rather dreadful hunting technique where, hunters go into the forest at night, flood an area in light, then shoot, or capture, the animals as they panic and run from their hiding places.”

All right, good! Even Kevin seems to understand that making puzzling, contradicting, disturbing music is, how does one say, not commercially viable. This unflinching chaos and confusion (sexual and otherwise) is this fully realized and difficult album’s main strength, and perhaps, if you’re not into non-linear post-gender meta-intellectual sex philosophy, you’ll find it to be the biggest weakness as well. That, and the beautifully poppy hooks that emerge from the sea of Barnes only last about 30 seconds on average, before moving on to some darker place (al beit momentarily – the last track on the album is an undeniable runway romp, complete with the empty eyes and turns of the runway model.)

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