On Mulholland Drive. Again.

Every time that I hear that ominous hum and step into the world of Mulholland Drive, my heart stops. Or, rather, it expands, and fills me with a rather complex feeling of warmth, dread and confusion. It is every shade of the original meaning of the word 'awesome' rolled into one perfect cinematic experience, and after all these years I still cannot get over it.

Mulholland Drive is my favourite film of all time, and this time in Warsaw, I finally got the chance to see it on the big screen. Besides the sheer joy of watching the film for the umpteenth time, I was genuinely excited about sharing this experience with those who have never seen Mulholland Drive before. I envy them. In their presence, I feel like a smoking addict who has to abstain but who can still sniff nicotine off the cigarettes of other people. I feel like a Belarusian who cannot go back but who leans closer to those who hold tickets for tomorrow.

The cinema in central Warsaw was not packed but it did not need to be. This was a special one-off screening very late in the evening, on Easter Monday, that was not heavily advertised. Which means that everyone who came simply had to be there. They gasped, they gulped, they held their breath. Every step of the way there was a sense that I knew exactly what they were going through: the thrill, the bewilderment, the inexplicable catharsis. I fed off their energy.

Not that I needed that to enjoy Mulholland Drive, of course. The world of David Lynch is so multi-dimensional you can always discover a new turn or a passage you have never seen before. The song from the Silencio club will get a new undertone. The close-up in apartment 17 will appear more shocking. The nightmare recounted in Winkie's diner will acquire a new meaning. This time, for instance, I was more impressed than ever by the clarity of Lynch's vision and how tight that surreal and seemingly confusing world really is. For every loose end disappears and every key finds its lock. Like I have always said: if you do not understand Inland Empire, it is okay. That film is not even entirely gettable, other than on a purely intuitive level. Saying that about Mulholland Drive, however, betrays a certain lack of attention.

So it was a little less dread and confusion this time, and a lot more warmth. Because even at his most shocking and brutal (it was just as brutal for the actors, too, and I remember an interview with Naomi Watts where she spoke about her frustration while the famous couch scene was being shot), you get the feeling that there is always good around the corner, not just evil. It is always there, an inherent part in David Lynch's films. And whether it is present in reality or in a dream is somewhat immaterial - because when it comes to Lynch, those two realms are of absolutely equal importance. 

"Forever Howlong" by Black Country, New Road

First of all, why do I even care? I care because over the past three years I have come to view Ants From Up There as something of a modern-day classic. Normally, it takes a little longer for that word to sink in and take shape, and yet every time I put this album on, it just keeps astounding me with its melodic intensity and Isaac Wood's mystique. Ants From Up There is nervy, rich and expansive. It is like Funeral for the 2020s. 

The live album of all new material in 2023 proved that there was, indeed, life after Isaac Wood, and I even went to see them during the European tour later that year. In a rather small club in Warsaw (certainly smaller than their current stock would suggest), they were both charming and brilliant. They refused to play anything from the first two albums, which I thought was commendable, but they did perform a few songs from their much anticipated third studio album. The new material sounded great, and I still can't forget the emotional outburst of a Polish guy standing next to me: "Your new album is going to be fire!"

And now, a year and a half later, the new album is here. It is titled Forever Howlong, and you either hate it or love it to death. 

Another incentive for this review was a snide dismissal of the album I have recently come across on the Internet. Two words, in fact, that were supposed to encapsulate everything that is wrong with Forever Howlong.  'Whimsical and convoluted'. Because, oddly, I concur. It is both incisive and absolutely true. The problem is - I still think this is a great album  and the second best thing they have ever done.

As it is customary with Black Country, New Road, the album requires multiple listens. Which I guess is a very generic thing to say but this, in fact, is where the 'convoluted' bit comes into play. Because the melodies are certainly there. Rather conventional showtime styled tunes crop up in songs like "Salem Sisters" and "The Big Spin" but it is as if they are genuinely frightened of being too accessible, too on the nose, and thus they keep twisting and bending those melodies and overriding them with new ones. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, because these guys know their way around a good vocal hookline. As a matter of fact, I was singing the somewhat throwawayish "The Big Spin" to myself earlier today. Not the full thing, mind you, but a few of those unforgettable snippets.

Alternatively, Forever Howlong can be described as progressive folk for people suffering from attention deficiency. It is fragmented and, indeed, convoluted. It is filled with the sounds of a recorder and features lyrics about apple pies and gut microbiomes. That is to say, it is very whimsical. At first, I could even understand the disappointment, it is just that the intriguing songcraft and excellent musicianship always made me come back for me.  

With that said, even after five or six listens I still do not get the title song. To my ears, it features no melody whatsoever at all and is basically just five endless minutes of cutesy cuteness (chop it off, and you get a perfectly serviceable single album). Also, I do miss the voice of the saxophone guy who, as it transpires, was originally supposed to sing "Salem Sisters". I have nothing against the three ladies who perform on Forever Howlong, but the vocal diversity of Live At Bush Hall was a great touch. Finally, there is a sense that the production is a little overwrought and deprives these songs of a certain air that made them so appealing in the live setting. 

But those complaints are, in fact, minor quibbles, because Forever Howlong just gets better with every listen. The details keep piling on, and I am not only talking about the four six-minute epics which dominate this album (one of them is, of course, titled "Socks" - clearly they are not above painting a big target on their backs (just look at that cover)). Shorter songs like "Goodbye (Don't Tell Me)" and "Happy Birthday" are all intricately played and intricately composed. Even the ballad "Mary" which may at first appear somewhat uneventful features a complex melody that you might just start singing along to. Out of the epics, my favourite is probably the gorgeous and protean "Two Horses" that masterfully transitions from sweet lyricism to the beautiful and ever-intensifying galloping rhythm (the one that comes after the majestic 'night and day' vocal hook).

Do they always deliver? Is the pay off always worth it? Is there orgasm after foreplay and endless teasing? Having lived with this album for almost a week now, I would say yes. Ants From Up There was a more cohesive and concerted statement and thus hit me harder, but the sheer amount of ideas they managed to cram into this album is still very impressive. Forever Howlong is flawed. It is, yes, whimsical and convoluted. But what a special and supremely talented band they are. I can't wait to see what they do next.

Great albums: HEARTWORM by Whipping Boy

Each time that I listen to this album it creates a lump in my throat so fucking big it threatens to rip me apart. Heartworm (what a horrible word, really, yet can you think of a more fitting title?) just keeps going through my life, soundtracking various moments and situations and wreaking beautiful havoc. I first heard this album around fifteen years ago, and I do not think there has ever been a point when it hasn't spoken to me or hasn't filled me with a new degree of affection.

Heartworm is somewhat unique in the sense that nothing in the group's previous work pointed to it. Submarine, their debut, was bog-standard shoegaze album that did not distinguish itself by anything. You could speak about those early records by Pulp, too, yet even those had some very good material on them. You could bring up The Wrens, of course, but their two 90s showed promise. Whereas the conviction and the sheer towering quality of Heartworm came completely out of nowhere. 

Quite simply, you can throw a dart into that track list and tell me this is your favourite song on the album. I will believe you. That side A by itself annihilates most albums that got critical and public acclaim in the 90s. Each song is filled with personality, intensity, catharsis. "Tripped", for instance, just doesn't stop building up and delivering. The single "We Don't Need Nobody Else" would be a timeless classic even without that middle-eight but with it, it becomes phenomenal. And how about the ending of "The Honeymoon Is Over" where each repetition just grows and grows in intensity?

Side B, though, is just as good, and there will be days when I could tell you that "Users" is their best song, to only be disproven yet again by the Dublin Symphony Orchestra creating that relentless power that is woven into the magnificent "Fiction". Or else the more lyrical, subdued magic of the strings-drenched "Personality" which could really be the best ballad-type song on the album were it not for the closing "Morning Rise" that brings the whole thing to a beautiful melodic close.  

The lyrics, too, are some of the greatest I've heard on a rock album. Real drama, and pain, and anguish, and even occasional moments of disarming romance. Some of the more acerbic gems can be found in "We Don't Need Nobody Else" (I just have to quote this part: "They built portholes for Bono, so he could gaze / Out across the bay and sing about mountains / Maybe.") "The Honeymoon Is Over" is a devastating update of Chet Baker's "The Thrill Is Gone", and the blistering lyrics of "When We Were Young" need to be posted in their hair-raising entirety (because they are that good):

"When we were young nobody died
And nobody got older
The toughest kid in the street
Could always be bought over
And the first time that you loved
You had all your life to live
At least that's what you said

The first time you got drunk
You drank pernod and dry cider
Smashed a window in as the police came round the corner
You didn't have no time to run
And your dad stood up for you
As the judge said you're a fool

Babies, sex and flagons, shifting women, getting stoned
Robbing cars, bars and pubs, rubber johnnies, poems
Starsky and Hutch gave good TV
And Starsky looked like me

The first time that you stole
You stole rubber lips and tenners
Bought a radio then ran away for ever
Never felt so good, never felt so good with you

When we were young we had no fear
Of love nor sex nor warnings
Everyone was hanging out, everyone was sorted
When we were young nobody knew
Who you were or what you'd do
Nobody had a past that catches up on you

Babies, sex and flagons, shifting women, getting stoned
Robbing cars, bars and pubs, rubber johnnies, poems
Starsky and Hutch gave good TV
And Starsky looked like me

With a start he was awoken
From the middle of a dream
He's making movies in his head
That never will be seen
He's holding Oscars in his hands
And kissing beauty queens
What might have been
What might have been
When we were young"

Heartworm is so accomplished and powerful, it actually broke the group. On the one hand, the sales were not good enough, and the album sank into obscurity and became a cult classic. On the other hand, where could they go from here? (Actually, I'm also a big fan of their posthumously released third album, even if it is more of a collection of songs rather than a cohesive statement like Heartworm). 

In truth, I don't even need to listen to this record anymore to know exactly, second by second, how it will go. That sad, lonesome violin playing a vaguely Irish tune at the start, and then that deceptively tired rhythm and Fearghal McKee powerful voice... I know it so well I can play it all in my head. And yet a moment comes and I cannot resist. I press play and the whole thing blows me away for a millionth time.

"Жыццё ў дванаццаці апавяданнях"

Невялікае паведамленне. Выйшла нарэшце мая першая кніга, "Жыццё ў дванаццаці апавяданнях", якую можна набыць у электронным фармаце. Дарэчы, кніга выйшла яшчэ ў мінулым годзе, але ў продажы з'явілася толькі цяпер. Таму запрашаю на старонку выдавецтва (у Беларусі праз VPN): 

https://knihauka.com/pravalocki

Гэтая кніга месціць дванаццаць аповедаў, якія можна разглядаць як асобныя творы, але якія адначасова цесна звязаныя паміж сабой. Сувязь гэтая - жыццё беларускага мастака, якое праходзіць праз розных людзей, розныя падзеі і нават розныя кантыненты. Храналогія пазначана ў назвах апавяданняў: 1979, 1996, 2017... Апошні, дарэчы, пазначаны як 20..., бо невымоўнае зло можа здарыцца ў любы момант. Так мне падавалася, калі я пісаў "Вялікі шум", і так мне падаецца і сёння.  

P.S. І яшчэ кароткі анонс. Цягам года (спадзяюся, у першай яго палове) выйдзе мая другая кніга, "Цягнік да Познані". Гэта будзе ўжо іншае выдавецтва, і гэтым разам кніга будзе як электронная, так і папяровая. Пазней напішу крыху падрабязней. 

Peter Perrett in Madrid, 02.03

There are not too many things in the world that can beat the sheer adrenaline rush that runs into your head the moment that chugging guitar rhythm spells the beginning of "Another Girl, Another Planet". But if something can, it is Peter Perrett doing it live. 

I always knew I would have to be there. There was no way I would be scared away by the scandalous weather in Madrid (incessant rain, for days upon days) and avoid seeing Peter Perrett live on what may well be his final tour. There were just too many reasons for me to be there, really, not least because The Cleansing could be his greatest album ever and because ten years ago I was in this very city falling in love with his voice and the Only Ones' first album for the first time in my life.

After a brief warm-up performance by Jamie Perrett (he is really good, and has clearly inherited some of his father's melodic sensibilities), he appeared on the stage in the black baggy trousers and the black baggy T-shirt and the inevitable black glasses. This was a moment of pure electric shock. Not simply because he is one of my biggest music heroes but because even now, at the age of 72, he just looks so cool. At that point, and just as the band (which featured no less than two of Peter's sons) was about to lash into "I Wanna Go With Dignity", a man in front of me collapsed on the floor. Thank God, the recovery was quick and almost magical, and there was something both disturbing and oddly fitting about the whole scene.

And then it started, the hook-laden onslaught of some of the most raggedly melodic songs in existence. Once, remember, Peter Perrett wrote a song in which he brought together a wet dream and alien abduction and made it an absolute classic. While the song in question ("Woke Up Sticky") was not performed this Sunday night, the setlist was unimpeachable. Clearly his voice is more or less shot at this point. In fact, as he introduced "Heavenly Day" (I will reiterate: the song is every bit as good as Lou Reed's "Perfect Day"), he warned that it was going to test his vocal range. But it was all fine in the end. The cracked vulnerability was there, and I could not hold back the tears. 

The songs ranged from early Only Ones' classics ("The Beast", "Flaming Torch") to his latest album (besides the anthemic "Fountain Of You", he also did the amazing "Mixed Up Confucius" that had me screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs). The band was good, too, and the flashy histrionics of Jamie Perrett would have been too flashy had it not been for the brilliance of his playing. He did not quite nail the solo of "Another Girl, Another Planet", I'm afraid, but everything else was a fucking hoot. 

Just two songs for an encore (with every drop savoured and treasured, of course), and that was that. A brief goodbye, and the long aftertaste of one of the best, most emotional concerts I had ever witnessed. Even the rain stopped for a little while, for the first time in days. 

 

February Round-Up

I'm actually writing this on the plane, so the writing may appear shaky and somewhat sketchy. Even dismissive. But then again... maybe that was the nature of this month?..

A Guided by Voices kind of month. Universe Room was everything you need to know about Robert Pollard's songwriting circa 2025. A decent lo-fi indie rock fare with a few flashes of brilliance. "The Great Man" in particular is a highlight and well worthy of your imaginary Guided by Voices compilation. A couple of lovely ballads, too. None of which could mask the fact that if you never cared in the first place, there is no reason why you should start doing so now. 

Apparently, House Of All are now going to follow the Fall work-rate and release one album per year. A noble aim no doubt, but after the excellent debut album from 2023, they have been relatively disappointing. House of All Souls is probably better than the previous one, but other than the driving opener "The Devil's House" and the slightly more downbeat last two songs, this lacks the oomph of their first album. I like the style, I just need better songs. 

The Murder Capital are now in danger of never realising their true potential. Blindness sports a great cover and three excellent singles ("Words Lost Meaning" is almost Whipping Boy-worthy) and lots of mid-tempo songs that blend together without leaving much of an impression. Make no mistake, Blindness is rather good, but my feeling is that they have an Irish classic in them. A Heartworm, perhaps. Well, maybe not that, but something a little more consistent. 

I'm still not quite sure about Squid. I found the edgy, tastefully disjointed post-rock of their previous album very intriguing, but Cowards lacks a bit in the songwriting department. The final three song punch almost saves it, but not quite. 

The Delines are doing great things, as ever, with their nocturnal vibes, soulful lyricism and excellent musicianship. Mr. Luck & Ms. Doom is yet another winner in their catalogue. The first side feels like a brilliant mood-setter, and the second side is absolutely phenomenal. The vocal hook of "Don't Miss Your Buss Lorraine"? The lilting piano line in "The Haunting Thoughts"? The unforgettable middle-eight of "JP and Me"? The classy groove of "Nancy & The Pensacola Pimp" bubbling with lyrical tension? The entirety of "Maureen's Gone Missing"? One of the albums of the year, surely. 

I understand that Sam Fender is now one of Britain's greatest music hopes, but I'm afraid I just do not hear it. People Watching is no different from his two previous albums. It sounds like a cross between The Killers and Bruce Springsteen, but lacks the edge of either. And The Killers never had too much edge to begin with. 

God knows what Nicky Wire and James Dean Bradfield are doing to their legacy with these late period Manic Street Preachers albums. Critical Thinking is just dull. It is dull when they are trying to do something different (like with the opener) and it is dull when they are being conservative (which is most of this album). I don't get it. Nicky Wire released a brilliant solo album two years ago, and now we are back to this. Bizarre. 

Songs of the month:

"Maureen's Gone Missing" by The Delines

"The Great Man" by Guided by Voices

"It's Amazing To Be Young" by Fontaines DC

"Words Lost Meaning" by The Murder Capital

"Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" by Destroyer

"Tipu House" by Jethro Tull

"Born At Dawn And Dead At Sunset" by House of All

Three films. Thumbs up.

First, I would just like to mention two that did not make this list. One is Lee, which apparently many people were too cool to appreciate. Various critics have called it too conservative or else boringly conventional, but I beg to differ. I loved this film. I loved the subject matter (and have long been interested in Lee Miller's work) and thought Kate Winslet gave one of her best ever performances (which does say something). Plus, how could you ever resist that ending? 

Also, not because it is a masterpiece or anything like that, but simply because the reviews were undeservedly cruel, I would just like to say a few good words about Slingshot. It is a harrowing sci-fi film about a mission to Saturn's moon that kept me on edge all the way through. Casey Affleck really is one of the finest actors of his generation.

The Brutalist / dir. by Brady Corbet

I'm sorry for the obvious pun, but this was indeed rather brutal. Despite the short 15-minute intermission, the length of the film (three and a half hours) was definitely a challenge. That said, I left the cinema completely overwhelmed by Brady Corbet's cinematic language. That of nervous half-truths, horrible hints, half-closed doors and devastating understatements. Each and every scene in the film, every conversation, is imbued with the director's unique voice. 

First time that it unsettled me was back in 2015, when I saw his powerful debut The Childhood of a Leader. With Scott Walker's pounding, unnerving score, that film felt like it was speaking a different language. Scott Walker is now long dead, of course (The Brutalist is actually dedicated to him), but the score still retains those grandiose qualities. It certainly goes well with the brutalist architecture that is at the heart of this story. The Brutalist explores many themes, from immigration to Holocaust to the difficult relationship between the artist and the moneyman. The scenes are memorable, expansive, like huge slabs of Italian marble.

As for Adrien Brody, he is of course brilliant. His face is this rich Pollock's painting of pain and anguish and tortured inspiration. If they give the Oscar to Timothée Chalamet, that's a fucking scandal.

A Real Pain / dir. by Jesse Eisenberg

I thought this would be a pleasant little trifle but A Real Pain turned out to be one of my films of the year. I have since watched it two times, and my love for it has not dwindled one bit.

Two American cousins undertake a trip to Poland (the film is lovingly shot, clearly Eisenberg admires the country - he has even applied for Polish citizenship) in order to explore their past. Their Polish grandmother had recently died and left them some money for just such heritage trip. In the process, we get caught up in the strained relationship between the two main characters. I do not think it would be a stretch to say that Jesse Eisenberg plays Jesse Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin plays Kieran Culkin. Which is not meant as a criticism. As a matter of fact, I could watch them for days talking on that roof in Lublin.

The film has some powerful and incisive things to say about the past and the Jewish experience (basically, Culkin and Eisenberg play two sides of a Jewish personality - one successful and well-off and the other lives with a packed suitcase by the door). There is one scene in Warsaw that some of our more conservative Polish comrades could find problematic, but I personally had tears in my eyes all the way through. Either from crying or laughing too hard.

The Seed of the Sacred Fig / dir. by Mohammad Rasoulof 

Even though I'm hardly an expert on Iranian cinema, I love what I have seen. Abbas Kiarostami has become one of my favourite filmmakers, and I remember being very impressed by A Separation a decade or so ago. 

Which is to say, it was not surprising that I ended up loving The Seed of the Sacred Fig so much. And also, being a Belarusian, how could I not? The film deals with a family living amid the recent Iranian protests in Tehran. The main character is given a high-profile job of an investigating judge which basically forces him to condemn innocent people to prison sentences and death penalties. This certainly takes its toll, and this is compounded by the fact that at some point the gun he was given at work disappears. The final third of the film will have you on the edge of your set.

It is impossible to speak about this film without mentioning that the film was shot in secret, and later the director had to flee the country on foot, and the main actress was sentenced to flogging. A hackneyed truth, of course, but still: the disgusting regime will fall, and I do not believe that anyone who has seen this film will ever forget it.