The album enters your speakers mid-song. There is no introduction or extended build-up. "Song Of The Lake" swirls triumphantly into the room and you wonder where the hell it has been all your life. Because after a decade of grief and suffering, trauma and death, Wild God is Nick Cave's LIFE album. Or, as someone on the Internet has commented, "Nick's so fucking back that I'm not sure anyone's ever been as back as him".
Wild God is not exactly straightforward but it does not hide under any pretense. It is filled with joyous, expressive sound that swallows everything around. Grand orchestration, powerful piano chords, expansive backing vocals... So much so that there is a sense that the album is simply too big to clock in under 45 minutes. It almost feels like it should have been a double or even a triple album. Instead, Wild God is a concerted, life-affirming explosion of pure joy.
It is a beautifully sequenced, well thought-through album that only puts a foot wrong once, when in the otherwise excellent "O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is)" Warren Ellis chooses to do the disturbing vocoder thing that reminds me of Bon Iver and thus fills my heart with cold dread. The song itself is Cave's heartfelt tribute to the great Anita Lane (whose two solo albums are essential listening as far as I'm concerned) and manages to be both anthemic and understated.
Wild God is a forward-looking album (and will sound fantastic live) but the past is not entirely behind it. The piano that cuts through "Final Rescue Attempt" is reminiscent of No More Shall We Part. "Cinnamon Horses" is informed by Ghosteen. The album overall has the glorious, freewheeling spirit of Abattoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus to it. And it is also as entertaining as "White Elephant", with certain songs featuring multiple sections (the title song, for instance, or my current favourite "Conversion").
Other than the rather oblique but amusing "Frogs", the lyrics of Wild God are fairly simple. But that is perhaps the whole point. Again, it is a LIFE album. Perhaps the LIFE album, and life is not to be fucked with. Quite simply, it is there to be lived.
In my review of Skinty Fia I expressed a wish for more nuance and diversity from Fontaines DC. Two years and one excellent solo LP from Grian Chatten later, nuance and diversity are the order of the day. However, there is a trade-off. Romance, great though it is, compromises some of their identity. The start of the title song could be mistaken for Radiohead. There are sections that bring to mind Blur, Slowdive and The Cure. There are even parts of "In A Modern World" that sound like Lana Del Rey (Chatten is a fan, apparently). Add to this an explicit desire to become the biggest band in the world as well as unhealthy expectations created by the rap/punk/indie hybrid "Starburster", and this could be a major disaster. It is not. They are excellent songwriters, and James Joyce is still an influence.
Magdalena Bay is a band that everyone seems to give a damn about these days, and I, too, gave them a shot. Their new album is getting perfect reviews from all corners, and Imaginal Disk is, essentially, dreamy synth-pop with soulful undertones. While the supposed blissed-out brilliance escapes me (as of now), songs like "Tunnel Vision" do sound very lovely indeed.
I admit there are times when I find Gillian Welch a tad too perfect. For me, the rougher-edged Soul Journey remains her best work. She let it loose a little in 2003, and you got stuff like "One Monkey". Mostly, though, she goes for the transcendental. Woodland, her impeccable new album with David Rawlings (could I just repeat for the umpteenth time how much I adore "The Weekend"?), is, in essence, absolute perfection. From the very first single "Truckload of Sky" to the sparse, serene closer "Howdy Howdy", the album is transcendental country of the highest order that just gets better with every listen. Beautiful songwriting, accessible but not very approachable.
There was a time when I obsessed over Laurie Anderson. First time I heard Big Science, I wrote to my English friends who burned that CD for me and demanded another album exactly like that. Well, sadly there was nothing they could do, and even though I got my hands on Mister Heartbreak and Bright Red and Home Of The Brave, I was missing the chilling electronic novelty of her 1982 debut. Interestingly, with this year's Amelia (the album is about Amelia Earhart, the pioneering American aviator and the first woman to cross the Atlantic) gets us back to the topic of flying. And while nothing here moves me as much as the otherworldly "From The Air", it is a very consistent, and brief, work of modern classical with tasteful chamber orchestration.
Songs of the Month:
"Bowling de Diano Marina" - Juniore
"Joy" - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
"Green Rubble - Clean Shoots" - Godspeed You! Black Emperor
"TV Star" - Du Blonde
"Bug" - Fontaines DC
"North Country" - Gillian Welch & David Rawlings
"Holy, Holy" - Geordie Greep
"Tunnel Vision" - Magdalena Bay
"Rio's Song" - The Hard Quartet
"Zero Sum" - The Smile
"Crossing The Equator" (feat. ANOHNI) - Laurie Anderson
I thought I had the best joke in town when I said that we all wanted to see Jarvis Cocker at the OFF Festival this year, but all we ever got was Puuluup and Bar Italia. My sense of victory, however, did not last. The vocalist of Les Savy Fav beat me, quite comprehensively, with the nipple joke. More on that later.
This year's edition of the legendary Polish festival did not impress with its line-up as much as it did last year, but there is a certain joy to stumbling upon a lesser known artist giving a disturbingly great performance in a small tent at the edge of the festival grounds. There was plenty of it this time - in addition to the usual: rain, smell of weed and the great museums of Katowice. With that said, it was a little heartbreaking to see an older gentleman in front of me in a T-shirt with the full line-up of 2010 on his back. The Flaming Lips, Tindersticks, Art Brut, The Fall, Dinosaur Jr... Oh well.
Day 1
Who knows, though? Perhaps by 2038 English Teacher will have become a legendary act in their own right... Their early performance on Friday, to a scattered but receptive audience, made me reconsider my indifference to their debut album (This Could Be Texas, 2024). I was willing to write them off as yet another British band who wants to be like Black Country, New Road, but they were genuinely good here. Intense one moment ("Nearly Daffodils"), elegant the next ("You Blister My Pain"), they were charming, confident and quite humble. In fact, I have relistened to the album a few times since last Friday, and it just keeps getting better.
photo from Off Festival's website
Later on, in a tent, and just as the rain was starting to fall, Annahstasia was doing her intimate folk set. The two songs she did from her upcoming EP were nice, if little else. Still, while I do not find her music special in any way, she did create a pleasant, almost spiritual mood with her brooding lyrics and the gently fingerpicked guitar.
Polish hip-hop is not something that could entice me, but from what I could gather, Łona (Adam Bogumił Zieliński) is something of a legend in this country. His lyrics in particular are widely praised. What drew my attention was the fact that he was playing with the jazz musicians Andrzej Konieczny and Kacper Krupa, and jazz rap is something I do appreciate (I still relisten to Blowout Comb once in a while). They were mostly doing last year's Taxi (also available as an instrumental album), and I found the juxtaposition between atmospheric jazz and shouty rapping quite engaging.
Did I say English Teacher were confident, charming and humble? Well, Bar Italia were all that without the 'charming' and the 'humble' bits. A certain arrogance is healthy, no doubt, but then you must have the music to back it up. I know they are getting quite popular, and receiving a lot of coverage and rave reviews (not from Jarvis Cocker, though, who does not rate them), but their noisy indie rock just sounds like a racket and the hooks and the melodies simply drown in the sea of monotony and power chords.
Finally, at midnight (when else?), Imperial Triumphant were playing. This concert was worth attending for two reasons: for the experience and because I never really cared for Future Islands who were at that time playing on the central stage. It was thrilling to see the masked avant-garde metal band from New York performing in the pouring rain of southern Poland. I really enjoyed the jazzy interludes which, nonetheless, always gave way to the lead vocalist growling wickedly into the microphone. It was quite an experience, if nothing else.
Day 2
Best things in life happen on Saturdays. Klawo, a jazz six-piece from Gdańsk, kicked things off on the central stage. They dazzled without being overbearing, which is something I appreciate in jazz. To me, the highlight of the set was the brief, vibraphone-led, sweetly sung "I Feel Something" which exploded quite beautifully towards the end.
A little further away, on the experimental stage, the Estonian duo Puuluup were doing avant-folk using contraptions called talharpa (the sound is not unlike something you could get out of a pleasantly distorted violin). Catchy, whimsical, inessential and with some funny self-deprecating banter between songs.
Mostly, though, I was here for Baxter Dury. Interestingly, the man was so hyped up (cocaine?) that even his band members were a little shocked. Mad dancing was in full display. When I saw him in Berlin last year, he slowly built himself up into this total frenzy of dancing and screaming. This time, he was that way from the start, from the very first chords of "Leak At The Disco". And it was one hell of a show. He played his best songs, including three from his latest album, and he was shouting 'we love you Poland' at the end like he really meant it. A great songwriter and an entertaining performer. All you could ever wish for at the festival.
photo from Off Festival's website
Did I just say entertaining? Next up was art punk band from Brooklyn called Les Savy Fav, and this was one of the highest points of this year's OFF Festival. Basically, what we got was the vocalist Tim Harrington (who looks a little like the bearded man from a Gentle Giant album cover) stripping to his underpants and walking among the crowd while the band was playing tight, high-octane rock music without paying any attention to whatever was going on around. Harrington himself was a hoot, talking incessantly in between songs; at one point, he brought up the Polish language (sounds like an English person swearing), at another, he asked the audience if they knew the word 'nippy' and then said that actually, it was not nippy but nipply outside (true on both counts) and in fact, at least one of the band members had three nipples. I don't know, the whole show was intoxicating, and filled with great songs that span the band's entire career.
Finally, Saturday was brought to an effective close by Grace Jones. She started with her brilliant take on the Bowie/Iggy Pop classic "Nightclubbing" and then she was by turns salacious, majestic, totally irresistible. She played a half of Nightclubbing LP and other classics ("Private Life" and "My Jamaican Guy" were incredible). The extended ending was her doing a hula hoop for ten minutes while performing "Slave To The Rhythm". A night to remember, obviously.
And another OFF Festival that delivered the goods, even if sometimes against all odds and with the rain pissing down all over the tent camp.
These may or may not be the five biggest pop albums of 2024. Last month, I took the time to listen to all of them and these are my thoughts.
Charli XCX - Brat
This album is a perfect soundtrack to the world falling apart while you are sitting on your terrace drinking Red Bulls. Charli XCX's new album is, of course, a statement. This is largely nostalgic club music, done with style and great conviction. Not my kind of thing, but I do admire the gutsy inventiveness that runs through this thing. She throws so many ideas into the songs that they may on occasion sound quite messy ("Von Dutch", "Club Classics"). Still, the criminally catchy stuff like "B2B" or the opener "360" more than makes up for it. Extra points for the piano break in "Mean Girls".
Billie Eilish - Hit Me Hard And Soft
I'm sorry, but this is just boring. Forty three fucking minutes of a listless female voice whispering something or other. Call it subtle and sophisticated if you want to, I just find it bloodless. Side B is slightly more interesting, but not by much. Funnily enough, the most memorable moment on the whole album comes by way of Billie intoning the goddamn 'birds of feather flock together' cliche. Jesus Christ.
Dua Lipa - Radical Optimism
As far as I'm concerned, this is harmless pop music. Nothing sticks out in particular, nothing is terrible. She has a voice, I guess, and these songs have hooks. Decent, derivative dance pop. I have definitely heard worse, but I do not get the adoration.
Beyoncé - Cowboy Carter
This album has 27 songs on it. WHY?!? Why in God's name? This album is full of filler and what is not filler is hardly all that great either. Just your glorified country album done with aplomb, schtick and a lot of money. Not bad or anything, and occasionally quite worthy of your time, but there is nothing here that justifies the unbearable fawning from critics. Eighty (!) minutes, too.
Taylor Swift - The Tortured Poets Department
I wonder what will happen when she takes her show to Warsaw this weekend. Increase the rate of the zloty? Cause an earthquake? Legalise abortion? Hard to say. The fact remains that what looked like a stylish advert for lingerie turned out to be a cover of a new Taylor Swift album. It features a million songs and 95% of them sound like self-parody. Still, she is a pop machine and the algorithm is still working (if you are into this kind of thing). She mentions Dylan Thomas and says 'fuck' a couple of times, but this is way too derivative to sustain my interest all the way through.
Цікава, што пэўны час пасля прагляду фільма я думаў пра слова "беларускі" ў яго назве. Бо што робіць Дзіму, хлопца без пачуцця гумару, з бліскаўкамі на скронях і жаданнем дэманстраваць незнаёмым людзям свае "геніяльныя" турыстычныя фота з Мальты, што робіць яго не проста псіхапатам, а менавіта беларускім псіхапатам? Бо ніхто ж, напэўна, не будзе адмаўляць знарочыстую амерыканскасць Патрыка Бэйтмана з рамана Брэта Істэна Эліса. Але што робіць псіхапата Дзіму з дэбютнага фільма Мікіты Лаўрэцкага беларускім? Мне падаецца, што гэта не пустое пытанне.
Думаю, што кожны, хто хоць нешта ведае пра сучаснае беларускае кіно, чуў імя Мікіты Лаўрэцкага. Ён стварае незалежныя, нізкабюджэтныя фільмы ў жанры "мамблкора" (калі ў двух словах, то гэта калі крыху дрыжыць камера і маладыя людзі шмат размаўляюць паміж сабой), і кожны з іх можна паглядзець на яго YouTube-канале. Мікітавы фільмы дэманструюцца на міжнародных фестывалях, а калі казаць пра яго паўнаметражны дэбют ("Беларускі псіхапат"), то ў 2015 годзе ён стаў лепшым ігравым фільмам у нацыянальным конкурсе "Лістапада". Інакш кажучы, прагляд яго стужак быў толькі пытаннем часу.
Не адмаўляю, што я абраў менавіта гэты фільм з-за яго назвы. "Беларускі псіхапат" - не абы-якое словазлучэнне. Яно мае вагу, пэўны мастацка-гістарычны багаж, і я адразу ж зразумеў, што нават калі будзе дрэннае кіно жахлівай якасці, пра яго ўсё роўна будзе цікава пагаварыць.
Але ж я не мог адарвацца. "Беларускі псіхапат" наўрад ці зробіцца сапраўднай падзеяй у вашым жыцці, але кіно гэта так утульна існуе ў сваім добра акрэсленым свеце, у сваёй сыраватай чорна-белай бурбалцы, што нельга не адчуць эмацыянальнае напружанне таго, што адбываецца на экране. Бо героі ў фільме цалкам зразумелыя, і нічога тут не адбываецца без мэты. І кормяць катоў тут не проста так, і словы падбіраюць далёка не выпадкова. Пасля прагляду фільма ўважлівы глядач успомніць і тыя словы, і тых катоў. Пра ігру актораў у такім жанры казаць цяжка, але няёмкасць ад плоскіх інтанацый Дзімы (дарэчы, ролю іграе сам Лаўрэцкі) прабірае да касцей. І хочацца ці тое смяяцца, ці тое закрыць вушы.
Сюжэт фільма не пакідае шмат месца для фантазіі. Тры дзяўчыны вырашаюць паехаць на дачу, дзе хлопец Дзіма (ледзьве знаёмы адной з іх) святкуе дзень нараджэння з двумя сябрамі. Гэта класічны пачатак для трылера ці фільма жахаў, і ў гледача не павінна быць аніякіх ілюзій. Але ж яны ўсё роўна з'яўляюцца, тыя ілюзіі, бо ты добра пазнаеш і людзей, і іх размовы. Нават псіхапат Дзіма, які адзіны за сталом есць гэты моташлівы торт, упускае цябе ў сваю прастору (але ж гэта вельмі цесная прастора, і змяшчаецца ў маленькім ванным пакоі, дзе за некалькі секунд адбываецца хічкокаўская і, бадай, самая кінематаграфічная сцэна ў фільме). Так, што пэўны час ты існуеш у даволі няёмкім, але цалкам небяспечным вымярэнні "Беларускага псіхапата".
І вось тут, як мне падаецца, хаваецца поспех фільма. Ён ў тым, як добра Лаўрэцкі гуляе з танальнасцю. Бо менавіта тут крыецца змрочная, крыху таямнічая эфектыўнасць трэцяга акту - які ты павінен быў чакаць, але з нейкай прычыны чакаць перастаў. Бо, напэўна, паглядзеў у простыя, шчырыя вочы псіхапата і паверыў. Можа, і цяпер я думаю пра гэта і баюся ўчытаць у твор неіснуючыя ў ім сэнсы, можа тут і хаваецца таямніца слова "беларускі", якое пазначана ў назве фільма?..
By the end of this book, I was pacing up and down the room like a madman. High-strung and red in the face, I was very much on my feet wading through the dense ending hoping for an impossible ray of light. This does not happen to me too often. Come to think of it, last time that I could not remain seated while reading a book was ages ago, back when I was breezing through Kafka's Metamorphosis.
This book is, indeed, a very intense read. So intense, in fact, that it took me a couple of weeks to finish it. A few chapters at once was all I could stomach in the face of the present tense (the entire book is written that way) as well as the relentless onslaught of the plot.
Paul Lynch's novel won the Booker Prize in 2003, and for a good reason. The book presents a harrowing picture of Ireland becoming a totalitarian state. We are never quite explained how this came about, but the whole point is that maybe we do not need to. Such things happen, people turn into animals in no time at all ("The man has been trained for the rules of the game but the game has been changed so what now is the man", Lynch writes quite early in the book), and all of a sudden you are caught up in the commonplace cruelty and indifference. This is infuriating, disgusting stuff - all the more so because it is very familiar. People of modern-day Belarus will find a lot to relate to here.
The present tense is important as it provides this gruesome engine to the proceedings. We do not see the family of Larry and Molly Stack dealing with the oncoming storm. Instead, we see them right in the midst of it, when all you can do, really, is to adapt. You can put on a brave face, you can join the uprising, but there is only so much that you can change with four children, a father with dementia and the brutal police force (the Garda) knocking on your door on an ordinary Monday evening in the centre of Dublin. Soon the borders will be closed, the food will be rationed and your teenage son will be conscripted and forced to join the army.
The book is written at a desperate pace, but with dashes of beautiful, almost serene poetry ("Molly lifts her face from the screen and meets her mother with a look of clear water"). This poetry, however, cannot shield you from the destination that the book is taking you to. As Molly is trying to make sense of what is going on around her ("coaxing future out of nothingness" is one of Lynch's most brilliant turns of phrases here), she arrives at that very ending that had me walking around the room with the book in my hands. The ending that would seem disingenuous and even manipulative were it not also completely inevitable. Because, really, it could be anyone. Anyone at all.
The genius of Patricia Highsmith's original idea is so inescapable that it is no surprise the first book has spawned no less than three screen adaptations. Purple Noon (1960) with Alain Delon, The Talented Mr Ripley (1999) with Matt Damon and now the mini-series Ripley with Andrew Scott. With the first two adaptations being so iconic, did we really need a new one?
Strangely, we did. With its discomforting black-and-white aesthetics (at times, Ripley feels like Tarkovsky filming Kafka), the TV series sucks you in from the very beginning. And when the squalor of a tiny New York apartment gives way to the splendour of Italy, the magic hypnotism is complete. Ripley goes on for eight hour-long episodes, which allows the director Steven Zaillian to really delve into the details (the boat scene in particular is truly mortifying, and takes a full episode).
Andrew Scott is brilliant, and so is Dakota Fanning as Marge Sherwood. Lacking that sinister spark, Matt Damon never really worked for me, and neither did Gwyneth Paltrow who looked plain and depthless in the 1999 adaptation. With the young Greenleaf, it is a little bit trickier as Jude Law was the perfect Dickie (for all my love for Johnny Flynn, he never stood a chance). Finally, while Eliot Sumner (Sting's child, incidentally) does an intriguing turn as Dickie's friend Freddie Miles, it is quite impossible to improve on Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Getting back to Andrew Scott, neither Delon nor Damon went this deep into the harrowing psyche of Tom Ripley, one of literature's greatest con-men, but also someone who disgusts and fascinates in equal measure. "I offered you my friendship and asked for nothing in return".
The Dry, Season 2 (2024)
The Dry is an Irish TV show, half-comedy and half-drama, which is set in modern-day Dublin and deals with a young woman named Shiv Sheridan and one truly dysfunctional family. Alcohol, Dublin, a little bit of art. In other words, what is not to like?
The whole thing is somewhat predictable but also great fun. In Season 1, a young artist (played by Roisin Gallagher) comes back from London to deal with her issues (mostly alcohol addiction and proclivity for bad romance). Instead, the issues become ever more evident as she returns, essentially, to the very place that caused all those problems in the first place. In her broken, largely unsupportive family, however, no one gets spared. This second season, out this year, is more of the same: awkward relationships, wine hidden in the toilet bowl, old flames and quite a bit of black humour.
One thing I have to add: I really do not like these Fleabag comparisons. Whereas Fleabag tried too hard and felt contrived, The Dry seems effortless and quite charming. A real joy to watch.
Fallout, Season 1 (2024)
Fallout is without a doubt this year's most acclaimed TV show. I felt a little apprehensive going into this as I have no concept of the computer game this is based on. All I knew, and this you could easily get from the title, is that Fallout is about the state of the world following some major nuclear disaster.
I was rather annoyed at first. This whole aesthetic of combining brutal violence (and it is quite brutal, almost comically so) with the charming innocence of the Ink Spots and Billie Holiday grew stale in no time at all. I mean, how long can you look at chunks of human flesh flying around to the music of Bob Crosby?.. And yet the makers of Fallout stuck with it, up to that very point where you just had to accept the sheer grotesqueness of the whole thing (through gritted teeth, in my case).
And now, having watched the full season, I will say that the most fascinating aspect of Fallout is how it manages to straddle that fine line between the silliness and the gore. For that is exactly what they do here. And, in a way, it becomes quite absorbing. I never cared for the characters, Fallout does not really pull you in emotionally, but the sheer stretch of the imagination is overwhelming. Plus, all the narrative hooks are carefully placed and you are ever looking forward to whatever comes next.
Fallout succeeds in creating its own world, a world which is deranged and quite unique at the same time. And this, come to think of it, is the sought-after apex in all of art. So that when the second season is released (as inevitably it will be), I'm going back into this. Who knows, there may be humans in there after all.
