Album of the Month: CHOPPER by Kiwi Jr.

I guess I will just have to accept this: Kiwi Jr. write music specifically for me. Or else I cannot explain the lukewarm reaction. But maybe lukewarm is a wrong word. The reaction is actually positive. Similar to Kiwi Jr.'s two previous albums, Chopper is 'good'. This is 'good indie pop'. The songs are 'catchy'. They show 'maturity'. The sound 'evolves'. Next band, please. 

But stop right there. If the world has taught me anything, it is that I should never be a silent witness to stupidity and injustice. Chopper is not just a 'good indie pop album'. Chopper (and I could say the same about last year's Cooler Returns) is an exquisite and inventive record infused with the sort of pop sensibilities that could put to shame any of your favourite Flying Nun bands. Chopper is charismatic, intelligent rock music of the highest order. And, as of August, it is my album of the year. 

The sound of the band is much the same - only this time the edges are less rough due to the increased presence of keyboards. They make their appearance right from the start, and the swirling keyboard line that underpins "Unspeakable Things" is so irresistible it should be outlawed. The tunes are as joyful and adventurous as ever, and, in the best traditions or prime-time Ray Davies, you sometimes get to hear a killer new melody which they casually attach to the end of a song ("Clerical Sleep", "Contract Killers"). Lyrics are brilliantly patchy, and references to Kobe Bryant and Bette Davis sit quite comfortably alongside each other within the space of one song.

Did I say in my review of Cooler Returns that "Maid Marian's Toast" is one of the greatest pop songs of all time? Well, let me add to the list. There are actually several worthy candidates here but how about "The Extra Sees The Film" which builds up beautifully, features wonderfully sardonic lyrics and sports the best chorus of the album? The keyboard line in the coda is such a glorious exclamation mark.

As ever, Chopper is a rollercoaster ride through a barrage of melodic twists and turns that I keep discovering and rediscovering each time that I play the album. Chopper is a grower. It is a little less immediate than their first two albums, but once you really sink your teeth into it, there is beautiful complexity to "Night Vision", and the central hook-line of "Kennedy Curse" will stay with you for days. I could say that "Downtown Area Blues" sounds a little more simplistic than the rest, and the closing "Masked Singer" lacks a transcendental hook - but those are insane complaints. I actually love the rough briskness of the former and the relaxed, slow-burning intensity of the latter.

This will probably come off as an excessively glowing review but I do believe that Kiwi Jr. are superior songwriters who have long outgrown their name and the easy reference points that it could generate. Honestly, I love Daddy's Highway and Submarine Bells as much as anybody. These Canadians are different and just as good. Oh and also, they are writing some of the greatest melodies in music today. 

August Round-Up

While I have never been a big fan of Flight of the Conchords, I used to obsess over their song "Bowie". It was such a clever parody and its deconstruction of David Bowie was so hilarious that I had it on repeat for weeks back in 2008. Which is why I was mildly curious about Bret McKenzie's first solo album called Songs Without Jokes (★★★). What an unfortunate title, though. It is a good album - but I will probably never hear it again. An excellent little EP could be culled from it ("This World" and "Tomorrow Today" are both playful and melodically satisfying), but most of its middle section is one softball after another. 

There is, however, not a dull moment on The Chats' sophomore album. Get Fucked (★★★) is the epitome of fun. 28 minutes of straight-up punk rock with no highlights and no lowlights. I guess I want a little more personality in this kind of music. Besides, "I've Been Drunk In Every Pub In Brisbane" is a great title but you can tell how it goes before you actually listen to it. A good album - but I'm sick and tired of good albums. 

Which is where Ezra Furman comes in. Oh I've been waiting. All Of Us Flames (★★★★) is a blast. It is well-written, diverse, wild and full of Ezra's unmistakable charisma. Rooted in American folk music, the album never loses its edge - be that catchy rockers ("Throne", "Lilac and Black") or intimate ballads (sometimes maybe a little too intimate, e.g. the first line in "Come Closer"). What a brilliant collection of songs. And yes, I am still in awe of that vocal melody and Ezra's performance in "I Saw The Truth Undressing". Unless something extraordinary happens, All Of Us Flames will definitely end up in my top ten for this year.

Finally, I got to hear the new critically acclaimed album by Cass McCombs titled Heartmind (★★★). It is languid, beautifully executed soft rock where 'soft rock' is not meant as a derogatory term. Eight lovely, slightly meandering songs that make for a great journey but leave little in terms of aftertaste.  

Three TV series. Irma Vep, Mrs. Maisel, Stranger Things.

I do not like subscriptions. Subscriptions ruin lives. I know a wealthy person who is subscribed to Netflix and tells me he watches TV series every single day because he has a subscription and he has to use it. HBO, Netflix, Amazon Prime... I simply do not care. Not that you should be listening to me. I am someone who never cared for Breaking Bad.  

As a rule, I watch three or four TV shows a year and get out. Last year, it was Mare of Easttown (brilliant), Succession (utterly brilliant) and The Queen's Gambit (okay). This year, it is the following three:

Irma Vep (miniseries)

Irma Vep is such a glorious mess. How do I even describe it? Olivier Assayas (whose Personal Shopper is a masterpiece, and I will never get tired of saying that) is making a miniseries based on a film he made in 1996 which was itself based on a French silent film from 1915. In this film (or a miniseries, whichever you prefer), a French arthouse director named René Vidal is reshooting the 1915 version and is at the same time haunted by his 1996 creation. Huh?

Alicia Vikander is playing Irma Vep, the notorious muse of a criminal vampire sect, who also appears to be the muse of René Vidal (who is both Louis Feuillade and Olivier Assayas). Ah fuck it.

The fact of the matter is, Irma Vep is a hoot. Alicia Vikander is having the time of her life playing an actress who finally wants to do something meaningful in her acting career. René Vidal is a fucked up director, but then so is the character of Alicia Vikander. They form this perfect combination, and you get caught up in all the madness that includes the wild charm of Paris, the music of Thurtson Moore, the theme song of Mdou Moctar and a glamorous German actor engaged in the habit of erotic asphyxiation. It is smart, too, and there are clever shots at the PC culture and the world of Netflix all around.

Irma Vep is hilarious and heartbreaking. Truly, you cannot look away. And while it may on occasion be testing your patience with all those meta-references, this is a TV show as an art form. In fact, if ever there was a film which could explain to you the true magic of cinema, or at the very least give it a good try, this is it. 

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (season 4)

Why am I here, exactly? 

My story begins with a slim and rather obscure book called Kafka Was All The Rage written by Anatole Broyard. I bought this book in Manhattan a few years ago, and I had no idea what it was. It turned out to be a Greenwhich Village Memoir set in New York in those post-war years which, according to Broyard, were the greatest convergence of time and place known to humanity. It certainly read that way. I am infatuated with New York in the 50s and early 60s. Mad Men is a great TV show, one of the best ever, and yet it would not have meant as much had it been set in Seattle or Philadelphia. Which is how I ended up here, in the comic world of Mrs. Maisel - by turns amusing, awkward and oddly attractive. 

It is a story of a housewife who discovers her talent as a crude stand-up comedian on a male-dominant New York scene. It is good fun, and I appreciate the 50s/60s soundtrack that goes well with this brand of New York that looks both twee and irresistible. Besides, Tony Shalhoub is an absolute thrill as a grumpy Jewish father. However, the show has been teetering on edge lately, and I am afraid it has finally jumped the shark with season 4. 

For starters, it has lost much of its humour. Watch the pilot episode again - Maisel's stand-up act was actually funny. These days, it is a drag and I do not think these jokes can even raise a smile. They are coarse, but that is the extent of it. There are people who will tell you that Miriam Maisel is in a creative slump and she was supposed to be under par this season. However, this is like saying Ringo Starr's "Don't Pass Me By" is not a very good song because it was not meant to be. Excuse me, but I still have to listen to it.

Still, a number of great scenes (the funeral speech, the on-stage hypnotism, the Lenny Bruce performance), and the whole thing looks as gorgeous as ever. It is just this emptiness inside, and an uncomfortable feeling that we are now running entirely on fumes.

Stranger Things (season 4)

There are those who will say that the Soviet angle is a farce. There are those who will say the boys look grown-up now and the haircuts are ludicrous. There are those who will say they predictably kill every new major character. There are those who will say the Eleven / Papa line has been milked to death. There are those who will say the Vecna story has too much Tom Riddle to it. There are those who will say that this has become too overblown and self-indulgent. 

And it is all true. All of it. The fact of the matter is, I do not mind one bit. This has always been a nostalgic paean to the 80s, silly and unpretentious. And it is still exactly that. I mean, there is a guy playing fucking Metallica on the roof of some goddamned shack. How silly and unpretentious can you get? 

If you have been on this journey from the start, there is no reason why you would not love this fourth season. It is pure joy. The chemistry between Dustin and Steve (my favourite character, easily) is still the best thing about the show, and the Kate Bush episode is about as good as TV gets. And as for the Soviet side of it, well, as long as you do not take yourself too seriously... The success of Stranger Things is based on the fact that none of its actors and creators do. 

***

Polish Diary. Solidarity Museum in Gdańsk.

Pretty and overcrowded, Gdańsk is a port city in the north of Poland. It is a conurbation formed with two other cities, Sopot and Gdynia. You do not really live in Gdańsk. You come here for a day or two so as to taste fish and walk along the sea coast and the numerous canals cutting through the old town. Sometimes the amount of tourists gets a little overbearing and you have to join a queue to simply get to the other side of the famous Dluga Street. None of this, however, should bother you the moment you decide to get away from the centre and walk a little to the north. The European Solidarity Centre is located in a place completely untroubled by random visitors.

The design of the building was created in 2007 and the intention was to make you think of the hulls of ships built in a local shipyard. It is monumental architecture, modern but not excessively so. Later, after walking along the temporary fence honouring the events in Belarus in 2020, you enter the huge hall which seems both welcoming and slightly overwhelming. And then, with a ticket in your pocket and an audioguide around your neck, you begin. Speaking of the audioguide, you have to take it. With an immersive experience like that, the immersion has to be complete. Deprived of oxygen, you have to be flopping about like a scared child.

The museum (the Centre also contains a library) is a detailed story of the Solidarity movement in Poland which started in early 80s and ended just before the dissolution of the Soviet Union. In actual fact, though, the beginning could be traced to the protests in the 70s and even the brief uprising in March '68. The Gdańsk shipyard was the focal point, and through powerful images and creative installations (these include interrogation rooms, police vehicles and old-fashioned printing machines) you get to see how everything unfurled. You start with a nonchalant shipyard interior that stirs little emotion and you end up in tears watching the victorious speech of Lech Wałęsa. 

It is an unforgettable story, and it unfolds like a great book. The grim triumphalism can be forgiven (as well as the inevitable appearance of the Pope). After all, Poland was the first satellite state of the USSR that became truly independent, and that has to count for something. Still, I remember how Christopher Hitchens described his visit to Warsaw in the 80s: downtrodden people, sullen faces, and Hitchens clutching onto his British passport like his most prized possession. Because really - like in any meaningful political struggle, moments of euphoria are mixed with despair and self-defeatism. 

For us today, the events in Poland in the 80s are an inspiration and a reality check. It is the latter because the martial law and the brutal force did quench the spirited movement that seemed invincible at the start of the decade. And yet it is always the former because in the end Poland did persevere. The uncomfortable question remains, however, and it keeps nagging at me as I am walking on the roof terrace of the Centre surveying the whole city spread out around me like a bed quilt. The question disturbs me and yet I cannot shake it off. The question is this: could they do it if the Soviet Union did not begin to crumble in 1986 or thereabouts? Could they really pull it off on their own? It is a question that means all the world to me, and it is a question that I dare not answer.