It’s summertime and I think I wish I was 15 again. All out shoegazin’, breezin’, chillin’ songs about youth and the beauty of impermanence.

In a bangs covering the eyes kinda way. Her Buzzfeed is also hilarious!

These babies juz came in right when I popped home. Hehe. All I can say is OMG I can hear bass again. Maybe a good thing my old etys died on me. The much sturdier looking cable will hopefully last longer than the previous too.

I think any guy can attest to what this song is talking about, the fact that all women stare at our family juelz when they checking us out.

I don’t know what it is about some acoustic guitars and harmonised voices that makes me melt. Especially when Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe are the 2 guys behind it all. I suppose it’s just the plain, simple and earnest melodies. Bright, clean and austere like what you’d expect their native Norway to be. Just the first few seconds of their latest record soothed away everything and for a brief period, nothing else seemed to matter.

I’ll admit I had no idea what this movie was about when I queued it. I just went by the fact that it had a famous director, Aki Kaurismaki and a ridiculous title. Turns out I wasn’t going to be disappointed. Leningrad Cowboys Go America is one helluva hoot. The story starts somewhere in mother Russia or some random Eastern European locale where the Leningrad Cowboys are auditioning for a music producer. He turns them down on account of the fact that their folky pop wasn’t commercial enough, but sends them to his cousin in America, where they’ll “take any crap”. So guided by the selfish svengali of a manager they have, the band heads to the US & A.

It’s essentially a road movie that has a bit of a political slant to it. Given that it came out in ‘89, you realise much of the film satirizes the Cold War and the stereotypes of life under Communism and Democracy. But don’t bother about that nonsense. The film is funny in and of itself. From the first moment I set eyes on the Cowboys, I knew this was gonna be good. Must be something to do with the uber exaggerated Elvis pomps they wear on their heads or maybe their foot (as in the measurement) long pointy shoes.

Upon arriving in Nueva York, they audition again only to learn that the musical style the people like in America is something called rock n roll. The brilliant, if ruthless, manager realises they need to adapt to survive and asks the band “Have you ever heard of rock and roll?” “No”, the band reply. “Study this book.” is the sagely advice from the manager. From there, they head South towards Mexico where another cousin has a wedding lined up, adapting their music along the way, from rock and roll to country to mariachi.

They get into plenty of hijinks and I’ve forgotten to mention that they also brought along their frozen stiff bassist (he died practicing outdoors the night before their big audition back home) along for the trip. They strap him to the top of a car they buy from Jim Jarmusch in a cameo role and the manager even uses the coffin to store Budweisers. They also get into jail at one point where they get out by doing a blue man group impersonation. Released presumably because they were too annoying, as evidenced by the fact that the warden was wearing ear muffs when he let them go, asking them never to come back.

Throughout all this, the band is almost completely deadpan, which adds to the hilarity because how is it possible that grown men wearing fake wigs and silly shoes and zoot suits could keep straight faces when they have to reminisce about former loves, like tractors in the old farm or sing songs about the times when they were farmers on a collective.

I am very much inclined, at this point, to check out Aki Kaurismaki a whole lot more. Even if I know that this film is a departure from his usual thing. Or maybe I should start with the sequel to this film, also by Kaurismaki, Leningrad Cowboys meet Moses. Or maybe the band itself.

I like my Hip-Hop old skool and with guitar hooks and New Wave synth. Fast forward to 3:02 to get with the program.

At the request of some friends, I downloaded the Detroit Metal City live action movie so we could all watch it together. I still haven’t. But I’ve been itching to find out more after they keep talking about it. So I went and downloaded the OVA that spawned it.

DMC is about a nice kid from the countryside, Negishi, who dreams of playing lovely pop music inspired by acts like Kahimi Karie or Fishmans. So he leaves the country for big city Tokyo. However, he ends up in a band that’s pretty much the opposite of his ideal, a death metal band called Detroit Metal City. In it, he puts on makeup and changes from his nerdy self into Krauser II. His rabid fans shower him with made up adulation, like the fact that he raped and killed his parents when he was a kid or that he’s the demon king from hell. Poor Negi-kun just wants to be a folksy, bowl haired, BEAMS wearing dude who goes to trend cafes. But he’s got a job to do and he’s good at it. When Negi gets in character, there’s no stopping him and Krauser II takes over, ordering people around and generally behaving like the demon lead singer for a death metal outfit should.

Conflicts with his own personal desires, be they material or romantic, arise. Negi never wanted to be singing about killing babies or raping bitches. Yet, you can’t deny there’s a certain attraction to being in the limelight, whether as some wanky indie-pop scenesters or axe wielding goths and Negi pretty much goes with what opportunities present themselves.

I love how the Japanese can take any piece of pop culture, extract the vital elements and re-present them in a way that’s absurd and silly. The parody on both indie pop and death metal is hilarious. On stage, Negi performs with 2 friends. Jagi is the bassist, who’s determined to make DMC big. Camus is the drummer, a fat dude that’s always muttering pervy shiz. They’re joined by a prop actor, the Capitalist Pig, who’s a masochistic, middle-aged convenience store clerk in real life. Behind them is Death Records’ president, one hella crazy bitch who goes on about her cunt getting wet when she hears metal. The songs involve ridiculous lyrics about killing parents, rape and more rape. One of Krauser’s most famous lines is his 10 rapes in 1 second. His outrageous performances coupled with his bumbling self somehow result in hilarious events perpetuating the myth that a simple guy is a blood obsessed serial rapist/murderer.

On the flipside, Negi’s constant penchant for cheesy as hell pop songs (the lyric has even got cheese tart in it) is annoying. I like Kahimi Karie as much as the next person but he’s like the ultimate in empty indie trend following. It’s real cutesy stuff though, from talking about Daikanyama or going to trend cafes and living the ultimate indie lifestyle. Which is hella materialistic if you ask me! He dreams that he’ll make it big and he tries but nobody really cares. Yet, once he puts the makeup on and becomes Krauser II, everything seems to work. He doesn’t want to be the king of death metal but it seems he will anyway!

DMC’s a real funny anime that looks at the multiplicity of people. How we behave one way in public but wish we could be something else in real life. It also removes any and all seriousness whichever music genre you subscribe to and just how camp it is to be “following” a trend, be it punk/gansta rap/metal/indie. I guess, we can’t always choose what we want and we’ve got to take what’s in front of us sometimes and in the end, maybe what we do end up with is even better than what we wished for. It’s like Kiss reborn in parody. Which is better in my books! I bet Ozzy didn’t rape or kill his parents! Krauser rocks! \m/

The intro offers a peek. Rape rape rape rape rape rape rape rape rape rape!

I have a newfound love for death metal now lol.

Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog: The Way Of The Samurai features Forest Whitaker in the leading role. The pudgy dude who seemed the perfect fit for Idi Amin in The Last King Of Scotland seems a whole lot more bewildering as a dude who lives by the samurai code, working for a mob boss as a hired killer. The film itself is a sorta homage to Melville’s Le Samourai but it somehow also reminded me of Leon The Professional in some ways. Of course, it’s also set to a soundtrack built by RZA. Which is kinda awesome.

It is curious. There’s a whole lotta pop culture being mentioned, from Rashomon and Hagakure to Betty Boop and Felix the Cat. Or Wind In The Willows and Frankenstein. It’s a kind of cultural kaleidescope, with a black man pretending he’s a samurai working for the Italian mafioso. The titular character Ghost Dog’s best friend is Haitian and speaks only French which he doesn’t understand. Yet they seem to communicate and emote perfectly. There’s also 2 other people in Ghost Dog’s life, Pearline, a young girl which lends the Leon aspect and Louie, the mob boss. In the former, Ghost Dog seems to envision a sort of protege. In the latter, he is respectful towards, as if he really was a samurai working for a retainer in feudal Japan. Interestingly, the mob are also made up of old Italian dudes who are characters in their own right. One dude likes to rap in the bathroom. There’s a certain cultural stereotyping but also a certain non racism inherent in the characters. Also, Nobody from another Jarmusch film, Dead Man, makes an appearance, uttering his trademark, “Stupid fucking white man!”.

A lot of the stuff that gets mentioned, various books or the cartoons mob bosses watch before they get whacked, seem to relate strongly with what’s happening in the film or has something to do with the plot or characters. In the most Leon-esque scene, albeit with no trace of Lolita elements, Ghost Dog has a conversation with Pearline about books. Each one seems to emphasize him in relation to the story at large. On the flipside are the cartoons, usually pre emptive elements that foretell the mob bosses death, even going so far that the happenings in real life are pretty much mimicking the cartoons entirely. One scene has a cartoon character firing bullets up a drainpipe to attack another character. In the real world, Ghost Dog is in the basement, working his way to a pipe attached to the bathroom upstairs. He disassembles it and manoeuvres his pistol to kill the crim who’s wondering why a red light is coming out the plughole.

It’s kinda funny in bits, especially when Ghost Dog twirls his pistols as if they were swords. Or when Ghost Dog and his Haitian friend Raymond converse, pre empting each other despite the language barrier and then following up on what the other has guessed. Like when Raymond says in French, “I guess you have to go because it’s getting dark right?” or words to that effect and Ghost Dog replies, “I got to go, it’s getting dark soon”. They don’t get it but they feel it and maybe sometimes that’s more powerful than a film with standardized plot or character development with conceivable story arcs or a linear progressive idea. Ghost Dog follows a basic script as such, which is the lead character knocking off mob bosses after him because of a botched hit that wasn’t even really botched. Yet, it doesn’t feel like it maintains that structure but that the story itself allows us to get a sense of this imaginary, culturally mashed up reality. Zen calm amidst a cultural storm.

Check this scene for a sampling, which is itself, an offplot device. The samurai-esque Ghost Dog is seen walking and in the other direction, camo fatigue clad RZA. They meet and exchange the following. RZA: “Ghost Dog, power, equality” GD: “Always see everything my brother”. Which translates to Peace if you take the take the first letters of the middle text and swap see for C.

Other than being the megacosmolopoloozlis, NY has always had a strange sort of appeal for me. It’s gotta be that dream of living in a loft or traipsing round central park or getting robbed pre Giuliani every 5 blocks or whatever absurd cliche is stuffed in my faced from every movie in existence. I suppose it just has that vibe, a life of its own that creates a fertile ground for the imagination to run wild.

How the fuck else do you explain Moondog?

This du was like my first foray into avant garde crap sometime back in ‘03 or so. I didn’t like it that much at the time. Fast forward to today and I do, somehow. Maybe it’s because I saw a photo. Or that I learned that he made his own instruments. Or that he played live on the street. It’s like real street music, not that hype shit.

He was called “The Viking Of 6th Avenue”, because he only ever wore clothes he made himself that were supposed to be what the Norse god Thor would wear. He was also often on 6th Avenue in Manhattan, busking with his home made instruments. Listening to his music, its like a mix of Thai, Native American, Javanese, Japanese, American Folk and jazz interludes. Yet, it also feels like you could remove all the ethnic or cultural elements all at once and simply focus on the rhythm and the beat. The structure, if you will.

He’s also blind. Which makes him like the best blind musicman since Beethoven. Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles ain’t got nuthin on him.