There’s a lot to look forward to in the next few months. Let’s get right to it:
The Summer of Scott Pilgrim
Back when I was first talking to Bryan Lee O’Malley about his upcoming “Scott Pilgrim” book series in 2004, neither of us ever imagined what a huge sensation it would become. International best-seller, lauded by critics and media outlets, a cultural touchstone for an entire generation of slacker hipsters. Even with all that’s come before, though, summer 2010 will be remembered as the summer of Scott Pilgrim. It all starts next week with the release of the sixth and final volume in the series, Scott Pilgrim’s Finest Hour, wherein all questions will be answered, all plot threads tied up, and we’ll all have to move on to something else. A mere three weeks later sees the release of Scott Pilgrim vs. the World: The Game on the Playstation Network. The 16-bit River City Ransom homage sports squeal-worthy art direction by acclaimed animator Paul Robertson and an original soundtrack by Brooklyn’s own chiptune power group Anamanaguchi. Fandom is sure to reach an all time high, though, with the August 13th release of the major motion picture adaptation Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, directed by Shaun of the Dead‘s Edgar Wright and starring a cavalcade of hip young actors from everything cool in the past decade.
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It’s hard to look past the history of the Toy Story franchise. The very first entirely computer-animated theatrical release, the original Toy Story captivated audiences fifteen years ago. It’s sequel in 1999 met with universal acclaim, a surprisingly existential family film that provoked thought and feelings in a way uncharacteristic of summer blockbusters. Toy Story 3 had started as a Disney project independent of creators Pixar, but when Toy Story 1 & 2 director John Lasseter became chief creative officer of Disney animation studios in 2006 his first duty was scrapping the entire production and putting Toy Story 3 back in the hands of Pixar to start from scratch. The result is the most emotionally poignant film I’ve seen in years. The final thirty minutes has the entire audience in a constant stream of salty tears.
Three albums and not much has changed. Love Is All, the Swedish indie-pop quintet, are still cranking out lo-fi three-minute gems that would fit in perfectly on cassette tape compilations of early punk and grunge. Honestly, if they changed their formula all that much I don’t think people would be interested in them. It was the raw honesty of their playful pop that wooed Love Is All a fanbase to begin with. That said, Two Thousand And Ten Injuries does have noticeably different atmosphere from it’s preceding albums. Nowhere near as frantic as A Hundred Things Keep Me Up At Night, the guitars have gone from battling screeches to shimmering chorus plucks and the rat-tat-tat snare drums have made way for deeper tom toms. Indeed, it seems as though Love Is All are going along with the example of Vampire Weekend and Islands, by following Paul Simon to Graceland.
Oh, Bloc Party. It’s been only five years since the entirety of pop culture media were praising the boys from London as the next great saviors of rock and roll. Debut LP Silent Alarm and the singles that surrounded it were entirely deserving of every blog post, magazine interview and New York Times spotlight they received as it remains one of the very best rock albums of the past decade, immediately drawing comparisons to Gang of Four, Joy Division, Blur, The Cure and Franz Ferdinand.
As I’ve said for nearly a decade now, I would only attend RISD if my intent was to drop out of form a rock band. Beyond my own petty rivalries with with alumni of the Rhode Island School of Design, it’s hard to ignore the pattern. Talking Heads formed at RISD, as did Les Savy Fav, Lightning Bolt and Black Dice along with the frontmen of A Place To Bury Strangers and Yeasayer. It’s a great school to go to if your aim is to forget about learning in favor of rocking and/or rolling. Now we have Fang Island, the hot new Brooklyn quintet formed at RISD in 2005. Shine on, system of higher education.
I wish this were a prank, I honestly do. It’s just so amazingly terrible. I still hope that news will break in a day or two that this is all a joke, but it’s been all over the ‘net since it was announced on Tuesday, March 30th.
Winter was a cold and bitter season. It was a season of being completely aware of the surroundings as well as the self. I look back upon this season the best way I know how – with a mixtape.
New Young Pony Club hit the scene five years ago with a number of singles that got the hipster kids to leave the land of the wallflowers to burn holes in their dancing shoes. Debut LP Fantastic Playroom collected those singles in a single package much like LCD Soundsystem’s first album. The fresh-faced Brits demonstrated a less-is-more approach that was refreshingly accessable, with calm-yet-driving bass lines, bright raindrop synths and a healthy smattering of handclaps, all underneath a purr of restrained sensuality.
It seems to be generally accepted amongst my demographic that the Hives are a lesser band for posers. I have never understood this mindset. What is so acceptable about the Strokes that we continue to romanticize them or the Killers that we continue to even tolerate them that we can’t seem to find in the Hives? What makes them less than these others?
It’s hard to believe it’s been over five years since I was at Beulah’s final concert. I almost missed that train into the city and didn’t see the show at all, but I slid just inside the closing train doors at the last second and paid the exorbitant on-board ticket fee gladly, getting to the Battery Park just in time. It was a keystone moment in my then-burgeoning hipster lifestyle. I only accept the passage of time by acknowledging how much has changed in the world since that concert. George W. Bush finally won a presidential election by capturing Saddam Hussein, both Family Guy and Futurama were brought back from the land of dead television programs, and Stephen Colbert got his own tv show, book and Grammy, as well as being namedropped several times by America’s new *gasp* African-American president. Indeed, we’ve come a long way in a few short years…