Tuesday 27 September 2011

Page One - Inside The NY Times

STOP THE PRESSES; THE NEW YORK TIMES HAS SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY!



The New York Times is now just one voice of many”



We open on a busy industrial printing warehouse churning out a swell of freshly inked dailies ready for circulation. Most of you will agree that the New York Times is a legendary establishment revered by any writer worth their journalistic salt. The papers popularity owes as much to its stubborn traditions as it does to the quality of its content, cementing it as a publication truly worthy of iconic status. Page One: Inside the New York Times takes us to the in-house mainstay and beyond in an effort to show the ever changing dimensional shifts of the media landscape and its widespread effect on newspapers across the US.



 Director Andrew Rossi documents every component of the NY Times machine, from the desk heads to the reporters to the writers themselves. We’re promised a revealing, balanced insight into one of America’s most beloved institutions.



Do we get it? Well, kind of….



 Page One is fraught with problems, both structural and narrative. But let’s focus on the positives, of which there are also many.

  The film begins well. Rossi appears to’ve been allowed unrestricted access to the editorial process during Bill Keller’s reign as chief editor. The newsroom is a dazzling site to behold when it’s full of busy writers pitching ideas and finalising scoops. Behind the mythic excitement of it all, there is a definite sadness surrounding the Midtown Manhattan building with the recent staff cut backs and continual outside pressure of internet sites like The Huffington Post and Gawker which threaten to plunge the entire industry into extinction. These are tough times for the times.

This is also where the film loses some of its balance.

Internet news sites are portrayed as soul hungry cyborgs created by illiterate computer nerds whose sole intention is to destroy the printed word.



You'll be glad to hear it’s not all anti-technological sentiment.



 We do see how the NY Times has tried adapting to technological advances - Twitter is even described as a “professional necessity”. The new alliance with WikiLeaks remains a contentious subject which has succeeded in dividing the staff but might just see them through this difficult economic climate.

  The pace here is fast and the bulk of information presented is strong enough to maintain even the most jaded of viewer’s interest. Like Rossi’s last feature - Le Cirque: A Table in Heaven - Page One also interchanges between fly on the wall and frequent use of interview snippets to good effect.



Then things threaten to really go pear shaped.



  Half an hour in and the documentary still hasn’t really decided where it wants to go. At times the continual talk of industry panic and financial restraints begin to wear a little thin but it plods along cosy in a cocoon of its own hubris. If we’re being brutally honest it won’t hold the full attention of your average cinema-goer with no prior interest in the subject being probed – until David Carr shuffles onto our screens with all his hoarse venom and deep-set eyes that tell more stories than the Times staff combined.



 Caught in the middle of an expose on the Tribune, Rossi’s documentary manages to glimpse the man at his most acerbic. Carr’s character gives proceedings a much needed injection of chutzpah between the stuffy monotone pen pushers and straight-laced office types. He’s in possession of all the string-vested obscene language that made outspoken drunkards like Charles Bukowski such a national treasure (referring to a group of journalists during his speech as “tenacious motherfuckers”). The candid Carr assumes narration and the documentary flickers into bright beautiful life.



 But every candles dancing flare must eventually burn out.



“Inside The New York Times” masquerades as a film about how the media will fair in the digital age but really it feels more like a gushing epitaph. It feels more like homage to an institution which strives for immortality but will inevitably fail to obtain it - the collapse of ad revenue should surely see their coffins sealed.

The bias of the filmmaker does sometimes leave us wondering about the true objective of the piece. After all, The Times aren’t all humanist, credible angels.

  The film merely flirts with controversial figures within the Times like serial plagiarist Judith Miller and the much criticised pay-wall system of their website, but we never really plumb their depths in any real detail.





  Page One is desperate to expose something amid the clutter - like a clumsy husband groping for a light-switch in his garden shed but grabs hold of an extension lead instead, bringing a whole shelf of power tools down onto his head. Far be it for this journalist to condemn Andrew Rossi’s agenda, his cause is surely explored with admiral respect for subject and his stylistic execution is solid. The result is uneven but nonetheless revealing, so for this Page One: Inside The New York Times does exactly what it says on the tin – with an added spice of partiality of course. That said, sanctimonious tone aside, Page One almost works.

C-Drone Defect

C-Drone Defect

(originally published in Re-Gen magazine, 2011)



Category: Electro industrial

Album: Letters from Dystopia

Stars: 3

Blurb:  German industrial wiz returns with a taste of things to come…

When bands release entire EP’s dedicated to promoting their next album, one could perhaps be forgiven for expecting the worst. Of the 9 songs which comprise Letters from Dystopia, 5 of them are originals that will make the forthcoming Dystopia album list. So you’ll all be glad to know that this “taster EP” feels more than just a shameless way of bleeding money from diehard fans. And, if you’re one of those people who simply can’t wait for C-Drone Defect’s next serving of industrial aggrotech, then this should succeed in tiding you over until its imminent release. 



  Marc Horstmeier has been touring and making music under the C-Drone Defect pseudonym for over a decade, storming the German Alternative charts with electro-industrial hits like “Fashion Victim” and “Sin Society”. But from the off, we can see a dramatic change in ethos and maturity on this new offering. Horstmeier’s ambition is broader, his musical scope more complex. There’s the relatively new concept of a narrative present here too.



  The main theme coursing through Letters from Dystopia - if you hadn’t guessed already - revolve around the bands bleak premonitions for our ruinous future. Epic opener “Morituri Te Salutant” provides a grandiose slab of militant cyberpunk that does well to set things in motion. A falsetto of Gregorian chants feel as sinister as they do victorious while the drums pound away like hydraulic rams in typical industrial fashion.  There’s no escaping the hugeness of Horstmeier’s music. The addition of symphonic instruments weaves “Morituri Te Salutant” into a stirring protest march against C-Drone Defect’s oppressive fictional police state.  

 

  Another thing which may pleasantly surprise listeners is that the remixes are pretty fantastic.  Truth is, track one and track two (“Mundus Vult Decipi”) are the only un-tampered originals on here. It should also be emphasised that this in no way takes away from Letters from Dystopia, quite the contrary - the other songs have been fiddled with by some very talented DJ’s.

  Implant’s take on third track, “Tempus Fugit”, sees the first use of sequencers bring a much needed diversity to proceedings. Behind the hellektro warnings of “Big Brother’s watching” a different dynamic entirely is at work. The tinny snare claps and tribal tom beating is suddenly replaced by drum machines. Engelmacher and Finish new-bloods Plastik Suicide offer inventive new takes on tried and tested rhythms and melodic frameworks, introducing skittering dance beats reminiscent of Belgian Hard-core or 90’s Detroit techno.



  Virtual Terrorist’s remix of “Morituri Te Salutant” maintains more of Horstmeier’s spirit, opting not to deviate too much from the original track. In combing all its syncopated elements with the grittier polyrhythms found in heavy metal and industrial music, C-Drone Defect has all the bases covered to produce a truly memorable genre record in Dystopia. We’ll have to wait and see. Based on this EP it could very well be worth the wait.



  The whole “Letters from Dystopia” EP is quick and pulsing with energy and we rarely stop for breath. Though it’s maybe not enough to really get your teeth into, it presents some very nice moments and should keep fans satisfied.



































Track list


01.Morituri Te Salutant
02. Mundus Vult Decipi
03.Tempus Fugit (Implant remix)
04.Ratio Misericordiae (Waste rmx)
05.Lex Talionis (Rotating angels mix by Caustic)
06.Morituri Te Salutant (Engelmacher mix)
07.Mundus Vult Decipi (Plastik Suicide Remix)
08. Morituri Te Salutant (Silenti Etc Remix by Virtual Terrorist)
09.Mundus Vult Decipi (Cold Start Mix by Vested Serpent)



C-Drone Defect Web – http://www.cdronedefect.de

C-Drone Defect MySpace - http://www.myspace.com/cdronedefect


Wyatt Keusch Review

Wyatt Keusch

http://beardrock.com/reviews/wyatt-keusch

(Originally published in The Edinburgh Journal and Beard Rock)



Category: IDM/ Experimental / Down tempo

Album: Object Relation

Stars: 3

Blurb: LA sound artist serves up a bleak side of Hollywood.



Intelligent Dance Music is a much loathed musical term, denounced by almost every credible artist in the genre. Wyatt Keusch is one of the few IDM exponents who embraces his title and the accompanying notion that all other modes of dance music are redundant re-treads.



A long time native of LA, Wyatt Penn Keusch isn’t the kind of artist you’d expect to’ve hailed from Hollywood.  His music is dark, uncompromising and shrouded in ambiguity. Had he grown up in the emotionally withdrawn Bavarian outback or frolicked a lonely boy on the hills of some Scandinavian isle – then sure, his music would make a lot of sense.  Describing his work as “sound art”, Object – Relation isn’t the kind of album you might stick on repeat on a sunny Sunday morning before heading off to collect your daily paper. Using modular synth and dated software programmes to create the atmospheric landscapes in each song, Wyatt Keusch doesn’t want you to enjoy his music - he doesn’t even want you to consider it music at all…



  Objective Relation uses subtlety and intimation to better explain the interaction between human beings through machines. Wyatt Keusch is solely concerned with spontaneity, co-habitual relations, and all things rich in meaning. He rejects things like song structure or hooks outright. If you have the patience for it, Object-Relation could prove very rewarding…really!



Running over an hour in length, Object-Relation beats the listener into submission in the most fragile way imaginable.  Digital samples and drum overlays sound more like fingers punching down keys on a typewriter than anything else (Object 02 (track 2) is a good example of this). The absence of any definable instrument means Wyatt Keusch’s music gets to really pound home that sense of cold detachment found in technologically dominated landscapes. You’ll maybe hear faint piano’s or recognise vague impressions of instruments in the midst of it all, but often they blur and mesh together to form a unique, otherworldly noise you can’t quite put your finger on. If you’re in the mood for reflection or even if you’re just the introspective type, you may just’ve stumbled across the new soundtrack to your life. That said it’s not everyone’s tipple. The album requires perseverance. It requires an understanding of Keusch’s objective and a willingness to listen to the album in its correct context.



 Object-Relation is challenging but remains a commendable addition to the IDM catalogue.



















































Track List



Track01.Object 1

Track02.Object2

Track03.Object3

Track04.Object4

Track05.Object5

Track06.Object6

Track07.Object7

Track08.Object8

Track09.Object9

Track10.Object10

Track11.Object11



Wyatt Keusch Official - http://wyattkeusch.com

Wyatt Keusch twitter - twitter.com/Wyatt Keusch


Wyatt Keusch Vimeo - http://vimeo.com/khalija




Necro Terrorist PART 2

Necro-terrorist



(PART 2)

(Originally published in Trisickle Magazine, 2011)



I keep expecting to wake up…



…Slide out of bed on a trail of my own sweat…



…Grope around for a light switch to beat away the hideous shadow that’s been cast across the face of the world…



But I never do wake up.



*pauses for dramatic effect*



We have these morsels cornered – two unpopular teachers from my school.



Mr Garitty and Mr Phelps



Well, I say “we”, I’M not really doing anything besides watching. I’ve been relegated to the back of the group, not that I have any desire to be at the vanguard. I’ve yet to completely abandon my dignity and sense of moral self.



Yes, I think now’s as good a time as any to seize the ethical high ground!



There are 3 primary desires of the recently undead – nourishment, sex and television. The casual zombie has no other hidden layer, no buried facet where all their sensitive, vulnerable and knowledge-thirsty components are situated…only surface aspiration.

  They’ve all lunged at the human feast knocking over garbage cans and making some of the most obscene chewing noises I think I’ve ever heard. I can only see a bare human leg sticking out, calf flexed, ankle drawn tight.



I’m feeling a little left out. My strongest social response is to succumb to crowd politics.



Before I know what’s what, we’re eating them both alive.



Their screams are awful and arousing.



Garitty and Phelps both tastes a lot like failure

Mmhmmm….



My mother still finds time to fret when I don’t chew properly – you can’t spell “smother” without “mother” I suppose. In a way it’s comforting to know that some things never change… rather like women in some respects.



Now wait just a sec here!



I’m not a misogynist, I don’t hate all women. In fact, you could say with a certain confidence that I love most women. But given that my experiences with the opposite sex have proved gratuitously bloodier than an early David Cronenberg film and as complicated as an Egyptian Sudoku puzzle – you can perhaps forgive these apprehensions of mine.



It should be noted for posterity that zombies have no sense of decency either. So you can probably imagine the foul hybrid that is…



…A FEMALE ZOMBIE



As indecisive as she is cruel and blood thirsty…shrill, moody and in possession of an alluring beauty…loving, maternal…hateful and twisted…



Casting my eye over the wasted town, I catch sight of Deborah and Skull Smasher Zombie acting out an elaborate oral sex routine. They’ve wrapped themselves in a lotus position, naked in semi-foetal glory for all to see.  



Deborah is sluiced in sweat and viscera. Skull Smasher Zombie kneads all her bony contours with his fingertips.



Then, true to his title, Skull Smasher punches Deborah’s head clean off.



It’s all very sudden, very unnecessary and I’m sure if my moral centre hadn’t been so dulled of late, it would be a thoroughly shocking scene to behold. But as it happens my moral centre has been dulled. I’m an abomination remember, just like everyone else?

Debs is dead (again)…



Oh well



A teardrop of semen bled from the eye of Skull Smasher’s penis as he gazed down at Deborah’s twitching, headless body.



Bet she wishes she’d stayed with me now, eh?


Necro Terrorist PART 1

Necro-terrorist



(PART 1)

(Originally published in Trisickle Magazine, 2011)

I look at Deborah in her frock, standing awkwardly with both feet crushed into tight stilettos. Her hair cascading in ringlets, eyes gaping like looking fish, blood smeared all over her crooked little mouth like treacle…



You know the story....you’re walking into your local newsagents for some Winegums and a packet of Golden Wonder crisps, when BOOM – an unknown virus hits your town turning everyone around you into slobbering, brain hungry reanimated corpses…



I know, I know, we’ve all been there, but how did you cope?



If you -



A) headed towards your nearest rooftop/government army quarantine base and held out until the virus was properly contained



B) obtained an extra 40-round magazine for your Glock handgun

OR

C) killed yourself



…Then chances are you dealt with the zombie holocaust as effectively as possible and maintained some glimmer of your precious humanity in the process(for a while at least). If you do fall into this category of people then I must congratulate you *congratulations*. But if you’re one of those rare, mentally touched people like me and tried reasoning with your recently infected loved ones, then chances are you wound up in the same situation that I’ve found myself in… shuffling through the streets as a blooming zombie yourself!

 First thing’s first though - I don’t want you to think this is a Romero style epidemic here. By this I mean that I’m not using zombies as a metaphor for the repression of bourgeois American society or as nuanced symbolism pertaining to the Cold War or even as a flimsy social commentary regarding consumerism. No, no…



This is me writing about my life living amongst the brain-dead AS one of them.



 For someone as well-educated as I am you’d think I’d be no time in rising to the top of the un-dead hierarchy, but quite the opposite instance has transpired.



(-Insert formidable silence here-)



In fact, I’m considered somewhat of an outcast in today’s society. When you think about it, I guess this all does kind of sound like a metaphor, doesn’t it? Sorry…

 At present I’m standing in a queue of zombies outside a truck sat on its axles. Inside are a number of humanoid morsels crying and praying for mercy. There’s a kid who looks like he’s relishing it all and there’s a middle aged man dumb with fright. How has it come to this? My future seemed so bright you know? These days the sound of someone cracking their teeth over a rod of bone pleases me.

 So low is my stock these days that even my girlfriend Deborah has left me for a superior specimen curiously nicknamed “Skull Smasher Zombie” by his living dead compatriots. They’re inseparable.



It’s disgusting.



My mother continues to smear her reflection with windolyne.



My father continues to eat with his mouth open.



My girlfriend continues to be a bitch.



 To think, if I hadn’t caught them both eating each other I’d have been none the wiser. Yes, these are changed times. If you have a single functioning particle in your juicy, delicious brain then prepare for a life of isolation and constant ridicule. This damn metaphor seems to be surfacing at an uncanny rate.



Metaphor…bubbling up…foaming around me…a-a-n-n-d-d… there it is.