[Gordon Harries brings us a review of Union Station. I hardly read any comics anymore, so recommendations are more than welcome. For a lot of us, I bet.]
Ande Parks/Eduardo Barreto
Oni Press
$11.95
The recent period thriller tends to belong to a broad church, roughly breaking into two denominations: On the one hand you have James Ellroy, the self-styled ’demon dog of American noir’ his literary prowess dedicated to an evisceration of the recent past. On the other, near contemporary Walter Mosley who’s mannered approach of times masks an otherwise incisive intelligence. Alongside an oft-stated appreciation of Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell’s ‘From Hell’, it was Ellroy that writer Ande Parks referenced in the interviews surrounding the publication of ‘Union Station‘.
Centering around the 1933 massacre referenced by the title, ‘Union Station’ concerns itself with both the resulting manhunt and the forces that drove it, eventually leading to the formation of J. Edgar Hoover’s Federal Bureau of Investigation. Such forces are personified by three protagonists; the good natured Agent Reed Vetterli, the criminal turned pariah Verne Miller and Newspaperman Charles Thompson, a recent arrival in Kansas City whose ambitions are undermined by his wife’s depression over her recent mastectomy.
The mastectomy is utilized to illustrate one of the central themes of the piece; that each character slowly becomes emasculated by the institution they serve. This is true of Thompson, who must navigate being a crusading journalist and surviving in a town wherein the legitimate and illegitimate economies have become much the same thing, just as much as it is of Verne Miller, the former lawman turned criminal who’s now hunted by his own kind. Reed Vetterli, on the other hand, is the equivalent of the western’s small-town sheriff: constantly half a step behind and facing down his own demons. In truth, the mastectomy is the weakest point of Parks’ elegant script, not because the idea of male emasculation isn’t well executed, but because the use of feminine decline to illustrate this is so male a conceit.
Showing posts with label Gordon Harries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gordon Harries. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 19, 2009
U2: No Line On The Horizon critique
by Gordon Harries
[Gordon and I were both concerned that this would make too many posts here about U2, a band I never listen to. But ultimately I decided to put this up because it challenges Scott -- and a gentlemanly challenge is good for generating discussion which is good for a blog (I am looking at you, Jason Powell and Doug M.)]
Truth be told, the media offensive built around the latest U2 album’s made me a little apprehensive about listening to it. Bono, for example, has been compelled to repeatedly suggest that U2 have to be relevant because, chances are, you already own a U2 album and therefore he can‘t assume you‘d want another (and dismissing the inherent logic of that for just a moment, they’re can’t be many sights as sobering as the fifty year old rock star still seeking validation.) as if to reinforce this, he’s been claiming that writers, poets and filmmakers aren’t expected to retire gracefully, so why should he?
It’s worth noting that various degrees of reinvention have been in the air for awhile now; witness Radiohead releasing the so-so ‘In Rainbows’ digitally and therefore (at least in my country) making sure that every conversation about the digital distribution of music references them. The ’radical’ reinvention of Oasis which consists of them sonically moving from the late sixties to the early seventies and Coldplay’s Eno flecked ’Viva La Vida’. Also notable is the fact that the latter two obviously tried to wrench themselves away from their respective comfort zones but were simply hobbled by their equally obvious gifts for melody.
Which brings us to ’No Line On The Horizon’ and the latest reinvention of U2.
‘No Line On The Horizon’ opens with it’s title track, a portentous bass line with occasional yelping from Bono. It’s simultaneously one of the best thing’s on the album and illustrates it’s core problem: firstly, that the biggest band in the world have something to prove and secondly, are doing so by invoking the feel of Lou Reed Circa ’Berlin’. Now, to me the title ’No Line On The Horizon’ invokes forward momentum and limitless possibilities. What I hear on this album is a band retreating to the past. The product and it’s packaging are at odds.
Indeed, in other reviews of this record the albums most referenced have been U2’s own ’Achtung Baby’ and ‘Zooropa’. However, those former records possessed a sense of consistency that is simply not present here. It also should be noted that both albums were deeply in thrall to both the early-nineties spirit of ’Madchester’ and the mildly esoteric sound of ’Trip-Hop’. Sadly, it’s no longer the early nineties and aspects of both these sub-genres (and I say this as quite the fan of both Madchester and trip-hop) have dated badly, something both Tricky and Portishead took note of before their recent reinventions.
As has been commonly said, this is an earnest attempt to produce an honest to god album in the age of the track based listening experience and for that U2 should be applauded. However, let’s not suggest that are pioneers on this front; Interpol, Mogwai, Doves, Elbow, Tricky, Portishead, Bloc Party and The National have all produced albums within the last year that are not easily digestible upon first listen and, honestly, this album has far too incoherent a sonic agenda to be successful as a coherent listening experience. (a failing that is common to the U2 album, in my experience.)
I don’t mean to suggest that U2 cannot change tack or reinvent themselves successfully, just that this album is the wrong one to begin a discourse about the relevancy of the stupefying successful U2 with. Because, despite their oft-stated need to prove themselves, the impression this listener came away with was of multi-millionaires playing in their doubtlessly well appointed studio.
David Fincher, circa ‘The Game‘, explained his decision to remain in the province of the b-movie by suggesting that the point at which an artist loses their way can be traced to the point in time he/she began to think about the artistic legacy. If one accepts Fincher’s argument (and I do) then U2 have been struggling against the perception that they’ve already completed they’re masterwork since 1987’s Joshua Tree. Or to put it another way ’I don’t believe in the sixties/the golden age of pop/ you glorify the past/when the future dries up’
[Gordon and I were both concerned that this would make too many posts here about U2, a band I never listen to. But ultimately I decided to put this up because it challenges Scott -- and a gentlemanly challenge is good for generating discussion which is good for a blog (I am looking at you, Jason Powell and Doug M.)]
Truth be told, the media offensive built around the latest U2 album’s made me a little apprehensive about listening to it. Bono, for example, has been compelled to repeatedly suggest that U2 have to be relevant because, chances are, you already own a U2 album and therefore he can‘t assume you‘d want another (and dismissing the inherent logic of that for just a moment, they’re can’t be many sights as sobering as the fifty year old rock star still seeking validation.) as if to reinforce this, he’s been claiming that writers, poets and filmmakers aren’t expected to retire gracefully, so why should he?
It’s worth noting that various degrees of reinvention have been in the air for awhile now; witness Radiohead releasing the so-so ‘In Rainbows’ digitally and therefore (at least in my country) making sure that every conversation about the digital distribution of music references them. The ’radical’ reinvention of Oasis which consists of them sonically moving from the late sixties to the early seventies and Coldplay’s Eno flecked ’Viva La Vida’. Also notable is the fact that the latter two obviously tried to wrench themselves away from their respective comfort zones but were simply hobbled by their equally obvious gifts for melody.
Which brings us to ’No Line On The Horizon’ and the latest reinvention of U2.
‘No Line On The Horizon’ opens with it’s title track, a portentous bass line with occasional yelping from Bono. It’s simultaneously one of the best thing’s on the album and illustrates it’s core problem: firstly, that the biggest band in the world have something to prove and secondly, are doing so by invoking the feel of Lou Reed Circa ’Berlin’. Now, to me the title ’No Line On The Horizon’ invokes forward momentum and limitless possibilities. What I hear on this album is a band retreating to the past. The product and it’s packaging are at odds.
Indeed, in other reviews of this record the albums most referenced have been U2’s own ’Achtung Baby’ and ‘Zooropa’. However, those former records possessed a sense of consistency that is simply not present here. It also should be noted that both albums were deeply in thrall to both the early-nineties spirit of ’Madchester’ and the mildly esoteric sound of ’Trip-Hop’. Sadly, it’s no longer the early nineties and aspects of both these sub-genres (and I say this as quite the fan of both Madchester and trip-hop) have dated badly, something both Tricky and Portishead took note of before their recent reinventions.
As has been commonly said, this is an earnest attempt to produce an honest to god album in the age of the track based listening experience and for that U2 should be applauded. However, let’s not suggest that are pioneers on this front; Interpol, Mogwai, Doves, Elbow, Tricky, Portishead, Bloc Party and The National have all produced albums within the last year that are not easily digestible upon first listen and, honestly, this album has far too incoherent a sonic agenda to be successful as a coherent listening experience. (a failing that is common to the U2 album, in my experience.)
I don’t mean to suggest that U2 cannot change tack or reinvent themselves successfully, just that this album is the wrong one to begin a discourse about the relevancy of the stupefying successful U2 with. Because, despite their oft-stated need to prove themselves, the impression this listener came away with was of multi-millionaires playing in their doubtlessly well appointed studio.
David Fincher, circa ‘The Game‘, explained his decision to remain in the province of the b-movie by suggesting that the point at which an artist loses their way can be traced to the point in time he/she began to think about the artistic legacy. If one accepts Fincher’s argument (and I do) then U2 have been struggling against the perception that they’ve already completed they’re masterwork since 1987’s Joshua Tree. Or to put it another way ’I don’t believe in the sixties/the golden age of pop/ you glorify the past/when the future dries up’
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Where is the Wire of Superhero Comics?
By Gordon Harries [I respond below]
The following is a response/extension to a recent conversation I had with Geoff Klock:
We were talking about the innate conservatism of the comics reader, in respect to the range of genres now on offer in comic books. To take Geoff as an example, in TV he appreciates both Pushing Daises and The Wire, which certainly have differing world views. He's a pop culture scholar, likes differing styles of movies and types of prose and yet when it comes to his appreciation of comic books he always --by his own admission-- leans towards superhero/fantastical comics.
Not that I wish anyone to imagine this is a slight against Geoff or to suggest that I'm an exception to this, my reading generally gravitates towards crime fiction and my favorite comic is 100 Bullets. And yet: it's not like 100 Bullets --or much of the type of crime fiction routinely published in comics-- is a million miles away from the tropes of the superhero comic. Consider the evidence; Bullets concerns a labyrinthine plot about which some things remain unclear, shifting alliances and affections (if not sexual relationships/encounters, something Bullets has been light on, overall.) between the principal characters and, some eight years since commencing publication, is beginning to feel a lot like a soap opera. Sounds somewhat like Claremont-era X-MEN, doesn't it? And that's before one observes the sporadic outbursts of violence which marries the two genres.
And yet, despite having long observed this commonality between the two …I still don't read superhero comics. In fact, after coming across this post by Neil Shyminsky I was tempted to pick up the relevant comic. Shortly after discovering that the X-Men all had long hair now, presumably because they live in liberal safe haven San Francisco, I decided put it down.
So, open question: why does the comic reader, with an otherwise wide range of tastes, tend to bank towards on one genre within comics? Five or six years ago I would have imagined that a case could be made for a stratification of readers. For example, you would read Warren Ellis' creator owned stuff for his 'real' work. After all the work for hire material was just to pay the bills. Now though we've had Bendis' Daredevil and currently Brubaker's Captain America runs, which are amongst the most well regarded comics of their day with any question about the authenticity of WFH almost completely disregarded.
Any thoughts?
[I asked Gordon to make his email into a post for the blog because I DON'T have any thoughts. I remember enjoying Bendis' early crime stuff, Torso and whatnot. And I love Sin City especially the first few volumes (I agree with Gordon that it fell apart in the end: his sticking point was its degeneration into superhero stuff with the origin of Dwight; mine was a preposterously stupid scene in the final volume in which the protagonist, his drawing of a naked woman in half in front of someone as a big defiant gesture of his refusal to sell out his artistic gifts for pornography or something -- I don't remember it exactly, but I recall thinking it was the worst kind of sitcom cliche about "artists" made much worse by its inclusion in the world of Sin City, and by the fact that the artist is also some kind of uber-military assassin. I read the first two or three volumes of 100 Bullets but never really got into it, although part of the reason may have been the time I took between volumes: I lost the thread of the big plot somewhere in there. Scalped, which everyone raves about, I thought was alright but I never went past volume 1: I have heard more recently that it gets better after that, so maybe I will give it another shot. Ruka and Brubaker have not impressed me with what I have read of theirs, which is not very much: Sleeper was the book that really turned me off of Brubaker, but his Cap run may be something I should just read all of, all at once, even though Captain America 25, which I read, did not grab me either. Bendis's Daredevil is a book I got for a long time but ultimately it just bored me and I dropped it. Ellis's sense of humor and preoccupations got on my nerves after a while altogether.
I am totally at a loss to explain why it is that I like both Pushing Daises and the Wire but only the superhero end of comic books. So I ask with Gordon: any thoughts?]
The following is a response/extension to a recent conversation I had with Geoff Klock:
We were talking about the innate conservatism of the comics reader, in respect to the range of genres now on offer in comic books. To take Geoff as an example, in TV he appreciates both Pushing Daises and The Wire, which certainly have differing world views. He's a pop culture scholar, likes differing styles of movies and types of prose and yet when it comes to his appreciation of comic books he always --by his own admission-- leans towards superhero/fantastical comics.
Not that I wish anyone to imagine this is a slight against Geoff or to suggest that I'm an exception to this, my reading generally gravitates towards crime fiction and my favorite comic is 100 Bullets. And yet: it's not like 100 Bullets --or much of the type of crime fiction routinely published in comics-- is a million miles away from the tropes of the superhero comic. Consider the evidence; Bullets concerns a labyrinthine plot about which some things remain unclear, shifting alliances and affections (if not sexual relationships/encounters, something Bullets has been light on, overall.) between the principal characters and, some eight years since commencing publication, is beginning to feel a lot like a soap opera. Sounds somewhat like Claremont-era X-MEN, doesn't it? And that's before one observes the sporadic outbursts of violence which marries the two genres.
And yet, despite having long observed this commonality between the two …I still don't read superhero comics. In fact, after coming across this post by Neil Shyminsky I was tempted to pick up the relevant comic. Shortly after discovering that the X-Men all had long hair now, presumably because they live in liberal safe haven San Francisco, I decided put it down.
So, open question: why does the comic reader, with an otherwise wide range of tastes, tend to bank towards on one genre within comics? Five or six years ago I would have imagined that a case could be made for a stratification of readers. For example, you would read Warren Ellis' creator owned stuff for his 'real' work. After all the work for hire material was just to pay the bills. Now though we've had Bendis' Daredevil and currently Brubaker's Captain America runs, which are amongst the most well regarded comics of their day with any question about the authenticity of WFH almost completely disregarded.
Any thoughts?
[I asked Gordon to make his email into a post for the blog because I DON'T have any thoughts. I remember enjoying Bendis' early crime stuff, Torso and whatnot. And I love Sin City especially the first few volumes (I agree with Gordon that it fell apart in the end: his sticking point was its degeneration into superhero stuff with the origin of Dwight; mine was a preposterously stupid scene in the final volume in which the protagonist, his drawing of a naked woman in half in front of someone as a big defiant gesture of his refusal to sell out his artistic gifts for pornography or something -- I don't remember it exactly, but I recall thinking it was the worst kind of sitcom cliche about "artists" made much worse by its inclusion in the world of Sin City, and by the fact that the artist is also some kind of uber-military assassin. I read the first two or three volumes of 100 Bullets but never really got into it, although part of the reason may have been the time I took between volumes: I lost the thread of the big plot somewhere in there. Scalped, which everyone raves about, I thought was alright but I never went past volume 1: I have heard more recently that it gets better after that, so maybe I will give it another shot. Ruka and Brubaker have not impressed me with what I have read of theirs, which is not very much: Sleeper was the book that really turned me off of Brubaker, but his Cap run may be something I should just read all of, all at once, even though Captain America 25, which I read, did not grab me either. Bendis's Daredevil is a book I got for a long time but ultimately it just bored me and I dropped it. Ellis's sense of humor and preoccupations got on my nerves after a while altogether.
I am totally at a loss to explain why it is that I like both Pushing Daises and the Wire but only the superhero end of comic books. So I ask with Gordon: any thoughts?]
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