The Intermission before the Third Act

The Second Act of my Swan Opera has come to an end. So why don’t we take five, shall we?

We are leaving the Mansion of Litera(p)ture to have a quick smoke. We slip outside through the back door. The night is young, starless and chilly. On the stairs – a discarded book. We pick it up. There’s a crescent-shaped stain of the front cover and several pages suffer from dog ears. Upon seeing author’s name, we raise our eyebrows in brief disbelief, then squint our eyes out of suspenseful suspicion. Robert Bresson was a movie director, not a writer. But then again, how can we be sure. After all, the world is a permanent surprise, isn’t it?

I admitted two weeks ago that I am a movie buff light. So it’s pretty obvious how my light movie buffness became awestruck, completely ineffable as a matter of fact, when I turned over the last page of Notes on Cinematography. Or Notes on the Cinematograph, or Notes on the Cinematographer. Why three slightly alternate titles? I don’t know. And, frankly, I don’t care. Because no one should care about the title when they have the book of such firepower in front of them. And what a book this is, indeed!

Written in a vein of curt aphorisms, it presents Bresson’s philosophy of movie making. The book not only covers Frenchman’s thoughts and ideas about various aspects of cinematography (NOT cinema – Bresson clarifies and distinguishes the difference between these two terms – the former having rather specific meaning, far from the one commonly associated with it) such as music, models (again, Bresson’s own terminology here), automatism, truth and falsity of images, etc., but also illustrates, albeit very intuitively, how they all might have been formed. At least my imagination rocked really hard with mental images of Bresson implementing his own take on cinematography while orchestrating a movie set, shooting on location, or simply stooping in front of his desk over yet another entry in his notebook. All in all, it is truly a fast break read, ending with not one but many stupendous slam dunks of thought. Also, never have I ever called something “philosophy” with less doubt than Bresson’s Notes on Cinematography. If you love movies, it is a must, just like Hitchcock/Truffaut or Sculpting in Time by Andrei Tarkovsky.

That’s all I am willing to give you away. They are chiming for the Third act, anyway…

Amonne Purity

Disasters do not exist, they are elsewhere.

Georges Perec

There exists a jarring paradox: silence is at daggers drawn with language, yet it breeds – in a gemmating fashion, thus with hardly any fuss or gidding – a demand to justify itself WITHIN boundaries of the latter. Therefore, it concocts a cumbersome cocktail of common courtesy, whipped with a whiff of whimsical whining: “Mr. Language, why are you being so strict? Are you trying to puzzle my well-being, sending me mixed signals? Why wouldn’t you let me have my own mode of expression, a means to communicate without your enforced necessities? Oh, Mr. Language, would it be too much to ask if you keep an eye on my previous duties, while I am going to try and be beside myself?”…

“Beside oneself” – taken as literally as possible here – is perhaps the key phrase which you may attribute to Georges Perec’s novel A Man Asleep. It has lodged on the same plane of mis-ontologized referentiality, sprouted up in the same kingdom of metaphysical stiff-upper-lipness, just as Wittgenstein’s Mistress and I’m Thinking of Ending Things had, the latter two simply occupying different hmm… “marches” of monstrous calamities, presiding over other “fiefdoms” of fiendish dread. Ensnared while crossing the impossible space between two sides of the looking glass (bizarre-wise, I suppose I don’t have to remind you which looking glass is it, do I…), the book neither pays heed to your reading comfort, nor makes any excuses for itself. It isn’t illegible, unapproachable, yet is inexorable, ineluctable to those who are just as beside themselves as protagonist of Perec’s second novel is.

A nameless 25-year-old sociology student – you – for the Frenchman uses 2^nd person narrative throughout the whole odyssey of how to make oneself scarce – not figuratively, but metaphysically speaking – realizes he is unable to cope with blatantly pointless mechanisms of life itself anymore. How does he feel? Disillusioned? With what? Rejected? By whom? Dejected? Why? Extricated? From what? Forget about questions. They are the most loyal lackeys of language anyway. You, on the other hand, are more, or less…or…well, “beside”. You have slipped through the crack in reality, into the crevasse of self-revelation so brutal, yet so numbing it cannot make anything more nor anything less than etherize and cut you off from this paradoxical notion, reduce you to shards of silence, turn you into mechanical wretch of a human shadow, becoming flatter and flatter on the ever less insignificant surface of reality.

For, in contrast to Kate – maltreated by no-other-wayness in Wittgenstein’s Mistress – and Jake – the Arctic wolf of ultimate loneliness in I’m Thinking of Ending Things – you accommodated yourself on the thin line of retaining your sanity (you wish you had lost it; would make life easier, wouldn’t it?…) while not being necessitated to perform a counterstroke against the vapid void of ever the same days and nights of walking and looking. Days made of verbs and nouns. You have turned into Verbman, a Noun monster. No qualities – just doing, listing, discerning without acknowledging. Lacking flair, bland, squalid seconds of sore scrapes, splinters of previous habits, now meaningless and, thus, at the verge of being nonexistent. Dis-endowed deeds of derring-do without any dare. You have become so homogeneously tautological you are no longer able to belong in general. Full stop. You are the end of a sentence nobody wishes to utter, yet, out of linguistic spite, vile bile or other despicable phenomenon, has been phrased. You still retain your consciousness, your sense of reasoning. You are an invisible slime at the threshold of proper, self-inflicted basket case conditioning you would love to fall for irrevocably, irreversibly, which, nevertheless, flees from your incapacitated mentality, existential inconsistency. You possess neither will to live nor will to death. You cannot continue and cannot cease to carry on. You are a nightmare of every classical logician. You are so beside yourself you are turning into a dream of becoming something else than a human being. What would you like to become? I bet my bottom dollar you would reject your human form in favor of the whole new reality, with an alternative set of pristine premises. Or, perhaps, you would not. All in all, keep dreaming, sleepless boy, keep dreaming…

What is so riveting in A Man Asleep? Is it the language, curt and mundane, full of enumerations, with verbs as main building blocks of narration (nouns coming a close second)? Does reality of a man who has been slashed with the “neither/nor” exclusion genuinely succumbs to verbal abuse (here, again, in a literal meaning) that badly? Is it the assertion you are prone to bestow: of all senses, sight is spatially the most passive one? Hearing almost always entails some sort of movement (finger drumming, leg bouncing, full-blown dancing routine, etc.), smell and taste – the underrated duo comprising hedonistic holism, with touch as their sidekick or, rather, the power behind the throne of sensuality – are, too, in complete cooperation with the body and its fidgeting around. But sight is different. You may just sit and keep your eyes open, perfectly motionless, be still and still be able to observe as many things as your pupils would allow you to. There is nothing that should convince your sight to give way for anything but its own self-centered continuation. Thank god you have eyelids. You would have been unbearable without them. But I digress, as usual.

Getting back on track with unquenchable charms of A Man Asleep, should the external nightmare of senseless activities, futile deeds, lackadaisical actions – bread and butter of Perec’s protagonist – be treated as a sign of general bankruptcy of the idea of personal identity? More than once, you are being exposed as someone whose life is something which cannot be equated with yourself. A perfect specimen of homo sapiens with stumps for qualities, a man curtailed. Not a single bad word may be said about you, the same goes for their opposites. You are Aristotelian golden mean incarnate. You are a perfectly balanced nothingness which evoke a sole connotation only – a drab individual with self-regurgitated life, having no strings attached to it whatsoever. You remain here and your existence went away. Better deal with it. Or, perhaps, don’t…

Perec’s novel – not yet subjugated to the literary rigor of OuLiPo – is another evidence of how unpredictable a flirt with skepticism (no matter whether inflicted by sheer chance or accosted deliberately) could be. In spite of not being in full bloom, and without ontological horror vacui, whose dire consequences might be witnessed in Wittgenstein’s Mistress and I’m Thinking of Ending Things, A Man Asleep remains their next of kin. It may be loaded with less conceptual “cargo”, with far less “ideas behind ideas”, nevertheless you are more than eager to forgive its literary faux pas. All thanks to the memorable, one-of-a-kind narration (the only other book I know of, which implements second-person point of view, is Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney and – partially – Italo Calvino’s If on a winter’s night a traveler) and for the underlying sense of inexpressibility – a blaring notion that behind being exempt from will to live and will to death, beside being beside oneself, there is simply something more, simmering underneath the rampant muzzle of words and many other oxymoronic expressions which are doomed to de-scribe you. What exactly is it? Why don’t you fall asleep and tell me. I am willing to prepare a glass of warm milk for you…

Amonne Purity

Tempted Hearts EP by Horizons 1982

Be sure to check out Horizons 1982 on Bandcamp to keep up to date with his latest releases.

Somewhere there is someplace

One million eyes can’t see

And somewhere there is someone

Who can see what I can see.

Simple Minds

Long time no write. That’s right. I’ve been… outside for a while, somewhere else. Where elsewhere tempts. Yet, to quote Michael Jordan, AD 1995 – I’m back. I feel an unspecified necessity to be again… You name an ending the ellipsis should turn into. Period. Enough confessions.

The God of Literature has been alarmingly generous towards me in the last two years. Among many of his/her/its blessings was Iain Reid’s debut novel – I’m Thinking of Ending Things. You might have watched its film adaptation or at least mehed at it while picking another Netflix show to binge on. That’s all right. The movie is a separate unassuming masterclass of its own. We are going to leave it alone, though. After all, firing reviews akimbo results in many words that miss or even missing word holes, doesn’t it?

Woven into a straightforward braid of sentences, ornamented with occasional barrettes of enchanting dictionary diamonds like cruciverbalist as well as amusing expressions such as compressed Uma Thurman, the novel saunters on at a slow pace. Its form? A well-balanced blend of highly introspective soliloquy and a regular ‘still-getting-to-know-each-other’ dialog between two self-aware individuals who have recently begun going out together. The above mixture gets interposed by short narrative intrusions which imply some unknown tragedy. What is the couple up to? Meeting his parents who live on a somewhat middle-of-nowhere-ish farm. What happens next? When Jake and his new girlfriend reach their destination, a bizarre, eldritch, suspenseful creepiness kicks in. And? And as it steadily grows, like an untreated cancerous excrescence, we are doomed to succumb to its shattering, malevolent rupture at the very end.

Feeling-wise, I’m Thinking of Ending Things is like a sarcophagus. Stupefying and overbearing, it entombs you in the enthralling entirety of execrable emotions sprouting from existential anguish and regret. With its extremely innate exclusiveness, only true Steppenwolves of the 21st century are chosen to experience its thunderously devastating charm and charring aftereffects. Those who had stared into Nietzschean abyss for so long it became their mirror which does not cast reflections, nor does it stare back any more – it devours alive instead. Those who had been literally thinking of ending things so many times they were forced to reject the very idea itself because, metaphysically, it turned out to be the same in-world event as everything else and there would be no escape whatsoever. Those who eat Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground for breakfast, Shlomo Venezia’s Inside the Gas Chambers: Eight Months in the Sonderkommando of Auschwitz for lunch and call it a day having a rare steak of Camus’ The Fall and Vaslav Nijinsky’s diary as sides for dinner. Those who dance on a razor’s edge of derangement, a full-blown derailment, complete and thorough detachment from common sense. Those who play ontological hooky. Those who fall uncomfortably silent when Marlon Brando delivers his famous ‘I coulda been a contender’ lament on the back seat of a cab in the movie On the Waterfront. Those who long for inability to reminisce and strive for forgetfulness but do not resort to banal resolutions like drugs or alcohol. Those and only those can see… Hmm, the list of ‘thoses’ grew suspiciously long. Perhaps old Amonne was wrong and the book is inconspicuously inclusive, after all. And we are all howling in our own private unforgiving taigas like there’s no tomorrow, having thoughts that cannot be faked, being stuck in places one million eyes can’t see…

Countless sheets of paper have been printed about an idea of singularity of things. The oneness, undeniably tempting as a phenomenon since time immemorial, may be the only known approximation of eternity immobilized or shall I say immortalized in a ‘snapshot’ of metaphysical unrepeatability which our limited human perception is able to grasp. Temporal and spatial infinity captured, squeezed into a finite ‘package’, tangible enough to be perceived. Sounds pretty neat, doesn’t it? Well, the reverse is even better. Imagine something incredulously infinite, stemming from something totally manageable, within reach of our senses, something we encounter everyday, a common, ordinary thing. A saucepan, a flowerbed, sleeping pills, stuff like that. Reid’s debut is a perfect example of a novel which embodies the very idea. From the lame, almost trite motif he extracts a gateway to immeasurableness which does not lose its palpable dimensions, does not disperse into obtuse abstract lack of referentiality WITHIN the reader. This passage clings on to you, mercilessly. The more have you been tormented by things from the list I mentioned in the paragraph above, the stronger their grip. And the said unrepeatability is one of the most soul-wrenching irreversibilities I have ever come across in literature. Surely, you may find loads of other examples, just go grab the nearest crime fiction you can lay your hands on. You cannot reread it in a way you read it the first time – you know who the killer is. Frankly, all books fall under this category. However, the irreversible nature of I’m Thinking of Ending Things seems to harmonize with a particular resonance of human ability to feel emotions. Not the obvious ones like gratitude, worry or shame but those which would give you hard time putting your finger on them, i.e., almost solipsistic case of loneliness, a prolonged bile which morphs into utter desolation, a state of being metaphysically hounded by wasted opportunities, etc. This is the place where Reid’s novel takes us to. New, unnameable emotions begotten by simple ordinary words. Hats off, Mr. Reid, hats off! You have found eternal ally not only in every Steppenwolf, but also in their far more elusive, almost phantom-like cousins – Desert wolf and Arctic wolf – who are chained into the confines of this barren reality as thoroughly as their HESSEtantly two-faced peer. You have certainly made their night howls a little less haunting, a little less self-annihilating. Maybe even a little less wolfish…

Amonne Purity

Hey Now

Off the bat, I admire Siamese Youth for their pop-rock essence as it’s infused with the electronic details that a synth provides. The vocals hit me like a truck right away! I ADORE how the melody interacts playfully with the lyrics. There’s passion in the percussion that amplifies the intensity of the chorus, and the scene is set like a cult classic movie ballad montage. “Hey Now” is the ultimate lovestruck getaway track to run away to, or win back the beau of your dreams.

So Far from Home

The next track takes on a slower note, and while there are widely arranged chords to strike nostalgia, there’s a taste of modern retrowave here and there. The dazzling chimes in the wake of the progression make themselves known against the airy, breathy seduction of the vocals. These lyrics are wise and methodical, in the sense that there’s a conversation between either one and another, or with oneself. It reminds me of the challenges we face living life as a loner, resorting to escapism rather than facing our demons.

Young Nights

Ahh, Summer Lovin’ is upon us. “Young Nights” is the perfect vibe for infatuations, blind naivety, and true love. I love the stadium feel that each of these tracks provides so far from the echoes and reverb. Instantly I appreciate the sample at the start of the track, which is from the 1959 film “The House on Haunted Hill”. It’s a conversation between Vincent Price, as Fredrick Loren, and Annabelle (Carol Ohmart) regarding their surprise ghost party and their guests. Interesting choice for a track that is so uplifting and pop-centric. I would have sooner expected this to be used in a darksynth track!

Making Me High

Ooof, these funky beats are dangerous and I love it. A night at the disco is just what the Doctor ordered. I’m enveloped by the smooth twang of the keys, and it’s over for me, I’m locked in and ready for the dance floor. These references within the lyrics, such as “chemical romance” {in track one, “Hey Now”) and “call in the wild” makes me smirk each time I catch them. Getting high from the first bite makes me think of edibles, and how edible a person could be under the right circumstances, romantically speaking.

Can I Be Me

The track begins with stadium-like nuances. There’s an energetic fusion between the guitar and the echoes of the vocals. As the suspense begins to build, the electric chords of the synth radiate with the guitar. A brilliant arrangement from the kick-drum combined with the melody is elaborate and entrancing. I enjoy the way the lyrics passionately express a message we can all resonate with. In a world that praises people for being influential and fake, being yourself is and should be valued beyond all else.

Where the Sun Shines

It’s 80’s montage time again – and Siamese Youth doesn’t hold back from these epic vibes. The synth is “radical”, the drums are “bodacious”, and I feel myself slipping back in time. Visions of being a mall rat come swimming back, and there’s nothing holding me accountable for enjoying these highlights of youth. This song, I believe, is the ultimate testament to 2020, and how it discouraged our dreams, isolated us, and confused our foresight into the future. Even now, during an age of uncertainty, we’re reaching for the memories before covid. We took so much for granted, and I firmly believe that we’ll be ever more appreciative of the little things moving forward.

Let’s Love

A neo-disco melody introduces us to this light-hearted track, and the inter-galactic rhythm takes us for a ride through a love story within the lyrics. Its powerful pop chord placements grip me to the core and provide a taste of what Siamese Youth is trying to portray with this song. If I follow the lyrics, it’s like the make-up from a breakup conversation. Internally, it’s adding further ambiance to the funk, and smoothly transitions from what we know and what we remember about our own love stories.

Take On Me Too

I enjoy the main chorus of this track and the claps really tie it together from the start. There are playful chimes and chip-tune-like elements throughout that making this a special testament to retro-classic dance beats. Lyrics like these bring out the most in me, in that I can apply them to any scenario, and maintain a groove. The interwovenness of love’s lost appeal and a confessional tale elevate the overall tone, and for that, I can appreciate it further.

United States of the Mind

The unification of differences has become the influx of the song’s message, and I’m here for it. I enjoy the way Siamese Youth uses chiptune generously throughout the track, and have applied some subtle similarities to EDM in between. I’m grateful for the vocals in how they shine a light on current issues with heavenly serenade. Encased in this electro-pop feel is the realization that coming together is the answer to our country’s problems if taken literally.

In Love

When summer is nearing the end, the question remains if the love found will continue on. Such a song as this fits the bill and answers the question is this eternal or a letdown. The lyrics speak to the parts of us that have had to let go and uproot our conviction to see a relationship through its trials and tribulations. The percussions play on our heartbeats and the colorful chords keep us lukewarm after a cold realization that the love we had wasn’t what we hoped it was.

I’d like to sign off with a note that I enjoyed the uniqueness of this album, and the way Siamese Youth bridge the gap between modern and retro-classic 80’s references. I look forward to what they have in store for the future and welcome them into the fold as artists that started with a cover of “All the Small Things” (totally worth the listen, by the way)

Just Drive (ft. Summer Haze)

WOLFCLUB’s first track serenades us into the getaway car of long-lost love with electric guitars and saxophone. Dreamy vocals encourage our flight response to “Just Drive” into the drum kick of the deeply nostalgic energy of our teenage summers of yesteryear. The way the lyrics carry bittersweet memories of those angsty runaway vibes sends chills up my spine! My late-night drives needed a boost of upbeat, poppy tracks to sing aloud to – and this track curbs that craving to roll the windows down, and jam without a care.

A Sea of Stars (ft. Dora Pereli)
You know when you read lyrics to a song you love, and it reaches too close to what you’re been feeling all along? This is the queen of heartbreak albums, with “A Sea of Stars” at number two on the album list, it’s no wonder why these emotions brew hot as I listen carefully to Dora wistfully and woefully sing into the night sky. Sailing away with a lover, wishing those moments could last a while longer. The melody adorns the melancholy tone of the lyrics in a deceptively light and happy rhythm. It’s difficult to walk away from such a beautiful song – but we have so many more to explore together.

Fever Dream (ft. Dora Pereli)
I find myself carried off the whimsical beat of drums, bass, and that warm guitar encloses in on the impersonated feeling of welcome, only to be whisked away by resonating vocals. Chasing the love we thought we had – who can’t relate to that feeling? As a writer, I admittedly get lost in the vocals of the song, and the story being told in each track. This track gives me “forgotten on prom night” vibes; tear-soaked tulle dresses and mature drinks at a bonfire. I love this inescapable trap of dismal desires that W O L F C L U B has created. Underlying this feeling of my heart being torn in two, I keep listening and contextualizing for the sake of fans everywhere feeling, singing, and dancing along.

Shoulder Blades (ft. Jaki Nelson)
There’s nowhere to run away from the intoxicating vocals of Jaki Nelson, and you won’t want to either. This retro dive into forlorn backseat breakup ballads is a deep-seeded memory we willingly uncover. The chorus churns the tension by way of electric guitar, and dances along the fingertips striking the heavy billow of the bass. The edge of that “forest where it all began” I know all too well. Jaki’s wail alone is gut-wrenching, and I swear I can feel exactly what she feels. The reverberation of her coos and the electronic echo wraps each gasp in color with chords. I don’t want to hide anymore either, Jaki.

One Last Night
Not many feelings are as powerful as the drum kick combination that permeates the start of this track. The same goes for the all-encompassing saxophone in every which way it is played, especially with the overwhelming emotion that sustains the melody. I know all too well the sting of time passing by before saying Goodbye to someone you don’t want to see go. If there were one last night where it was possible to get a lost love back and make it last, would you take the chance? Would the circumstance and consequences outweigh the outcome? There’s only one way to find out – but perhaps listen to this track first before you run out the door.

Promise (feat. Jaki Nelson)
The trailing arpeggiator dancing along the intro riles suspenseful excitement from within. Once Jaki belts out the proclamation of asking you to stay – who can say no? It’s not enough to hear these tracks, it’s vital to face the feelings that erupt. False promises, apologies, and damn that standalone moment of the percussion gets me every time! I’m swept into a deluge of delight every time we loop back to the chorus. Namelessly shameless love is only the cusp of meaning behind this song.

Who’s Gonna Be There(feat. Jaki Nelson)
The playful start is a loop of Jaki’s voice alongside the synth, and it’s the perfect introduction to the aftermath of the track we just listened to. Rewind the reminiscent memories, and fast forward to the part where our hearts fix themselves – the worst part is missing someone and living your life without them. “Who’s Gonna Be There” perfectly encapsulates those emotions, bottles them up, and offers them to you as we face the music.

Nostalgia
I love that this track welcomes alternating gender roles – because we see both sides to the untold story between Boy and Girl. Boy meets Girl, Girl falls in love – Boy doesn’t want to go. They part ways. It’s so uncommon to see in music these days without some stereotypical agenda – and this is an unraveling of emotions from one to the next. You ever have circumstances you can’t change and you wish you could change it for the right person? They know better, most of the time. Letting go or staying by their side is the hardest lesson to learn. But the “Nostalgia” helps us cope.

Serenity (Jaki Nelson)
Softened guitar strumming along to the electric echo of the synth is all we ever wanted – and Jaki’s vocals open it up into a torrential downpour of the heartbreak theme that we’ve now grown accustomed to. Personally, this becomes a growing ache from inside, and the hole inside of MY heart is growing bigger as I encourage myself to absorb this track entirely. I love the reverberation, the echoes, the ethereal electronic details intertwined in the lyrics, and it pulls at these heartstrings with ferocious effort.

Higher (feat. Jaki Nelson)
Ah yes, the warm guitar before the painful memories replay. I’m shutting my defense mechanisms out, allowing the music to rush over me, and that arpeggio is thumping as quickly as my heart, and there’s nothing left to do but stare down the erupting emotions head-on. I’m lost in the waves and embracing it. So, here we go. “Higher” speaks to me on multiple levels, as a girl, and as a woman. There’s much to be said about those sweet nothings as their murmured in your ear, and eventually, there’s a bittersweetness to it. It’s all here, loneliness, unkept promises, and the result of the unresolved. The closure resides somewhere between the clash of the cymbals and the descending tempo as we move closer to the finale.

Oceans
The plot thickens when we realize the distance between these star-crossed lovers. The voice of the W O L F C L U B prince returns, and we’re learning more about what truth remains in focus. The intoxication of the synth, the powerful bridges and the quietness of the solo vocals make this track simply heaven-sent. I’m caught in the undertow of unrequited love, the heartfelt hang-ups, the distance isn’t just heard; it’s understood.

Famous
The great getaway, the track that finished us off and rounds up the theme, is even better than I could have imagined. It’s a profound calling out of manifesting that fame that W O L F C L U B strives to achieve. I’m feeling enthralled by the swiftness of the beat, the arpeggio again lighting up the senses, and of course, vocals to steal the show. I really love this highlight of an ending, and it’s a chance to shake off the emotional rollercoaster that is this album, as much as I adore unpacking new and old wounds of the heart.

The destination has been reached for Just Drive Pt. 1, and honestly, I’ve never felt more understood. This album split me apart in ways I never realized I could. W O L F C L U B has always been able to find the magic behind sadness, love, and so much more outside and in between. I love an album that beckons me to dig deep to my core – and that it did. I am woefully pleased, and my weaknesses are on my sleeve, and after days of listening, I’m looking forward to W O L F C L U B’s next release.

We had the fantastic privilege of a deep-dive interview with Dan Terminus ahead of the release of “Last Call For All Passengers” – and now we have the job of reviewing it – time to sharpen our knives and dig into this bloody album we’ve talked so much about!

Right from the top with “Oubliette,” it’s pretty clear this release is going to be strikingly different previous Dan Terminus albums. A single plucking synth builds into a cacophony of high-powered kicks reminiscent of 90’s styled drum and bass or breakbeat. But Soon the synth returns, giving texture and a melodic melancholic reprieve from the intensity.

This is a general theme we’ll hear throughout “Last Call For All Passengers” – starting a raucous fire of beats and bass – then tempering it with intricately interwoven synth leads. In spite of sounding very experimental and distorted, the hooks are incredibly solid. With the strong 90’s references the album feels familiar even on its first playthrough – and at times listens more like a dance album than a traditional cinematic cyberpunk album or a darksynth headbanger – yet the cyberpunk atmosphere remains in all its gorgeous glory.

Interestingly, “Oubliette” is nearly synonymous with the word ‘dungeon,’ and has the same origin as the French word ‘oublier,’ meaning “to forget.”

Given this album was written after an intense period of burnout where Dan left his job, crashed his car,  created and then destroyed an entire “primal” unreleased album, “Oubliette” – this sense of forgetting or perhaps climbing out of a dungeon – is the perfect metaphor for the change in direction we hear in “Last Call For All Passengers.”

But there’s more going on with this album than just breakbeats and expertly crafted discordant synth.

Diverse Influences

Tracks like “Disfigured” are reminiscent of old school industrial music. “Feral” is replete with Gesaffelstein-esque bass stabs. “Inherit” has a synth lead that just brushes up against witch house before layering in stabs in the form of 90’s record scratches – and “March” listens more like a straight up hardcore deathmetal track than anything else.

The whole package feels uniquely retro in a 90’s aspect, yet still futuristic and experimental. It’s the perfect soundtrack to high-tech lowlifes hacking into each others brains – or spraying caseless ammunition under a sky the color of a television – tuned to a dead channel. “Last Call For All Passengers” a masterpiece of what cyberpunk can be as a musical genre.

But the real genius here is that this album is so impossibly cohesive. Dan Terminus has brought together so many disparate and eclectic experimental sounds that it’s almost impossible to imagine them as a singular vision – yet still it is.

Easily one of the best albums I’ve heard all year, bravo!

Listen to Last Call For All Passengers Here!

Check out our Deep-Dive Interview with Dan Terminus Here!

That being said- I will recommend two TV series and two films that fall into the same pocket as Lovecraft Country. I was immediately reminded of these titles while watching the first four episodes and I know yous all will love them as well, if you can find them online or at any local business that sells dvds, blue-rays and the like.

ANGEL HEART (1987):

The neo-noir horror thriller directed by Alan Parker (The Wall) and based on the novel ‘FALLING ANGEL’ was released in theaters in 1987, starring Mickey Rourke and Robert DeNiro. And followed a private investigator hired by a mysterious client to look for a missing singer during post WWII America. Mixing classic themes of Satanism and Mysticism with elements of Voodoo (which is mostly benevolent) and filmed in NYC and New Orleans. My first recommendation for anyone looking for more of the same vibe similar to Lovecraft Country but more nihilistic with that Noir punctuation of “Everyone is fucked”.

Friday the 13th : the series (1987-1990)

The adventures of Micki & Ryan and Jack Marshak as they hunt for cursed items and safely store them in the safe/vault of their antique shop. The series although only related to the movie franchise by name only was a really fun series to watch on NYC channel 11 back in the late 80’s when primetime television was fun and ahead of its time. This was way before the X-Files aired on FOX and can be seen as a precursor to that show; the only major difference being Friday the 13th’s overall storyline was more coherent and not just a bunch of random events around a horror anthology.

Cast A Deadly Spell (1991):

A hard boiled detective story inspired by HP LOVECRACT’s Old Ones mythos and the Necronomicon starring Fred Ward, Julianne Moore, Clancy Brown and David Warner and produced by Gale Anne Hurd (Aliens, The Terminator). Originally aired on HBO in 1991 and was so likeable with its movie quality practical effects and story when it premiered(to a young 9yr old me). I still think of it fondly and will re-watch it whenever I feel the urge. A very good blend of all the elements with an EMMY award wining song featured in the film by Curt Sobel.
Cast a Deadly Spell starred Fred Ward as Harry Philip Lovecraft a hard-lined sleuth living in a fictitious Lost Angeles where the citizens not only are aware of Magick but use it in their mundane/ordinary lives… Everyone except Private Detective H.P.LOVECRAFT.
Playing somewhere on YOUTUBE, go find it.

Kolchek the Night Stalker (1974–1975):

You can’t mention Friday the 13th and X-files in the same article without mentioning the grandfather of both series, Kolchek.

The series followed wire service reporter Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin) who investigates mysterious crimes with unlikely causes, particularly those involving the supernatural or science fiction, including fantastic creatures. The series was preceded by the two television movies, The Night Stalker (1972) and The Night Strangler (1973). Although the series lasted only a single season, it rapidly achieved cult status and has remained very popular in syndication.

 

Those are my recommendations folks. Now go and watch LOVECRAFT COUNTRY now playing on HBO and HBOmax.
Stay safe out there. COVID, the goons, the government and the aimless dregs are all out in the night where the wolves once fed. Before the bland and the blahzay blah had their say.
Stay safe out there. Stay cool. Keep your head up. Talk hard. and always keep your finger on that REWIND button.
– SamHaiNe

***SamHaiNe’s new spoken word album – ‘Natural City’ is out and NOW PLAYING
@ https://samhaine.bandcamp.com/album/natural-city .
#hainesvilleshit #neonoir #crimefiction #vaporwave #lofibeats #flashfiction #graffiti #cyberpunk #experimental #audiodrama #JadePalaceGuard #triphop #punknoir
https://samhaine.bandcamp.com/album/natural-city

Here is one such animated film. I’ve chosen this one because, every one shares animation films from Japan mostly but, there’s a lot of people who never guessed that quality films, comic books and graphic novels have come from Europe. For example Metal Hurlant, Black Sad, hell even Mysterious Cities of Gold, The Incal, Metabarons and more.

Directed by Pascal Morelli, Morto Cortese in Siberia is one of the better animated films if not the best of the bunch. With crisp animations and near R-rated action and mature themes, it grips you into it’s intrigue and drama.

With this book Hugo Pratt leaves behind the short story form he’d used for 21 interrelated tales and presents a truly epic graphic novel. In the aftermath of the Russian Revolution and the First World War, Corto Maltese is engaged by the Red Lanterns—a Chinese secret society made up entirely of women—to find an armored train laden with gold that belonged to the last Russian Tsar, Nicholas II. They aren’t the only ones lusting after the treasure. The adventure, which shifts from the hidden courts of Venice to the mysterious alleys of Hong Kong, from Shanghai to Manchuria and Mongolia to Siberia, also attracts regular and irregular armies, as well as revolutionaries and counter-revolutionaries.
– https://www.idwpublishing.com/product/corto-maltese-siberia

A running time of 92 minutes is long enough for this energetic and lush adventure. My favorites scene has to be the scene on the ship when Corto and his friend Rasputin (who resembles but has not relation to the actual Rasputin) are confronted by assassins. The story takes you globe trotting as they both trek in search of lost gold and glory. I’m recommending this to any and all fans of the Adventures of TIN TIN.
Below is the full playlist for Corto Maltese in Siberia.

Keep yourself safe out there and talk hard. But above all keep your finger on that rewind button.

Playlist Link:

Donkey Kong is credited as the first true “platformer,” and you bet your ass I double-checked in Google because you’d think some obscure forerunner of that game would hold the title, but no, it’s just plain old fuckin’ Donkey Kong. Running around like a ninny and performing very unsafe long jumps at great heights would go on to become the basis of countless titles, because it really was the best game in town.

Platform titles were so popular during the 80s and 90s, in fact, that almost every developer tried making one just to see if it would sell. Sometimes these games were predictably shitty, but once in a while there would be a diamond in the sand, waiting for us to discover it and rent it three consecutive times and then forget to return it for six months so that the video store just charges us for it and it’s ours now… despite that gold sticker the rental store put on it. Today I’ve picked out five from the NES game library for us to dissect. Let’s make the first incision…

Dragon Fighter

Natsume, 1990

Now, this is not called Dragon Fighter because you go out of your way to fight dragons, but neither is the title only a vague reference to the mythical beasts. When you’re not prancing around as a warrior with a fondness for ornate hats and what look like spandex onesies, you can dead ass transform into a fucking dragon and tear shit up just about as severely as you’d expect a dragon to tear shit up. All this awesome shit is limited (of course) by a gauge that fills up in human form and then ticks down while in epic-murder-monster-myth-mode.

The jump-and-slash formula is pretty well-represented here, at least when you’re not in dragon form; when you change shape the game takes on an R-Type/Gradius vibe as you begin to gently “rail” to the right and shoot down oncoming threats with your color-coded dragon breath. The compulsion exists to just hammer through the game haphazardly in dragon mode, but I found myself saving up my dragon-time for whatever waited at the end of each stage. Gameplay feels good either way.

Unashamed use of color and a ton of variety really help the graphics stand out; we’re not looking at anything groundbreaking for a 1990/91 release for the NES, but it’s a decent looking game. Dragon Fighter’s audio experience is acceptable, but nothing to write home about. Composer Kouichi Yamanishi keeps things basic with the music, but it’s far from boring or repetitive. My only hairs to split are that 1) the dragon form looks a bit gaudy all solid-color with such bright hues 2) is he dead serious with his unitard or whatever? Unitard + knee-high “fuck me” boots + long-billed feathered cap?

What does that equal? It equals 6 out of 10, because while it’s not necessarily a classic, Dragon Fighter has a neat gimmick and plays like more than minimal effort went into it.

Shatterhand

Jaleco/Natsume, 1991

Just the intro animation sells this one. Shatterhand is the heartwarming story of a man who lost both his arms, only to rise above adversity… by pummeling adversity into rubble with his new robot arms. You can even punch bullets! There are also different kinds of little helper-robots you can get, presumably when the automatons get a look at your chromed-out “guns” and recognize you as a fellow Skynet agent. No, wrong story. This one is mostly about you and your little hovering robot helpers beating the shit out of some cyber-soldiers to save the world and get revenge on them for taking your normal human meat-arms… but maybe you should be thanking them! After all, could you punch bullets before?

Let me answer that for you, nerd: no, you fucking couldn’t.

Shatterhand is a blast to play, but I could do without the elaborate pickup system. And don’t tell me I’m simple. I know I am. And that’s how you should keep your pickups in games like this. Don’t have me playing punch-Tetris on the fly trying to pick a Greek letter. It’s a cool way to have all the types of helper robots, but come on. You could have just had them, without all the fiddlin’ and diddlin’. Otherwise the game plays well and has a respectable challenge to it. The graphical style sits somewhere between the rich detail of a Sunsoft game and the effective simplicity of something like Contra. Composers Iku Mizutani and Hiroyuki Iwatsuki deliver a soundtrack every bit as hard-hitting as the game’s protagonist.

Shatterhand would be an 8 if not for the weird powerup system and the eventual repetitive nature of the gameplay. Instead it’s a solid 7 out of 10. I know a bunch of you think this game’s a total classic, and you’re not wrong, but maybe I give things lower ratings than they deserve because I suck at video games, okay?

Kick Master

KID, 1992

And so we go from arms to legs with Kick Master, one of the better-loved platformers of the late NES era, and for very good reason. Along with its fantasy theme, we see yet another decent melding of the action game essentials with some basic RPG elements (leveling up, etc.) as a continuation of a trend established in Legend of Zelda, Crystalis, etc. In Kick Master, your life has been royally fucked up by a powerful witch named Belzed, who has killed the king and queen and kidnapped the princess (natch). Your dumbass brother somehow gets killed by a skeleton (a circus-peanut-tier monster) even though your brother is wearing armor and wielding a sword when this happens. His dying words are so patently absurd that you are agape in shock:

The thing is, you do kind of have “great kicking skills.” You’ve got magic, too… but the kicking. The kicking is what’s great. Stay focused on that.

The graphics for Kick Master are superb for their time, with early examples of parallax scrolling visible and some dynamic (if laughably poorly written) cut scenes. You fly around the screen in a well-animated fury, raining hell (and feet) down upon your foes across eight stages filled with lush backgrounds. For all your kickmastery and wizarding bullshit, the controls aren’t cumbersome, either. I wish I could praise the sound, but it’s not great. In fact, the boss at the end of the swamps makes a horrible noise that sounds like a high-gain modem dial-up sound being recorded through too mics that are way too close together. Yo, why did you choose to put that sound in any game? It made me think my ROM was fucking up… no, it’s just Kick Master.

7 out of 10 for Kick Master. Terrible sound, mitigated by a fun and innovative RPG hybrid play style.

Bucky O’Hare

Konami, 1992

This intellectual property, which followed among others in the wake of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, is actually criminally undervalued. I remember the cartoon (and its theme song) to be well-written as if someone still loved what they had created… or at least had money to spend on it for a while.

The NES game is no exception, positively gleaming with Konami quality throughout. With a splash of color true to the source material, the game spans four worlds rendered in vivid, exaggerated terms. Not only does Bucky O’Hare look like a Konami Game, it sounds like one too; Tomoko Sumiyama’s soundtrack milks every bit of that distinctive Konami soundset we all know and love, producing laudable results worthy of any flagship title. Gameplay is a masterpiece, though many find Bucky O’Hare to be a bit difficult (including little old me). Characters can be played as they are rescued, and there are reasons to play each one, not unlike how certain parts of the Mega Man games are best done in sequence…

A firm 8 out of 10 despite it being so fucking hard I can barely finish the first level.

The Krion Conquest

Vic Tokai, 1990

Do you like Mega Man? Good, because you’re playing a reskinned Mega Man. Robots are still trying to take over the world, but these robots are from space and they’re vulnerable to magic, motherfucker. Krion Conquest is another one of those games that had a plot when it got on the airport in Japan but must have left it under the seat of the plane. The long and short of it: you’re a witch “from a place full of demons” and you’re the only one who can hurt all the robots.

Leave it to a knockoff to improve on the formula of what it rips off. You can aim upward and crouch in this game, two things that Mega Man, a futuristic android hero, simply cannot manage to do. So as strange as this may sound, I find Krion Conquest slightly more playable than any of the first three Mega Man games, just due to the added versatility of being able to look upward and point my wand-thingy up there too. Seriously, of all the things a state-of-the-art futuristic cyber-champion CAN’T do, it’s crane his neck and lift an arm above his head? There are men in their nineties who have Mega Man outclassed.

The graphics and sound are all over the place. Some of it is, well, just Mega Man sprites used as a tracing stencil. I won’t even itemize all of what’s ripped directly off; even the “GET READY” at each stage’s beginning and the life bar/weapons menu are barely given a new coat of paint. Most of the enemies look like if you paid the folks at LJN to redraw Mega Man baddies, but after buying those LJN folks a few shots of liquid hillbilly brain damage juice. The Krion Conquest has two composers, and two heads are… about the same as one in this case. Most of the music, regardless of its other points of quality, comes off as repetitive.

Krion Conquest can have 5 points out of 10 for at least cheating well. It’s a bag of blatant borrowing, but it’s at least playable.

We’ll be seeing more of each other later in the merry month of May, RetroFans! Best Believe!

Here is the story, according to John himself:

“After killing the Spiderdemon at the end of E4M8 (Unto the Cruel), your next stop is Earth — you must save it from hellspawn that is causing unimaginable carnage. But Baphomet glitched the final teleporter with his hidden sigil whose eldritch power brings you to even darker shores of Hell. You fight through this stygian pocket of evil to confront the ultimate harbingers of Satan, then finally return to become Earth’s savior.”

Sigil’s opening screen. KVLT ANTI-HVMAN BLACK METAL

I am a pretty well-seasoned DOOM player, and can usually handle the original 3 episodes on Nightmare or at least UV. This shit is turning my guts inside out on Hurt Me Plenty. You will not see health much at all. You will need to be extremely careful. Yes, there are horrible monster traps everywhere. Inescapable pits too. You will die. You will know death again, Marine. You can never truly rest. But Space Marines are made for this shit. Let’s hit it.

E5M1 is a true gauntlet-run involving the elevation of platforms in order to find your way through a winding path of hitscanners and imps. The maps are very dimly lit, and instead of switches, Romero has us shooting the demonic eye symbols to activate/open things. I’ll save you the five or so seconds it’d take to puzzle it out. Sheol (E5M2) continues to incline the difficulty in a steady fashion. Breaking a sweat yet? You often find yourself with little room to move one way or another, measuring moments and shots, clinging to cover while whittling away at potentially deadly ambushes. I hope you like seeing barons and cacodemons up close, because you fucking will be. E5M3 is called Cages of the Damned, and it looks slightly more “conventional” as a map when you first start blasting through. Vaguely castle-like, with great run-and-gun action and a few open spaces (finally!) to use in combat. I’d even call E5M3 “classical” because of how true parts of it are to the original feel of the trilogy. You’re still, however, finding very little health. And yes, you’re still in horrible peril on a constant basis. Paths of Wretchedness (E5M4) is another hectic rim-grabber over pools of magma as you battle your way through a shooting gallery with you as the turkey. Movement is again limited, and you find yourself getting pummeled in bottlenecks – sometimes caught with your fucking pants down – and perishing if you’re not on your LeBron “Leatherface on Mars” James A-game. This level has a splash of that old alien-mechanical feel to it reminiscent of Knee-Deep in the Dead. Probably another of my overall favorites of the episode. While health is scarce throughout this episode, you will find enough ammunition if you are thorough, frugal, and keep your eyes open.

Pictured: One scrub (yours truly), pre-tenderized.

Abbadon’s Void (E5M5) hits us with the sound of a cyberdemon right out of the starting gate, and we don’t clearly see it, but we know it’s aware of us and it’s pissed off. Great. More indoorsy, wood-paneled infernal décor, peppered with monster closet ambushes and tense high-wire acts. I particularly enjoy the MIDI OST track for this map (more on the music below); it’s atmospheric and rich and it reminds me a little of Blood’s great theatrical-style music. E5M6, Unspeakable Persecution, has the exit to the secret level E5M9 (Realm of Iblis). I’m not going to spoil where the door is or what the secret level is like; if you want that shit you can find it easily online. (I admit that I had to look it up. My skills have gotten mad rusty.) I will say that E5M9 is as hot and nasty as you’d expect Sigil’s secret map to be. Buckle up, buttercup. E5M7 is the Nightmare Underworld, and it was originally meant to be the fifth map, but it belongs here in spot #7. It is an expansive and adventurous map, and it pounds me into hamburger at an embarrassing rate. John’s work in Sigil is the work of a man who intimately understands the tools he is using to engage the player. It is the work of a methodical, gifted, calculating psychopath. E5M8, Halls of Perdition, presents the final obstacle in Sigil. Like E4M8, it is not just a straight boss fight; you must find your way through one last intense firefight against the full host of DOOM’s baddies intent on beating you down. The finale has a marathon-like feel and is almost joyful (I only beat it once using equipment cheats on Hurt Me Plenty).

decino’s entertaining and thorough playthrough of Sigil. He is a much better player than me. Props.

Hi. <3

Let’s talk about the absolute fucking banger soundtrack. If you don’t know who Buckethead is, you should, and he wrote the CD soundtrack for Sigil. Apparently, he’s a long-time DOOM fan. Who’d have thought a dude like the immortal Buckethead would have good taste. It is busy, atmospheric, haunting, and it fits Sigil’s gloomy theme of desperation perfectly. The episode also features a fantastic MIDI soundtrack written by James Paddock. It’s a little more action-themed but fits the game every bit as well as the Buckethead score. E5M1 and E5M7 stand out to me as highlights, and you should have a listen.

Ol’ Johnny R. goes hard in the paint with Sigil, reminding us longtime Space Marines that while our blood may smear every hallway and elevator from Phobos to Mt. Erebus, we can never die. Besides, who the hell else is going to keep the demons down? You know they’ll just be back . They always come back.

Sigil gets a 9 out of 10 from me. It’s difficult, but that’s not a complaint at all. It’s a brutally refreshing shot in the arm for a game that’s been loved for over twenty-six years. Devastatingly crisp, well-executed, and effective. John Romero has given us more to love about DOOM… and a new way to get our asses kicked and GET GOOD.

See you later for more articles in October. Stay spooky as hell… and Stay Retro.

BONUS: Of course there’s a Zero Master speed run of 9:32 for it already. Hallelujah.

The Thing is an alien invasion film. There are many of those from which to choose. In fact, The Thing is both a remake of Howard Hawks’ The Thing from Another World and a more faithful adaptation of the source novella, Who Goes There? But what makes the conflict between the Antarctic researchers and the creature terrifying is that not only is the creature a shape-shifter, but every cell of the creature is its own living organism, which can infect and absorb other creatures, whether they are plant, animal, or human. As the researchers realize that their fellows might no longer be human, this is when the paranoia, augmented by the barren icy landscape, truly takes hold.

The principal character is R.J. MacReady, played by the everyman action star Kurt Russell. He’s the reluctant hero, who, due to circumstances and the failings of his crew members, must take leadership to counter the alien threat. There are many fine performances by the supporting cast. The angry skepticism of Childs (Keith David) and the mental descent of Blair (Wilford Brimley) stand out though. The critics initially said that there was poor characterization. It’s true that there’s a large cast for this type of film. Some characters are given more attention than others. Paying close attention to the quirks of the characters, though, it shouldn’t be difficult to realize each’s individuality.

I focus on the characterization and the suspense of the scenes. One shouldn’t overlook Rob Bottin’s practical effects. There, however, can’t be much more said about the practical effects than were said at the initial release. Even the harshest critics knew that these were top-notch. They, however, felt that John Carpenter focused too much on them, at the expense of other aspects of The Thing. I disagree. The viewer doesn’t see the first active transformation until around the 30-minute mark. And each eventual transformation, while detailed and graphic, is not wanton and exploitative. It serves the progression of the plot. To some modern viewers, the creature effects in some scenes may seem rubbery or comic-book like. I’ll, however, take it over the majority of CGI effects that are produced now. It’s tangible, and that helps you feel the fear that the characters do.

The score or soundtrack can make or break a film. Fortunately, John Carpenter reached out to renowned traditional composer Ennio Morricone to provide most of the score. He, along with collaborator Alan Howarth, added his usual synthesized touches for further cues. It’s very shocking that The Thing‘s score received a Razzie nomination the following year. The music is not overbearing; it fits the despairing atmosphere. Moreover, it showed American audiences, who likely knew Morricone for spaghetti western and giallo scores, that he could score for any genre of film. Besides the slow, brooding march of the main theme, I recommend paying attention to the aptly named tracks “Despair” and “Humanity I.” The frigid atmosphere of the Antarctic saturates throughout, but the human element, represented by the various instrumental sections, underlies, lamenting the situation.

Once dismissed, now praised—that could be the short quote that encapsulates the reception that The Thing received. However, the film has gone beyond even this in comparison with other film reevaluations. Without a devoted fanbase, there wouldn’t have been a prequel, video game sequel and comic book sequels, or board game adaptations.  Even the winter skeleton crew at the South Pole hosts viewings of not only the 1982 film, but of the 1951 film and the 2011 prequel as well.

Other body-horror films will likely never top The Thing, though a number of films in the wake of the film’s release have tried in imitation. It’s a shame that John Carpenter received such a critical drubbing back in 1982. There’s no doubt that it affected his career. Though he received praise for the later critical hit Starman, Hollywood no longer considered him B-movie royalty. At least he and the fans see what was once trashed raised high as a genre classic.