Kalamazoo College First Year, Shafer Oudeh

Around a quarter of the way through my second beer of the evening my excellent time at the Fillimore Detroit seeing Converge, Mastodon, and Dethklok was starting to grow uneasy. Perhaps it was the extreme proximity of people—the show was extremely crowded—but that’s not unusual at a show with two popular headliners. The thing that was beginning to string me out was overstimulation: the stage during all three bands was dominated by something concertgoers had better start expecting more and more—a video screen. The concert’s multimedia approach made for a unique and cohesive experience—it was the only thing connecting the three bands I saw in any logical way.

Converge has been getting interdisciplinary with their bad selves for years. While the band is most well known as the world’s premier mathcore outfit (sorry, Dillinger Escape Plan) Vocalist Jacob Bannon is a celebrated visual artist whom FIGHT! Magazine credited with creating the skulls-with-wings motif the mainstream public (especially Affliction tee shirts) has so lovingly adopted. Bannon has been in control of the band’s now-iconographic imagery and art work for years—as they played, the video screen kept a static image of his excellent artwork on their new album Axe To Fall.

Still, they felt like the odd band out to me. Their abrasive and technical hardcore had most people besides myself standing about aimlessly, despite the boys playing their guts out; Bannon raced around the stage at terminal velocity shrieking his damndest, and guitarist Kurt Ballou did not so much play his guitar as domestically abuse it into creating sounds no manmade thing should be able to make. Even though Axe To Fall is by far their most accessible record, the material’s light years away from the power hooks touted by the rest of the bill. I’ll be seeing Converge again in a more intimate setting on their next tour to see how the sound translates to people who want to hear it.

Mastodon kicked the affair into high gear for their set by playing their 2009 opus Crack the Skye (currently frontrunner in my best album of 2009 list which I have written about before) in its entirety.  From my position near the front and center the sound was excellent, but due to sound issues—the drums, kick especially, were far too loud over the PA system—much of the nuance of that album was rendered moot to most of the audience, even though they sang nearly every lyric with guts and fury befitting Mastodon. The concert was accompanied by a film heavily inspired by German expressionist films (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari natch) which illuminated the obscure narrative behind the music. The images, often psychedelic and symbolic, pulled the album out of the realm of pure music and into an experience. This was the closest thing to seeing Pink Floyd’s seminal tour of The Wall that I may ever take part in—an experience I deeply cherish.

It occurred to me that in the age of downloading replacing the physical product, the music itself has become a promotional tool for the actual product. We here at The Kosmo are trying to bring Journalism into this abstract cloudform possibility that some people call “The New Media.” But before then, I hadn’t considered that the media I critique may be further along than I am. The question plaguing the ill music industry has become, to the progressive-minded: what is the product now? Mastodon’s answer is the live experience.

Dethklok’s answer, however, is not just the live experience, nor the Metalokalypse cartoon, nor the album, but Dethklok in and of itself. People, hear me out, Dethklok is the future.

Dethklok wants YOU to be a 'Gear'

Musically speaking, Dethklok isn’t anything too special—their particular brand of melodic death metal neatly bridges Queen and Cannibal Corpse neatly but predictably (they still write better songs than most similar ‘serious’ bands, though). Their live performance in terms of musicians was likewise straightforward, minus of course their drummer, the legendary Gene Hoglan. Dethlkok’s greatest asset is their songs—unlike predecessors Spinal Tap, Dethlkok know how to write a song that is at once brutal, catchy, melodic and funny, with healthy doses of blackened social criticism in most of their tunes.

It did not occur to me until seeing the song live with visual component that “Into the Water” was as much a warning about global warming as a song about the world being conquered by fish. The best laughs probably went to “Dethsupport,” both a rollicking barnburner about euthanasia as well as a tribute to the classic Death song “Pull the Plug”… until the song turns its barbs on the healthcare system, making small’s “It’s costing too much/ pull the plug,” frighteningly relevant. Dethlkok’s performance was all about the visual component, showing synchronized music videos matching their setlist in the style of the Metalokalypse cartoon featuring the show’s characters.

The experience impressed upon me that Dethklok is pure product, taking Spinal Tap to its logical extreme in the modern era. The TV show, videos, live concert, and album all function as one to convey Dethklok as a cohesive whole, in efforts to make frontman/voice actor Brendan Small’s semi-fictional band an actual cultural force aimed directly at both metalheads and non-heshers.

Small is aware of the cartoon’s appeal to non-metalheads: one cartoon interlude as the band re-tuned their guitars humorously explained the rules of the mosh pit to those new to the experience. As the cartoon explained “knocking someone down and not picking them up is what we scientifically refer to as a dick move.” Even I laughed out loud at that one. The concert even followed a bizarre and nonsensical plot; bringing performance back into the realm of musical theater… does that make the ‘Klok Rent for Slayer fans? Dethklok’s crowd more than any other was full of young people and women, both rarities in extreme metal, probably drawn in by the theatriciality and polish of the presentation as a whole.  Only a group of performers as in-tune with their audience could get away with calling their fans brainless mutants and be greeted with rousing cheers—a testament to how well formulated and thought out the Dethklok brand is, and how effective Small’s pitch black humor connects with the modern media age.

The Kalamazoo College dance company Frelon decided to expand their normally annual showcase to a Fall/Spring split.  Tonight, the talented group showed off their affinity for all things art, not just dance, but also spoken word poetry, music, and interpretive performance.  Frelon extended an invitation to all talented students within the Kalamazoo College community, giving them an opportunity to creatively express themselves in front of an audience in Dalton Theater, Light Fine Arts.  Not only that, but this year Frelon has created a grant to help students in the tricollege area complete any their art-related projects.   This grant was made possible through collaboration with the Arts Council of Kalamazoo (http://www.kalamazooarts.com/).  Katy Ehlert, one of Frelon‘s six senior-directors, says that “the big qualification for it is that these artists have to support Kalamazoo and have an impact on the Kalamazoo community in general.”

The short performance of “Arts, Feets & Beats” was divided into two acts, both of which contained a pleasing amount of every element the show had to offer (dance, song, etc.).  Although I want to avoid critiquing the individual performances, some of them really stood out, especially “Mercy”, choreographed by Katy Ehlert, “Crestfallen Angel”, an original song by Chris Hutchinson, and “Nightingale”, performed by Natalie Brazeau, Laura Fox, and Claire Lindley.

The dance numbers of “Arts, Feets & Beats”, of which there were six, were probably the least interesting aspects of the show, although they were far from boring.  With the exception of the “Mercy” tap number, most of the choreography was amateur ballet mixed with totally unexploited modern Tharpism.  Every time I saw something great and original, it was followed by a jeté or a plié, techniques which some of the dancers couldn’t perform very well, especially in strict unison.  The Frelon directors, Katy Ehlert, Anna Hassan, Kristen Jost, Laura Marshall, Blayne Milbeck, and Marina Takagi, performed in almost every dance.  They’re the directors for good reason: not only are they seniors at Kalamazoo College, but they were also the best dancers on-stage, always keeping positive energy and poise, which made them a real treat to watch.

The second act, which began with a reading by our very own Entertainment Editor Joseph Schafer, was outstanding.  Whether purposefully or not, the ambiance, the lighting, and the physical performances of the second half were much more cohesive than those of the first.  It was as though the pieces had fallen into place, which is not to say that the performances of the first act lacked in any way; it was the act itself that was trumped by its twin.  “I love you guys.  This poem is deep.  It’s about the ocean,” said Schafer, who beat out his second poem in a way that perfectly transitioned into Ben Cooper’s original instrumental “Oklahoma Revisited.”

Furthermore, the second act really utilized the space of Dalton Theater to its advantage.  Specifically, the “Rhinoceros” performance by the Kalamazoo College Theater Department and the song “Nightingale”, performed by those previously mentioned, truly allowed the audience to succumb to the experience and the abstraction of space.  This with the duller tones of the lighting (which deserves much credit) made for a positively eclectic experience.

Like all college student performances, however, “Arts, Feets & Beats” was hurt by its audience, who cat-called, yelled, and screamed out names at every available opportunity.  Although Frelon has a history of eliciting such reaction, it’s still unnecessary.  Whether or not it bolsters the performance and the performers, it cheapens the experience for those who are not screaming and cat-calling.  For example, the last dance “Green Light”, choreographed by Erik Aiken and Blayne Milbeck (another noteworthy performer) was a perfect end to the drabber tone of the second act.  It was upbeat, yet repressive.  It was ecstatic, yet exhausting.  And it was almost ruined by the people behind me.

All in all, “Arts, Feets & Beats” was a worthwhile show which deserves a second performance.  Every performer should be proud of themselves.  Frelon should congratulate itself especially for organizing such a wonderful show for such a wonderful cause.  If you missed “Arts, Feets & Beats”, make sure to see Frelon‘s regular Spring show at Kalamazoo College during Spring of 2010.

A Review of The Flaming Lips new album, Embryonic

The Flaming Lips have always been weird; but unlike other artists who might fit that label, they have never been truly frightening. Frank Zappa’s nasal intonations may chill the blood, and the Dead Kennedys’ album art might actually merit a “Parental Advisory” sticker, but there was always something endearing about the Lips. Even the quasi-controversy of wearing Communist apparel to the Oklahoma state house rang false – dude, these guys fight pink robots!

With the release of the two-disk Embryonic, however, the Lips have begun to explore the darker side of their psycho-gum aesthetic. It is no accident that this album comes as the Lips begin to publicly explore the work of Pink Floyd, a group whose prog-rock albums balanced joyous ecstasies like “Any Color You Like” with foreboding ten-minute expositions – albeit with more of a focus on the jam that the full-fledged freakout that holds sway today (see: Animal Collective, Devandra Barnhart).

As with Pink Floyd, it is the bass that holds the album together, barely, dragging the opening tune “Convinced of the Hex” back to earth and a hummable melody. Frontman Wayne Coyne’s voice, in a departure from the sonorous tenor that haloed albums past, takes on a new menacing tone, almost a growl, proclaiming that “he believes” while she is convinced of the hex. She will convince him, in time.

Michael Ivins’ base plays a similar role in “See the Leaves,” kicking off with a snarl and driving the freakout until the song crests at the 2:30 mark, fading into a melody that takes a page or two from Vivaldi’s “L’inverno” with its fraught soprano reverberations.

That old Lips theme of mystic elements juxtaposed with modern technology (cf. “The Wizard Turns On…” and “Approaching Pavonis Mons By Ballon,” among others) continues in Embryonic. Catullus’ sparrow looks up at the imposing machine (a wizard, perhaps?), and Karen O, lead singer of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and current indie superstar, imitates many wild things over a frozen melody in “I Can Be a Frog.” (As a song, though, “Frog” is indolent – it sounds like a backing track for a montage on a particularly kitschy Coyne biopic.)

Yet even beyond individual songs, the album as a whole is structured around five astrological interludes, with titles like “Scorpio Sword” and “Virgo Self-Esteem Broadcast.” The songs are shorter than some of the other jams, but taken collectively resemble nothing more than the organic baseline and ominous voice samples of Floyd’s “Meddle.”

In albums past, the Lips went back and forth between science fiction and medieval epics (proving along the way that the two are not mutually exclusive). There was the heroic, test-driven “Race for the Prize” in the Soft Bulletin, and then there was Yoshimi. Yet this album is unambiguous, closing with “Watching the Planets” (again, featuring Karen O). Against tribal feedback, Coyne delivers the equivalent of a manifesto:

I got no reason to lie.

I’m killing the ego tonight.

I got no secrets to hide.

The sun’s gonna rise and take your fears away.

You’ll find that there ain’t no answer to find.

Watching the planets align.

Burning the Bible tonight.

Watching the eagle fly.

The sun’s gonna rise.

It’s enough that one might imagine the Oklahoman transcending, fading into the animal spirits that Karen O summoned, leaving us with a small puff of sun-infused mist. Thankfully for us mortals, Coyne is still here – even if his spirit has gone somewhere truly, and frighteningly, strange.