"We cast this message into the cosmos . . . Of the 200 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy, some - - perhaps many - - may have inhabited planet and space faring civilizations. If one such civilization intercepts Voyager and can understand these recorded contents, here is our message: We are trying to survive our time so we may live into yours. We hope some day, having solved the problems we face, to join a community of galactic civilizations. This record represents our hope and our determination and our goodwill in a vast and awesome universe." - Jimmy Carter's statement placed on the Voyager 1 spacecraft on September 5, 1977
Thirty years ago, in 1977, America was at a pivotal moment in its political and cultural history. Following decades of disappointment involving assassination, war and Watergate, the people had just elected a Georgian governor to come in from left field and clean things up. The "hippie" counter-culture movement of the 60's was over, and a new breed of anti-establishment activists were sprouting up. In their song "1977," English band The Clash blasphemously declared "No Elvis, Beatles or the Rolling Stones" - symbolizing a rising global wish to start anew. Writer Roger Sabin went as far as calling '77, in reference to the birth of the punk movement, "year zero."
Of course by the end of Carter's presidency we had trained terrorists in Afghanistan, lost complete control over the Middle East through the Iran hostage debacle, and suffered a major energy crisis. It would be too easy to blame a single moment in history for our current woes, but it's fascinating to study how quickly that hope for change in '77 disappeared into an avalanche of problems that still plague us today. The recent renewed interest in the music of that time isn't just about back-to-basics rock, it represents a yearning for a new revolution - our own chance at starting over.
The Strokes latest video for "You Only Live Once," from their 2006 album First Impressions of the Earth, sets all this up in a matter of seconds. Director Warren Fu brilliantly flips through 70's television commercials and documentary footage of our rising consumption habits as an ominous slab blocks out the sun. Carter gives a speech on energy while all that gas guzzling and thirst for "more" everything leads us into an eventual nuclear holocaust - wiping away our entire civilization sometime in the near future. Yet it's no coincedence the band's name appears in the stars with the sun poking through the "o" in "strokes" - hope is in the music.
This is a band that led the garage rock revival of the early 2000's, and thousands of years in the future they are apparently going to lead the rebirth of the human race*. References to Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke's iconic film abound, from the Hal-like artificial intelligence to the climactic colorful passage through space - but there are a number of differences here as well. Whereas 2001: A Space Odyssey has often been interpreted as a spiritual trip from birth to enlightenment, or a historical critique spanning the entire history of human civilization, Fu's vision is much more limited in scope. By focusing on a specific time period and a specific chain of events, his video forms a potent critique of our current cultural climate (via 4000 A.D).
And while "2001" has been said to allude to the coming of a new "god" via Byzantium (1), Fu's decision to take us backwards in history at the end signifies his faith in humanity to overcome its own problems. As the Strokes sing of "countless odd religions" the director portrays everything from the star of David to the Ying Yang symbol in a slot machine of random luck - "it doesn't matter which you choose." Kubrick ends his masterpiece with a giant fetus observing the Earth, but in this video the spaceship learns of the miracle of birth through transmissions emitting from a sunken time capsule. Despite all the ugliness, the beauty of human life and artistic expression is not completely buried.
In many ways Fu's vision isn't just an ode to Kubrick, it's his personal interpretation of 2001. The former LucasFilm employee wants us to revisit the classic from a fresh perspective, to apply its lessons to modern times. It's also a work that sheds new light on the Strokes much-maligned third album, which now emerges as a commentary on our self-destructive society. If machines were to find our relics in the distant future, would they have a positive first impression? What if they found only your artifacts, your time capsule? These are the important questions that linger after watching Warren Fu's beautifully realized music video - you only live once.
* The Strokes debut, The Modern Age EP, was released in...2001
In the middle of a heated battle between child soldiers, where guns are made from sticks but the explosions are real, a determined young fighter has a momentary lapse in concentration. He looks to his left to see a female friend completely immersed in the war, and for a split second feels intense fear - the thought that he might lose her here today.
Yet Lord of the Flies allusions aside, kids aren't actually blowing themselves up in backyards across America (though they might be in Palestine, Iraq...). When the final scene reveals a grown man shot by actual bullets, we understand that all that has passed before was a memory of a childhood game. In his mind the reality of his current situation is belied by thoughts of an earlier, more innocent time. This soldier remembers that moment of fear in the forest - perhaps his earliest hint of love - and now realizes that he has indeed lost her (and his youth) forever.
Despite the sticks and stones which define the game, the director includes very realistic emotions and violence in the proceedings to make a direct correlation between childhood experience and adult consequences. We are all veterans of those tumultuous years spent growing up, and we carry the scars of the socialization that occured. It isn't just that we are trained from youth to see life as a two-sided struggle where violence is a neccesity, but our confrontational perception carries over to matters of the heart as well. As the band sings of a pained relationship, the camera displays love as a battlefield - where someone is always bound to get hurt.
At the same time it seems the man in the final shot is killed wearing American gear in the desert, and thus likely a victim of the current war in Iraq. By comparison the earlier scenes of violence take place guerilla style in the jungle, which could very well represent Vietnam (there are a few Platoon-esque shots as well). The lesson here being that certain people may have never learned their lesson, and when that happens history is bound to repeat itself.
This is a beautifully stylized and skillfully shot performance meant to grandly introduce the world to the biggest album of the year, Kanye West's Graduation. Like the music and lyrics on this first single, Hype Williams video for "Can't Tell Me Nothing" recycles old ideas behind the guise of modern technique. It almost certainly carries astronomical production costs, but as the Louis Vuitton Don tells us - "it's so hard not to act reckless."
The opening sequence, with Kanye pacing around the camera like a prizefighter, sets the star up as a resilient and unrelenting force - alone in the desert of his own determination. He's a man still caught between God and the allure of Earthly pleasure, which Williams represents with scantily-clad women barely obscured by flowing veils - a simultaneously religious and sexual image.
In many ways this is a glorified ode to beautiful girls and fancy cars with Kanye simply treading water in his tired themes of personal and universal hypocrisy. Yet he is searching for something more to say, and even when he skips like a broken record one can't help but be enthralled by the possibility that one day he will actually graduate to fresh ideas. Though I imagine this song or video will do little to increase enrollment in the Kanye-believers camp, it hasn't dropped anyone out either.
The Veils don't have a calliope on hand as they play their second single from the excellent Nux Vomica, but their music could very well be inspired by the queen of the muses herself. Grabbing the magic in the air and letting it infuse their sound, the band rollicks through a beautifully animated underworld while lead singer Finn Andrews teeters on the edge of love. He fears taking the plunge because of the inevitable loss of innocence and perfection he sees in the girl of his dreams - especially when he has lost faith in everything else around him.
The directors mirror his hesitation by coloring the screen with sepia tones and silent film-aping moments, while a little flickering bug cuts across like Andrews ever present love - as if it were facilitating the entire experience. In the end the artist fears losing more than just his idealism.
Jack and Meg stomp through Mexico on a mission to uncover the hypocrisy of American foreign policy. The fantasy Mr. White sees there is a collage of surreal imagery and real world scenarios. The directors create a gorgeous environment of enticing neon lights, tiny details of the absurd variety and the always potent mix of red and white hues. All the death puppets and one-eyed villains of this underworld imply impending doom for Jack, but he seems to emerge unscathed - save for an icky bump on his head.
The nonchalance with which he strolls in and out (simply waving at a border guard) suggests an elitist (and racist) view of the place. It's a country where you go to have a good time or see something bizarre, but make sure to leave before it gets too ugly. Apart from the literal border trips that some Americans take on Friday nights, there is a more symbolic fleecing of Mexico going on - with our government playing the role of "pimp and prostitute." The wall being built is aimed at keeping immigrants out, but it might never rise high enough to prevent grubby hands from reaching back in.
What were once cuddly memories of youth, in the hands of Kris Lefcoe and Uncut, are now vile symbols of big business brainwashing. Little did we know that Carebears and Ronald McDonald had sinister ulterior motives from the moment of our first happy meal. Yet it's clear now you've been suckered into supporting a conglomerate of greedy bastards out to burn trees and silence all those who stand in the way of profit. What's the only sensible thing to do? Riot.
Uncut don't just share musical similarities with Tokyo Police Club, their video should play back-to-back with their Canadian brethren's "Cheer It On." Both works criticize suppressive aspects of modern society through plastic miniatures who go crazy, but Uncut takes aim specifically at the way in which gigantic corporations are ruining free expression (which could easily apply to happenings within the music industry itself). The band is shown playing an open field concert before being chased away by an impending construction project, but it's this vital brush with art that inspires the fiery passion for change in the people.
Michel Gondry's humour is often overshadowed by his veritable ingenuity and finesse behind the camera. His lo-fi aesthetic and technical wizardry have made him the most well-respected and influential director in the history of music video. Even when we applaud the playful absurdity of his images, we tend to dissect their meaning on an emotional level before we discuss the importance of comedy in his work.
Of course Gondry wouldn't have it any other way, as the power of his drama is indebted to the laughs that accompany it (though not always vice versa). In his video for Paul McCartney's "Dance Tonight," he hires Mackenzie Crook of BBC's legendary comedy The Office to inject a distinctly British sensibility into the set-up (afternoon tea and all). As the piece grows increasingly chaotic and visually arresting, we are whisked away into a fantasy that seems as lightweight as the lyrics of the song.
Yet if we peel back the layers of pop shine, McCartney's insistence on making "everybody dance" in the current climate may be aimed at defusing conflict rather than simply having a good time. He's in a recollective mood, enjoying the company of spirits on a secluded farm in the English countryside - rather than the high-speed city from which the postman has arrived.
The postman's is the first voice we hear though, and he is in fact the protagonist of the story. As the final shot suggests, he may have taken a fatal turn on route to delivering mail down that country road. But when the soul of McCartney's mandolin rises up from its empty box, it's no coincedence she momentarily appears to have wings (it also helps that she is played rather angelically by Natalie Portman). Just as obsessive Beatles fans dream every night, McCartney seems to open the door to the after life (though apparently the real party is down in the basement). More than anything it's an introduction to a world that inverts stale expectations - where music can carry you wherever you like.
We've strayed from our focus on humour, though not as far as you'd think. It's impossible to define, but comedy - in both the classical and popular sense - has much to do with misunderstanding. The climax of this video, in which many the personified objects return to the "wrong" place in the house, is both silly and enlightening. In many ways Gondry has an affinity with Kafka or Camus (as does frequent screenwriting buddy Charlie Kaufman) - a love for all things absurd. Life doesn't fall perfectly into place like knives in a kitchen drawer or books on a shelf, it's a jumbled house of mirrors* where anything goes. Through this dance at Macca's house the postal worker finally expresses himself and escapes the sterility of his previous life - perhaps too late for him, but not for us.
After becoming the biggest rapper on the planet in 2006, T.I. faces '07 with a fresh set of dilemmas. It's no longer simply about representing his block or enjoying his rising fame - he now faces the fear of losing all that he has acquired. As Eric White's video shows us, there are thousands of fans out there who adore the southern MC and impatiently wait for a monster follow-up to King. With his influence at an all-time high, T.I. faces an internal conflict on how to present himself now that he is certified-platinum royalty.
Yet rather than settling on any one persona, he wisely chooses to show us the conflict itself. The first single from T.I. vs. T.I.P. is a self-addressed pep-talk in the vein of Gwen Stefani's "What You Waiting For" or Eminem's "Lose Yourself." It rebukes the naysayers and recalls past glories, while in its very existence represents the slightest bit of doubt.
The video cleverly begins with the two sides of T.I. facing off in what is the most engaging and humorous scene of the work. The two characters are separated by one's carefree fun-loving attitude and the other's business-like desire to succeed. They are later shown embracing super stardom in different ways, but neither seems greater than the other. In either case T.I. wants to convey that his biggest priority remains the fans - that he is still a Bankhead kid who loves to rap. Yet his success in this video lies in revealing how difficult playing that role can be when you're own expectations are so high.
The criticism of Sam's Town has centered around its obviousness - a mediocre rip-off rather than the homage to Born to Run it wants to be. The video for first single "When We Were Young" didn't help matters much, a melodramatic tragedy full of barstools, dusty hillsides and fallen women. Suddenly The Killers first album, Hot Fuss, looked just as false, a costume of new wave rather than synthy sincerity. All that dramatic posing in the "Mr. Brightside" video wasn't masking a broken heart, it was simply posing.
It's always been tough to judge where Brandon Flowers is coming from as a writer. The cringeworthy "Somebody Told Me" was certainly tongue-in-cheek, but then again where can we find good Killer's lyrics? Isn't the band's entire enterprise tongue-in-cheek? The "For Reasons Unknown" video certainly seems to suggest as much. Poking fun at the "Americana" image they apparently don't fit, as well as their lack of subtlety (sitting in open chairs right as he says "there was an open chair") and even Flowers' recently cited resemblance to Kernel Sanders - The Killers manage a mildly entertaining ride (which happens to sum up their existence as a musical act thus far). Is it fair to expect anything more?
Yes, especially when after writing one of the best pop songs of the decade you proclaim - with a straight face - your next album to be the best in 20 years. Ouch.
Beauty in the hands of DJ Gui Buratto is sunlit synths on the back of heart-racing drums, angelic hope emerging from cloudy fuzz and tense build-up as much as cathartic climax. His latest album, Chromophobia, is littered with moments of darkness overwhelmed by the sound of joy, and nowhere is this more fully realized than on lead single "Beautiful Life."
Director Cadú Datoro plays with our emotions in much the same way, setting up a stark contrast in order to convey his meaning. As we realize the false nature of the picture perfect set-up, we may be inclined to dismiss the earlier scenes of happiness. Yet discovering the realities of life only makes our innocence grow fonder in retrospect. The smile on the old man's face lingers in our memory whether or not it was "real," and subsequent events can't change our initial reaction. There is a neccesary beauty in knowledge and growth - but naivety holds its own charms.
The final installment of our week long odyssey through Ziggy's labyrinth...
photo by mark seliger
Bowie found a nice comfort zone towards the end of the last decade, and even if he may never reach the heights of his former glory - one imagines he isn't trying to anyway. Like Dylan in the movies he don't look back, and - for the most part - is always on the cusp of what's next. Though critical and public acclaim have followed him throughout his career, the artist never put on a pretty face simply for the enjoyment of his audience. Bowie has explored everything from jungle beats to techno grunge in recent years because he has to. Constant transformation is exactly what his art is about. He presents himself as the undefinable shape-shifter, so that we might realize the futility of attempting to judge or narrowly define any human being.
Make sure and check out Part 1, 2 and 3 of our feature.
There's obvious irony in Bowie naming his album Earthling after a lifetime of reaching for the stars. Yet the artist wasn't any less inclined to get carried away to mars in 1997, even if he did seem increasingly frustrated with the stagnation around him. Director Floria Sigismondi perfectly captures this sense of stifled dreams in her video for "Little Wonder." When Bowie desperately flaps his arms staring up at the sky - he stands inside a grimy bath tub.
Sigismondi, who just won the MVPA for 2006 video of the year, matches the dub energy of the beat with trippy images of urban chaos. Bowie gives a manic performance, leering and sneering at the camera as he jumps between the edges of the frame. At the same time a man who resembles a young Bowie trudges through the streets collecting the world's garbage, keeping them in his briefcase of treasures. There's a sense that his fascination with eyeballs and severed heads is drug-induced, but it also speaks to Bowie's embrace of the ugly and absurd which became an important theme in his 90's videos.
There's a puppeteer theme than runs through this video, but what is really controlling Bowie is not a force from above - it's something lurking behind. He may push forward with his music, but his lyrics are wrapped in nostalgia. It isn't just "dancing under the lamplight" or "sliding naked and new" which he misses so dearly, but the naivety of his world view before he was "older than movies." He looks at the TV screen and suddenly wonders if there is any point in performing when life itself seems like a stage show, "is it all just human disguise?". Without the power of his masks, Bowie suddenly feels dead inside - memorably represented here by his faceless anguish.
Bowie's enchantment with Asian culture continues as this video is infused with images of Tibetan faces and flags as well as a vague vibe of Buddhist philosophy. The lyrics of the song seem to suggest a moment of profundity following a violent realization - personified by the angry notes of the song. The directors hone in on the line "see nothing at all," with Bowie's wide open eye slowly becoming jumpy and paranoid. The lyric is followed by a series of visual observations, suggesting that Bowie is actually seeing more than he ever has before.
Also, is there any doubt this video directly inspiredZoolander - on a number of levels?
Co-Written by Brian Eno, this song is less about hatred of a certain nation and more universally critical of dominating cultures of any kind. Bowie uses the two most visible symbols of the modern monopolization of culture - Christianity and America - to represent his fears and frustration. The directors also make reference to Scorsese's Taxi Driver with both Trent Reznor's character and the "hand gun" motions everyone seems to make. Like De Niro's Travis Bickle, Bowie's character here is slightly delusional. They are both a product of their society, but Bowie's paranoia is less about loneliness and more rooted in the depressing truths of American culture's omnipresence in the world.
The projected face on a masked Bowie is effective - if a bit obvious - in conveying a similar idea to those explored in the earlier Earthling videos. Bowie is face to face with his old age and realizes that 15 minutes of fame (a panning shot of his costume rack reminds us of his success) doesn't guarantee even 15 minutes of happiness. The realities of the superstar dream are further emphasized by the highly visible presence of the camera - which represents both the paparazzi and the transparency of performance.
The themes of old age and waning talent which had briefly made appearances in the past, found themselves in the spotlight on 'hours...'. Once again the mirror is used as a reference point for Bowie's thoughts on his age and changing physical appearance, but there is much more going on in this Walter Stern directed video than simple yearning for youth. With a few simple glances Bowie tackles issues of lust, body image and fidelity.
According to the always accurate Wikipedia, there is an old poem that predicts the fate of children based on the day in the week on which they were born. Bowie was born on a Wednesday, and is destined for "woe," but as he says in the song he is really a child of Thursday - one who has "far to go." What let's the singer avoid the pangs of looking back and stay forward-looking is supposedly the lovely woman next to him.
Yet as he thinks back to a past lover, he suddenly feels guilty for lusting after his memories. It's clear from the opening moments - when Bowie struggles to find his old voice - that the man is wishing for something that is gone. Standing in front of that mirror he wonders if perhaps his current love simply reminds him of another younger woman - or youth in general. It's a secret bit of doubt he harbors in his heart, and only shows when she's not looking. But the dark shadows of the room suggest these thoughts can't stay hidden for long.
In "Ashes to Ashes" Bowie is strapped to an electric chair in his kitchen, caged by nightmares of domesticity. But a more seasoned and wiser man sits solemnly at his dinner table in this video. Bowie is lost in self-pitying thoughts of youth once again, and Stern surrounds him in a cold metallic environment to reflect his mood. Yet the singer slowly realizes that one can reach zero gravity without a spaceship or bright red hair - it's simply a state of mind.
It's always surprising that there aren't more videos for Heathen, which really marked a return to form for Bowie in terms of critical and popular success. This short promo features more references to space travel, suppressed emotion and lost youth - with the conduit to freedom being music. It also features Pete Townshend on guitar.
There is also a video for "Everyone Says Hi" from the album, but we once again were unable to locate it online.
A combination of "Let's Dance"'s social conscious and the environmental concern of "When the Wind Blows," this strange video is fairly dark under its sunny covers. Many of the shots focus on the momentarily changing expressions on the faces of people, which suggests the fleeting nature of our emotions. But the eventual effect of our shortsightedness could be far more dangerous - with the fallen spaceship being only the tip of the melting iceberg.
It may come as a surprise to some that David Bowie, despite the lack of many major hits, produced a handful of his best videos in the 1990's. Rather than settling into mediocrity or just recycling the rewards of his fame, the artist continued to explore new ways of expressing himself visually. Bowie has always faired well in collaborative work, and in this era he expands beyond the Mallets and Rocks of the world to recruit new directorial talents. The results are largely positive - with a few videos here standing amongst the best of the decade.
In case you missed them, here's Part 1 and Part 2 of our feature.
Bowie looks as cool as ever, but something about the guitar wankery doesn't suit him - probably because he isn't the one doing it. Tin Machine was by no means a great album, but if the band had lasted a few more years they might have found commercial success amongst the angsty-bands of the 90's. Thankfully Bowie didn't go that route, though he may have directly inspired it.
The man who went on to submit Golden Palm-winning films at Cannes here directs Bowie through some interpretive dance alongside professional dancer Louise LeCavalier - all while clips from classic Bowie videos burn up around them. Which suggests, like the lyrics of the song, that the flames of stardom can keep you sane just as they push you towards insanity.
Belew is a sort of virtuoso, playing multiple instruments on numerous records with legendary musicians (from Talking Heads to Frank Zappa) as well as being a vital member of the band King Crimson himself. Bowie first used Belew's talents on his 1979 album Lodger, where the American played lead guitar and supported him on tour. Thankfully these two skilled artists combine their formidable gifts to come up with...a ridiculous music video.
I've never seen this film, but apparently it involves humans having sex with cartoons - and the obvious repercussions of such acts. It also, not surprisingly, was released four years after Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. Bowie's Michael Jackson impression actually works pretty well, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to rent the movie this weekend.
Bowie always had a fascination with the paranoia of 1984 (at one point planning a concept album around the book), and in this superb video he is able to further explore ideas of 'big brother' and fear of the unknown. Standing on the edge of a futuristic corporate building, Bowie's character looks down at the metaphysical and literal prison bars of the busy street below. In many ways he just wants to escape the corner in which he is boxed, but at the same time he feels a despair and self-pity which will provide the final push over the edge.
Of course the pressure which torments him is induced by his job and the stifling society around him. Romanek borrows from Temple's "Day-In Day-Out" with the white handheld camera, which recalls the themes of social corruption highlighted in that video. Yet the majority of the crisis is mental, and the star is shown repeatedly rubbing his forehead in existential pain. In general Romanek's video is masterfully filled with detailed imagery so that not a single frame is wasted. There is a particularly striking visualization of the character's sense of worthlessness as Bowie - one of the iconic faces in pop culture history - disappears into an assemblage of suited businessman. When he doesn't stand out in a crowd we know there's something seriously wrong with the place.
Another crucial shot comes when we see the character's face after he has hit the ground and presumably died. We have rarely, if ever, seen Bowie's normally pristine face so mangled and broken - and in showing us this side the artist expresses a rare moment of sincerity. Bowie had lost his step-brother to suicide prior to writing this song, and the physical pain of that experience is worn openly. He exhumes his frustrations through the images and questions posed here.
Neither the director nor the singer paint suicide as a simple right or wrong choice. It's at times shown as a desperate plea for attention, while at others a Christ-like sacrifice aimed at inspiring a mechanical world. But whatever the interpretation, the moment when Bowie removes his tie - standing above the world - is key. In the end, whether you choose to do as "they say" or make your own decisions in life, the universal desire of humanity remains liberation. No bird enjoys being trapped in a cage.
The return of Mick Ronson wasn't the monumental event some had hoped for, but it did - along with Bowie's recent marriage to Iman - breathe fresh excitement into the artist's career. If Black Tie White Noise isn't superior to his pop albums of the late 80's, it is at least more adventurous. And perhaps nowhere is that more obvious than on the genre-bending title track featuring unibrowed R&B star Al B. Sure!.
Though the song struggles to meld its disparate parts, the video manages to speak to the Los Angeles race riots which inspired the lyrics. Filling the screen with people from multiple walks of life, Bowie once again pines for equality and fairness in a troubling society. It works much better in the hands of Romanek than it has in others, mainly because he doesn't use foreign fetishes as the root of his argument. In fact there are so many stark and startling shots that one can almost ignore the sometimes cringe worthy lyrics - almost.
A simple kaleidoscopic effect lifts a series of odd images into the realm of compelling surrealism. Bowie dances with himself, cross-dresses and shares the screen with a scantily clad cowgirl - all within director Matthew Rolston's house of mirrors. The theme of dueling personalities is not only established by the reflections, but in the crisscrossing of traditional and challenging images of male sexuality. In one scene Bowie is covered by beautiful writhing women while in the next he poses dressed in high heels. The gaudy blatancy of the cowgirl's come-ons, backed by bright neon colors, pale in comparison to the black and white eroticism of these scenes - or the classic Greek art referenced here.
Yet the real impressive aspect of Rolston's work is how each shot is so carefully composed and balanced, while at the same time deftly layered with the music. From the toe-tapping Bowie that highlights the bridge, to the sublime editing of the finale - it's a visual feast of shocking and engaging ideas.
The performance video is interesting for its dramatic stage lighting and Bowie jamming out on the saxophone. It also marks a return to David Mallet's career-defining vision of Bowie.
A very minimalistic approach which brings out the classy trumpets and gospel choir which carry the song. And in case you're wondering, you aren't going crazy, this upload is not properly synced with the music.
The interview that precedes the video is far more interesting than what accompanies the song. I wonder if Beyonce used the Black Tie White Noise Videos as inspiration when she filmed a million videos at once for B'Day?
People kind of forget that there was this album of new material released as a soundtrack for a BBC show called The Buddha of Suburbia. In fact, it's ignored so much that we were unable to track down a clip of this anywhere on the Internet (little help?).
Bayer, who directed Nirvana's iconic "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video, developed a creepy and memorable style in the 90's with grimy lighting and off-kilter cuts. Bowie's impending collaboration with Trent Reznor and his appearance on the soundtrack to Seven seem right at home with the industrial violence of his work here. While at times it just feels like excessively gory shock value, Bowie is in fact exploring tense themes of artistic and social relevance.
From the tarnished existence of modern art to the spread of HIV/Aids across the globe, Bayer's fantasy is in fact a representation of society's very real problems. Freddie Mercury - a good friend of Bowie's - had recently succumbed to the rapidly spreading sexually transmitted disease, and here we see both needles passing through skin and simulated sexual acts. But the "filthy lesson" Bowie sings of isn't "use condoms" or "avoid drugs" - it's realizing the horrible and scary consequences of ignoring a serious global epidemic.
The destruction of all things beautiful is simply an extension of that message. The mannequins which are torn open show mechanical hearts within - lifeless people and art. The imploding chaos of the "last supper" suggests a necessary revolution resulting from all this ignorance and suppression. Not surprisingly, the messiah appears to be Bowie and his music - once again standing on the outside.
Bayer returns with more silent-film referencing cinematography and set-design, but things are drastically less gloomy this time around. Though even as things look a little brighter, it's clear that there is no lack of despair in the room. The woman who dances with Bowie almost looks like the plastered models from the previous video come to life, but she is more Raggedy Ann inside.
We already knew that Bowie had a thing for unknown and inanimate lovers, but we soon learn that Bayer enjoys scenes of mob violence just as much. The resistance here is rooted in Bowie's own heart - trapped in a circus of his own creation. Though as always, he doesn't seem quite ready to leave just yet.
Even though we immediately recognize Mallet's cinematic gaze, the 1996 version is decidedly updated from his earlier incarnation of soft-lighting and low-angle hero shots. The influx of pop culture references and exterior film clips (not to mention some really world class editing) make this nostalgic remix video an unforgettable modern peak for Bowie. It also raises that age-old question - how come Pet Shop Boys are so succesful in England but not in the States?
Moving forward through the long, long video career of Ziggy Stardust...
Entering the third decade of his life in entertainment, Bowie didn't slow down a bit - pushing his fame and creativity past the brink of super stardom. While some may argue his best days were already behind him, as the 80's moved forward the artist was in the midst of his most succesful reinvention yet. Releasing his best-selling album, working in movies and collaborating with top artists was just part of the ever-changing game for David Bowie.
In case you missed it, here's Part 1 of the feature. Part 2 is split into two segments, the second of which will be posted below tomorrow.
Let's Dance was Bowie's most internationally succesful album to date, and the video for "Cat People" finds the artist at the peak of his popularity. The stage show is grandly orchestrated and exuberantly executed, but the song - much like the entire second half of the album - is only mildly thrilling. Thus, as far as performance videos go, it's one of Bowie's weaker efforts.
Bowie plays both the villain and hero in this confrontational video set in the Australian outback. Director David Mallet (who at this point has linked his entire career with that of Bowie) tells a story of discrimination and resistance within a still largely class-based modern society. The white upper class characters (one of whom is played by Bowie) look down upon the less wealthy workers (all of whom have darker skin) and reinforce their inferior status in the community. Yet with a little inspiration from Bowie the musician, the forgotten folks don't let the perception of others control their self-image for very long.
Mallet depicts the initial psychological effects of social snobbery with a few potent dream sequences. As a high-heeled lady towers over a worker scrubbing her floor, the diligent employee imagines herself cleaning congested streets in the middle of the city. Drivers and passengers leer at her blocking the traffic and the woman feels as if she is one with the dirt which she so tirelessly washes away. Her job seems pointless in this context - only serving to remind her of her facelessness within this ignorant crowd.
Yet being stepped on in this way doesn't just influence your nightmares, it has a distinct effect on your dreams as well. The young couple walk by shops and boutiques which promise happiness in the form of luxury - or a pair of red shoes. But the characters reject this false ideal, and they do so with the help of music and self-expression (of course dancing). One of the final shots of the video shows Bowie standing between the workers and images of Sydney high class - art represented as the great leveler and source of hope for the downtrodden.
It's ironic that Bowie follows up one of his most socially conscious videos with a particularly insensitive one. Though upon release the biggest controversy was Bowie's bared backside, watching it today one can't avoid the blatant fetishization of Asian women throughout. The lyrics were supposedly originally a reference to cocaine (as in "China white") and written for Iggy Pop a few years earlier, but when Bowie decided to use it on his own work he deleted an introduction that might have made that clearer. What's left is a From Here to Eternity-referencing video that wants to free women from suppressive cultures, but ends up reinforcing already confining stereotypes.
The work begins with vaguely "eastern" music and an image of a decorated woman trapped behind barbed wire. Bowie, through his charms, is able to illicit emotion and personality out of her previously solemn face - proving that she is indeed more than simply a caricature. Yet the repition of "little china girl" - which sounds a lot like little china doll - paints a negative picture of women (particularly Asian women) as fragile infantile creatures who need the nurturing and help of men to express themselves. The shot of Bowie and the girl embracing on the beach only reiterates this point - the man being on top and all.
Perhaps even more interesting is what the video says about Bowie's attraction to and love of image. Even though he often challenges or dissects his fascination with guise and show through his videos, he still clearly enjoys inhabiting and creating statuesque characters - personified here in his doll-like love interest. Bowie has always criticized societies stifling codes of behavior, and perhaps his personas are in response to, or a product of, that suppression. But one can't ignore how influential the artist's promotion of image - particularly that of cool detachment - has been on the history of popular music and culture. Sometimes Bowie's robotic steeliness can feel very confining in it, of itself.
The song recently appeared on the soundtrack for the film The Business (2005), and thus this YouTube clip attributes the video to the movie. But the footage is clearly from the 80's and comes from a time when Bowie was enormously popular worldwide. Their are two amusing back-up singers and an impressive stage show, but the song really carries things with its catchy beat and always interesting lyrics. In fact it might have been much more fun to explore Bowie's ideas on love, religion and humanity in-depth.
This clip is only a short glimpse of the 21-minute epic production that Temple directed in anticipation of Bowie's Tonight album. While the video succeeded in vaulting "Blue Jean" into the top ten, there was no helping the public's lukewarm reception of the rest of the album. Nevertheless the music video is one of the earliest long-form narrative style releases, and features humor, lots of dancing and a compelling enough story.
Bowie shows some acting range by playing his dreamy stage persona and a dorkier version of himself simultaneously. With his face covered in paint and a turban on his head, the light reflecting off his get-up makes him look nearly hand-drawn or digitally animated at times. While the song seems to make reference to earlier hit "Jean Genie," the way in which the audience is blindly rapt in the movement of the performer (mimicking his actions often) reminds us of "Fashion." Except this time he appears far less critical of that phenomenon.
This faux-live video is memorable for its TRL-setting, hotel lobby introduction from Bowie and really great performance from the star (what an outfit!). The first video juggles a number of things but here Temple focuses purely on the song, bringing out the chorus with panning shots of everyone singing in unison. It's enough to make you dig up that dusty copy of Tonight and wonder why it is so oft maligned.
Having traveled this far into Bowie's video career without mentioning MTV was probably a mistake, as many forget he was just as vital to the success of music television as Michael Jackson(if not more so). It wasn't just videos either, Bowie was really setting up - as this work illustrates - the television pop star model that lasted for years to come.
Whereas in the past Bowie always represented a feeling of disconnect through images of space travel, during this period he goes with more literal ideas of "foreign" to represent not fitting in. He melds Buddhist and Hindu visuals with Middle Eastern and Islamic iconography (they're all the same anyway, right?) - with a story that holds more than a passing resemblance to "China Girl." The key is that no matter how he chooses to convey his ideas, ever since the days of "Major Tom" it has been Bowie himself who feels more "alien" than anyone else.
Here he has trouble looking in the mirror and perhaps imagines the entire affair from inside an insane asylum. He attempts to hide his insecurities through exterior changes (the backing band seems to reference the Tin Man from "Ashes to Ashes"), but this fails as the burqa-ed woman throws his money back at him. Before Bowie can ever escape that room he must first come to terms with his own humanity - maybe start believing that he isn't that weird after all (nobody is).
The film from which these scenes are taken, The Falcon and the Snowman (starring Sean Penn and Timothy Hutton), tells the true story of two Americans who decide to sell secrets to the Soviet Union during the Cold War. While one character is motivated by money and the other a sense of idealism, both are feeling disillusioned with their country and government. This impression of lost innocence - in regards to society's perception of American ideals - is expressed in the song through images of melting snow men and bloody falcons.
You see, umm, Bowie and Jagger are imitating each other, err, I mean it's supposed to be kitschy, uh, never mind. There's no point in explaining this silliness - you either love it or love to hate it. There were rumors at the time that these two were an item, but it's unclear how those got started.
If you take out the film tie-in and look past the blatant sexism of the catty female, this is really one of Bowie's finest videos - at the very least one of his best looking. Naturally he slips quite easily into the film noir genre, and director Julien Temple (who also directed the feature film of the same name) uses harsh lighting and more than a passing nod to "Billie Jean" to create an exciting environment of back alleys and empty cafes at night. There's a throw away reference to race riots (which only serves to magnify the peculiarity of the female character's costume), but this is really about Bowie's search for easy answers in a tough world.
In the classic fable, the zebra gets his stripes when he is burned while fighting a baboon for the right to give access to water to all animals. Here Bowie is torched by love and lust, in pursuit of his ideals. There's also a revival of the imagery from "Rock 'N Roll Suicide" - cigarettes which never last long enough, much like the innocent pleasures of new love.
We had trouble locating the actual music video for this (if anyone has a tip, holla!), and instead posted a link to the film from which it was taken. The original video featured scenes from the movie with Bowie's face on top, and not much else. The song features bleak and pessimistic lyrics - much like the darkly humorous nuclear war themes of the animated film. Worth renting if you've got the time.
This is one of the better movie tie-in videos ever made, with director Steve Barron actually using Labyrinth as a source of thematic inspiration rather than merely a promotional tool. Here the claustrophobic maze is within Bowie's own head - where he spirals down through a myriad of his past masks and characters. Yet when faced with the ultimate decision to turn to the dark side (er, represented by some cuddly puppets), Bowie releases a hand-drawn sketch he holds inside. It appears the only away for him to avoid complete madness, is to dig further into himself and his art.
Though it was fantasy film of the highest pedigree, Labyrinth has been a cult favorite since the early nineties due to Bowie as much as Henson or Lucas. He not only gives a wickedly strange performance, but carries himself with some very creepy sexual energy - on top of composing a few memorable songs for the soundtrack. In fact, for many kids growing up in the '90's, Labyrinth was their first introduction to the weird brilliance of Bowie.
The story of maturity and retaining one's childhood fantasies is also very relevant to Bowie the musician. Though his fantasies do seem to involve mainly himself as a space cowboy or an irresistible sex icon (sometimes both). Barron chooses to play up the latter of the two, underlining what the NY Times called a "driving, sensual appeal" in the soundtrack. In the film his Jareth character is the villain who takes Jennifer Connelly's baby brother away, but also the one who spurs a subtle sexual awakening in the pre-pubescent girl.
The more you study it, the more absurd (perhaps brilliant) this movie becomes.
Because of the controversial nature of some themes, this video was often banned or re-cut for television. The YouTube clip is case in point, so make sure to click the link to the longer version (though still edited) on iFilm above. A particularly important edit was made with the close-up on the child's building blocks near the climax of the video. In the edited version they read, "Luck", "Look" and "Mom," but originally those first two words were "Fuck" and "Food." The changed version doesn't make any sense, but the real one is a bleak distillation of what life will be for the impoverished (male) child.
Julien Temple became Bowie's go-to-guy for longer narrative videos, and he brings his flare for extreme imagery to this rather transparent video (which may be in response to criticism that the song's message was buried beneath it's over-produced sound). Once again (as in "Absolute Beginners") Temple presents the female body as prey chased through the night in a male-dominated environment. On the outer edges there is commentary about the treatment of poverty in America and the governments ineptitude in bridging the class divide (one of Bowie's favorite subjects). But at the center is the blatant rape of the protagonist and the second-class status of women in modern society. From the strip clubs that illuminate the background to the lover who deserts her in times of need - the woman is constantly reminded of her dependency on corrupt men.
Yet through it all Bowie can't resist making references to his own life - with the woman donning a Ziggy Stardust wig just as she enters into prostitution. Which either supports or counters those critics who claimed the artist had "sold out" in the 80's. It also raises the question of whether Temple and Bowie are themselves guilty of making their social commentary on gender at the expense of the woman - selling sex in order to speak of equality. The angels with fake video cameras imply hypocrisy, but the pretense here extends beyond religious morality.
There's sexuality of all kinds on display in this mock-documentary of backstage rehearsals on Bowie's Glass Spider Tour. The song itself continues themes from When the Wind Blows, lamenting the destruction of the Earth at the hands of pollution and capitalism. But it's a pretty stale affair overall, with the only highlights being the campy innuendos and a Peter Frampton cameo.
Never Let Me Down is often cited as Bowie's worst album, and the videos don't do much to refute that opinion. The opening narration sinks this one before it ever gets off the ground - putting us to sleep almost immediately. Baptiste-Mondino's creates an atmosphere of sexy boredom to bring out the melancholy notes of the song, but the sepia smokiness actually does bore us - and far too easily. The only attraction through the rest of the video are people humping each other (which isn't all that hot) and Bowie laying it down on harmonica (which is).
Most importantly: though we respect young Americans looking for a good time at an all-night dance-a-thon/orgy - this is surely no place for impressionable young minds!? Or is it all actually part of the young girl's fantasy? Or perhaps Bowie's? Let's hope the answer is "no," on both counts.
Our continuing series on the video careers of major artists moves from the King of Pop to the Thin White Duke...
Nearly every discussion of David Bowie's career emphasizes his propensity for change, summed up by the much-beloved phrase "musical chameleon." As clichéd as that conversation can be, most of it holds true - Bowie has displayed an amazing ability to transform and reinvent his art on a consistent basis. Yet despite the constant flux of his image, there are a number of themes that have stayed throughout most of his five(!) decades of pop stardom.
Closely studying his video output is one way of observing Bowie's ideas develop over time. From the obvious love affair with extravagant show to his more subtle social commentaries, Bowie's videography is perhaps the most unique and influential of any one musician in the history of music video. He single-handedly revolutionized and expanded the form - much in the same way he altered the course of rock 'n roll. The most vital legacy of Bowie is not how often he switched costumes, but how drastically he changed the landscape of pop art in the process.
The Elvis-gyrating and suggestive guitar motions are a modest preview of what was to come. This and the following two clips are taken from a marginally successful promotional film made in 1969, Love You Till Tuesday, meant to introduce the world to the future icon. Even as it failed to peak the interest of potential buyers, it's clear from the first shot that David Bowie is a performer, through and through.
(If you follow the link above you can watch the version without the movie titles.)
Bowie is in prime music hall form, reminding us all that he once shared a name with Davy Jones. Yet even at his cheesiest extreme, he has the camera wrapped around his flighty finger.
It's hard to justify three videos for any single song, but "Space Oddity" is such a grand achievement that it almost demands repeated attention. The original version features an alternate take on the classic song, and is the most interesting of the three. Director Thomson supposedly planned a more risqué piece, with presumably more sex and psychedelia, but what remains is a humorous and creepy visualization of Major Tom's really bad trip - from which he never returns. The video also stars then girlfriend Hermione Farthingale, who apparently influenced the writing of the song. Her presence, and the way the video concludes, suggests that love (or lust) has pushed the singer into space as much as any drug might have.
Mick Rock's take, which is decidedly darker from the get go, matches Major Tom's disconnect from ground control with hints of paranoia and mental collapse. The green transmissions on the screen are the literal visualization of the sound waves, but the rest of the video peeks into the thoughts behind the notes. The sitting Bowie suggests that Tom never leaves the ground, and that his messages echo inside his own empty control room. The video also plays upon the dramatic impact of the music by emphasizing the guitar Bowie holds in his lap - music is yet another conduit to escape.
In the third video Bowie looks Dylan-esque with his curly hair and an acoustic strapped to his shoulder. There's also an improvement in trippy camera effects from the first one. The rumbling smoke at his feet and the occasional moments of darkness once again highlight the dual nature of the experience, but the decision to end in shadow makes director David Mallet's interpretation clear.
It's fairly certain from the song itself that the singer wants much more than a dance, but even if he were simply seeking a tango, the performers in this video demonstrate the potential eroticism of "only dancing." The director does a good job of magnifying the three essential components of the track - the big drums, guitars and Bowie himself. While the singer sells desire and suppression through a few hand gestures and a pensive look on his face, the camera spins around him and his burning red hair.
Co-starring Cynthia Foxe, a friend of Bowie and Andy Warhol, director Mick Rock channels the street-level Velvet of the song with the glamour of Hollywood life. Foxe looks a bit like Jean Harlowe, dancing energetic circles around the unaffected Ziggy Stardust - while Bowie jams out with the Spiders From Mars.
The concepts of guise, ambiguity and escapism have been central to David Bowie's popular image from the very beginning. The artist himself was well aware of his propensity for show and his naturally androgynous looks - and he used both as tools for expressing a sense of detached cool and shifting identity. One of his many songs about the distant corners of space, "Life on Mars" uses the outsider persona to criticize and show frustration with the current state of the world.
Director Rock focuses deeply on Bowie's "alien" characteristics, and sets him up to contrast the "saddening bore" mentioned in the song. From heavy face paint to close-ups on his lengthy eyelashes, Bowie is the complete antithesis of the macho "cavemen" who pollute society with unnecessary "fighting in the dance hall." He's also covered in a stark white color that nearly blends him into the studio background - mirroring his feeling of despair in this suffocating social environment. It's the type of loneliness that leads one to search for answers beyond the stars.
Ziggy Stardust - The Motion Picture dir. by D.A. Pennebaker
Though the film wasn't officially released until '83, this is a chronicle of the final performance of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars in 1973. Directed by the legendary Pennebaker (Don't Look Back), it captures David Bowie at his highest peak as a performer. The crowds are chaotic and obsessive, creating an infectious aura around the concert, which Pennebaker translates well.
The version of the Velvet Underground classic here is quite strong, which comes as no surprise considering Bowie's admiration for the band and his own ability to transform. Though upon release "Changes" wasn't a huge hit, it went on to become one of his most well-known and (for obvious reasons) representative of his entire career (and probably inspired this children's television theme).
Bowie physically connects with his audience through his music, and shots of his passionate singing are coupled with desperately reaching hands from the crowd. The footage is compiled from various shows during his tours in the 70's, and the singer is shown to joyfully personify the "cigarette" lifestyle promoted in his song. It isn't necessarily "live fast, die young," but more along the lines of - take as many drags while you still can.
There's far less awkwardness here than you might expect, and that's chiefly due to Crosby's class and Bowie's more than capable acting skills (Labyrinth, The Prestige). Neither of them looks too uncomfortable, despite the fact the situation is clearly forced. It was a huge hit as well, reaching as high as # 3 on the UK charts.
Low did in fact spawn singles, even if it didn't storm the charts like many of his preceding albums. Yet "Be My Wife" is probably the most accessible track on the landmark record that initiated his "Berlin Trilogy." The heavy riffs are emphasized here by the prominently placed electric guitar and the artist's emotive playing - all in a white setting that recalls the detached "Life on Mars."
There's an improvised feel to the song, and this spontaneity is brought out through Bowie's off-kilter acting - including a humorously blatant stroking of his guitar fret. The combination of this performance and his appearance is also purportedly meant to reference silent film star Buster Keaton. As we've seen recently with faux-punk glam bands, the silent form has become popular amongst musicians who admire its over-the-top acting and excessive use of eyeliner. Yet here Bowie uses it as a satirical tool to contrast the apparent earnestness of the lyrics, "share my life."
When the video starts, as Bowie stands in shadows backed by the bright lights, it almost looks as if he's wearing a gown - rather than a full-body leather jumper. In either case, the singer gives an impassioned performance of his huge hit, and even if the lyrics are more hopeful than sexy - a strategically placed light makes sure dirty things are on our mind throughout.
Though "Boys Keep Swinging" was a top ten hit in the UK, RCA decided against releasing it as the lead single for Lodger in the US. There were a couple of reasons for that decision, but David Mallet's controversial video likely played a major role. It would be easy enough to censor lines like "When you're a boy, other boys check you out" (which is what Saturday Night Live did when Bowie performed it on the show), but the video makes it impossible to avoid the issues at hand.
Bowie attacks the unequal standards of our patriarchal society and plays on gender stereotypes with sarcastic lines like, "Life is a pop of the cherry" and "clothes always fit ya." Mallet begins the video with the singer in full-on Elvis mode, a mock representation of standard idealistic 'masculinity.' Then he slowly moves further and further away from that set-up, first introducing female back up singers and then revealing that they are all in fact Bowie in drag.
In the first two cases the singer rips off his wig and wipes away the lipstick, as if to confront the audience with the truth of their deeply held assumptions on gender. Yet he ends the video with wig on - showing us the silliness of even needing to remove make-up in order to prove your sex, and that neither women nor men should be treated differently based on their physical appearance alone. The sad part is, you couldn't easily get this on national television today.
The line, "I am a DJ, I am what I play," could easily be David Bowie's slogan as an artist. It not only implies multiple records spinning at once, but also references devotion to the craft which often supersedes any sense of personal identity. Though with his record smashing he seems to violently reject the trappings of music, his walk amongst the people rejuvenates his love for the role as spokesperson for the masses - "I've got believers."
Yet despite the onslaught of kisses and well-wishers, there remains an individual struggling to emerge from under the pressures of stardom. Bowie tears down the shades to reveal a piercing bright light, and defiantly smashes a mirror that reflects a false image. But even after spray-painting a window in rebellion, he dejectedly plants a record on the glass - as if forever trapped by his art.
Mallet injects even more narcissism into Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray by having Bowie play the role of both painter and subject - locked in his personal attic. His obsession with his own beauty leads to physical weakness and rapid aging, not to mention psychological torment. Yet he isn't initially staring into the mirror, but merely looking at an artistic representation of himself (a fallen angel that rises in the opening). This created image is what he truly falls in love with.
In that way the video continues the themes we saw in "DJ" and "Boys Keep Swinging," a self-reflective look at Bowie the artist and how that affects or represents Bowie the person. Here the allure of performance and idolatry becomes an addiction, a room from which the artist cannot escape. Yet just as Wilde saw Dorian almost as an ideal (1), Bowie gives such an ecstatic portrayal of his character that one imagines he still finds much to love in that mirror.
One of the most influential and popular videos of all-time, when released the £250,000 "Ashes to Ashes" was also the most expensive video ever made. Utilizing ambitious special effects, a larger cast and multiple locations - this was Bowie and Mallet's grandest visual statement to date. It's no shock then that the accompanying song is also considered amongst the more intricate works in the artist's oeuvre, and that the single went on to dominate the UK charts.
The video begins with Bowie standing on the red earth of a distant planet, proving there is indeed life on mars. Major Tom has landed here, for who knows how long, but Bowie seems far less sympathetic to his plight this time around. He comes right out and calls him a junky, and the bulldozing funeral march is his over-the-top burial of the character. Yet the appeal of Tom is tangled up in his mind too deeply to be removed completely - in the final shot the addicted inner Bowie looks sinisterly alive.
This prison-like distance from reality is represented in a number of novel ways throughout the video. The Wizard of Oz march down the yellow brick road to freedom conjures up thoughts of home, and we later see Bowie trapped in his mother's kitchen. The scene with one chair in a claustrophobic space represents his cognizant struggle to emerge from this hole (and was recently recycled by Sophie Muller for Rufus Wainwright's "Going to a Town"). Even when he seems to have escaped this place and takes a walk along the beach with his mother, he is still detached and lifeless. The greatest fear of the addict, like a convict released from jail, is that once they hit the ground they will fail to ever adjust back to life in the real world.
Hot on the heels of the success of "Ashes to Ashes," this video was another huge success for Mallet and Bowie. The subdued delivery of the chorus highlights the monotony of fickle fans ready to follow any command, and the costumed followers in line for more soup predict the zombies of "Thriller" (some of the dance moves do the same). Bowie has said the song is less about fascism than some critics have claimed, because rather than simply criticizing the suppression of the individual voice in an authoritarian environment - the singer is also wondering why people are so easily swayed by fashions in the first place. We laugh at the man awkwardly hopping on the dance floor or the drummer playing an invisible drum, yet we are all at one time or another victims of popular fads - even the trend-setting Bowie himself.
Mallet does so much here with such a simple idea. His varying depictions of personally released pressure, contained pressure and the horrible effects of an entire society controlled by pressure are dead-on. Perhaps none more so than his theme, like that of the song, of love as the ultimate liberation from anxiety - both physically and mentally.
No matter how stripped-down the setting or sound, one can never entirely remove the dramatic performance from the dramatic performer. It shouldn't come as any shock that these songs were recorded for Bertolt Brecht’s play Baal, as they carry the weight of melodrama in every note. Mallet's videos are as deceptively simple here as Bowie's songs, using lights and shadows to create creeping suspense around the rising tension of the music. The close-ups on Bowie's facial expressions, and particularly his mouth, give emphasis to the words - and yet at the same time they strangely distract us from digesting the complete story.
Director Chris Richmond paints a visually heavy trip through the mind of a disenchanted youth, which could possibly be drug-induced. While many of the post effects on screen and the look on the main character's face (not to mention the inhaling sounds of the song) seem to suggest the use of narcotics, one could easily interpret the events as a transcendent experience sans illegal substance. In either case, things are starting to look increasingly weird for our hero.
As the man walks around a city he has clearly seen before, suddenly everything begins to turn dark and ugly. Richmond uses some very cool filters, editing tricks and cinematography (the eye hovering on screen is especially memorable) to create this sense of paranoia and doom (amplified by the creepy factor of the music). Whether the phenomenon is real or in his head, his mind is definitely opened to new sides of the world (perhaps even to the truth) - and the lyrics of the song suggest he probably should have seen it coming.
Pop star Moore attempts to tweak her image by hiring indie-ish director Norton to give her the "down-to-earth" treatment. Though in order to make Ms. Moore a more likeable and relatable star, the director puts her up in the clouds - piling numerous versions of the the A Walk to Remember star up towards the sun. There's actually a considerable lack of sunlight in this gloomy town that Moore rises above, and perhaps her various talents will bring new warmth to the city once she jumps into her dreams - but the lackluster sky remains until the very end.
What is clear is Moore's attempt to juggle numerous personalities, skills and appearances at once - even if none of them ever represented who she truly was. She realizes this at the conclusion, once she has built a tower of pressures and obligations beneath her. She floats down feeling weightless and free for the first time - apparently no longer tied to concerns of popular image, and ready to display her true "extraordinary" quality.
Inflated balloons rest on a red carpet in the hallway, as if a party had just ended a few hours before. The auditorium is empty but it sparkles with life, and mysterious characters wander through the aisles. Slowly the lights come on and the air is filled with music, but it's still not clear what is real and what is imagined in this strange setting. It's reminiscent of the spooky ballroom in The Shining, and Brandi Carlile's "The Story" is indeed filled with a sense of horror - just not the kind that gives you the creeps.
Carlile conveys the frustration of carrying a life's worth of adventures without a friend with whom to share them. The director draws a parallel with an old rundown theater, filled with people and stories long since forgotten. The marquee outside spins through a million unknown plays and young lovers share an intimate moment in the vacant seats. The fear that the song expresses is one of disappearance - of not mattering. By the end of video we realize that Carlile and her band are ghosts themselves, singing love songs to a person who is long gone.
Yet each time the singer abruptly breaks into the passionate peaks of her narrative, the camera shakes and the image blurs - as if her voice crosses the distance of time for just a moment. What we realize is that even if she lacks the one audience member she desires, her stories do reach out and matter to others through her music. In fact, the old man who sits at a piano on the very same stage at a different time could very well be playing the same song. Carlile's stories live on, and in the process so does her love.
Telling your tale to an empty room lacks meaning not because you need fame or the reassurance of others to feel valuable, but because to speak to another human being extends your impact on the world beyond your own skin - and touching something outside yourself is what meaning is all about. The video deftly visualizes loneliness in the way Carlile doesn't seem to care how many fans or listeners she actually has, because inside she still feels like a ghost of who she was with her lover. Yet by the final shot we sense that perhaps she has felt the transcendent power of storytelling - that feeling of connection with humanity that only self-expression can give us.
A fresh take on the Dylan/Pennebaker model, though not quite as compelling as it could/should be. The funniest part is probably the way Demetri Martin is introduced - as an "international comedian" and far more pumped than when we last saw him. And I still swear The Man Who is a great album, even if I haven't listened to it since I was seventeen.
Serena Ryder sings of unrequited or lost love with a forced voice of strength, which fails to hide the vulnerability she carries beneath. When she suggests walking over and kissing her lover, she sounds less than confident in her actual ability to do so. Director Kevin De Freitas uses a number of images and contrasts to establish these emotions behind the words, but there is one scene that captures the feeling particularly well.
As Ryder proclaims her ability to stand tall even with her legs warbling beneath her, De Freitas alternates between close-ups and wide shots of the singer standing in front of flowers. When we are near her face the background is completely filled with colorful arrangements of hope as if she were standing in a garden. But when he pulls out we remember she's in fact in the cold street - and those potted flowers look rather cheap (maybe fake) inside a dirty truck. As hard as she tries, she can't escape the weight of her longing.
Dipset is not known for their social conscious - by any stretch of the imagination. America, via 60 Minutes, was recently introduced to Cam'ron's campaign to let serial killers roam free, and fellow labelmate Juelz Santana named part of his last album after Ronald Reagan only to warmly recall the rise of crack in the US (he also refers to himself as "human crack in the flesh"). Yet if you wanted, one could make an argument that in both cases the artists were struggling to say something pertinent about their experience growing up in America. The only problem is, there is so much nonsense one must wade through to even arrive at those points that it makes it hard to really care (step 1 is avoiding Killa Season at all costs).
Jim Jones is perhaps the least likely co-founder of The Diplomats to correct all this. Not that Mr. "We Fly High" makes everything right here, but this video for "Lockdown, USA" is a revelatory look at himself, America's war on drugs and the other artists in his crew. If the man who got millions of kids to start senselessly screaming "Ballin!" now has a social agenda, imagine the potential in the rest of the Hip Hop world.
In many ways this video is precisely about the power of music to drive societal reform. Many of the clips we see are taken from a 2006 documentary of the same name by Skolnik and Chaiklin, which focuses on the Rockefeller Drug Laws signed in 1973 that made heavy drug enforcement widespread by the 80's. The film reveals the drastic increase in US incarcerations (and money spent on jails), particularly among the African-American population, since that time. The story of Wanda Best, who was left to care for 5 kids after her husband was sentenced to 15 years on a minor drug charge (which he likely didn't commit), is the fulcrum from which these issues are explored. At the same time we follow Russell Simmons and his brigade of hip hop friends trying to help her cause.
In some alternate universe this video would cause an avalanche of similarly minded efforts to change society through hip hop. Regardless, it's important to understand as much as we can from Jones' work. Once you realize the backstory and the incredible fear that must permeate impoverished communities in America, "stop snitchin'" doesn't seem like such a far fetched concept after all. The loss of trust that has built up between the government and certain groups of people since the dawn of the drug war is a verifiable epidemic of its own. Promoting this rift as a positive phenomenon obviously isn't the answer, but educating the masses to its existence is a start.
Upon first watching "Now They Want Half," one could easily make the mistake of assuming the stoic bespectacled man staring at the screen throughout is an actor rather than one-half of this hip hop duo. It isn't simply because of his performance, but Bobby Evans doesn't seem to fit our typical assumptions about the culture. Of course this sort of stereotypical opinion of hip hop is precisely what Brother Reade's Jamz is addressing in his rhymes. Director Banner Gwin intentionally amplifies the strangeness of Evans in order to drive home the point, "you don't have to be rich, you don't have to be cool."
Yet these artists are two parts of the same group (cleverly shown through a shot where Jamz raps at the screen on the left while Evans appears through a mirror on the right), and they are not oblivious to the charms of typical hip hop dreams. Jamz defends LA despite its downsides, while he scrounges his refrigerator for food. As the rapper points out early on, he wants to make money but isn't ashamed of poverty either. The camera zooms in on him as he sits in an undershirt and gym shorts, eating a bowl of cereal in a modest kitchen.
The video works by setting up a series of contrasting or absurd images, the most obvious of which involves the members of Brother Reade themselves. There is also the blue light which glows outside the windows, compared to the red light that imbues the interior. A nailcutter graces a cutting board, and Fugazi is mentioned in the same breath as Jay-Z. These ideas are meant to confound any attempt at pinning either the video or the music into a box.
There's also intentionality in the way the images conjure up feelings of nostalgia. Like the dorky organ that accompanies the bassline, the retro walls hold family photos from the 70's. When the camera passes through the house in the end, it's now completely empty of people. Yet it's still alive with memory, and the artists will not soon forget the vibrant history that exists within those walls. Just as Brother Reade bring us a new voice filtered through familiar sounds, the video for "Now They Want Half" is as mysterious as it is inviting.
It's no Da Vinci, but it may very well show up on a few end of the year lists.
Slow-core champions Low use nostalgic stock footage and breathtaking shots of the frigid wilderness to visualize the icy atmosphere evoked by single "Belarus." There is some more than impressive skiing here amongst the quick cuts and moving pans, but it's the clear progression of the images which really stands out. The beauty of the natural world, and the joy it can bring humanity, is contrasted with the rapidly infringing waste of society. The world may be a cold and lonely place, but how much worse would it be without wide open spaces and refreshing mountain air? We'll soon find out.
There's something very frustrating and sad about the way this video concludes. It's not simply the distant lovers just barely missing each other, but a lack of communication and understanding that runs much deeper. At some point in the past, one imagines these two where on the same wavelength - back in their "salad days" of uninhibited expression. But as this video begins they are already miles apart, with the woman looking less than hopeful of things ever working out as she takes a somber photograph in the mirror.
When the man receives the picture it's as if he hasn't thought of her for ages; he is frozen in the post office contemplating what he might send back. He scopes items in the hands of other people looking to mail something that day - from a simple greeting card to a ring on a finger. What he eventually decides is to send himself - what better way to reconnect with his lover?
But in his eager preparation for his visit, he is growing farther and farther away from her. The man is traveling to a place where the woman has been patiently waiting for some time. All she wanted was a phone call or some sign that he cared, because she has come to a decisive point in the relationship where she questions its future prospects. The man is under the impression that his one grand act will sweep her off her feet and make everything as it once was - but he fails to understand the thinking of his lover. It may very well be that the woman does the same in deciding that he has forgotten her (people have different ways of communicating), but she seems more than patient in her waiting - drawing, calling him and checking the mail regularly.
The song poses the question of "maturity" as either a positive or negative ideal. On the one hand impulsive action can lead us into problematic situations, but at the same time suppressing our emotions avoids the truth of the moment. What's sad is that the man acts immediately upon a novel idea which is born out of love, but he also avoids saying outright how he feels about his girlfriend. He puts himself in a box - but he does so for her. There is an effort made to reach her, but she has already lost faith in him. Thus it's not just a single mistake, but a loss of harmony between them that has occurred over time.
The National have done minimal before, and done it very well at that. But for this video, despite clever references to The Office and the title of their latest album (Boxer), the work fails to engage. It gives us a glimpse into the personalities of the band and the creation of the video, but one imagines it was a lot more fun to make than it is to watch. Such a relentless song deserves a more passionate treatment.
Nonetheless, it is an amazing song from one of the best albums of 2007. Pre-order Boxeras soon as possible...
Another great pop band from Sweden set to take over the States this summer. The video for single "First Class Riot" is a breezy affair, alternating between mating dolphins and the duo performing under the sea. The shimmering lights, which flicker against the water and the walls of the room, match the dreamy feel of the big drums and steely guitars. And even as the video lacks variation, it keeps our attention by focusing on the energetic performance of the band - which in turn emphasizes the quality of the song. Watch out for these guys.
About 18 seconds into "The Ruin of the Beast," the animators pass through a graveyard towards the door of a church marked prominently with a cross. Moments later the "prodigal son" fights atop a hill where we see the same house of worship. Regardless of your Book of Revelation knowledge, the directors clearly set-up Christianity as a foil to the monster which haunts humanity.
Yet it's interesting that prior to discovering Delopoulos's name alongside the tour dates for Jars of Clay, we were ready to interpret this video as anti-Christian. There is a distinct shot of the fallen beast with 10 arms (the beast of revelation is described as having ten horns), but there also seems to be some sympathy for the devil. He is the forgotten and powerful figure who rises from the ashes once society gets smug with its own self-importance. There is even the climactic shot of his "prodigal" return from the Inferno accompanied by the animated musician walking up a hill - as if the two are inherently connected (they sing the bridge together as well).
Unfortunately, the beast doesn't represent the dormant passion of humanity suppressed by religious morality (even if "they banned all seduction" is an ambiguous line). In that opening zoom on the church, through a window we can see the rising sun - and in that sunrise we find the singer with his guitar. He's here to warn us of the coming return of great evil, and make sure we always remember the hand that "molded" us (the only live action moment of the video).
It's a beautifully animated and well-paced work, but we'll admit stained glass and wooden pews fail to excite our hearts and minds. Fear is never as inspiring as hope. Humanity would actually benefit from embracing their animalistic desires, rather than preparing for the coming wrath of a mythological "beast."
As the docu-intro suggests, the best parts of this video happen when the lights go down. The concept of dormant spirits brought to life through the exposing of the heart is both a fun and creepy way of expressing the boundless energy of the tune. The Australian group is charming in their ridiculous costumes, and director Moyes does an excellent job with the puppet movement - but the music is the key ingredient.
Bjork's gorgeous "Earth Intruders" was a self-proclaimed attempt at conveying the "tribal beat" of humanity, but the twee-inspired rhythms of Helsinki are a brighter estimation of a society enveloped in pure desire. From the nonsensically ramblings of the refrain to the steel drummed beat that plays throughout, this is addictive and exuberant fun. But it's the unexpected and overwhelming emotion of the song - the climactic yelps as the character's hearts are raised to the sun - that raises this to a new level. Our reaction to the combination of silly joy and sincere longing is best summed up by the title itself - heart it races.
Like My Chemical Romance before them, English pop idols McFly signal a turn towards glamier horizons with a silent film inspired video. It's no surprise that this style which demands overacting has become the genre of choice for pop punk bands looking to go Queen. The cross-dressing and uninhibited performances of the band members make this an entertaining romp, and the song itself is a strange and welcome change of pace. But neither McFly nor their Gothic American brethren have mastered the silent form - turns out there's more to it than make-up and old cameras.
Director Sia personifies Diamond's emotions with a fragile egg in her hand and hesitant skating down the street. What she really feels inside is a street full of dancers, balloons in the sky and a piano man on the pavement. She smiles at a passerby and says hello to a little girl, but her modesty is at all times palpable. After an entire block of measured expression and energetic restraint, when she finally arrives at the doorstep of her lover she can no longer contain herself. She jumps into his arms and forgets all about the frail egg she holds in her palm - overcome by her love. Sure enough the egg tears apart, but what she didn't expect was that it would birth something new and more beautiful than the perfectly intact original ever was. Self-expression ain't so bad after all.
As you prepare for the coming workday, you make sure and check two things before you head out the door in the morning. There are many things you should do, like brush your teeth or eat some cereal, but the essential facts for you as a modern worker are the traffic and weather reports on your local news. These morning broadcasts are aimed precisely at the 9 to 5 crowd, and it's no surprise that the repetitiveness of each day's show may serve to remind you of the banality of your own job. Yet the irony of both categories - traffic and weather - is that they are essentially unpredictable. You may always wake up to the weatherman spouting his opinions, but that's just what they are - his opinions. There may be an accident on the freeway or there may not; anything could happen today.
Fountains of Wayne, whose latest album is indeed titled Traffic and Weather, want to emphasize this idea to the two lonely protagonists of "Someone to Love." These characters live simple lives without complications or traumas, but they still wake up each morning tired and vacant. Their apartments are finely decorated and color coordinated, they maintain a strict routine to their day - but they still feel scattered and messy. Moments of self-expression are few and far between, and usually consist of singing in the shower or dancing alone. But these are still two interesting and somewhat similar folks who seem destined for one another, and if they just wait long enough something is bound to happen - they live in the same building for Pete's sake!
Yet life is unpredictable, and the video would have been too simple if it gave us just what we wanted. The truth is loneliness is not solely a product of one's environment or life experience - it's a self-inflicted state of mind as well. The big city may seem a cold and harsh place, but it's still up to you to find warmth in it. With each passing night these characters pity themselves more and more, until they have become entirely self-involved (the excessive apartment decoration can also be a symbol of that).
Thus when the opportunity for something new does present itself, they are too oblivious to recognize it. Each is more concerned with completing the motions of their meaningless work day - so that they might return home and have something to mope about in the evening - than actually pursuing love or happiness. When Chris Collingwood sings "you're not the only one lonely," he means to both inspire and criticize those that wallow in self-pity. Before you can have faith in the world around you, you must first believe in your own capability for change.
If you're working with a track on the scale of "All My Friends," among the best songs of the year, your job must seem both impossibly difficult and beautifully simple. On the one hand you would assume such a great song could pretty much carry any visuals you throw at, while at the same time you're directorial impulses may push you to create an opus that matches James Murphy's creative peaks. Finding a balance between the two poles is where you want to end up, but few videos get there consistently.
Tom Kuntz effort is amiable because it shows a true understanding of the original song in a thematic and musical sense. The early concentration on Murphy's face, like the opening of the song itself, is drawn out to the brink of annoyance. We are forced to hear the words and digest the lonely emotion of his facial expression - covered in cold metallic paint - without a single cut. Just when we think we've had enough, the screen begins to come to life and we are enthralled in a burst of colors, mirrors and rain. Then as soon as it begins, the flurry of emotion is over and we're left with the lingering air of the climactic line - "where are your friends tonight?." Despite the somber tone of that consistent note throughout the song, the paint has washed away in the end, and it's ultimately a cathartic experience.
It's not perfect, but the video neither limits nor overpowers the strength of the song - which continues to dominate every mix CD we create.
This Kanye produced track bears not only the mark of his signature sampled sound, but Consequence's persona recalls that of Mr. West as well. Even though 'Quence has been around since the early 90's, frequently appearing with A Tribe Called Quest on albums that heavily influenced the 'Louis Vuitton Don,' it's clear that some of his style here is a product of West's recent astronomical success. Which is no surprise considering his debut studio album, Don't Quit Your Day Job!, is being released on Kanye's GOOD Music label.
The video, like the song, mixes moments of light humor with deep sincerity as it spins around the rappers memories of home. We've had a slewofvideos in recent weeks that emphasize the importance of remembering where you come from, and the rotating camera does a good job of visualizing Consequence's thoughts on the matter. But it is a one-trick pony, and unfortunately can't sustain the full video. Nevertheless, we truly hope the Queens native finally gets his big break with this album - he's had the talent for a while.
The first sentence of Saul Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March begins with "I am an American." The writer was in fact Canadian-born, and the band which takes its name from his classic novel is actually a product of Australia. But Augie March, a group which has already earned both critical and popular success in their native land, now aim to conquer Bellow's adopted home with their brand of rock.
Before they can do that though, they must first push their rock to the top of the hill. The Sisyphean conceit of the video contrasts well with Bellow's fascination with the "American" ideal of self-reliance. While only one man begins this journey to the top, it will take a whole group to complete it. Yet when they finally do achieve the goal, the rock grows legs and runs back to the bottom - mirroring the same frustration of the Greek mythological figure. In his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, philosopher Albert Camus depicted this tale as symbolic of the absurdity of life.
Yet Camus was not condoning suicide or giving up, rather he saw the process of pushing the rock - no matter how many times repeated - as "enough to fill a man's heart." In fact the only way to be happy is to embrace the futility of your life and simply live it contently. The directors here have a similar idea, but the satisfaction of the absurd task is inseparable from the brotherhood and feeling of community that develops along the way. Whereas Sisyphus feels an ultimate moment of dejection upon seeing his boulder roll away, the character's in "The Cold Acre" have the comfort of each other to lessen the blow. Furthermore, they actually do get the rock to rest atop that hill for a moment.
Each character that decides to help this man is previously involved in his own solitary activity. From the silly poet to the absent-minded archer, every one is searching for some fulfilling activity. Their choice to help out is not about having some strange fascination with pushing large objects, but a need to work together towards a definable end. Whether or not this is also a metaphor for the creation of (rock) music, the actual work is irrelevant. The only way to escape the "cold acre" of your heart is to feel connected with the rest of humanity - united in pursuit of a common goal. At the end of the video the rock has gone away, and with it the unbearable burden of individual despair. BONUS VIDEO:
Though it does little to quell our sustained obsession with a certain transcendent 2005 single, Clarkson's latest still delivers a measured dose of magic using the same proven palette...
A sharply dressed man hurriedly exits a suburban home, ringing his still wet hands as he grabs the wheel of a getaway car. In his nervous paranoia and guilt he backs straight into some trash cans, then begins to hallucinate while stalled in the driveway. What he sees is his crime of passion played over again, and the fearful psychological vengeance of a wronged Kelly Clarkson.
The video begins with the drowning of the former American Idol in a white bathtub, but the boyfriend's real crime is clearly one of infidelity. The imagery has more than a passing resemblance to a certain Michelle Pfiefer/Harrison Ford picture, and the subsequent "haunting" fits intentionally with that theme. A ghostly Clarkson whispers into her ex-lover's ear while he desperately seeks to avoid the truth that lies beneath.
Being submerged in water is also a symbol of Clarkson's pain and a metaphorical baptizing for the jilted singer. She spends much of the video singing in an almost entirely white room - surrounded by the color of innocence - but her experience with this man reveals new shades of reality for her. Later it is him who feels the rising water in the bathroom of the airport, his guilty conscience becoming unbearable. Clarkson emerges from the tub a new woman ("I can breathe for the first time" anyone?), dressed in a bright red dress as she drives off with her ex left stranded in the street.
Kahn does an excellent job of capturing the emotions of the lyrics while accentuating the energy of the music. The car scene is especially thrilling - with its quick cuts and dangerous swerving, while Clarkson lurks in the backseat playing the devilish stalker to perfection. Her sexuality only heightens the intensity of his hallucinations, and she imagines it as a tool for wielding power over him far into the future - he will never again "have" her.
A key moment in the video comes about a minute in, as Clarkson does her best stepford wife impression while singing the line "ignorance is bliss." Kahn's vision here isn't limited to a single case of infidelity but an entire culture of willful deception. It's essential that the action takes place in a nice American Beauty-style neighborhood, with cleanly cut green lawns and healthy trees. Clarkson then ironically delivers the line "repent yourself away," openly mocking the easy truths of "Sunday school answers." When she drives away in the end she is escaping the false ideals of sanitized suburban life, and the naive love that accompanies it.
Deep inside a desert bunker, somewhere near the set for "Ruby," mysteriously controlled machines produce art, weapons and individuality in massive assembly lines. Cameras are everywhere, capturing every moment of private inspiration in order to turn a mass public profit. From the creation of image to the commercialization of music, the Kaiser Chiefs criticize every aspect of culture for its banality and redundancy.
They're not oblivious to the irony of this move, since many critics find the band's music itself to be particularly banausic and derivative, and thus the final product manufactured is the Kaiser Chiefs themselves - just another britpop band. They are constantly watched by the media, and their success imitated by the labels in search of the next-big-thing. The director gets in on the self-referential humor as well, ending the video with a television set thrown out a window - apparently music videos are just as "average" as everything else.
There are some creative ideas working here, but the real problem is that the video is as blatant with its themes as the song. While the Kaiser Chiefs moan about mediocrity, the director shows it to us - the point is established within the first minute. The subsequent deluge of repetitive metaphors are run-of-the-mill (cheerleaders, jocks and punk rockers are standard punching bags in pop videos), and for a video which so clearly defines its ideas - in the end we are left with a surprising sense of blah.
The hipster t-shirt is as much a symbol of indie culture as any single band or sound has ever been. This video does it, er, justice by brilliantly sifting through hundreds of designs and styles while the band provide an infectious backing track. It's a nice take on the typical (and very common) animated or stop-motion piece, pushing the genre inexplicably into new places. It's also just plain fun to watch.
Posthumous musical appearances by 2Pac are nothing new, but Lil' Scrappy tries to once more channel the inspirational spirit of the dead rapper with his latest video...
The 2Pac sample is about more than having a fly hook, for Lil' Scrappy the iconic rapper represented hope in a world of poverty and fear. Though he claims his mind was focused solely on making money as a youth (by any means necessary), portraits on the wall reveal other sources of motivation. Lil' Scrappy looks to paint himself in that same vein, going back to the ghettos as proof of the possibility of success in an environment normally bereft of positive change.
Yet in order to make his story of rag-to-riches effective, he must first establish the authenticity of his experience. The director's attention to detail is what creates a believable picture of modern American life in the projects. From eviction notices on the door to rotting animals on the street, liquor bottles lining shelves and drug stashes in the ceiling, Lil' Scrappy doesn't glamorize the 'hood with beautiful women or shiny cars - he shows it for what it is. Just as his lyrics relay the bleak circumstances which led him to crime, the video shows us the environmental depravity which did the same.
Lil' Scrappy doesn't just emphasize the difficult or painful aspects of this life though, he reminds us that these folks still find reasons to smile. There are shots of girls laughing on the corner, friends exchanging pleasant greetings and young men relaxing in the afternoon. Selling drugs or stealing money is something you do to survive in this world - but it doesn't make you inhuman or incapable of joy. Rather the good times you had become all the more powerful in your memory, when contrasted with so many dark moments of fear.
The rapper writes so that his daughter will never face those "gates to hate" which lurked outside his childhood home, but he also rhymes to express the value of his experience - the strength he gleamed from that desperation. Proud of his defiant accomplishment, but mindful of the streets which created the tough image upon which he now sells millions of records, Lil' Scrappy speaks to inspire those still braving the coldest of Decembers. A shot of a television set is followed by a mirror hanging on the wall - he knows the influence his music can have. Lil' Scrappy's no 2Pac, but he has made a compelling and truthful video.
Sera Cahoone "Only As the Day is Long"/Opening recently for Grand Archives has been a blessing for Sera Cahoone, as her sound perfectly compliments that of Mat Brooke's new band - exposing her to an immediate fanbase. But the similarities aren't surprising when you learn she is the former drummer of of Brooke's and Ben Birdwell's pre-Band of Horses project, Carissa's Wierd. Yet she's got supreme talent in her own right, and though one continues to wonder why these three ever split, we can't help but be thankful for this opportunity to hear Cahoone's singular voice.
The Grapevine
...The Walkmen debut new (good) songs on their MySpace...Radioheadpush the boundaries of video art (again)...Flaming Lips like the Who...Music video or Converse commercial? Or both?...
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"Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems—but as you approach the present, it inevitably seems incredible."
-Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
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Obtusity is a music video and pop culture blog that sheds light on the meaning and value of contemporary art.All questions and complaints can be directed to: obtusity@gmail.com
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