Masters of Zen
Telepath - Contact
8/10
by Elina Vaysbeyn
After listening to a couple of Telepath songs, a buddy of mine said, “It’s like a black Kenny G meets the Blue Man Group… In Africa.” Mostly instrumental, with the exception of a few otherworldly wails and whispers, Telepath’s music manages to capture a preternatural presence with its trance-inducing dubs. The trifecta of introspective-looking dudes brings multi-faceted to a new level: Afro-beats and Indian belly dancing are just the beginning. The most notable thing about their music is that it has character, unlike some of the purely instrument-based stuff out there. They also know how to jam like it’s nobody’s business.
The newly released album, Contact, is a hypnotizing compilation. “Subterfuge,” the second track, kicks it off with some salsa, which eventually metamorphoses into something out of One Thousand and One Nights, without losing its pace. The quickening, subterranean drums drive the beat and the Indian influences make it an energetic and soulful song. “Chaos Theory” takes us into a psychosomatic trance fueled by unstoppable Indian drum beats. It’s a Shamanistic dance ceremony happening on the highest plateau of a holy mountain, and it melts your brain like a hit of E. Its deep, saturated horns sound at calculated intervals. “Jahdi” paints mirages of belly dancers and fantasies of swishing hips and exposed navels. The chanting in the background, combined with some righteous percussion, may make you think you’re in a traveling caravan, desert sand rising around you, while Telepath serenades the camels into submission.
By the time “Contact” begins, there is no surprise, since we’ve already realized that they must be communicating with aliens through these bizarre, hypnotizing streams of consciousness. The free-spirited convolutions of separate cultural musical genres along with the dubs blend into a fantasy-adorned frenzy. “And Then It Began,” a New Age jam tempered by small synthesized punctuations and lingering beeps would be more than appropriate for a yoga class. The sensuality and the heat generated in these exotic rhythms definitely make sun salutations more appealing. Telepath engages in the nature-worshipping aspects of music. They invoke an ancestral and spiritual musical presence and make it modern. Their dangerously free-spirited songs reach great momentum, producing a house/trance club effect. Most surprising is the fact that they have only three people in the band and they end up creating a sound that seems to come from ten, or twenty, or a hundred African drum circles and Bollywood scenes. The only drawback to this type of music is that after a while, it all starts to sound the same, and the belly dancers spill over from one song to the next, indiscriminately. This might be how Telepath intended it, though, as one long, indistinguishable dream.
Formula for Success
Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life
8/10
by Roger Chao
Toronto’s punk band Fucked Up can only be described as a train in motion: always moving, always looking ahead, and rarely standing still. Trying to label this band with an identity is like trying to sit through an entire episode of VH1’s Charm School—you won’t get far until you feel a headache coming on. Besides having an original and controversial name, the band also possesses a very imaginative sound that is composed of loud and raw vocals blending effortlessly into intricate guitar lines. Fucked Up’s greatest strength, however, has also been their biggest criticism; too complex for the punk crowd, but too heavy and loud for the indie crowd. On their new album The Chemistry of Common Life, the band pushes their genre-bending sound even further, proving that no amount of criticism or opinion can ever change their songwriting mentality.
The Chemistry of Common Life starts where Fucked Up’s last album Hidden World left off in terms of musicianship. While Hidden World showed the band moving towards a more melodic sound with longer songs, Common Life takes an even bigger step in the same direction. The album kicks off with “Son the Father,” a six and half minute song complete with a flute intro and female vocals in the chorus. Other uncommon instruments used on the album include bongo drums on the track “Magic Word” and a French horn on “Days of Last.” The guitar work has also been stepped up since Fucked Up’s last record. Common Life is the first album to feature Ben Cook (brother of She’s All That starlet, Rachael Leigh Cook), the band’s newly added member, bringing the number of guitarists in the band to three. Fucked Up takes full advantage of a third axe man, allowing songs to sometimes have two lead guitar lines supported by a pulsating rhythm guitar riff. Fans of the band may also notice the sudden increase in more singing parts. The addition of melodic vocals for most punk bands is usually a kiss of death, transforming otherwise good songs into something that belongs on alternative rock radio. In the case of Fucked Up, the occasional singing serves as the perfect balance to vocalist Damian Abraham’s rough and sometimes shrieking voice. This is demonstrated most clearly on “Black Albino Bones,” the album’s standout track.
From a lyrical standpoint, Common Life focuses mainly on religion and psychedelic imagery. Abraham’s lyrics are ambiguous and laced with metaphors; join that with the atmospheric music, and the combination creates an audio landscape straight out of a stoner’s wet dream.
Whatever genre you place Fucked Up into, there is no denying the craftsmanship and creativity behind The Chemistry of Common Life. Mix in a little pinch of punk with a little dash of melody, and Fucked Up may have finally found the chemical formula that will satisfy each and every fan.
Poutine Party 2k8
My Trip to Toronto
*&%*#$/10
by Nick Torsell
A trip to Toronto is supposed to take about two hours from my house. It took me four hours (yeah, you read that right, four hours) for me to get to the Of Montreal concert at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre.
What happened? How the hell did I miss the Gardiner Expressway leading into the city? I could blame Google Maps and their condescending directions. What does “continue on the Gardiner” mean to you? I’ll tell you what it means to me, it means keep going whatever fucking way you’re going. After not seeing Toronto’s phallic landmark, the CN Tower, for thirty minutes, I figured I might have missed an exit. After stopping at the local fine-dining establishment, KFC, a friendly man with a thick foreign accent (from where, I couldn’t tell) gave me the directions for the 30-kilometer trip back to Toronto. An important thing to note is that I was told to be there at 7 p.m. to receive the free tickets that I obtained through WRUB. By now, seven had come and gone, and I feared that this whole drive was for naught. Considering I only know American measurements, I hoped that 30 km could be closer than I thought, possibly around the corner. Twenty minutes later I had arrived in Toronto through a system of backstreets that allowed me to discover more indigenous Canadian gems like Burger King and McDonalds.
Toronto is a big city, and even with the consoling sight of the surrounding skyscrapers, I still had to find the concert. Realizing that I was close, I set out again at around a quarter past eight to try and get to the concert before the band came on stage. However, the Canucks gave me vague directions like, “turn right and keep going, you can’t miss it.” What? Seriously? Are you really trusting me to be good with directions at this point? I just burst into this grocery store to frantically ask for directions, and you’re going to tell me I can’t miss it? Surprise! I missed the concert hall again and again. Driving through back streets is bad enough, but Toronto deemed it necessary to use speed bumps…a lot. You just know that shit wouldn’t fly in America, eventually someone would take a jackhammer to them. But they’re too nice and law abiding in Toronto, what with their gun control and universal health care. I decided to stop again, and finally got directions that worked.
Let me tell you, I’ve never been so excited to get somewhere before. I felt like I had truly accomplished something. After forking over nine dollars for parking, I was asked by some Toronto bimbo if something was closed. I had no idea what she was talking about, and as she scurried off, she and her friends started laughing about something I assume translates from Canadian to mean “Stupid American.” Luckily, when I got to the ticket booth, I had no trouble getting the free tickets. After the show, however, I had an epiphany. I had to get back. Fuck.
Scary Kids Pre-Halloween Spooktacular
Scary Kids Scaring Kids @ Club Infinity 10.25.08
10/10
by Jessica Kilbury
Arizona-based, post-hardcore band Scary Kids Scaring Kids is back on tour, hitting Buffalo for the second time in two months. Having seen SKSK twice before, I had many doubts that they could top my previous experiences. The crowd was refreshingly small in comparison to other concerts I have attended recently, which is surprising, as the band’s fan base has been experiencing a steady increase after the release of their first two full-lengths, The City Sleeps in Flames and the self-titled Scary Kids Scaring Kids.
The diverse audience ranged from underage Hannah Montana fanatics who got lost on the way to Disneyland to the middle-aged men who followed them there. The crowd grew dense as SKSK finally took the stage, with braces and awkward haircuts pushing inward from every direction to greet the band.
The crowd swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the speedy song, “Snake Devil,” a favorite of many fans as evidenced by their shrill reaction. The tune attacks the ears from the start. A fast metal riff revs up the engine before the rest of the band hustled into the song’s verse and eventually arrived at a blistering dual guitar lead, the instruments sounding as if they were on fire. Lead singer Tyson Stevens accusingly warned “She’s taking over the world / One heart at a time / She’ll chew you up and spit you out like nothing,” in what is one of the band’s heaviest tracks.
Proving their diversity, the band slowed things down a bit by playing “A Breath of Sunshine,” in which Stevens showcased his vocal abilities. Fusing melancholy lyrics with a delay-driven guitar, the music brought everyone to a halt.
As the synth intro played for “My Darkest Hour,” the crowd took to the song with the energy appropriate for the pop-friendly number. Countless mosh pits began to stir and created enough sweat to drench anyone within the first few feet of the barrier.
A smile was seen on Stevens’ face many times, almost in disbelief, as he looked down at the crowd, singing along with every word. The keyboardist, Pouyan Afkary, absolutely took away the show with his intense playing and stage presence, as he strutted around the stage pounding his chest like a gorilla and jumping and down wildly while performing.
I can only hope that Scary Kids Scaring Kids make a habit of such frequent trips into town. As it stands right now, they’ll be returning for the Warped Tour after recording a new album. In any case, their stunning stage shows are well worth any wait.
And Now for Something Completely Different
Golden Axe: Beast Rider
[Xbox 360/PS3]
2/10
by Jason Polansky
Congratulations, SEGA! You have killed another one of your beloved franchises. Wasn’t your persistent beating of the Sonic franchise enough? Perhaps you wanted to squeeze out a few more crappy Super Monkey Ball games before that series was even a decade old? It makes absolutely zero sense why Golden Axe: Beast Rider even exists. It has almost nothing in common with its series’ roots, and everything that it attempts to do, has been done better before. With that being said, I present to you a list of games that you should play that are not Golden Axe: Beast Rider.
1: Ninja Gaiden 2 (Xbox 360): Golden Axe would love to call itself a hack-and-slash adventure, but even if it could talk, it would be too embarrassed to do so. Ninja Gaiden 2 provides some of the most fluid and fierce gameplay the genre has ever seen. Seamless attacks are strung together as you lop of the limbs of any meat puppets that stand in your way while showcasing some of the greatest animations and visual flair in the business. It effortlessly stands head and shoulders over the robotic, disjointed-feeling attacks in the abysmal GA: BR.
2: Heavenly Sword (PS3): Though it was described to be God of War with a chick, Heavenly Sword did a lot more for the genre in the form of a mechanic that altered your stance based on heavy, light, and ranged attacks. Using these strategically, you were able to counter against virtually any attack with the touch of a button and look good doing it too. GA: BR tries to replace this mechanic with a color-coded dodge/evade system. This would be fine, but an unexplained third color is thrown into the mix without explanation and you can only dodge or evade at the given cues. If you find yourself needing to reverse gender roles in your action games, Heavenly Sword is the game for you.
3. God of War 2 (PS2): Imitation is the finest form of flattery. With that being said, if you want to make a solid hack-and-slash action game and you are all out of good ideas (like the makers of GA: BR), rip off God of War 2. Hell, the makers of Chicken Little (Wii) blatantly ripped off Ratchet & Clank and wound up with a good game. God of War 2 perfected the foundation laid out by its predecessor by creating larger-than-life set pieces, flawless controls, and a story that puts most films to shame. This is all from a PS2 title that’s over a year and half old! If you need any further reasons to avoid GA: BR, just try and understand that it takes all of these fantastic elements that are key to making a great action title, and leaves you with this: boring environments, controls that have you mashing buttons until something almost cool happens, and a story that provides no redemption for the crappy gameplay.
Honorable Mentions: Rygar (PS2), Yakuza 1/2 (PS2), Lava Lamps.
Fail to Execute
Kaiser Chiefs - Off With Their Heads
5/10
by Josh Dill
Off With Their Heads, the new album by British rock band Kaiser Chiefs, is enthusiastically mediocre. Although it tries its very hardest to be fun, on the whole it’s completely unoriginal and forgettable.
The album opens with “Spanish Rain,” a propulsive number with growling guitars and a quick beat that features the band fiercely singing lyrics that sound kind of cool, but don’t really mean anything at all. The whole song is comically crude, a sort of in-your-face grand entrance. Unfortunately, the album doesn’t get much better than this. Writing fast, uncomplicated songs with the band members chant-singing stupid lyrics is apparently Kaiser Chiefs’ specialty.
The band seems to be in its element with the second track, “Never Miss a Beat.” It’s got the requisite simple drumbeat, back-and-forth chanting, and loud chorus. The lyrics attempt at seriousness- “It’s cool to know nothing,” they call out, over stories of underachieving children. “Like It Too Much” is another formulaic Kaiser Chiefs song. Again, it has the strutting beat, rhythmic verses, and epic chorus. This time they added a totally unnecessary strings section.
I won’t waste your time describing every song. You’d start to feel déjà vu. There are a lot of bands that churn out simple, straightforward rock songs, and Kaiser Chiefs disappoint because they don’t have anything that distinguishes them from all the others. Their verses are catchy enough, but don’t develop at all. Their choruses are raucous and spirited, and you can tell they’re trying hard to write a true anthem, but the melodies are too simple and uncreative to be memorable. Maybe if you were an English football hooligan in a state of total inebriation you could rock out to a Kaiser Chiefs song, but if you aren’t in this demographic there’s very little to get hyped up about.
Lyrics are probably the Chiefs’ weakest suit. Evidently they can’t even handle simple rhymes, as “don’t know” is paired with “go-oh.” Then there’s the plain idiocy of “like a tomato in the rain, I’ve got that feeling again.” The band’s few attempts at originality don’t function well either. One song has a half-verse featuring a rapper, which doesn’t even manage to be amusing, just confusing. Everyone’s favorite chavette Lily Allen is featured on two tracks, but in the mix her voice is so inaudible that I only recognized it after having read about it.
There are a few enjoyable songs, but don’t waste your money on the album. Kaiser Chiefs certainly put fervor into their music, but without the sardonic wit of a band like Art Brut or the superior songwriting of a band like Franz Ferdinand, they’re just another forgettable British rock act.
